"Clayton Emery - Netheril 03 - Mortal Consequences" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

He was never sure if his sincerity or the promise of a gift turned the tide, but the dwarven woman
muttered to her companion in a voice like grinding rocks. The other growled back, then the first said,
"Follow me."
Blinking against snow and exhaustion, Sunbright nodded gratefully. The two dwarves, no higher
than his belt buckle, stumped up the slick path, and the barbarian picked after, hoping he didn't faint
and tumble a thousand feet.
*****
The trail got worse for the suffering Sunbright toting Knucklebones, for eventually the dwarves
turned from the path and mounted steep steps hacked from stone, then entered a pass no wider than his
shoulders. The narrow chasm was dozens of feet high. Silhouetted against falling snow were crouched
sentries with crossbows. Stumbling and slipping, Sunbright kept up with the sturdy, sure-footed
dwarves, and eventually passed into a black slot where warm air gushed into the barbarian's face.
After that he saw little, for he had to hunch over. The ceiling was so low, and stretches were
entirely black, though all the caves were gloriously warm. After a while he saw torchlight, and a faint
glow from rough paint splashed here and there on the walls, paint infused with some magic
luminosity. The dwarven woman turned once to say, "Go in there and stay put," then marched off after
the rest.
Ducking double, Sunbright blundered into a rough-cut room. There was no furniture, just a single
iron pipe with a spigot running along the craggy wall and daubed with glowing paint. He thanked the
gods he could stand upright. Cradling Knucklebones, he shucked off his heavy coat and made a bed
for her on a crude stone shelf. Testing the rusty spigot singed his hand, for it was scalding hot. He
guessed all the caves were heated by boiling water springing from the earth. He used his sleeve to turn
the spigot, soaked a rag, and cleaned Knucklebones's scalp wound and face and hands. He drank some
of the water, flat and reeking of iron, then cleaned and bandaged his neck wound. Sitting, he
straightened his tackle, honed his sword back to razor sharpness, andтАФordered to stay putтАФsat beside
the sleeping Knucklebones. Lulled by the delicious heat, he nodded off.
He awoke to heavy stamping and jumped off the shelf with sword in hand, quick and lithe as a
panther, but groggy in mind. So, weaving and clutching a sword, he greeted his frowning hosts.
The dwarf was old. His wrinkled face was framed by a bushy white beard and eyebrows, with six
silver rings braided into his drooping mustache. He wore a tunic of rough-out gray leather with a
shaggy hump behind his neck, and Sunbright supposed the hide came from a yak-man. A kilt of goat
hide, much stained by rust and pitted by burn marks, hung to battered boots stiff with tar. Somehow,
he looked familiar.
"I am Drigor," stated the dwarf. Of course, Dorlas's father resembled him. "What have you to give
me?"
"I am Sunbright Steelshanks, of the Raven Clan of the Rengarth Barbarians." If they still exist, he
thought dismally. "I bring youтАФbring youтАФ"
But the old dwarf's deep brown eyes had already spotted the warhammer holstered on the
barbarian's belt. Without words, Sunbright pulled the weapon and handed it over.
With hands marked by crooked fingers, inch-thick callouses, and burn scars, the dwarf cradled the
hammer as gently as a baby. The hammer had always looked and felt big enough to slay an ox, but in
those hands it looked like a toy. Without any visible emotion, Drigor said, "We heard. But you were
there? Tell me how it came to pass."
A little civility would be nice, Sunbright thought, a please and thank you for risking his and
Knucklebones's life to visit these mountains to deliver a hammer. But the old manтАФif dwarves were
menтАФhad just been reminded that his son was dead, so Sunbright could stifle his irritation.
"We were bodyguarding a caravan, and almost to Dalekeva, when the Hunt caught us . . ." Still
groggy, and hungry, Sunbright sat on the stone shelf beside a sleeping Knucklebones and told the tale.
How within sight of the city walls, a hunting party of decadent Neth on golden mechanical dragons
and birds swooped down. How Dorlas discharged his duty by sending the caravan's merchants ahead