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

She gave Dorn a shove, and he obeyed her. He was too scared to do anything else.
Yet he didn't run far. Perhaps he didn't have it in him to abandon the only people he loved in the whole world, the only people who loved him. In any event, after a few strides, panting and shaking, he turned back around to see what was happening.
The scarlet dragon was on the ground, but not, as best Dorn could tell, because anyone had "brought it down." No one had yet succeeded in hurting it at all. It had simply chosen to land. It slashed with its claws and pulled Janx's insides out of his belly. Its gigantic jaws bit Priam's head off.
After that, there weren't any more guards. Just Father, holding his sword in an awkward two-handed grip, and Mother, sprinting to join him without any weapon at allЧ spending their lives to buy their son another moment to run.
Dorn couldn't bear such a sacrifice on his behalf. He had to stand with them, die with them. He ran back toward his parents and the dragon.
He was a fast runner, but not fast enough. Before he could close the distance, the wyrm caught Father in its fangs. It chewed him up and swallowed him down, spitting out the broadsword a moment later, the blade bent from the pressure of its jaws.
Mother snatched up the ruined weapon and hacked at the dragon with it. The reptile puffed malodorous flame into her face. She staggered a step and collapsed, her hair burning, the flesh of her head and shoulders running like melted candle wax.
Fists clenched, Dorn hurled himself at the wyrm. He never got a chance to hit it. It met him with a flick of its talons and hurled him to the ground.
To his surprise, he wasn't dead, but when he tried to get up, he couldn't. The throbbing pain started a second later.
He'd fallen with his face pointed toward his mother. He watched the dragon eat her, not gobbling her all at once as it had his father, but rather picking her apart and devouring her a piece at a time.
He could have shut his eyes. He still had that much control over his damaged body. But he chose to watch.
Something had changed in him. Agony and grief wracked him, but he wasn't afraid of the dragon anymore. Terror had given way to hatred, and he glared at it as if in the hope that his malice alone could kill it.
When it finished with his mother, it pivoted toward him.


Chapter One

16 Hammer, the Year of Rogue Dragons (1373 DR)

Kara jerked upright, and her wounded arm and shoulder throbbed. How long had she dozed? Long enough for the air to grow cold despite the miserly fire dying in the fieldstone hearth. Or perhaps it was the bleeding that made her feel a chill. Blood had soaked her tattered velvet sleeve and dripped down to spatter the sawdust strewn around the floor. The smell of it mixed with the ambient odors of eye-stinging smoke and stale beer.
Hoping to discover some sign of imminent assistance, the willowy woman with the flowing silver-blond hair peered around the taproom. No one was there but the same six surly-looking men she'd observed before, sipping their ale and watching her from the shadows. Alarmed, she raised a numb, trembling hand. Mandal, the taverner, a gaunt man with spiky, grizzled hair, ambled to her table. He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his shifty eyes.
"Patience, maid," he said. "The healer is surely on his way."
Well, he ought to be, Kara thought.
She'd promised Mandal a ruby brooch from her pouch if he would find help for her. Still, she was starting to wonder.
"Are you certain?" she asked.
"You saw the messenger leave to fetch him."
"But it's been a long while. Perhaps I should seek the temple myself."
She tried to rise, and dizziness assailed her. She might not have made it to her feet even if Mandal hadn't gripped her shoulder and held her down.
"You're too weak to walk anywhere," he said, "you don't know your way around Ylraphon, and these dark streets are freezing cold. Just wait. It will be all right."
"Very well."
In her dazed, depleted condition, acquiescence was easier than resistance, and in any case, maybe he'd offered good advice. Perhaps it was simply fear that made her feel it was folly to stay there. Though she'd suffered serious injury before, she had little experience of dread and the way it could unsettle one's judgment. Many things were changing, and none of them for the better.
"More mulled wine?" he asked.
She shook her head. The drink might warm her and ease her pain, but she was reluctant to dull her senses any further. Mandal shrugged and wandered off to huddle and whisper with his friends.
Then, at last, the door creaked open.
Kara wrenched herself around so quickly it gave her torn flesh an excruciating twinge. An instant later, she felt an even cruder pang of disappointment.
Two strangers stood framed in the doorway. The halfling, no larger than a human child, his heart-shaped face framed by curly black lovelocks, wore leather armor and carried a warsling and a curved, broad-bladed hunting sword. The tall and brawny man behind him sported what amounted to half a suit of iron plate armor affixed to the left side of his body. The uppermost portion conformed to the contours of his head, but lower down, the sleeves of metal encasing his arm and leg were so massive it was a wonder even such a giant could bear the weight. It made him look lopsided, with the knuckle spikes and claws jutting from his gauntlet further contributing to the appearance of grotesque asymmetry.
They looked around the grubby, cheerless tavern as if inclined to turn up their noses and go elsewhere. Then, however, the halfling noticed Kara, and frowning, hurried toward her.
"What happened?" he asked, concern evident in his clear tenor voice.
"I was attacked on the road just outside of town," she said.
She hoped he wouldn't press for details. She felt too weak and muddled to weave any more lies.
"You need help," he said, "and right now."
"We already took care of it," said the taverner. "A priest is on the way."
"You're sure? I have a friendЧ"
"We're sure," Mandal said.
"Well, even so, it will do no harm to fetch Pavel, also."
"I told you," the taverner said, "she's going to be fine, so why don't you run along and let her rest?"
"I'm not keen on being told to 'run along,'" the small stranger replied as his hand eased toward the staghorn hilt of his sword.
"What I'm telling you is this place is closed, to give the poor injured maid some peace and quiet."
Chairs scraped and squeaked as the tavern's other patrons pushed back from their tables. Plainly, if the halfling opted to defy the host, he'd have to reckon with the rest of the men as well.
The halfling looked to his companion and asked, "What do you think?"