Read Online The Last Ringbearer by Kirill Yeskov - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kirill Yeskov
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Looks like I managed to grab my quarry by the very tail. Way I see it, they’re heading for that highway outpost that the Baron had mentioned. I figure that it’s no more than five or six miles away, and we won’t be able to get at them there. So here’s the plan …”
Here the sands of the erg bordered the western edge of a large hamada of many a square mile – a silent sea rolling its waves onto a grim stony beach. The largest wave was, appropriately, right against the shoreline – a huge dune stretching half a mile each way from a fire burning at the middle of its foot. The Elf had chosen his campsite wisely, with the forty-foot dune slope in the back and the flat expanse of the hamada in the front; the two lookouts placed twenty yards to the north and the south of the fire along the bottom of the dune fully covered all lines of possible attack. Not much fuel around here, but saxaul burns long and hot, almost like coal; a dozen arm-thick logs from every member of the party will provide enough warmth to last the night.
What if it’s a trap? Haladdin wondered suddenly. Sure, Tzerlag had sniffed out everything around, but aren’t these guys too carefree? Never mind the fire, it’s only visible from the hamada where no one is supposed to be, but the fact that the sentry goes to the fire to add fuel and warm himself a little – that’s total madness, he can’t see anything in the dark for at least three minutes afterwards … It was during one such departure of the southern sentry that they had crept to within twenty paces of his position. The scout had left them there and melted into the dark: he was supposed to go around the camp by the way of the hamada and creep up to the northern sentry. No, he restrained himself; no need to fear your own shadow. It’s just that they’ve grown so unaccustomed to meeting resistance that guarding the camp is a formality to them. Besides, it’s their last night out on patrol, tomorrow it will be baths, drink, and all that … plus a bonus for every Orc ear … I wonder if children’s ears bring the same bounty or are a bit cheaper? Stop it! Stop it right there! He bit his lip, hard, feeling another round of shakes coming on – just like back at Teshgol, when he first saw the mutilated corpses. You have to be absolutely calm, you’ll be shooting soon … yes, like that, relax and meditate … like that …
He lay flat on the cold sand, intently examining the sentry’s silhouette. No helmet (and rightly so, can’t hear anything in one of those things), so best aim for the head. Interesting, huh? – there stands a man, looking at the stars, thinking of pleasant (to him) things, not knowing that he’s already dead. Meanwhile the ‘dead’ man looked enviously at his seven buddies by the fire (three to the south, three to the north, one to the west, between the fire and the slope), and then turned away furtively, produced a flask, took a swig, belched and wiped his lips noisily. Great! … quite sloppy … wonder how his northern counterpart would like that? Suddenly Haladdin’s heart lurched and dropped somewhere into the void: it’s begun! Begun quite a while ago, too, while he, the idiot! had almost missed it, just like the baron, another simpleton … For the northern sentry was already sagging lifelessly to the ground, resting in Tzerlag’s firm embrace. Another moment, and the scout carefully and silently put the Easterling’s body down on the sand and flowed , like a fox into a rabbit hutch, into the circle of firelight filled with sleeping forms.
Slowly, as if in a dream, Haladdin rose to one knee and drew the bow; in the corner of his right eye he saw the baron readying for a lunge. The sentry must have seen some movement in the dark after all, but instead of shouting an alarm (imagine such lucky stupidity!) he started reflexively putting away the illegal flask. The moment of delay was enough for Haladdin to pull the butt of the arrow to his chin and
Here the sands of the erg bordered the western edge of a large hamada of many a square mile – a silent sea rolling its waves onto a grim stony beach. The largest wave was, appropriately, right against the shoreline – a huge dune stretching half a mile each way from a fire burning at the middle of its foot. The Elf had chosen his campsite wisely, with the forty-foot dune slope in the back and the flat expanse of the hamada in the front; the two lookouts placed twenty yards to the north and the south of the fire along the bottom of the dune fully covered all lines of possible attack. Not much fuel around here, but saxaul burns long and hot, almost like coal; a dozen arm-thick logs from every member of the party will provide enough warmth to last the night.
What if it’s a trap? Haladdin wondered suddenly. Sure, Tzerlag had sniffed out everything around, but aren’t these guys too carefree? Never mind the fire, it’s only visible from the hamada where no one is supposed to be, but the fact that the sentry goes to the fire to add fuel and warm himself a little – that’s total madness, he can’t see anything in the dark for at least three minutes afterwards … It was during one such departure of the southern sentry that they had crept to within twenty paces of his position. The scout had left them there and melted into the dark: he was supposed to go around the camp by the way of the hamada and creep up to the northern sentry. No, he restrained himself; no need to fear your own shadow. It’s just that they’ve grown so unaccustomed to meeting resistance that guarding the camp is a formality to them. Besides, it’s their last night out on patrol, tomorrow it will be baths, drink, and all that … plus a bonus for every Orc ear … I wonder if children’s ears bring the same bounty or are a bit cheaper? Stop it! Stop it right there! He bit his lip, hard, feeling another round of shakes coming on – just like back at Teshgol, when he first saw the mutilated corpses. You have to be absolutely calm, you’ll be shooting soon … yes, like that, relax and meditate … like that …
He lay flat on the cold sand, intently examining the sentry’s silhouette. No helmet (and rightly so, can’t hear anything in one of those things), so best aim for the head. Interesting, huh? – there stands a man, looking at the stars, thinking of pleasant (to him) things, not knowing that he’s already dead. Meanwhile the ‘dead’ man looked enviously at his seven buddies by the fire (three to the south, three to the north, one to the west, between the fire and the slope), and then turned away furtively, produced a flask, took a swig, belched and wiped his lips noisily. Great! … quite sloppy … wonder how his northern counterpart would like that? Suddenly Haladdin’s heart lurched and dropped somewhere into the void: it’s begun! Begun quite a while ago, too, while he, the idiot! had almost missed it, just like the baron, another simpleton … For the northern sentry was already sagging lifelessly to the ground, resting in Tzerlag’s firm embrace. Another moment, and the scout carefully and silently put the Easterling’s body down on the sand and flowed , like a fox into a rabbit hutch, into the circle of firelight filled with sleeping forms.
Slowly, as if in a dream, Haladdin rose to one knee and drew the bow; in the corner of his right eye he saw the baron readying for a lunge. The sentry must have seen some movement in the dark after all, but instead of shouting an alarm (imagine such lucky stupidity!) he started reflexively putting away the illegal flask. The moment of delay was enough for Haladdin to pull the butt of the arrow to his chin and
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