"Mel Odom - Forgotten Realms - Threat from the Sea Trilogy 02 - Under Fallen Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Odom Mel)

Swimming effortlessly, the morkoth descended till it could touch him. The creature slid its heavy
pincer against the side of Flyys's face. He felt the hard chitin graze his cheek with almost enough force to
break his skin. Still, it wasn't close enough. He stared into first one bulbous eye, then the other as the
morkoth dropped down and seemed almost to embrace him.
Moving lithely, with all the skill he'd had the chance to acquire in his handful of years, Flyys gripped
the tapal's center handle and spun the weapon around so that it lay along his arm. Before the morkoth
could move, confident that it had him in its thrall, the young triton raised his hands with the keen blade
wrapped around the outside of his arm.
Flyys punched forward with all his strength. He felt the tapal's blade bite into flesh, and blood
swirled into the water around him, obscuring his vision. Still, he saw the morkoth's head leave its
shoulders and float away. The head glanced off one of the claw coral spires, shearing away flesh in a long
strip. Before it had a chance to settle into the silt, the nearby small scavengers were already at work.
 The other morkoth gathered, drawing closer.
Flyys shrugged the tapal through the water to spread the blood cloud out farther and tried not to be
sick. The morkoth was his first kill. The young triton had never expected to experience the nausea that
filled him as his gills drew in the bloodstained water. The taint of old copper raced through his breathing
passages. He glanced up at the approaching morkoth group and set himself. The numbness that had
threatened to fill his body had left as soon as the morkoth died.
"Hold!"
The great voice filled the surrounding area. Immediately, the morkoth drew back, opening the way
for another morkoth which descended upon the young triton's refuge.
Flyys studied the newcomer. The young triton's fear tripled when he noticed the human-shaped
hands at the ends of the morkoth's four arms. Where the pincers signified the warrior class among the
kraknyth, human-shaped hands nearly always denoted a morkoth mage.
Flyys's education included lessons in spellcraft as well as warcraft. So far he'd only learned the spell
for identifying magical things, to better search the wrecked ships that the surface dwellers lost in battles
and storms. All Serosian races that worked magic raided the fallen ships surface dwellers didn't ransack
themselves, or lose in the currents. Flyys had been told his own magic was strong and that his potential
would be marked by the mages in Pumanath.
"Ignorant whelpling," the morkoth snarled in a voice hoarse with age. Taking a small piece of metal
from the conch shell belted at its side, the morkoth mage gestured and spoke arcane words Flyys didn't
know. The metal flamed despite the surrounding water, disappearing into a haze of blackened bubbles
that roiled to the surface.
Flyys felt the spell slam into his body, vibrating along his bones. He couldn't move, couldn't blink. At
first he thought he'd been struck dead, then he realized his heart still hammered in his chest and his gills
still drew in water.
"Get him," the morkoth mage commanded.
One of the morkoth warriors swam down and wrapped two of its tentacles around Flyys's upper
body. Though he fought against the spell, the young triton remained bound.
Frozen in place, he watched helplessly as the morkoth swam to the surface with him.
The shadow of a ship lay heavily on the turquoise water, sketching its shape along the surface. He
recognized it as a cog, a craft well designed for trading along the shores of Seros. Turned to float partially
on his back, Flyys saw sailors clustered along the side. A net was quickly lowered, then he and the
morkoth mage were drawn up.
The young triton fought to regain the use of his limbs, but couldn't. He knew from his studies that the
spell he was under wouldn't last long, but it lasted long enough for the sailors to secure him to the
mainmast with loops of rope.
As the sailors finished their knots, feeling returned to Flyys's body. He pulled hesitantly against the
ropes and found them too tight to escape. Under the glare of the morning sun and left out in the breeze,
his skin started drying almost at once.