"David Gemmell - Stones Of Power 5 - Shannow 3 - Bloodstone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

when they had committed the abomination?' he quoted. Wo, they were not ashamed, and
could not blush.' The pistol in his right hand came up, the movement smooth, unhurried.
For a fraction of a second the huge raider froze, then he scrabbled for his own pistol. It
was too late. He did not hear the thunderous roar, for the heavy-calibre bullet smashed
into his skull ahead of the sound and catapulted him from the saddle. The explosion
terrified the horses, and all was suddenly chaos. The Preacher's stallion reared but he re-
adjusted his position and fired twice, the first bullet ripping through the throat of a lean,
bearded man, the second punching into the back of a rider who had swung his horse in a
vain bid to escape the sudden battle. A fourth man took a bullet in the chest and fell
screaming to the ground, where he began to crawl towards the low undergrowth at the
side of the road. The last raider, managing to control his panicked mount, drew a long
pistol and fired; the bullet came close, tugging at the collar of the Preacher's coat.
Twisting in the saddle, he fired his left-hand pistol twice, and his assailant's face
disappeared as the bullets hammered into his head. Riderless horses galloped away into
the night and he surveyed the bodies. Four men were dead; the fifth, wounded in the
chest, was still trying to crawl away, and leaving a trail of blood behind him. Nudging the
stallion forward, the rider came alongside the crawling man.
тАШI will surely consume them, saith the Lord.' The crawling man rolled over.
'Jesus Christ, don't kill me! I didn't want to do it. I didn't kill any of them, I swear it!'
'By their works shall ye judge them,' said the rider.
The pistol levelled. The man on the ground threw up his hands, crossing them over his
face. The bullet tore through his fingers and into his brain.
'It is over,' said the Preacher. Dropping the pistols into the scabbards at his hip, he turned
the stallion and headed for home. Weariness and pain overtook him then, and he slumped
forward over the horse's neck.
The stallion, with no guidance now from the man, halted. The rider had pointed him
towards the south, but that was not the home the stallion knew. For a while it stood
motionless, then it started to walk, heading east and out into the plains.
It plodded on for more than an hour, then caught the scent of wolves. Shapes moved to
the right. The stallion whinnied and reared. The weight fell from its back . . . and then it
galloped away.
 *
Jeremiah knelt by the sleeping man, examining the wound in the temple. He did not
believe the skull to be cracked, but there was no way of being sure. The bleeding had
stopped, but massive bruising extended up into the hairline and down across the
cheekbone almost all the way to the jaw. Jeremiah gazed down at the man's face. It was
lean and angular, the eyes deep-set. The mouth was thin-lipped, yet not, Jeremiah
considered, cruel.
There was much to learn about a man by studying his face, Jeremiah knew, as if the
experiences of life were mirrored there in code. Perhaps, he thought, every act of
weakness or spite, bravery or kindness, made a tiny mark, added a line here and there,
that could be read like script. Maybe this was God's way of allowing the holy to perceive
wickedness in the handsome. It was a good thought. The sick man's face was strong, but
there was little kindness there, Jeremiah decided, though equally there was no evil.
Gently he bathed the head wound, then drew back the blanket. The burns to the man's
arm and shoulder were healing well, though several blisters were still seeping pus.
Jeremiah turned his attention to the man's weapons. Revolvers made by the Hellborn,
single-action pistols. Hefting the first he drew back the hammer into the half-cock
position, then flipped the release, exposing the cylinder. Two shells had been fired.
Jeremiah removed an empty cartridge case and examined it. The weapon was not new. In