"Andrew J. Offutt - Cormac 06 - The Undying Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

тАЬHARD A-PORT!тАЭ Cormac bawled.
At the same time, he pounced like a panther to FerdiadтАЩs oar. A mighty pull he gave that foremost oar, so
that the men behind him felt the sudden ease in their own pulling. Their lean captainтАЩs strength was
astonishing. The steersman had responded, and CormacтАЩs impulsive move added to the shipтАЩs sharp swerve.
Ferdiad sprawled; Lugh again straightened and launched an arrow. Like all others thus far, it found no fleshy
home.
The shipтАЩs stern was more effective. It crushed a carack in its swing. With a cry, one nearly naked Pict went
flying to splash, thrown twice the length of his own body. The other man of that boat was surely more
fortunate than brilliant; with a warriorтАЩs reflexes he was able to grasp the tiller even as his boat, spear, oar and
bow were lost to him.
Like most of his kind he was a short, dark man with long arms slung from prodigiously broad, meaty
shoulders. He clung fast to the tiller. The ship lurched. The steersman cursed. CormacтАЩs voice rose too,
cursing magnificently in two, then three languages.
тАЬThe fatherless dog clings to the tiller!тАЭ the steersman cried.
тАЬShake him off!тАЭ Cormac wrestled with his oar. тАЬUp oars and sweep: One... Two... Ferdiad! No!тАЭ
тАЬItтАЩs shaking him off IтАЩll be,тАЭ the hunter had muttered, and he rose to hurry sternward and put an arrow into the
clinging enemy.
Even as Cormac shouted his warning, FerdiadтАЩs right cheek sprouted a gout of blood and a flint arrowhead.
The shaft had entered his other cheek to smash through his mouth and pass completely through his. face.
Ferdiad was choking on his own blood even as he fellтАФonto the third starboard oar. Both that oarsmanтАЩs
curse and his look of horror were purely reflexive. Again Cormac too cursed; already chaos threatened, rising
and shaking its shoulders like a grim spectre over his ship.
Shouts arose both within the Irish vessel and on both sides now, and the ship wheeled insanely. Its oars
whipped back and forth less than a meter above water level.
To a god looking down from the dual vantage points of height and immortal lack of concern, the scene might
have been amusing.
The Irish ship was like a mighty horse, beset by a swarm of rabid cats. Already it had kicked oneтАФand been
scratched. Those to port had started to close just after their comrades on the far side, and then suddenly
their prey had swung about, like a mindlessly bucking stallion. It bore down upon them to divide their number
yet again or crush one of them under its hard hooves. Next it was bucking like an unbroken colt under its first
rider, swinging this way and that, oars lashing out like flying deadly hooves, while one tenacious attacker
clung to the hoof that was its tiller.
And now the ship lost momentum. Pictish yells rose triumphant on both sides. They howled like wolves now,
not cats.
тАЬStupid,тАЭ Cormac muttered, to none save himself. тАЬHad I known these men to be seasoned competents, and
Samaire not aboard, IтАЩd have ordered all oars shipped and allowed this attack, long ago!тАЭ
Now battle had been forced upon him, nor was he unhappy.
Jerking in his oar, he bellowed the order for the other rowers to do the same. Then the mail-coated Gael was
on his feet and snatching up spear and buckler. The sword at his side was a fine weaponтАФonce the enemy
had pressed in too close for good spear-work.
тАЬThe mad-dogs want to board!тАЭ he bawled. тАЬThe worse for them... EIR-R-R-R-RINN-N-N-NNNN!тАЭ
It was merely the first rallying shout that sprang into his mind; long a weapon man and a sea-roving reaver as
well, Cormac well knew the value to men of a battle cryтАФany battle cry. It was one more aid to the heating of
the blood.
Naturally the shout was instantly taken up by those about him, as would have been any but the most
ridiculous. The fire-eyed screamers included the short warrior in the studded leathern cap and strange high
boots whoтАЩd stood beside him... Samaire that warriorтАЩs name. Samaire of Leinster of Eirrin.
Weighted ropes flew. Some ended in grappling hooks. Others were knotted about stones, one of which sent a
son of Eirrin to his knees, clutching his arm. Then Cormac was beside him, his eyes terrible. Without
releasing either spear or buckler, the Gael boosted the jagged stone up with his bronze-bossed shield, lifted,