"Dragonlance - Deathgate Cycle 02 - Elven Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Deathgate Cycle)

"Blackbeard, my friend," Roland called, rising from his seat. "Over here!"

The dwarf clumped into the inn, the black eyes darting here and there, staring down any who seemed too bold. Dwarves were a rarity in Thillia. The dwarven kingdom was far to the norinth-est of the humans' and there was little contact between the two. But this particular dwarf had been in town for five days now and his appearance had ceased to be a novelty. Griffith was a squalid place located on the borders of two kingdoms, neither of which claimed it. The inhabitants did what they liked-an arrangement that suited most of them, because most of them had come from parts of Thillia where doing what they liked generally got them hung. The people of Griffith might wonder what a dwarf was up to in their town, but no one would wonder aloud.

"гlven Star *29"

"Barkeep, three more!" called Roland, holding aloft his mug.

**We have cause to celebrate, my friend," he said to the dwarf, who slowly took a seat.

"Ya?" grunted the dwarf, regarding the two with dark suspicion.

Roland, grinning, ignored his guest's obvious animosity and handed over the message.

"I cannot read these words," said the dwarf, tossing the quin scroll back across the table. , The arrival of the barmaid with the kegrot interrupted them.

ХMugs were distributed. The slovenly barmaid gave the table a quick, disinterested swipe with a greasy rag, glanced curiously at the dwarf, and slouched away.

"Sorry, I forgot you can't read elvish. The shipment's on its way, Blackbeard," said Roland in a casual undertone. "It will be here within the Fallow."

"My name is Drugar. And that is what this paper says?" The dwarf tapped it with a thick-fingered hand. ,. "Sure is, Blackbeard, my friend."

"I am not your friend, human," muttered the dwarf, but the words were in his language and spoken to his beard. His lips iparted in what might almost have been a smile. "That is good news." He sounded grudging.

. "We'll drink to it." Roland raised his mug, nudging Rega, who had been eyeing the dwarf with a suspicion equal to that with which Blackbeard was eyeing them. "To business." . "I will drink to this," said the dwarf, after appearing to consider the matter. He raised his mug. "To business."

Roland drained his noisily. Rega took a sip. She never drank to excess. One of them had to remain sober. Besides, the dwarf .wasn't drinking. He merely moistened his lips. Dwarves don't care for kegrot, which is, admittedly, weak and fiat tasting compared to their own rich brew.

i "I was just wondering, partner," said Roland, leaning forward, hunching over .his drink, "just what you're going to be using these weapons for?" ... "Acquiring a conscience, human?"

Roland cast a wry glance at Rega, who-hearing her words repeated-shrugged and looked away, silently asking what other answer he might have expected to such a stupid question.

30*

WEIS AND HICKMAN

"You are being paid enough not to ask, but I will tell you anyway because my people are honorable."

"So honorable you have to deal with smugglers, is that it, Blackbeard?" Roland grinned, paying the dwarf back.

The black brows came together alarmingly, the black eyes flared. "I would have dealt openly and legitimately, but the laws of your land prevent it. My people need these weapons. You have heard about the peril coming from the norinth?"

"The SeaKings?"

Roland gestured to the barmaid. Rega laid her hand on his, warning him to go slowly, but he shoved her away.

"Bah! No!" The dwarf gave a contemptuous snort. "I mean norinth of our lands. Far norinth, only not so far anymore."

"No. Haven't heard a thing, Blackbeard, old buddy. What is it?"