"Brian Jacques - Redwall 10 - The Long Patrol" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jacques Brian)

Brian Jacques

and boulder into play. Circling, tugging, tripping, and stumbling, they
scattered sand and pebbles widespread, biting and kicking when they got the
opportunity, each knowing that only one would walk away alive from the
encounter. Then Byral saw his chance. Hopping nimbly back, he stretched the
foot-paw rope to its limits and swung at Damug's head with the boulder-loaded
cord. It was just what Damug was waiting for. Grabbing his club in both paws,
he ducked, allowing the cord to twirl itself around his club until the rock
clacked against it. Then Damug gave a sharp tug and the cord snapped off short
close to Byral's paw.

A gasp went up from the spectators. Nobeast had expected the cord to
snapтАФexcept Lugworm. Byral hesitated a fatal second, gaping at the broken
cordтАФand that was all Damug needed. He let go of his club, tossed a swift
pawful of sand into his opponent's face, and swung hard with his cord and
boulder. The noise was like a bar of iron smacking into a wet side of meat.
Byral looked surprised before his eyes rolled backward and he sank slowly onto
all fours. Damug swung twice more, though there was little need to; he had
slain his brother with the first blow.

A silence descended on the watchers. Damug held out his paw, and Lugworm
passed him a knife. With one quick slash he severed the rope holding his
footpaw to Byral's. Without a word he strode through the crowd, and the massed
ranks fell apart before him. Straight into his father's death tent he went,
emerging a moment later holding aloft a sword. It had a curious blade: one
edge was wavy, the other straight, representing land and sea.

The drums beat out loud and frenzied as the vast Rapscallion army roared their
tribute to a new Leader: "Damug War-fang! Firstblade! Firstblade! Firstblade!"

Some creatures said that Russa came from the deep south, others thought she
was from the west coast, but even Russa could not say with any degree of
certainty where she had come from. The red female squirrel had neither family
nor tribe, nor any place to call home: she was a wanderer who just loved to
travel. Russa Nodrey, she was often called, owing to the fact that squirrels'
homes were called dreys and she did not have one, hence, no drey.

Nobeast knew more about country ways than Russa. She could live where others
would starve, she knew the way in woods and field when many would be
hopelessly lost. Neither old- nor young-looking, quite small and lean, Russa
carried no great traveler's haversack or intricate equipment. A small pouch at
the back of the rough green tunic she always wore was sufficient for her
needs. The only other thing she possessed was a stick, which she had picked up
from the flotsam of a tide line. It was about walking-stick size and must have
come from far away, because it was hard and dark and had a luster of its
ownтАФeven seawater could not rot or warp it.

Russa liked her stick. There was no piece of wood like it