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

only vaguely resembled a man. Though the band of soldiers tried to pin his
flailing limbs, Jimsin's body pitched to the ugly cadence of his screams.
Beside him, lying in a great un-moving heap, was the body of a wolf, its hide
punctured with a hundred stab wounds.
"Took it in the throat," said one of the group, a big ruddy man with the face
of a boy. As Richius bent over Jimsin, the big man knelt beside him.
"Careful," warned another. "It's bad."
The war wolf's teeth had ravaged Jimsin's throat, leaving a wound that ran
all the way up to the jaw. A mangled windpipe blew on tattered flesh. Jimsin's
eyes widened hopefully as he recognized Richius.
"Don't move, Jimsin," ordered Richius. "Lucyler, what the hell happened?"
"My fault," confessed Lucyler. "It was so dark. It was in the trench before I
saw it. Let me helpтАФ"
"Get back to the deck," snapped Richius. "Keep an eye out for them. All of
you, get back to the deck!"
 The big man passed Richius a soiled cloth. He wrapped it gingerly around
the oozing wound. The muffled echo of a scream escaped the ruined throat
and Jimsin's hands shot up, seizing Richius' wrists. Richius started to pull his
hands free then stopped himself, unwilling to release the pressure from the
wound.
"No, Jimsin," he said. "Dinadin, help me with him!"
Dinadin quickly pulled Jimsin's hands away, holding them down while
Richius worked to secure the bandage. The awful half-scream kept coming,
muffled now by the dirty rag. From the corner of his eye Richius noticed
Dinadin's blond head begin to turn.
"Are they coming?" Richius asked, already beginning to work more quickly.
"Not yet," said Dinadin. There was a note of mourning in his voice. By the
end of the day Jimsin would be lying next to Lonal. "God," Richius moaned.
"He's suffocating." Dinadin still had Jimsin's wrists. He fought to hold his
comrade down as blood gushed from the wound. Jimsin tried to scream
again, each cry sending another bloom of crimson into the bandage. The
high-pitched gurgles grew in urgency. Jimsin closed his eyes. A stream of
tears burst from beneath the lids. "Help him, Richius!"
"I'm trying!" said Richius desperately. If he removed the rag, Jimsin would
surely bleed to death. Leave the bandage, and he would suffocate. At last
Richius reached out and lightly touched Jimsin's tear-streaked face.
"Jimsin," he whispered gently, unsure if the man could hear him. "I'm sorry,
my friend. I don't know how to save you."
"What are you doing?" shouted Dinadin, releasing his grip on Jimsin. "Can't
you see he's dying? Do something!"
"Stop!" cried Richius, dropping down across the wounded man to hold him
still. Dinadin made to undo the bloody bandage, but Richius pushed him
aside. "Damn it, Richius, he can't breathe!" "Leave it!" Richius ordered. The
sharpness in his voice made Dinadin recoil. "I know he's dying. So let him die.
If you take away the rag he'll live a lot longer. Do you really want that?"
Dinadin's eyes were glassy and mute, like a doll's eyes. He sat stupefied as
Richius motioned him closer.
"You want to help him?" asked Richius. "Then hold him still. Be with him
when he dies."
"Richius..."