"Flint, Kenneth C - Gods of Eire 03 - Master of the Sidhe UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Kenneth C)

"Shaglan, follow close!" the Clown shouted to the bear and urged the horses forward.

They started off, giving the cart a yank, spilling baskets of fishЧand nearly the DagdaЧoff the rear. Gilla headed them up the avenue, pushing them to a full-out gallop. The Pooka ran along behind, the size and strength of his bear-form allowing him to keep up easily.

The Clown kept up this breathtaking pace as he steered the cart along. The Fomor in the streets heard the rattle of its coming, saw it descending on them, and dove for safety. The rubbish-clogged streets were often too narrow, and Gilla was forced to weave his way through a confusing maze, always moving outward, slowing for nothing. The car careened around garbage piles, bounded over trash and occasional Fomor pedestrians who weren't quite quick enough. It barely missed the corners it squeezed past, colliding at one point with a wall that ripped the timber from its side.

Then ahead, a giant mound showed, blocking the way. They couldn't stop. There wasn't room to turn. So Gilla urged on the horses even faster. They slammed into the mound, the horses leaping most of it, dragging the cart along. It flew up, tearing through the pile, crashing down in the street on the far side, still rolling.

Gilla whooped with delight. "Quite a ride, eh?" he called back to the others.

"I may make you eat this!" the Dagda threatened, picking off the rotting vegetables he had been splattered with.

But the Clown's next move wasn't so fortunate. The cart raced into an intersection and the way ahead was again blocked, this time by debris that rose higher than the buildings on either side. Gilla reined the horses sharply around. They made the turn, but the cart didn't. It tilted sideways, hanging for an instant on two wheels. The passengers leaped clear as it was yanked over by the plunging horses. It crashed down, skidded, and then the harness broke. The released team went galloping madly on alone.

The heroes were scrambling up and nursing bruised spots when Shaglan, a bit winded now, reached them.

"You madman!" the Dagda shouted at the Clown. "Now what?"

"Be calm," Gilla soothed. "We've made it. The way out is right before us!"

18

MASTER OF THE S1DHE

He pointed up the street. Between the buildings only a block ahead the open country was visible. There was just one small problem left.

The Snake's Head Clan was there, blocking the way.

Chapter Three APPEALS FOR HELP

The rest of the family had apparently been called in to help. Fully fifty of the reptilian beings formed a solid wall across the avenue. The crash of the cart had already called their attention to the little band, and a spiky hedge of weapons grew up suddenly before them.

"Bres wasn't taking any chances on our escaping," Lugh

remarked.

"Ah, it's simple enough," the Dagda said, hefting his ax. "There are only a few of them. We'll just cut our way out."

But a roar from behind them caused them to look back. Up the avenue after them was charging a large mob of enraged Fomor warriors, brandishing an assortment of lethal implements.

"How nice of them to join us," Gilla said to the Dagda cheerily. "And isn't it a fine, fresh day for a hit of a run?"

The big Champion only shot him a dark look in reply.

"They look very determined," Lugh observed. "I think they might be upset."

"They're fast too," Aine added.

She was certainly right there. For all of their deformities and bulk, the Fomor were moving up the refuse-clogged street with tremendous speed.