"Eric Van Lustbader - Sunset Warrior 5 - Dragons on the Sea" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lustbader Eric van)

mysterious as the mist that enshrouded its shores. The Bujun were reclusive, master warriors who
preferred their own company. Many tales existed regarding the Bujun. One such insisted that they rode
through the skies astride great horned and winged dragons called Kaer'n.

Though Moichi was a master navigator, he had yet to fully grasp the intricacies and peculiarities of this
magnificent, superbly constructed Bujun vessel. As he rose, dizzy, blowing seawater from his nostrils, he
cursed the impatience that had led him to set out for home too soon and with an improper crew. He
staggered down the companionway to the mid-deck like an over-confident wrestler who, having stepped
into the ring, was only now realizing the hidden reserves that lay behind the obvious strength of sinew of
his opponent.

He risked a glance upward. There was no horizon. Instead, scudding clouds like angry bruises dipped to
meet the rising sea, creating an almost seamless whole, a vast, writhing beast within whose belly the ship
rocked and yawed dangerously. In every groan from the seasoned kyoki-wood timbers, from every pitch
the ship took in the ever darkening swells, from the precarious bowing of the masts before the shrieking,
gyring winds, his senses picked up the beginnings of the Tsubasa's death throes.

God bear witness, he berated himself, this would not have happened if I'd not been so involved
belowdecks. Aufeya! Even now his thoughts betrayed him, straying to the silkiness of her creamy skin,
the look of longing and love filling her copper eyes, the pleasure -sometimes gentle, other times fierce - of
their nights together in the captain's cabin.

Dammit, no! Moichi had been born to be master of the seas: a navigator. And now, as captain of his own
ship, he had at last achieved a lifelong dream. No storm, unnatural or no, would rip his new charge from
beneath his bootsoles. Oh no, he vowed, gripping the railing to regain his balance. By the Oruboros, the
great sea spirit who guides all mariners, I will not allow it!

The roiling clouds above his head mangled the murky periwinkle daylight into patches of shifting,
menacing shadow that raced across the ship's foundering flanks as if they were working in concert with
the angry sea in trying to pull it under.

The fittings howled in protest and the Tsubasa again shipped water dangerously. On Moichi's shouted
orders men ran, stumbling, toward the bilges, manning overworked emergency pumps. But the wind was
rising, sudden violent gusts like the claws of some evil-tempered beast making the tying off of the sails
almost impossible. Moichi tried to shout further instructions to his crew but the storm cried him down
hysterically.

The ship canted over, almost capsizing, and Moichi turned, heading back aft to the tiller. He was halfway
up the companionway when he heard a cracking from over his head like the sundering of a roofbeam. He
did not have to look up to know that the mizzen mast - the thinnest of the clipper's three masts - had
been bent past its breaking point and had splintered.

He launched himself up the companionway and raced across the shuddering deck. Unmindful of the
treacherous footing, he shoved men out of the way of the hardwood as it came crashing down in a bird's
nest of rigging and tackle. Nevertheless, one of the cross-trees struck the first mate across his face, his
flesh gashed open as he reeled backward, arms flailing in a vain attempt to right himself.

Moichi lunged after him, stretching to his full limit, slipping, then catching himself. His powerful fingers
encircled the mate's wrist as a combination of his own momentum and the violent motion of the ship sent
the man arcing over the side rail.