"David Gemmell - Drenai Tales 05 - In the Realm of the Wolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

Ridge, and back along the old deer trail.
She was tiring now, heartbeat rising, lungs battling to supply oxygen to her
weary muscles. But still she pushed on, determined to reach the cabin before
the sun climbed to noon high.
The slope was slippery from last night's rain and she stumbled twice, the
leather knife-scabbard at her waist digging into her bare thigh. A touch of
anger spurred her on. Without the long hunting knife and the throwing-blade
strapped to her left wrist she could have made better time. But Father's word
was law, and Miriel did not leave the cabin until her weapons were in place.
'There is no one here but us,' she had argued, not for the first time.
'Expect the best - prepare for the worst,' was all he said.
And so she ran with the heavy scabbard slapping against her thigh, the hilt of
the throwing-blade chafing the skin of her forearm.
Coming to a bend in the trail she leapt the fallen log, landing lightly and
cutting left towards the last rise, her long legs increasing their pace, her
bare feet digging into the soft earth. Her slim calves were burning, her lungs
hot. But she was exultant, for the sun was at least twenty minutes from noon
high and she was but three from the cabin.
A shadow moved to her left - talons and teeth flashing towards her. Instantly
Miriel threw herself forward, hitting the ground on her right side and rolling
to her feet. The lioness, confused at having missing her victim with the first
leap, crouched down, ears flat to her skull, tawny eyes focusing on the tall
young woman.
Miriel's mind was racing. Action and reaction. Take control!
Her hunting knife slid into her hand and she shouted at the top of her voice.
The lioness, shocked by the sound, backed away. Miriel's throat was dry, her
heart hammering, but her hand was steady on the blade. She shouted once more
and jumped towards the beast. Unnerved by the suddenness of the move the
creature slunk back several more paces. Miriel licked her lips. It should have
run by now. Fear rose, but she swallowed it down.
Fear is like fire in your belly. Controlled, it warms you and keeps you alive.
Unleashed, it burns and destroys you.
Her hazel eyes remained locked to the tawny gaze of the lioness and she noted
the beast's ragged condition, the deep angry scar to its right foreleg. No
longer fast it could not catch the swift deer, and it was starving. It would
not -could not - back away from this fight.
Miriel thought of everything Father had told her about lions: Ignore the head
- the bone is too thick for an arrow to penetrate. Send your shaft in behind
the front leg, up and into the lung. But he had said nothing about fighting
such a beast when armed with but a knife.
The sun slid from behind an autumn cloud and light shone from the knife-blade.
Instantly Miriel angled the blade, directing the gleam into the eyes of the
lioness. The great head twisted, the eyes blinking against the harsh glare.
Miriel shouted again.
But instead of fleeing the lioness suddenly charged, leaping high towards the
girl.
For an instant only Miriel froze. Then the knife swept up. A black crossbow
bolt punched into the creature's neck, just behind the ear, a second slicing
into its side. The weight of the lioness struck Miriel, hurling her back, but
the hunting knife plunged into the beast's belly.