"S. M. Stirling & David Drake - The General 01 - The Forge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stirling S. M)

it, only the two men and their equipment.

Thom blinked for an instant; then his eyes widened and he
turned to run. Did run, one single step before freezing in place as
if turned to stone. Even his expression froze, and Raj could see
that his pupils shared the paralysis. The doorway that had been
Thom's goal hadтАж not closed, simply vanished; only the direction
of the living statue that had been his friend enabled Raj to tell it
from any other part of the smooth mirror curve. The light-pillar
in the center of the room blazed higher.

Raj fired, with his second finger on the trigger and the index
pointing along the barrel, the way the armsman had taught him:
at close range, you just pointed and pulled. The five shots rang
out almost as one, the orange muzzle flashes and smoke dazzling
his eyes. Almost as loud was the bang-whinnnng of the soft lead
bullets ricocheting and spattering off the diamond hard surfaces
of the room; they left no mark at all. Something struck Raj in the
foot with sledgehammer force, a bullet tearing off the heel of one
boot. A long tear appeared in the floppy tweed of Thom's
breechesтАж Then nothing, nothing except an acrid cloud of
dirty-white powder smoke that made Raj cough reflexively.

Raj's muscles seized halfway through the motion of reloading.
A voice spoke: not in his ears, but in his mind. Spoke with an
inhuman detachment that had a flavor of hard-edged crispness:

yes. yes, you will do very well.




Chapter Two
The floor had vanished, and the pillar of light. There was
nothing beneath him, although he could feel the pressure of
weight under his feet. The off-white haze of powder smoke
cleared rapidly, as if the air was being circulated without a
detectable breeze. Thom hung suspended also, still in the first
motion of flight, as if this was the Outer Dark where those who
rejected the Spirit of Man fell frozen forever.

He heard his throat trying to whimper, and that brought him
back to himself. He was a Whitehall of Hillchapel, and a soldier,
and a man grown. The worst this whatever-it-was could do was
kill him, and a paving stone in the riots could have done that. Or
a scropied in his boot on a hunting trip, or a Colonist bullet or a
Brigade bayonet. His soul only the Spirit could damn or save.

yes. excellent.
 "Who the Dark are you?" Raj said, trying for the tone his