"Denning, Troy - Forgotten Realms - Black Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Denning Troy)

The turned as a mass to race for the entrance again, but the black wizard now stood there, waiting implacably for the gnomes' moments of maximum terror.
"Blitzyth, Dorax zooth!"
Cyndre's next spell sent crackling bolts of lightning sizzling into the walls and ceiling of the narrow cave. Great chunks of rock broke free, crushing the trapped gnomes.
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More and more stone fell, in a thunderous cloud of dust and debris, sending a cloud of dust drifting into the vast caverns where the massacre was now complete.
Cyndre smiled slightly, satisfied that his task was done. The dark dwarves had gained their food and water sources and their mining tunnels. Their senseless bloodlust had been satisfied. Indeed, the dark dwarves had gained all that they currently desired.
And the black wizard had gained the duergar themselves.
The feasting had ended and the lords had gone, except for Fergus and Pontswain. Tristan met with them, along with Daryth and Randolph, after the council. Fires burned low in the hearths, and a chorus of snores arose from various corners of the hall.
They had finalized the details of their journeyЧDaryth would accompany the prince and Lord Pontswain to Caer Callidyrr. There, they would each meet with the High King and plead their case for the kingship of Corwell. They agreed to abide by the king's decision.
"Very well," said Ponstwain. "How do we get there?"
"I was hoping to accompany Lord Fergus to Kingsbay, riding the length of Corwell Road." Tristan looked at the other lord, who watched the discussion impassively. "Can you furnish us with a boat to carry us across the Strait of Alaron?"
Fergus nodded, his handlebar mustache bouncing. "It shall be my pleasure."
"Very well." Tristan stood, followed by the others. "We shall leave for Kingsbay at first light."
Daryth and Tristan went to their quarters and gathered their belongings for the journey. Daryth carried his scimitar at his waist and concealed a pair of long knives in the sleeves of his cloak. Tristan wore the Sword of Cymrych Hugh and carried a bow and quiver of arrows slung over his saddle.
They slept little that night, but dawn quickly called them from their restless beds. They went immediately to the stables, where Daryth selected his mount, a chestnut gelding, and Tristan saddled Avalon, the mighty stallion that had served him so nobly during the Darkwalker War.
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Lord Fergus and his son were already prepared, and even Pontswain arrived soon afterward. The young lord was dressed in a shining suit of plate mail and rode a proud charger of midnight black. In addition to his sword, Pontswain carried a long wooden lance.
The only other member of the party was Tristan's prized moorhound, Canthus. The great dog stood half as high as his master and weighed every bit as much. He was a keen hunter and steadfast companion who had received his training from Daryth.
Fergus waited astride a great dappled mare, standing in the courtyard at first light. His son, Sean, rode a small stallion of the same colors. The young horse skittered nervously away from Avalon as Tristan, Daryth, and Canthus emerged from the stables.
The great warhorse ignored the other stallion, moving into an easy trot as Tristan preceded the others from the castle gate. Canthus loped beside him as he gave the stallion his head. They cantered down the winding approach to the castle and turned toward the west upon Corwell Road. They would follow this, the kingdom's one highway, across Corwell to the eastern port of Kingsbay.
For most of the first morning they rode in easy silence, slowing their mounts to a walk after a short stretch. Fergus traveled beside the prince, trailing the rest of the party. Eventually the genial lord cleared his throat awkwardly.
"You know, prince, I am reminded of tales I've heard of the early days of the Ffolk upon Gwynneth and the other Moonshae Islands. Gwynneth, as you and I well know, was the grandest of the isles back thenЧin the days before Calli-dyrr, I mean." Fergus cast a glance at Tristan to be sure that he was listening. Satisfied, he continued, his great mustache bobbing up and down with each word.
"I was not actually present at Freeman's Down last summer. I did arrive at the castle in time to witness the siege and the rout of the Northmen.
"Those were the grandest sights I've ever beheld! It made me proud to be a lord of the Ffolk! And I cannot help thinkin' that it was you who brought those victories about." Lord Fergus turned to meet Tristan's gaze squarely.
