"Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 2 - The Golem's Eye" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stroud Jonathan)

At their head, soaring on the updrafts of a sudden ferocious wind, came the djinn, armored in
red and white, carrying slender pikes with silver tips. Their wings hummed; their screams made the
tower shake. Below, on foot, a ghostly multitude: the horlas with their carved bone tridents, skipping
into the huts and houses outside the walls in search of prey. [6] Beside them, vague shadows flitted,
ghuls and fetches, wraiths of cold and misery, insubstantial on every plane. And then, with a great
chattering and champing of jaws, a thousand imps and foliots rose from the earth like a dust storm or
a monstrous swarm of bees. All these and many others came a-hurrying toward the Strahov Gate.

[6] They found no one, as their disappointed keening soon attested. The suburbs were deserted. Almost as
soon as the British army crossed the Channel, the Czech authorities had begun preparing for the inevitable attack
on Prague. As a first precaution, the population of the city was removed to within the wallsтАФwhich, incidentally,
were the strongest in Europe at the time, a marvel of magical engineering. Did I mention I had a hand in their
construction?

The frog tapped my elbow. "Good job you had a word with us, sir," he said. "I'm
overwhelmingly confident now, thanks to you."

I scarcely heard him. I was staring far off beyond the terrible host, to a low rise near the domed
white tents. A man was standing on it, holding up a stick or a staff. He was too remote for me to take
in many details, but I could sense his power all right. His aura lit up the hill about him. As I watched,
several lightning bolts speared from the boiling clouds, impaling themselves upon the tip of the
outstretched staff. The hill, the tents, the waiting soldiers, were briefly lit, as if by day. The light went
out, the energy absorbed into the staff. Thunder rolled about the beleaguered city.

"So that's him, is it?" I muttered. "The famous Gladstone."

The djinn were nearing the walls now, passing over waste ground and the wrecks of newly
dismantled buildings. As they did so, a buried hex was triggered; jets of blue-green fire erupted
upward, incinerating the leaders where they flew. But the fire died back, and the rest came on.

This was the trigger for the defenders to act: a hundred imps and foliots rose from the walls,
uttering tinny cries and sending Detonations toward the flying horde. The invaders replied in kind.
Infernos and Fluxes met and mingled in the half dark; shadows looped and spun against the flares of
light. Beyond, Prague's fringes were aflame; the first of the horlas thronged below us, trying to snap
the sturdy Binding spells that I'd used to secure the walls' foundations.

I unfurled my wings, ready to enter the fray; at my side, the frog swelled out its throat and
uttered a defiant croak. The next instant a looping bolt of energy stabbed from the magician's staff far
off on the hill, arced through the sky and smashed into the Strahov Gate tower, just below the
battlements. Our Shield was ruptured like tissue paper. Mortar and stone shattered, the roof of the
tower gave way. I was blown spinning into the airтАФand fell, almost to earth, colliding heavily with a
cartload of hay bales that had been drawn inside the gates before the siege began. Above me, the
wooden structure of the tower was on fire. I could not see any of the sentries. Imps and djinn milled
about confusedly in the sky above, exchanging bursts of magic. Bodies dropped from the sky, igniting
roofs. From nearby houses, women and children ran screaming. The Strahov Gate shook with the
scratching of the horlas' tridents. It would not hold for long.

The defenders needed my help. I extricated myself from the hay with my usual haste.

"When you've picked the last bit of straw from your loincloth, Bartimaeus," a voice said, "you're