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

carousing. His small alehouse had become a comfortable
club for many adult dwarves, including Flint and Aylmar.
Flint wondered if the human were still about.
With a sense of relief he started toward the familiar door-
way. He made his way around the ruts in the street and
shouldered his way through the thick crowd in Moldoon's.
The hill dwarf's eyes rapidly adjusted to the darkness, and
he saw with relief that the place had not changed all that
much.
When designing his saloon, Moldoon had realized that
most of his patrons would be short-statured dwarves, yet he
wanted a place that was comfortable for himself as well. He
neither made it human-sized (though other people would
have gotten sport out of watching dwarves scrabbling for
doorknobs and seats), nor did he make it dwarf-sized (he,
himself, would look silly on a too-small chair). What he did
do was make all tables and chairs adjustable with just a turn
of the top; all doors had two knobs on each side. The bar it-
self had two levels: the right side to the patrons was dwarf-
height, and the left was human-height. The ceiling was high
enough to accommodate all.
Right now, a haze of greasy smoke hung just below the
stained ceiling beams. The spattering of the grill - Moldoon
always seemed to get the most succulent cuts of meat - and
the familiar low rumble of conversation sounded like the
same talk in any tavern in Ansalon.
Flint saw an old man behind the lower section of the bar.
White bearded, with an equally full, platinum mane of hair,
he stooped slightly with age, but revealed a frame that had
once been broad and lanky.
"Moldoon?" Flint asked in disbelief, his face alight with
expectation. The dwarf stepped over to the bar and spun the

nearest stool top to his level.
Recognition dawning, the man's face broke into a
crooked grin. "Flint Fireforge, as I live and breath!" With
amazing alacrity the man vaulted the bar and gathered up
the stout dwarf in an awkward bear hug.
"How long have you been in town, you old scut?" he
asked, shaking the dwarf by the shoulders.
"First stop." Flint grinned broadly, his whiskers tickling
his nose. The human seized Flint up again, and after much
back-thumping and hand-pumping, he grabbed a pitcher
and personally overfilled a mug for the dwarf, scraping the
foam away with a knife.
"It's good to see you again, old friend," said Flint sincerely,
raising his mug and taking a long pull. He wiped his foamy
mouth with the back of his hand and said happily, "None
better!"
"Not Flint Fireforge!"