"George R. R. Martin - Ice Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

through, on his way to the king," she told them. "The enemy won some big
battle, and he's to ask for reinforcements. He said our army is retreating."
Their father frowned, and worry lines creased his brow. "Did he say
anything of the king's dragonriders?" Arguments or no, Hal was family.
"I asked," Teri said. "He said the dragonriders are the rear guard.
They're supposed to raid and burn, delay the enemy while our army pulls back
safely. Oh, I hope Uncle Hal is safe!"
"Hal will show them," Geoff said. "Him and Brimstone will burn 'em all
up."
Their father smiled. "Hal could always take care of himself. At any
rate, there is nothing we can do. Teri, if any more messengers come through,
ask them how it goes."
She nodded, her concern not quite covering her excitement. It was all
quite thrilling.
In the weeks that followed, the thrill wore off, as the people of the
area began to comprehend the magnitude of the disaster. The king's highway
grew busier and busier, and all the traffic flowed from north to south, and
all the travellers wore green-and-gold. At first the soldiers marched in
disciplined columns, led by officers wearing golden helmets, but even then
they were less than stirring. The columns marched wearily, and the uniforms
were filthy and torn, and the swords and pikes and axes the soldiers carried
were nicked and oftimes stained. Some men had lost their weapons; they limped
along blindly, empty-handed. And the trains of wounded that followed the
columns were often longer than the columns themselves. Adara stood in the
grass by the side of the road and watched them pass. She saw a man with no
eyes supporting a man with only one leg, as the two of them walked together.
She saw men with no legs, or no arms, or both. She saw a man with his head
split open by an axe, and many men covered with caked blood and filth, men who
moaned low in their throats as they walked. She _smelled_ men with bodies that
were horribly greenish and puffed-up. One of them died and was left abandoned
by the side of the road. Adara told her father and he and some of the men from
the village came out and buried him.
Most of all, Adara saw the burned men. There were dozens of them in
every column that passed, men whose skin was black and seared and falling off,
who had lost an arm or a leg or half of a face to the hot breath of a dragon.
Teri told them what the officers said, when they stopped at the inn to drink
or rest; the enemy had many, many dragons.
For almost a month the columns flowed past, more every day. Even Old
Laura admitted that she had never seen so much traffic on the road. From time
to time a lone messenger on horseback rode against the tide, galloping towards
the north, but always alone. After a time everyone knew there would be no
reinforcements.
An officer in one of the last columns advised the people of the area to
pack up whatever they could carry, and move south. "They are coming," he
warned. A few listened to him, and indeed for a week the road was full of
refugees from towns further north. Some of them told frightful stories. When
they left, more of the local people went with them.
But most stayed. They were people like her father, and the land was in
their blood.
The last organized force to come down the road was a ragged troop of