"[Forgotten Realms - The Year of Rogue Dragons, Book 1] - Byers, Richard Lee - The Rage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forgotten Realms)

THE RAGE
Book 1 The Year of Rogue Dragons
By Richard Lee Byers


Prologue

12 Flamerule, the Year of Moonfall (1344 DR)

The world changed in an instant.
Before that moment, it seemed to Dorn Graybrook that life was perfect. The nine-year-old boy rarely escaped his round of chores in the master's cheerless house, and it was only to run errands through the city with its surly crowds and high gray walls that blocked the sun. Today, though...
Open expanses of tall grass, shimmering in the summer heat, rolled away on either side of the dusty road. The snow-crowned Dragonspine Mountains rose far ahead, and sometimes Dorn caught a glimpse of the purple-blue waters of the Moonsea to the north. He was outside, truly outside, and he loved it.
The best thing of all, though, was the change the journey evoked in his parents. At home, they often seemed sad and weary, worn down by their years of servitude.
Mother, who'd opted to walk for a time among the half dozen guards, sang songs. As Father drove the wagon, he joked with the boy seated beside him and told him things about the countryside. Sometimes the balding bondsman with the wry, intelligent face even let Dorn take the reins and guide the two dappled horses himself.
Priam said, "Look!"
He pointed up at the western sky. The leader of the guards, Priam was a lanky mercenary with a fierce trap of a mouth. He'd slain many a bandit and goblin in defense of the master's trade goods, and everyone admired his courage. But his voice was subtly different, as if he had to struggle to keep it steady.
Dorn peered upward. At first he couldn't see what the fuss was all about. Then he spotted the specks streaking along against the blue. When he squinted, he could make out the long tails, serpentine necks, and beating wings.
"Are they dragons?" Father asked, reining in the team. His voice was different, too, quavering, higher-pitched, and though he was a clerk, not a warrior like Priam, somehow his fear alarmed Dorn even more than the mercenary's had.
"Yes," Priam said.
The other guards startled babbling all at once.
"Weeping Ilmater," Father said. "What do we do?"
"Get off the road," Mother suggested, her braided red hair glowing like flame. She seemed a little calmer than the men. "Hide in the tall grass, and keep quiet."
"The grass isn't likely to hide us from something soaring overhead," Priam replied. "Still, it's worth a try. The Storm Lord knows, we can't outrun the things." He cast about, then gestured with the broad steel head of his spear. "That spot looks as good as any. Everybody, move!"
They moved, and Dorn saw that Priam was right. It was a bad hiding place. People could crouch down in the grass, but the horses and wagon stuck up over the top.
Father applied the brake, then climbed down to stand with the team. He stroked them and crooned to them, trying to keep them calm. Every few seconds, he fingered the hilt of the broadsword hanging at his side. He always wore it when he traveled, but Dorn had never seen him practice with it or even draw it from its bronze scabbard.
Mother led Dorn away from the wagon to hunker down on the ground.
"Now," she said to Dorn, "you just have to be very still." '
The boy's heart pounded in his chest, and his mouth was dry. He had to swallow before he could speak.
"Are we going to die?"
"No," she said. "The dragons may not come this way. Even if they do, they probably won't notice us or take any interest in us. We're just being safe."
"All right," he said, though he could tell she was acting more confident than she felt.
"One of them's swinging this way," said a black-bearded spearman.
"Bugger this," said another guard, a sharp-featured young man named Janx. "Let's scatter. It can't catch all of us."
"Yes, it can," Priam said. "It's fast enough. So, would you rather fight it by yourself or with your comrades beside you?"
"I'll wind up just as dead either way," said Janx, but he stayed put.
The next minute or two crawled by, and everything started happening very fast, or at least it felt that way. The approaching dragon changed course again to fly directly at the travelers. It swooped lower. Shivering despite the hot sun, Dorn could make out the color of its glinting scalesЧred like blood.
"When I tell you," Mother said, "I want you to run away through the grass, and whatever happens, don't look back."
"Priam saidЧ"
"That we mustn't scatter. But you're small, and you'll have a head start. The creature could easily overlook you."
"What about you and Father?"
"We'll be fine," she lied. He thought she'd never lied to him before that day, and suddenly she was doing it over and over. "We'll find you when the trouble's over."
"You aren't guards. You could run, too."
"Just do what I tell you."
Like some terrible shooting star, the dragon plunged down to just a few yards above the ground.
Until then, Dorn hadn't been able to tell how huge it actually wasЧhuge enough to make the humans before it look like mice scurrying about below a scarlet lion. Its amber eyes shone like molten lava, and its neck frills and wings were ash blue at the edges. It stank of sulfur and burning.
Despite Father's efforts, the horses went mad. They wrenched themselves free of his hold and nearly knocked him over as they wheeled to flee, dragging the wagon with its locked front wheels jolting along behind them. He let them go and unsheathed his sword.
A couple of the guards panicked and likewise tried to run. The red dragon turned its wedge-shaped head almost lazily, regarded them, then puffed out a jet of yellow flame at them. They dropped instantly, without so much as a scream, to lie withered and black among the beginnings of a crackling grass fire.
Priam threw his spear. It bounced off the scales on the wyrm's neck.
"Bring it down!" he shouted to the other guards, and they started casting their own lances.
"Now!" Mother said. "Run!"