"Stan Nicholls - Orcs First Blood 02 - Legion Of Thunder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nicholls Stan)

That was something else she hated about them. Now her loathingfound a purpose.
At the prow, she led her corps to meet the unorganised defenders. In seconds, invaders and protectors were flowing
into each other, the two sides instantly fragmenting into a myriad lethal skirmishes.
Merz magic, like the nyadds' own, was of the descry variety, and most often employed to hunt food or navigate the
deep. It had little martial importance. This was a battle to be fought with brawn and skill, blade and spear.
Giving off its keening song, a merzmale swooped in from above bearing a trident. The triple spikes drove deep into the
chest of the warrior beside her. Mortally wounded, the nyadd writhed and twisted so much that he tore the trident from
the merz's grasp. He sank from view clutching the spear and leaving a red trail.
His main weapon lost, the merzmale drew a knife, a miniature ver-sion of the trident, and turned his attention to her. He
lashed out. She avoided the blow. The force of the merz's action had its reaction, pro-pelling him to one side and
putting him into a half-spin. But he recov-ered quickly and returned to face her.
She swiftly seized the wrist of his knife hand. Then he saw that her knuckles were wrapped in leather thongs dotted
with sharpened metal dowels. He made a desperate grab for her free wrist. Too late. Still holding on to him with one
hand, she made a fist of the other and set to pummelling his midriff. At the precise instant she delivered the third
punch, she released her grip. The power of the blow impelled him away from her. He looked down at his flowing
lacerations, face wreathed in agony, and was swallowed by the chaos.
There were shreds of fishy tissue on her knuckle studs.
A movement at the corner of her vision made her turn. A merzmaidwas swimming at her, pointing a trident. With a
powerful surge of her muscular tail the nyadd shot upwards, narrowly escaping the charge. Unstoppable, the merzmaid
sailed into a knot of the nyadd's followers. They speared and slashed the life from her.
All around, fights raged; one on one, group against group. Everywhere, pairs of antagonists were locked in the
outlandish spiral dance, hands clamped to wrists, arms straining to plunge home a dagger. Grievous wounded dyed
the water; the dead were elbowed aside.
The nyadd vanguard was fighting on the redoubt itself. Some were battling their way into its entrances. She made to
join them.
A merzmale with blazing eyes darted in to block her. He held a toothed blade the length of a broadsword, with a
two-handed hilt. To counter the weapon's reach, she produced her own blade; shorter butacute as a scalpel. They
circled each other, oblivious to the melee on every side.
He lunged forward, intent on running her through. She dodged, batting his blade with her own, hoping to knock it free.
He held on to the weapon, quickly rallied and plunged it at her again. A pirouette movement turned her from the
blade's path. His outstretched arm was exposed. She struck out at it with a studded knuckle, managing only a glancing
blow but still slicing deep into flesh. Her foe was preoccupied enough to let her follow through with the blade. It found
his heart. There was an eruption of gore. Pulling loose the blade, she released a gush of ruby-coloured globs. Open
mouthed, the merz died.
She kicked away the corpse and returned her attention to the storming of the redoubt.
By now her swarm was all over it. Many had entered to complete the slaughter. In obedience to her orders, the
remaining merz were being brutally despatched and the enemy nest cleared. She swam past one of her warriors
strangling a thrashing merzmale with a chain while another nyadd stabbed at the victim with a spear.
Few merz remained alive. One or two survivors had fled and were swimming away, but she was content with that. They
would spread the word that colonising anywhere near her domain was a bad idea. As she looked on, the young of the
merz race were dragged from the redoubt and put to death, according to her instructions. She saw no point in letting
trouble brew for the future.
When the deed was done, and she was satisfied that the mission had been accomplished successfully, she ordered the
swarm to withdraw.
While heading away, accompanied by her minions, a warrior beside her pointed back to the redoubt. A pack of shony
were moving in to feast. These were long and sleek, with skins that glistened silvery blue.
Their mouths were impossibly long gashes which in side view parodied a smile. When opened, endless rows of sharp
white teeth were exposed. Their eyes were dead.
The creatures didn't unduly bother her. Why should they attack the swarm when they had an abundant supply of
ready-butchered meatavailable?