"Margaret Weis - Dragonlance Chronicles 01 - Dragons Of Autumn Twilight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragonlance)

half charlatan himself. Always sniveling and whining and poking his nose where
it doesn't belong. If it weren't for his twin brother looking after him, someone
would've put an end to his magic long ago."
Tanis was glad his beard hid his smile. "I think the young man was a better
magician than you give him credit for," he said. "And, you must admit, he worked
long and tirelessly to help those who were taken in by the fake clerics-as I
did." He sighed.
"For which you got little thanks, no doubt," the dwarf muttered.
"Very little," Tanis said. "People want to believe in something-even if, deep
inside, they know it is false. But what of you? How was your journey to your
homelands?"
Flint stumped along without answering, his face grim. Finally he muttered, "I
should never have gone," and glanced up at Tanis, his eyes-barely visible
through the thick, overhanging, white eyebrows- informing the half-elf that this
turn of the conversation was not welcome. Tanis saw the look but asked his
questions anyhow.
"What of the dwarven clerics? The stories we heard?"
"Not true. The clerics vanished three hundred years ago during the Cataclysm. So
say the elders."
"Much like the elves," Tanis mused.
"I saw-"
"Hsst!" Tanis held out a warning hand.
Flint came to a dead stop. "What?" he whispered.
Tanis motioned. "Over in that grove."
Flint peered toward the trees, at the same time reaching for the battle-axe that
was strapped behind his back.
The red rays of the setting sun glistened briefly on a piece of metal flashing
among the trees. Tanis saw it once, lost it, then saw it again. At that moment,
though, the sun sank, leaving the sky glowing a rich violet, and causing night's
shadows to creep through the forest trees.
Flint squinted into the gloom. "I don't see anything."
"I did," Tanis said. He kept staring at the place where he'd seen the metal, and
gradually his elvensight began to detect the warm red aura cast by all living
beings but visible only to the elves. "Who goes there?" Tanis called.
The only answer for long moments was an eerie sound that made the hair rise on
the half-elf's neck. It was a hollow, whirring sound that started out low, then
grew higher and higher and eventually attained a high-pitched, screaming whine.
Soaring with it, came a voice. "Elven wanderer, turn from your course and leave
the dwarf behind. We are the spirits of those poor souls Flint Fireforge left on
the barroom floor. Did we die in combat?" The spirit voice soared to new
heights, as did the whining, whirring sound accompanying it. "No! We died of
shame, cursed by the ghost of the grape for not being able to outdrink a hill
dwarf."
Flint's beard was quivering with rage, and Tanis, bursting out laughing, was
forced to grab the angry dwarf's shoulder to keep him from charging headlong
into the brush.
"Damn the eyes of the elves!" The spectral voice turned merry. "And damn the
beards of the dwarves!"
"Wouldn't you know it?" Flint groaned. "Tasslehoff Burrfoot!"
There was a faint rustle in the underbrush, then a small figure stood on the