"Clayton Emery - Netheril 03 - Mortal Consequences" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

rattled. Etched against a white fluttering sky surged figures like short brown bears bristling with
weaponry. The bear-beings swept to either side. One leveled a crossbow, let go with a slap and clack
of string and bow. Another hoisted a long-faced battle-axe and hollered a cry like a condor making a
kill. In a furry wave, the newcomers roared, and fell upon the surviving yak-men.
Half-seen through snow, Sunbright winced at the slaughter. The yak-man with the bolt in his neck
turned, one hand still clutching the shaft, and tried to rip free his scimitar. A screaming dwarfтАФfor
such were their rescuersтАФhopped in the air and swung his battle-axe so hard the cow-being's arm was
severed at the shoulder. Blood spurted over attacker and attacked. Before the yak-man could take
another step, the fur-clad dwarf chopped savagely at a backwards-bent leg. Cut down like a tree, the
yak-man tumbled over so fast the dwarf had to fend the shaggy body aside.
Sunbright crawled toward where he'd last seen Knucklebones; he didn't want to rise in front of a
crossbow. The other two yak-men were hacked to pieces. Smashing through snowy brush, a dwarf
lanced a bolt into a yak-man's jaw, pinning it to his skull. Another stabbed upward with a short spear
under broad ribs. Driving the spear deep, the short one shoved so hard the yak-man's horns clacked on
the rock wall behind. Again the dwarf shoved, until the shaggy body was slammed full against the
stone, then again, so hard the shaft snapped, and the dwarf stumbled against his dying foe. The last
yak-man raised his staff over his head sideways, a sign of surrender, but died. Two dwarves with
mattock and falchion slammed blades into the beast's bowels, so it doubled with a cry of agony, and a
third dwarf smashed down on the broad head with a warhammer square between the horns. Even then
their ferocity was unquenched, for other dwarves swarmed around the fallen creatures to hack them
limb from limb.
Steering clear of the battle-crazed warriors, Sunbright found Knucklebones lying on her side in her
woolens atop smashed brush. The tiny woman was already half-covered by snow, unconscious. The
shaman scanned her with his hands, found a crease in her skull and blood matted in her dark hair.
Gently for such huge gnarled hands, he lifted her eyelid to peer at her pupil. One way to gauge brain
damage was to compare a victim's pupils, check they were the same size, but Knucklebones only had
one eye. Then snow settling on her eyeball made it twitch. Relieved, he guessed she'd recover, once he
got her warm.
Brushing off snow, Sunbright fetched her shed coat and wrapped her tight, then hung her satchels
on his shoulders. He hoisted Knucklebones in his arms, but even her weight, light as a lamb, made him
dizzy, for he'd also been head-bashed by a curious staff. He leaned on a rock until his head stopped
spinning. Too, a burn alongside his left ear and neck itched and throbbed abominably, and he knew
lymph and blood wept from the wound to soak his shirt, chilling him. Gritting his teeth, he wondered
what the dwarves had in store for them.
The mountain men were busy. Savage fury abated, they resorted to their usual industrious ways.
With an axe they methodically hacked off the four oxen heads, then propped and wedged them amidst
stones to dry and collect snow. Continuing, they sliced off the gray rags that passed for the yak-men's
clothing, chopped off hands and cloven feet and threw them off the mountain, then hoisted the still-
warm bodies to split the bellies and dress out the guts, which they left in a steaming pile along the
trail. Finally, dragging the dressed carcasses, booty of satchels and staves and swords, they stamped
free of the brush and trooped up the trail with their burdens.
The last pair faced Sunbright, who was fighting fatigue, cold, and dizziness while clutching
Knucklebones, who hung limp as a rag doll. The barbarian blinked when he realized the dwarf with
the thick, braided hair was female, for she had a thick beard, and her face was craggy and seamed as
an old shoe. Sunbright hadn't known there were dwarven women. Legend said dwarves grew from the
rocks like golems and ogres.
The frowning, blood-spattered woman paused, a thick falchion at the ready, and said, "Why have
you come here?"
"Uh . . ." Sunbright groaned. The abrupt question flustered the shaman. "I seek the Sons of Baltar. I
haveтАФsomething to give Drigor."