"Troy Denning - Forgotten Realms - The Cormyr Saga 03 - Death of the Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Denning Troy)

Cormyr Saga
Book 3
Death of the Dragon
Troy Denning & Ed Greenwood

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Ebook version 1.1
Release Date: February, 1th, 2004
 Prologue
"I hate having to guess so boldly," Alusair told the first clear hoof print she'd found in three days, "But
these snortsnouts aren't giving me much time to do it the proper way."
Something dark moved on the crest of the ridge behind her. Alusair snarled an oath and trotted into the
nearest copse of trees. Two days at least, now, the orcs had been following her. It had been two nights that
she'd dared not sleep. She was talking to herself more to keep awake than to measure her weary thoughts.
Her bold guess as to which valley Rowen had chosen had been right again, but gods blast this, it was
sloppy tracking. Rowen had ridden Cadimus here, or someone had. The marks of the hooves where the
war-horse crossed soft mud were deep enough to tell the Steel Princess that Cadimus had willingly carried
a rider, heading as straight north as the land allowed.
Three days had passed since Alusair had left her sister Tanalasta and the sage Alaphondar and set off
to rescue-or learn the fate of-her scout Rowen. The scout-a Purple Dragon ranger-was an outlawed
Cormaeril, but the father of Tanalasta's unborn child. Cormaeril or not, the wedding was lawful. The babe,
if it lived, would be the rightful heir to the throne of Cormyr.
"Gods above and below, but father will be furious," she murmured, ducking her way through a stand of
young shadowtops. "I don't know which I'd rather not be-Tana or Rowen!"
A wry smile plucked at the corners of her mouth, then vanished in an instant as her eyes fell on the
moss ahead.
There was a break in the trees, and Cadimus had passed through it. Tracks led up a mossy slope and
away from the open valley floor, where in wet weather a creek meandered and the rest of the time open
turf made for swift and easy mounted travel. Why leave that open ground? To camp?
Alusair caught herself yawning again. She slapped her own thigh with the flat of her sword to rouse
herself. Gods damn these persistent orcs. The Steel Princess threw back her head and drew in a deep
breath. She was too tired to do this properly, she was-suddenly very awake, with her skin crawling. She
could feel the creeping, all over her, that meant her hair was rising. Something was wrong here, very
wrong... but, by all the gods, what?
The trail went around the man-high, rotten stump of a long dead duskwood. She hefted her sword. From
where she stood, as far as the eye could see, the trees ahead-an entire stand of them, dozens and
dozens-were waiting. Silent, and yet not silent, there was a menacing, watchful heaviness hanging in the air.
Alusair peered grimly up into still branches and past mighty trunks, seeking a living, lurking foe but
seeing nothing. The trees stood thick enough that there could well be a beast larger than a man-or even a
score of such-ahead, where she could not see. The Steel Princess cast a quick glance behind her, listening
intently for sounds of orcs scrabbling up the trail, but heard nothing. Her pursuers had never bothered to
strive for stealth in their gloating eagerness.
After a moment, she shrugged and strode forward, sword tip tracing a ready circle at her feet,
half-expecting a root to leap up and try to ensnare her. There was something unhealthy about the trees.
Alusair stopped again and studied the nearest one, almost fancying that it had moved slightly, but no. Her
weary eyes were playing tricks on her.
It was a duskwood, and an old one. Some long ago lightning had left it misshapen, as gray and as gnarled
as the convulsed gauntlet of a buried giant, its bark scaled where there should be no scales. No, not
scales... runes.