"Mel Odom - Forgotten Realms - Threat from the Sea Trilogy 03 - The Sea Devils" - читать интересную книгу автора (Odom Mel)

The music inside Pacys's head continued, mournful and hollow. He was certain the song would
stand in the memories of its listeners as strongly as the fall of Cormanthyr and the flight of the elves.
"There! Do you see it then?" one of the nearby mermen asked, pointing with the trident he held.
"That's the Taker's ship."
Pacys spotted the great galley cutting through the water. It was strange to see the big ship
completely submerged, yet moving like a great black shadow.
And somewhere aboard her, Pacys knew, the Taker savored his victory. The threat from the sea
was a threat no longer, and death now traveled through the world of Seros, powered by sharp fins and
devouring fangs.

I
4 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet
"What you want here, boy? Is it enough for ye to take a man's rightful belongings, or are ye gonna
cut an honest man's throat too?"
Jherek pressed the older man up against the back wall of the Bare Bosom and held a scaling knife
hard against the man's bewhiskered throat.
The man was in his early forties and his breath stank of beer. A skull and crossbones tattooed over
his heart advertised his chosen profession.
Jherek breathed hard, and struggled to keep his hand from shaking. Full night had descended over
the pirate city of Immurk's Hold hours ago. Clouds covered all but a handful of blue-white stars.
Shadows filled the narrow alley behind the tavern.
Even at nineteen, Jherek was bigger and broader than the pirate, his muscles made hard from years
of working as both shipwright and sailor. His light brown hair caught the silver gleam of the stars in the
highlights bleached by the sun, and hung past his shoulders now. His pale gray eyes belonged to a wolf
living in the wild. He wore leather armor under a dark blue cloak that reached to the tops of his boots. A
cutlass hung at his side.
"If it's me purse ye want," the pirate offered, swallowing hard, "yer gonna find it light tonight. I been
swilling old Kascher's homemade beer and dallying with them women what he keeps upstairs."
"I'm not after your purse," Jherek whispered. The very idea of robbing the man turned his stomach.
"Slice his damned throat."
Jherek cut his gaze over to the left, startled by the harshness of the words.
Talif stood near the building, fitting in neatly with the shadows. A sharp short sword was in his fist.
He was one of Captain Azla's pirate crew. The ship's hand had stringy black hair and a triangular face
covered with stubble.
"He lives-or we live. Which is it going to be?" Talif sneered.

Sabyna Truesail sat at a table in a hostel across the cobblestone street from the Bare Bosom and
tried to relax. Nothing worked; she still worried.
The hostel was small, and at this time of night most of the guests meandered over to the Bare
Bosom for more ribald festivities. The rest had called it a night in favor of an early morning. Sabyna,
Captain Azla of Black Champion, and Sir Glawinn-a paladin in the service of Lathander-were half the
crowd in the common room of the hostel. The scents of spiced meat and smoked fish warred against the
stench of pipeweed and bitter ale. The tavern crowd could be heard easily from across the street,
screamed curses mixed in with shouts of glee.
"I believe your attention would be better served elsewhere," Glawinn stated softly.
The paladin was middle aged but only a couple inches taller than Sabyna. He possessed a medium
build, but carried himself with confidence, every inch a soldier. His black beard was short-cropped.
Tonight he wore leather armor with a dark gray cloak over it. He used a brooch with Lathander's
morning sun colors to hold the cloak around his shoulders.
"Where should I look?" Sabyna asked.