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

He was my brother, my consort, my other self. Wargod and goddess, we were
two, as War was invoked at the sacrificial altars of Rhylios.
"And the walls are strong," I agreed. "But far better to stop them here on the
beach, to drive them back to their ships. Look!" I cried, pointing toward the horizon.
Battle-eager, we fixed our eyes on the ocean. The serpent-prowed ships of the
enemy were visible in the distance, oars churning the white foam. They were lean,
fast, sea-raiders' ships, carrying war to the shores of Rhylios. And their god was
leading them.
This god was a serpent, its three heads on long-coiled necks, blue-scaled,
poison-fanged, hissing. I could see the red godlight flash from one of its eyes,
promising bloodshed and cruel death. It was War in a form I had never yet seen, dire
and monstrous. I shuddered to face such a thing, and around me I could feel
courage leach from the Rhylian warriors as they watched their enemies approach.
I recovered myself and shook off the pall of dread. There was need to strike,
now. I lifted up my bow, ivory and horn, banded in gold, beyond the strength of
mortals to bend. To the bowstring I fitted a gold-tipped arrow and drew it back.
High over the ocean the arrow flew, glinting in the sun, straight at the sea dragon. It
struck the monster in one of its sinuous necks, penetrating its blue-scaled armor.
The serpent-god's hiss of pain ripped through the air. My cry of triumph was like
a trumpet peal, and I could feel the sinking courage of the Rhylians revive, just as the
invaders on their rowing benches faltered.
"Well shot!" my consort exclaimed.
But the serpent twisted another of its heads to seize the arrow in its teeth and
draw it out. Its tail lashed the water in defiance, and the rowers took up their tireless
stroke once again.
There were fifteen ships, with thirty fighters to a ship, against three hundred
Rhylian warriors. But the invaders would be spent from their work at the oars while
the defenders had the advantages of home ground and their chariots. I glanced at the
Rhylian host for a sight of the king and frownedтАФwhy was his chariot back toward
the rear? Was not the king's place at the head of his host? But then Enyalios bent
over his chariot rim, pitching his voice for my ears alone. "Their weapons are iron."
Bronze blades and bronze armor would now be matched against iron. This new
factor entering into war could weight the odds against the Rhylians. But, then, they
would have all the more need for battle courage. Enyalios raised his gold-bladed
spear, and we urged our horses forward toward the enemy, the cheers of our
warriors following us.
And not only cheers. As the serpent-ships came within the range of mortal
bowmen, the Rhylian captains ordered their archers forward. Bows of wood and
horn were drawn back, and arrows flew toward the oncoming ships. The oarsmen
had the protection of the wooden planking, but here and there a cry of pain told of
an arrow finding its mark, and a few men tumbled from their benches.
"See how they fall!" Enyalios shouted aloud in encouragement. "Half of them
don't even have armor!"
The armor they did have was variousтАФwhatever they had looted from the bodies
of their victims, leather helmets nodding in unison with battered, tarnished bronze.
The invaders were swarthy men, muscled from life at the oars, a life of hardship and
piracy. Despite the Rhylian arrows, they came on, their oarstrokes barely checked.
Then the first serpent-prow was cutting through the surf, and oars were rising up,
and men were vaulting over the sides to bring it onto the beach. But the Rhylians
were ready for them. Shouting their battlecries, they charged in a mass to meet the