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Название книги: The Last Enchantment
Автор(ы): Michael Moorcock
Жанр: Боевая фантастика
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Last-Enchantment-158483.html
THROUGH THE blue and hazy night ran a shuddering man. He clutched terror to him, his bloated eyes full of blood. First behind him and then seemingly ahead of him came the hungry chuckles, the high whispered words. "Here toothsome. Here sweetmeat." He swerved in another direction, moaning. Like a huge husk he was, like a hollow ornament of thin bone, with his great, rolling head swaying on his shoulders resembling a captive balloon, the wet cavern of his wide mouth fully open and gasping, the yellow spikes of teeth clashing in his head. Awkwardly he ran, sometimes scuttling like a wounded spider, something lurching, mooing to himself through the tall and ancient forest, his feet sinking into the carpet of wet, pungent bracken and rotting roots. He held in his hand, that long, white, metal-coloured claw, a glowing black talisman, held it out and cried: "Oh Teshwan-aid me, Teshwan. Aid me ..." In the sluggish brew that was the contents of his rolling skull a few words swam to the surface and
Название книги: The Last Enchantment
Автор(ы): Michael Moorcock
Жанр: Боевая фантастика
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Last-Enchantment-158483.html
THROUGH THE blue and hazy night ran a shuddering man. He clutched terror to him, his bloated eyes full of blood. First behind him and then seemingly ahead of him came the hungry chuckles, the high whispered words. "Here toothsome. Here sweetmeat." He swerved in another direction, moaning. Like a huge husk he was, like a hollow ornament of thin bone, with his great, rolling head swaying on his shoulders resembling a captive balloon, the wet cavern of his wide mouth fully open and gasping, the yellow spikes of teeth clashing in his head. Awkwardly he ran, sometimes scuttling like a wounded spider, something lurching, mooing to himself through the tall and ancient forest, his feet sinking into the carpet of wet, pungent bracken and rotting roots. He held in his hand, that long, white, metal-coloured claw, a glowing black talisman, held it out and cried: "Oh Teshwan-aid me, Teshwan. Aid me ..." In the sluggish brew that was the contents of his rolling skull a few words swam to the surface and
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