"Tim Lebbon - Dusk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lebbon Tim)

watched as their men plucked arrows from their quivers, strung, fired, strung and fired again. Each
arrow found its mark, and the nearer the man in red came to the militia, the more damage they did.

One shaft struck his throat and exited the back of his neck, carrying a stringy mess of gristle and veins
with it. The air was thick with blood. Kosar could not believe what he was seeing; the man should be
dead. He resembled a cactusтАФthere were two dozen arrows and bolts peppering his body, and more
hitting home every few secondsтАФand yet he walked. He swung his sword, hacked at the villagers, and
their bodies spilled blood into the dust. Kosar watched aghast as the man in red reached the militia. They
stood their ground as they were trained, wide-eyed and terrified. They took up their swords, engaged the
arrowed-peppered figure together and died together. One was split from throat to sternum by a twitch of
the blade, another lost his rampant genitals before his guts followed them to the ground. The third, mad
and brainwashed to the last, ran at the enemy with the intention of wrestling him into the dust. The robed
figure spun at the last instant, and the soldier was impaled on his own arrows.

With the militia dead, the massacre of the villagers began in earnest.

The man in red still wore the hood over his face. His hands barely seemed to move before another body
fell to the ground. And arrows and bolts still thrummed into him.

Time to leave, Kosar knew. He glanced at the bridge, queasy because he had not gone to help those


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children. But at least this way he still had the stomach to feel sick.

He turned and made his way along the trench on his hands and knees. Each splash in the shallow water
was accompanied by a scream from the village, or a groan, or the thud of another useless arrow finding
its mark. HeтАЩd seen some things in his time, some strange, some unpleasant, some weird and wonderful.
But he had never seen a man fighting with thirty arrows letting his blood and twisting up his insides.

He started to pant, and realized only then that he was panicking. The sounds from the village were
receding as he lay distance down behind him. They were worse than beforeтАФthe screams of children
once moreтАФbut they were quieter now. Certainly not easier to hear, but less of a threat.

Kosar paused for a moment and lifted his hands from the muddy water. The ground was clay here,
hardly ideal for planting crops but perfect for coating unwary crawlers with a bloodred deposit. He hung
his head until his long hair dipped in as well, perhaps willing himself to be bloodied. He had done
nothing. Those children on the bridge, innocent, ignorant only because their parents were ignorant, so
alive, so trusting . . .

He had done nothing.

тАЬOh Mage shit,тАЭ he whispered wretchedly.

The noise from the village stopped. No more screams. No more shouts. No more crossbows twanging,
arrows whistling through the air or swords met in sparkling fury. Nothing but the slow, methodical
footsteps of one man.