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"What I'm trying to say is that perhaps we're seeing a bit of that old glory return to Gwynneth now. You will be our king, and your reign will be good for Gwynneth, and for all the Ffolk. And I'll be the prouder for havin' served you," Fergus concluded. He cleared his throat again and looked awkwardly across the moor, away from Tristan.
For a moment Tristan said nothing, but his face burned with excitement and joy. He felt as though he had truly been born to be king of the Ffolk. Silently, he vowed to bring about a return to the days of Gwynneth's glory.
"\faur words are heartening, my lord. It will be a comfort to know that I leave the kingdom in the hands of men and women such as yourself."
They passed through several cantrevs, but most of the land was devoted to sparse, stony pastures or small tilled fields. Small farms dotted the landscape every mile or two, but the road was empty of other travelers.
They talked little for the rest of the day. Tristan looked occasionally at Pontswain, riding beside Sean before them. The lord spoke constantly, gesturing broadly. The thought of his boasting made Tristan sick with disgust. But unwilling to let Pontswain dampen his excitement, he forced his mind to brighter thoughts.
Robyn. Where was she now? What was she doing? Did she think of him often? The familiar sense of longing returnedЧhe missed her so! He felt guilty that he had not gone to tell her of his father's death. After all. King Kendrick had been her stepfather, the only parent she had ever known.
But, he reminded himself, it probably would have taken weeks to find the grove of the Great Druid, if he could have found it at all. Previously that difficulty had piqued his sense of adventure. Now, his mission prevented him from taking the time for such a search. Selfishly, futilely, he wished that she had somehow sensed his anguish and come to join him.
The journey to Kingsbay was normally a four or five day ride, but a sense of urgency pushed the little party over the distance in three.
"I would provide you with accommodations in my own
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lodge," explained Fergus as they rode into the fishing can-trev, "but you will find the rooms at the Silver Salmon much more comfortable. There, also, we should find Rodger."
"Rodger?" Daryth inquired.
"He's the fisherman I'll send to Alaron with you. Very reliable fellow, and he can keep his mouth shut. With luck, you'll be crossing the strait by tomorrow morning."
The cleric hated the sea. He hated the thick, fishy stench of the salty air. He hated the sound of water sloshing along the hull and splashing constantly against the planks. He even hated the monotonous sight of the sea, stretching away to infinity in all directions, featureless yet full of inscrutable detail.
But most of all he hated the motion of the sea, the sickening swaying, rising and falling cadence that churned his stomach into jelly and threatened to tear his mind to pieces.
For the hundredth time he cursed the calling that had compelled him to serve upon these islands, where the only expeditious means of travel involved sailing. Not that he questioned the wishes of Bhaal, the cleric hastily reminded himselfЧand whoever else happened to be listening to his thoughts. If Bhaal wanted Hobarth to journey to Gwynneth and return with the fresh blood of this young druid, then the cleric would do so without hesitation.
And besides, he consoled himself, the journey was practically over. Even as he looked over the low gunwale for the thousandth time, he saw the sun setting over Corwell's easternmost port, Kingsbay.
Finally! Hobarth thought. I will get a decent bed below meЧone that does not move with every breath of wind. Perhaps, he mused further, I might even be able to charm some young barmaid into making a decent bed still nicer.
The huge cleric stroked the fleshy folds of his neck, pleasantly intrigued by the thought. His tiny eyes gleamed from between low, sinister brows and bloated cheeks. Several large wartsЧpunishments from Bhaal for a moment when the cleric had been less than devoutЧmarred his nose. His appearance was altogether grotesque, but this was no
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obstacle when it came to wooing the young ladies. A simply cast minor spell would blind the lasses to his appearance and smell, creating admiration and eagerness where previously had existed fear and revulsion.
Finally, the boat reached the dock. Hitching up his only possession, the small pouch at his belt, he stalked from the craft without a word to the simple fisherman who had carried him from Alaron. Hobarth was certain that the wretch had enjoyed watching his agony.
Kingsbay was a smaller town than most communities of Callidyrr. The many cottages were roofed with round domes of straw instead of the wooden shingles that were common across the strait. The town was well-lighted by lamps and torches, however, and numerous inns beckoned the traveler with cheerful music and the aromas of succulent roasts.
Hobarth selected one called the Silver Salmon. He planned to drink and eat before he sought a maid, but his plans vanished as he walked through the door.