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

The rugged valley stretched east to the pass and west to
Stonehammer Lake, broadening into a grassy vale around

Hillhome. Several side canyons twisted back into the hills to
the north and south.
Flint's warm feeling chilled somewhat when he realized
that a low haze hung in the valley where before the air had
been impeccably clear. Of course, there had always been a
little smoke from the town forge....
The town forge! Flint realized the barn beside it was three
times or more the size it had been twenty years ago. A great,
muddy yard surrounded it, containing several parked wag-
ons. The wagons, Flint realized with a jolt, were just like the
one he had encountered the previous night at the pass.
And where once a single stack had emitted the smoke of
the small forge, now four squat chimneys belched black
clouds into the sky. The town itself seemed to have doubled
in proportion, stretching farther to the west toward Stone-
hammer Lake. Indeed, the sleepy village of Flint's memory
now bustled with a size and energy the dwarf found unnerv-
ing. Main Street, which once had been paved with sturdy
stone, was now practically churned to mud by the traffic of
crowds and vehicles.
Flint anxiously made his way down the Passroad until it
became Main Street. He slowed his steps to search for famil-
iar faces - familiar anything! - but he recognized not a one,
nor did any of the busy dwarves look up from their hurried
pace. He paused to get his bearings.
For a moment he wondered if he had come to the right
place. Up close, Hillhome looked even less like the town in
his memory than it had from the ridge. The same large
buildings - the mayor's mansion, the trading barn, the
brewery - still dominated the central area. But around them
clustered a mass of lesser structures, tightly packed, as if
each was trying to shoulder the other aside.
Most of these newer buildings were made of wood, and
many showed signs of uncharacteristically hasty construc-
tion and shoddy workmanship. The town square was still a
wide open space, but where it had once been a tree-shaded
park, now it was a brown and barren place.
Flint's eyes came to rest on Moldoon's Tavern across the
street. A happy sight at last! A young frawl was standing at

the back of an ale wagon parked out front, hefting two half-
kegs onto her shoulders. She struggled her way up the two
wooden steps and into the inn, the door of which was held
open by a large, middle-aged dwarf.
Flint well remembered the rugged human, Moldoon, who
had opened his inn in quiet Hillhome. The man had been a
hard-drinking mercenary who had retired from fighting and