"David Gemmell - Druss 01 - Druss the Legend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

infant lay against one building, a bloodstain on the wall above showing how it
had been slain.
He found his father lying in the open with four dead
raiders around him. Patica was beside him, a hammer in her hand, her plain
brown woollen dress drenched in blood. Druss fell to his knees by his father's
body. There were terrible wounds to the chest and belly, and his left arm was
almost severed at the wrist. Bress groaned and opened his eyes. 'Druss. . . .'
'I am here, Father.'
'They took the young women. . . . Rowena . . . was
among them.'
'I'll find her.'
The dying man glanced to his right at the dead woman
beside him. 'She was a brave lass; she tried to help me. I should have . . .
loved her better.' Bress sighed, then choked as blood flowed into his throat.
He spat it clear. 'There is . . . a weapon. In the house . . . far wall,
beneath the boards. It has a terrible history. But. . . but you will need it.'
Druss stared down at the dying man and their eyes met.
Bress lifted his right hand. Druss took it. 'I did my best, boy,' said his
father.
'I know.' Bress was fading fast, and Druss was not a
man of words. Instead he lifted his father into his arms and kissed his brow,
hugging him close until the last breath of life rasped from the broken body.
Then he pushed himself to his feet and entered his
father's home. It had been ransacked - cupboards hauled open, drawers pulled
from the dressers, rugs ripped from the walls. But by the far wall the hidden
compartment was undiscovered and Druss prised open the boards and hauled out
the chest that lay in the dust below the floor. It was locked. Moving through
into his father's workshop, he returned with a large hammer and a chisel which
he used to pry off the hinges. Then he took hold of the lid and wrenched it
clear, the brass lock twisting and tearing free. Inside, wrapped in oilskin,
was an axe. And such an axe! Druss unwrapped it reverently. The black metal
haft was as long as a man's arm, the double heads shaped like the wings of a
butterfly. He tested the edges with his thumb; the weapon was as sharp as his
father's shaving-knife. Silver runes were inscribed on the haft, and though
Druss could not read them he knew the words etched there. For this was the
awful axe of Bardan, the weapon that had slain men, women, and even children
during the reign of terror. The words were part of the dark folklore of the
Drenai.
Snaga, the Sender, the blades of no return
He lifted the axe clear, surprised by its lightness
and its perfect balance in his hand.
Beneath it in the chest was a black leather jerkin,
the shoulders reinforced by strips of silver steel; two black leather
gauntlets, also protected by shaped metal knuckle-guards; and a pair of black,
knee-length boots. Beneath the clothes was a small pouch, and within it Druss
found eighteen silver pieces.
Kicking off his soft leather shoes, Druss pulled on
the boots and donned the jerkin. At the bottom of the chest was a helm of
black metal, edged with silver; upon the brow was a small silver axe flanked
by silver skulls. Druss settled the helm into place, then lifted the axe once