"Christopher Rowley - Bazil 05 - A Dragon At World's End" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rowley Christopher)

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A Dragon at World's End by
Christopher Rowley
Prologue
It was a wet day, and cold due to an incessant wind off the sound. The
crowd was heavy, all the way up Tower Street, despite the rain. Folk from
all the provinces had come to stand there. Aubinan grain farmers,
fishermen from Seant, and sheepmen from Blue Stone, they were all cheek
by jowl with the natives of the white city under a mass of dark gray
umbrellas, come to welcome the army home.

In fact, the Legion had landed two weeks before, but this was the
official welcome and march of remembrance, to consecrate the memorial
to the dead that was to be built on Tower Hill. It was an opportunity for
the common people of Marneri to show their support for the men and
dragons that had been sent so farтАФhalfway around the world, in factтАФand
asked to risk their lives for the greater good of all mankind.

Up the hill, to the tap of the drum, came the dark columns. Serried
spear points packed the wide street and the ranks that went by were filled
with the trained, professional soldiery of the Empire of the Rose. The
hearts of the people could not fail to be uplifted at the sight. No better
troops existed in all the world. But of the units that had gone to Eigo, the
ranks were thin and the uniforms under the blue capes and freecoats were
tattered. With this sight came the rendings of heartbreak, for there was
scarcely a village without loss from this mission.

The regiments came on steadily through the expectant hush, long files
of men followed by squadrons of dragons, each with his dragonboy
marching alongside. The dragons loomed in the rain like terrifying
apparitions, true monsters of war, with their enormous swords riding on
their shoulders, their helmets glistening in the rain. In their lumbering,
steady progression they seemed to embody the Argonath's determination
and strength. With heavy-footed, swaying tread they passed, and men
from villages far and wide were left grieving at the losses among the
dragons, too.

Folk from the village of Quosh, in Bluestone, a dragon village with a
long record of service, had come up to pay their respects. Farmer Pigget
and his family were there, as were most of the other leading men, like Avil
Benarbo and Tomas Birch. When the 109th Dragon Squadron hoved up,
following at the rear of the 8th Regiment, Second Legion, their eyes fixed
sadly on the empty space left for the Broketail dragon. There were sobs