"Dragonlance - War of the Souls - 2 - Dragons of a Lost Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragonlance)

observer would have been wrong. Morham Targonne
was the leader of the Dark Knights of Neraka and thereby,
since the Dark Knights were in control of several major
nations on the continent of Ansalon, Morham Targonne
held the power of life and death over millions of people.
Yet here he was, working into the night, looking with the
diligence of the stodgiest clerk for twenty-seven steel,
fourteen silver, and five coppers.

But although he was concentrating on his work to the
extent that he had skipped supper to continue his perusal
of the accounts. Lord Targonne was not absorbed in his
work to the exclusion of all else. He had the ability to
focus a part of his mental powers on a task and, at the
same time, to be keenly alert, aware of what was going on
around him. His mind was a desk constructed of innu-
merable compartments into which he sorted and slotted
every occurrence, no matter how minor, placed it in its
proper hole, available for his use at some later time.

Targonne knew, for example, when his aide left to go
to his own supper, knew precisely how long the man was
away from his desk, knew when he returned. Knowing
approximately how long it would take a man to eat his
supper, Targonne was able to say that his aide had not lin-
gered over his tarbean tea but had returned to his work
with alacrity. Targonne would remember this in the aide's
favor someday, setting that against the opposite column
in which he posted minor infractions of duty.

The aide was staying at work late this night. He
would stay until Targonne discovered the twenty-seven
steel, fourteen silver, and five coppers, even if they were
both awake until the sun's rays crept through Targonne's
freshly cleaned window. The aide had his own work to
keep him occupiedЧTargonne saw to that. If there was
one thing he hated, it was to see a man idling. The two

DnaqoNS of a Lost Stan

worked late into the night, the aide sitting at a desk out-
side the office, trying to see by lamplight as he stifled his
yawns, and Targonne sitting inside his sparsely fur-
nished office, head bent over his bookkeeping, whisper-
ing the numbers to himself as he wrote them, a habit of
his of which he was completely unconscious.

The aide was himself slipping toward unconscious-
ness when, fortunately for him, a loud commotion in the
courtyard outside the fortress of the Dark Knights star-