"The Paths of Darkness 1 - The Silent Blade" - читать интересную книгу автора (Paths of Darkness)

heart. That was a good sign.
He turned to leave her room, but she moved to him,
reaching up to gently stroke the side of his face, her hand
running down his smooth cheek to the scratchy beard that he
had either decided to grow or simply hadn't been motivated
enough to shave.
Wulfgar looked down at her, at the tenderness in her
eyes, and for the first time since the fight on the ice floe
when he and his friends had dispatched wicked Errtu, there
came a measure of honesty in his slight smile.

* * * * *

Regis did get his three meals, and he grumbled about it
all that morning as the five friends started out from Bryn
Shander, the largest of the villages in the region called Ten
Towns in forlorn Icewind Dale. Their course was north at
first, moving to easier ground, and then turning due west. To
the north, far in the distance, they saw the high structures
of Targos, second city of the region, and beyond the city's
roofs could be seen shining waters of Maer Dualdon.
By mid-afternoon, with more than a dozen miles behind
them, they came to the banks of the Shaengarne, the great
river swollen and running fast with the spring melt. They
followed it north, back to Maer Dualdon, to the town of
Bremen and a waiting boat Regis had arranged.
Gently refusing the many offers from townsfolk to remain
in the village for supper and a warm bed, and over the many
protests of Regis, who claimed that he was famished and ready
to lay down and die, the friends were soon west of the river,
running on again, leaving the towns, their home, behind.
Drizzt could hardly believe that they had set out so
soon. Wulfgar had only recently been returned to them. All of
them were together once more in the land they called their
home, at peace, and yet, here they were, heeding again the
call of duty and running down the road to adventure. The drow
had the cowl of his traveling cloak pulled low about his
face, shielding his sensitive eyes from the stinging sun.
Thus his friends could not see his wide smile.

Part 1

APATHY

Often I sit and ponder the turmoil I feel when my blades
are at rest, when all the world around me seems at peace.
This is the supposed ideal for which I strive, the calm that
we all hope will eventually return to us when we are at war,
and yet, in these peaceful times-and they have been rare
occurrences indeed in the more than seven decades of my life-