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

invaders.
I urged them on, reveling in the clash of arms. Godlight flashed from my armor as
I quickened their souls with courage. The fighting was hand to hand, with confusion
greater every moment as more ships pulled onto the beach and engaged the
defenders.
Spears thrust down from chariots, javelins and arrows flew through the air,
swords slashed out. Bronze spearpoints were thrust through leather and flesh, iron
swords penetrated bronze armor. Already there were bodies rolling lifeless in the
surf, their blood staining the foam.
But even as the Rhylians fought, they were learning that this was a kind of warfare
new to them. It was not only the iron blades of the invaders that made the difference.
This enemy cared nothing for the formal combat of heroes, as Ajax had fought
Hector beneath the walls of Troy. There would be no battle trophies won on this
beach, no quarter given, no ransomed prisoners, no truce to tend the wounded and
bring the bodies of the dead to honor. Only butchery and slaughter and death.
We could feel Rhylian courage begin to erode as the serpent-god fed the
bloodlust of the invading enemy. Enyalios raised his spear, its golden blade glowing
with godlight. Straight at the god-monster his chariot charged, at fifty feet of
writhing, scaled frenzy. Its three heads darted back and forth, its tail lashed, spraying
sand. His arm drew back as he thundered past, then thrust the spear, piercing one of
the serpent's heads through the throat, transfixing its jaw. The hiss of rage and pain
made both sides start with horror for an instant, until the Rhylians, heartened,
pressed their advantage.
The serpent seized the spearshaft with one of its other heads, clamped its jaws
down until the wood splintered and broke in half, leaving the spearhead still
embedded.
By then Enyalios had wheeled his chariot around and taken up another spear. He
charged once more, but this time the dragon twisted aside and the spearthrust slid
harmlessly along its armored scales. And as the horses charged past, it struck,
venomous fangs clashing against my consort's golden breastplate. He staggered, and
then the serpent-god's coils were around him, dragging him out of the chariot.
I felt the shock like the sundering blow of an axe as the coils crushed his armor,
broke his back, as the deadly fangs sank into his throat and life drained from my
other self. My knees went weak, and I sagged for an instant against my chariot rim.
Eyes glowing red with triumph, the serpent-god reared high, to show the Rhylians
the lifeless body of their wargod clenched in its jaws.
Panic seized them, and his brother, Rout, the sons of War. Everywhere on the
beach Rhylians were throwing down their weapons and fleeing from the battlefield,
the triumphant enemy at their backs, cutting them down as they ran to escape the
slaughter.
No! Shouting to my horses, I charged toward the god-monster, drawing back my
bow. The gold-tipped arrow flew, straight for the serpent-god's blue scaled throat.
And I watched, in utter dismay, as it shattered harmlessly against the armored scales.
The battle was lost. The demoralized Rhylians fled toward the safety of their
walls. I could see the chariot of the king being led from the battlefield by his captain,
Eteokles.
But there were others whose courage had not deserted them, still fighting a
rear-guard action. That was my place, to hearten them as well as I still could with my
diminished power while they held off the enemy until the rest could make it through
the gates. Only when the last warrior had joined the retreat did I abandon the