"Dragonlance - Preludes 2 Vol 2 - Flint The King" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragonlance)

his younger brother had lost the Tharkan Axe. Flint glanced
with barely concealed scorn at the inferior, worn battle-axe
now resting in his hands. The weapon bore only the most
superficial resemblance to the great Tharkan Axe. Where
that enchanted blade had shone with the glow of perfect
steel, its edge ever sharp, his current weapon showed the
pocks of corrosion. The wooden handle was thin and worn,
long overdue for replacement.
Yes, it would feel good to see the rest of his family, as well,
Flint had to admit. Aylmar had been patriarch of the clan
since Flint was a youth, when their father had died of the
Fireforge hereditary heart condition, leaving behind a wife
and fourteen children. Flint's work-worn mother had passed
on some twenty-odd years ago, which was the last time Flint
had been to Hillhome, for the funeral.
Aylmar had a wife, Flint knew, though he could never re-
member her name. And at least one son, young Basalt. Flint
remembered his nephew quite clearly. Basalt had been an
enthusiastic youngster, somewhat of a hellion. Aylmar had
grown dour with age and responsibilities, and he disap-
proved of his son's prolific time in the alehouse and gaming

hall. As a consequence, Basalt had adopted Flint as his
mentor.
Flint flashed on a collage of faces and names, his own
younger brothers and sisters - harrns and frawls, as the
dwarven sexes were noted. There was Ruberik, Bernhard,
Thaxtil - or was that Tybalt? Quiet, demure Glynnis and
brash Fidelia emerged from the faces of his sisters. He had
left home before the seven youngest siblings had been much
more than babes, and he had forgotten most of their names
since his last visit.
It was not unusual for dwarves to loose track of their rela-
tives, but Flint wondered now if perhaps he should have
paid more attention to the younger children - they had been
a good bunch, always eager to fetch things for their older
brother, willing to give up the extra pastry or bite of meat
for the brawny Flint. And there had never been that much to
go around.
With a start, Flint realized that if he did not hurry now,
the sun would set before he came to the edge of Darken
Wood. He stepped up the pace. Even so, it was already early
evening on his first day out of Solace when Flint at last came
upon the White-rage River. Flint crossed the rushing stream
on a high suspension bridge that reminded him of the village
in the vallenwoods, and made camp on the eastern bank in
the shelter of two red maples. The next day he followed the
bank of the White-rage until he reached the Southway
Road.
For a little more than one joyously uneventful week of