"Tim Lebbon - Dusk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lebbon Tim)
The village was in turmoil. A woman screamed when she saw the devastation on the bridge, and others
soon took up her cry. Men emerged from doorways clutching crossbows and swords. Children ran along
the street, their eyes widening with a terrible curiosity when they saw their dead friends. Goats and
sheebok scampered through the dust, startled to the ends of their tethers, crying and choking as leather
leads jerked them to a standstill. The man in red walked on, the robe still tight around his body, hood
over his head. From this angle Kosar could see only his back, and for that he was glad. From the glimpse
he had caught of the red face, he had no desire to see beneath that hood again.
A woman, mad with grief, tried to run past the man to hug her dead child. His arm snaked out and buried
the sword in her stomach. He jerked it free without breaking his step, the womanтАЩs blood splashing his
robe. Her scream wound down like an echo in a cave. There was another shout from the village, and the
whistle of a crossbow bolt boring the air.
It struck the man in the shoulder. He paused momentarilyтАФ
This is when he goes down, Kosar thought, and then theyтАЩll fall on him and heтАЩll be torn to shreds.
тАФand then continued on his way. The bolt protruded from his shoulder, pinning the cloak tighter to his
body. The shooter reprimed his crossbow, loaded another bolt and fired again, his eyes blinded with
grief but his aim still true. This one struck the man in the face. Again he paused, his head snapping back
with the impact. And again he went on his way once more. His pace increased, dust kicking up from
beneath his red robe, clotted black with his own spilled blood.
Dusk
Someone stumbled from the door of the brothel farther along the street. It was one of the three militia,
naked, flushed and erect from his regular afternoon dose of rhellim, yet still of sound enough mind to
bring his longbow with him. A whore staggered out after him, frenzied from rhellim overdose, grabbing
at the soldierтАЩs crotch even as he strung an arrow and sighted on the red-robed man. He nudged the
whore aside with his knee. She sprawled in the dust and shouted her rage up at him. The soldier let loose
his arrow.
It thudded into the man and burst from his back. He stood for a moment like a red butterfly pinned to the
air. The first man with the crossbow ran at him, raising his weapon to strike the murderer around the
face, but the aggressor moved so quickly that Kosar barely saw the sword shimmer through the air. The
crossbow spun across the road and into the stream, closely followed by its ownerтАЩs head, mouth still
wide in a silent scream.
Another bolt struck home, fired from somewhere beyond KosarтАЩs field of view. Another, then another.
The man barely paused this time, as if becoming used to the impact of wood and iron, his body adjusting
itself around the alien objects puncturing and shredding it. He reached the tavern where the regular
drinkers were stirring from thoughtless slumber and slaughtered all six of them. He did so slowly,
seeming to relish every thrust and slice of his sword, oblivious to the bolts and arrows pounding into his
red-robed body.
The other two militia had emerged from the brothel and all three now stood in the street, ridiculously
naked and sweat-soaked and hard on rhellim. The whores huddled back against the brothel wall and
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