"Lois Tilton - Avatar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tilton Lois)

AVATAR
Lois Tilton
The king of Rhylios stood at the altar to invoke the aid of War. He was arrayed in
bronze corselet and greaves, but helmetless, a wreath of bay leaves around his
forehead.
Smoke rose from the altar. The sacrifice was a black horse, a flawless young
stallion. It is rare in these times to lay a maiden on the altar or a captive taken in
battle, yet these also are proper sacrifice to War, whether worshipped as Ares or by
some other name.
But now Rhylios summoned its wargods, and we answered: I, dread Enyo the
sacker of cities, and my brother-consort, warlike Enyalios. Our panoply was
goldтАФgold corselet and greaves, gleaming helmets with tall black crestsтАФas it had
been two generations past, when the Achaians brought war to the walls of Troy.
The knife fell from the king's hand as he covered his eyes, dazzled by the
godlight. The palace courtyard fell silent, except for the hissing of flames on the
altar.
Then our voices rang out like war trumpets, echoing off the stones: "Take up
your spears, Rhylians! Harness your chariots! The enemy's ships are in sight. Meet
them on the beaches and spill their blood onto the sand! Make their shades in Hades'
realm curse the day they sailed to Rhylios!"
The Rhylian warriors heard the voice of War and responded with their battlecries,
striking their shields with spearshafts.
I glanced at the altar where the king, Alektryon, stood with his captains, his face
flushed with battle fever. He was young, I noticedтАФhis beard was still soft.
Then he stepped up into his waiting chariot and raised his hands for silence. "The
wargods are with us!" he shouted. "Victory to Rhylios!"
"Victory!" the warriors echoed, as the king took up his bronze helmet, red crest
nodding, and lowered it onto his head. Battle fever was heating their blood, driving
out the doubts and fears of mortals about to come face to face with death.
Then the trumpets sounded, and the captains ordered the warriors to form up in
battle order. There was the clatter of hooves and wheels on the flagstones as chariot
drivers whipped their teams forward into position. Bronze-armored heroes settled
their shields into place, gripped their weapons. The foot soldiers swung their
spearshafts up to their shoulders, bronze blades in ranks like a bright palisade.
The city gates swung open, and the Rhylians rode out to the sound of trumpets,
foot soldiers marching behind the chariots. It was a stirring sight. Women and
children stood in the streets and on the walls, cheering their heroes as they went to
meet the invading enemy.
 I glanced back toward the whitewashed city, grapevines shading the courtyards of
its houses. Ahead, in the dark green water of the harbor, merchant ships were lying,
wide-beamed vessels incapable of engaging the enemy's lean warships. War had
been long absent from Rhylios. Did these merchants remember that, generations
past, their ancestors had breached other walls on this site and conquered the people
who had built them? Did they remember the sacrifices they had made then, to War
and Strife, sackers of cities? Now the walls were their own.
I spoke to Enyalios, who drove his gold chariot alongside my own. "This time
they defend."
"Their weapons are still sharp," he replied. "Their captains seem to know what
they're doing. And it always helps to stiffen a warrior's backbone when he's fighting
to save his own home."