"Clayton Emery - Forgotten Realms - Forged In Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

sweet air. His burden mashed his shoulder and his sprained ankle. He had
to circumvent the mainmast, then the mizzen, because the entire starboard
side of the cog seemed engulfed in flame. If he couldn't get past the fire at
the prow, he'd have to risk the ocean -- and he'd never learned to swim, an
instance of laziness he regretted now, but perhaps not for long.

"Come -- Uh! -- daughter of disaster! We can't -- Oww! -- tarry here!" Heart
of a Lion gabbled at the unconscious girl to keep up her courage, or his.
"My, they must feed you marines -- Uh! -- oats and hay! Come, this is no
worse than a forest fire, or so I hear -- what?"

Rearing from the smoke, tall as a flaming volcano, like a ghost from his
haunted past, loomed a merrow scorched black along both its sides. Mad
with pain, the monster lunged into the mizzenmast, bounced off, then saw
the humans and roared a challenge.
Heart of a Lion had no weapon, neither scimitar or even dagger, and was
saddled with an unconscious woman besides. Lacking anything else, he
used what came to hand. The brass fireball wand.

"Begone!" Craning back one thick arm, Heart of a Lion slammed the tall
merrow across the jaw with the brass tube. The sea ogre's mouth shut with
a clack! as the creature was bowled sideways. The pirate wasn't sure, but
guessed he'd broken the thing's neck, a feat more suited to his lusty youth
than a middling age. Dropping the bent tube, he staggered on blistered
feet for the dromon.
One last sheet of blue-white flame blocked his path to the dromon, and
through it pirates turned and pointed, their images rippling in the heat
above the fire. A roaring in his head wouldn't let him hear what they called.
With no strength left, only heart, the pirate chieftain charged.

In five limping strides, he bulled into the cog's gunwale, pushed headlong,
and dove.

Fire filled his vision, then blue sky, then green water --
-- then he crashed on his shoulder against a pine deck.

At the last second he'd twisted away from the shoulder bearing Belinda.
Exhausted, pain throbbing in every part, roasted as if on a spit by devils,
he lay gasping while willing hands laid him flat. Blessed cool water was
slapped on him and the lieutenant. A hand tilted his head and poured fresh
sweet water -- truly the nectar of the gods! -- down his parched throat.
Then the hero was left alone as pirates and sailors set sail.

Dimly, Heart of a Lion heard the thunk of axes. Under his back, he felt the
dromon come alive and pull free of the burning cog. At more shouts, the
decks canted slightly. The captain, thirty years at sea as boy and man, felt
the dromon's rudder bite the waves as she gained headway. Squinting aloft,
he saw sails billow, snap into place, and fill their tan bellies. His ship was
safe, and he could rest, lying at ease and staring at the blue sky.