"John Marco - Tyrants and Kings 1 - The Jackal of Nar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marco John)

safety. They don't cry out when wounded, but crawl away alone while we
pick at them with arrows. And when they die they do it silently. Lucyler says
they are madmen, and sometimes I cannot doubt it. It is hard for us from
Nar to understand these Triin and their ways, even with Lucyler's help. He
is not very religious, but there are times when he is as inscrutable as any
Drol. Still, I am always thankful for him. He has taught me much about his
strange people. He has helped me see them less as monsters. If I ever get
home, if this damn civil war ever ends, I will tell my father about Lucyler
and his folk. I will tell him that we of Nar have always been wrong about
the Triin, that they love their children just as we do, and that they bleed red
blood despite their pale skin. Even the Drol.
This valley has become a trap for us. I haven't told the men yet, but I don't
think we can keep the Drol from Ackle-Nye much longer. Voris has been
pushing hard. He knows we are weak. If more men don't come soon we will
certainly be overrun. I've sent a message to Father but have yet to hear a
reply, and I don't think one will be forthcoming. We haven't had supplies
from home for weeks, so we've started hunting for our own food. Even the
hard army bread has spoiled from keeping too long. We've been throwing it
out of the trenches to keep the rats away. Spoiled meat and bread doesn't
seem to bother vermin, and while they feed we are free of them. But we are
also slowly starving, for even in this valley we can't hunt enough meat to
keep us all fed. Perhaps Father doesn't know how bad it is for us, or
perhaps he no longer cares. Either way, if help doesn't come soon we'll be
fighting our final battle in Ackle-Nye and then it will be done. And Voris
will have beaten me.
The Drol of the valley have taken to calling me Kalak. Lucyler told me it's
time for "The Jackal." They are bold about it, too. I can hear them shouting
it in the woods, taunting me, hoping to lure us out of the trenches. When
they attack they yell it like a battle cry, swinging their jiiktars and screaming
Kalak as they fall upon us. But I prefer this battle cry to the one they always
yelled before. To hear them cry the name of Voris reminds me of his loyal
wolves and the long nights ahead.
Lonal died in this morning's raid. No one seems to know how the Drol
who killed him got so close to the cannon, but by the time I saw him it was
hopeless. I had to take the cannon myself, so quickly I couldn't even help
him. He lived for a bit after he was struck, but his arm had been taken off
and the men who dragged him away had left it there, and didn't notice it
until the raid was over. Dinadin and I buried Lonal in the back trench, and
Lucyler said some words neither of us understood. Lonal liked Lucyler, and
I doubt a Triin prayer would have bothered him. But we are bothered that
our friend has been buried like a dead horse in the corner of this foreign
valley. When I return home I'll have to tell Lonal's parents how he died, but
I won't tell them how his body is moldering in a mass grave, and I won't tell
them that a Triin who was his friend said a prayer over him.
Any Triin prayer, Drol or not Drol, would be an insult to them. It is Triin
prayers that have caused all this. We are dying because of their prayers.
Dinadin is quiet now. I've never known him to be so damaged by the
death of a friend. Back home he was always the loud one, but things here
have made him thoughtful. After we buried Lonal, he told me that we
should leave the valley, leave these Triin to slaughter themselves. We've all