"Alan Dean Foster - Kingdoms of Light" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

For Murray Ball ... The Hogarth of Aotearoa Dog (and cats) included.




ONE




On the fertile, grassy plains of Nasid Huedril, where the fortified city of Kyll-Bar-Bennid sticks like a
rough gray thumb into the broad sweep of the glassy green river Drimaud, the armies of the Gowdlands
assembled to await the arrival of the Totumakk Horde. Yet for all the Horde's fierce fighting skills, for all
its rumored ruthlessness and raging brutality, it was not the Horde that the defenders of the Gowdlands
feared. Among their own steadily swelling number they could count numerous brave fighters and famed
warriors, skilled mercenaries and professional soldiers of considerable experience and ability. These
were men and women who cowered before no wielder of spear or swinger of sword. Only a name
struck fear into them. A name of the Unknown, a fearful shadow given substance only by reputation.

Khaxan Mundurucu.

Reputed monster, master, and soulless slayer of men and despoiler of women, it was said. The dark arts
were his province, the despair of others his pleasure. Human flesh sated his appetite and blood slaked his
thirst. Where his Horde passed, the land was laid waste and the earth oozed pus. It was believed that he
would not be content until all the civilized world cowered at his feet and licked the night soil from
between his toes. The foulness of his countenance was alleged to send strong men into shock, his touch
to cause convulsions in the most courageous of women. The gathering defenders of the Gowdlands drew
encouragement from the realization that no one individual, no matter how evil and depraved, could
possibly be the equal of such a reputation.

Little did they know the truth of the matter.

The promontory of Kyll-Bar-Bennid formed the gateway to the Gowdlands, with the city commanding
by far the best and most accessible of the approaches to the fertile territories farther east. Twelve bridges
spanned the river Drimaud, encouraging exchanges and facilitating commerce. In the months since the
first rumors of the approaching Horde had changed from a whisper to a roar, trade across the great river
had slowed to a crawl, and finally to barely a trickle. Now, with the advance body of the Horde so near,
the swollen flood of refugees had shrunk to a few last, terrified wagonloads.

A hard man to please, the stocky, silver-haired General Goughfree was quietly gratified by the decline.
The flight of civilians from the other side of the Drimaud made his work that much easier. Of the dozen
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html