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

while the bodyguards fought from the woods. How, eventually, the forest was ignited, so they ran for
the city gates. How Dorlas, wounded, fell behind, and insisted they run on. How a huntsman pierced
the dwarf with a golden lance through the belly but, incredibly, Dorlas hung onto the lance, jerked
himself up it, yanking the shaft through his own guts, to crush the metal wolf mask of the huntsman
and kill him first, before the dwarf died himself. How Sunbright and Greenwillow were saved by
Dorlas's sacrifice.
Though he was an excellent storyteller, like all tundra dwellers, Sunbright didn't embellish the
story, for Dorlas's deeds needed no exaggeration. All through the tale, the eyes of Drigor never left the
shaman's face, and Sunbright felt burned anew, as if he'd been pierced to the guts himself, cut open to
expose any untruth.
"A good death, and brave . . ." The old dwarf talked mostly to himself. "We own little here in the
Iron Mountains, we Sons of Baltar. Scanty food, iron used up, little coal to burn. So, for generations
now, our children are our resource. We train our sons and daughters to war, and send them into the
world of men to fight as soldiers and bodyguards. Many never return to this, our ancestral home. So
with Dorlas."
Sunbright was quiet at this epitaph, feeling that, rather than floating a coffin down a river, he'd
finally helped bury Dorlas, who'd been a friend in the short time the barbarian had known him. He
murmured, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry is nothing," pronounced the dwarf, obviously an old mountain adage. Then surprised him
with, "I owe you, Sunbright Steelshanks. I, Drigor, son of Yasur, owe you a favor." He tipped the
warhammer, then left the stone room.
Sunbright sat on the shelf and stared at the empty doorway, wondering what next? A quiet stir
made him turn.
"A dwarf owes you a favor. Better than money in the bank."
Sunbright looked into Knucklebones's single eye and asked, "How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough. As a child, I learned to wake silently. You make powerful and lasting friends,
country mouse."
"I meet a lot of people, true, though some I must kill. How's your head?"
"It hurts. What are you looking at?" she murmured, almost against his chin as he loomed above her.
"It's a shame you've only the one, because it's a pretty eye," he whispered, then he planted a big
juicy kiss on her eyelid.
"Yick! That's not where they go!"
He kissed her small, firm mouth.
"Better?"
"Much better," she murmured.
* * ***
Sunbright and Knucklebones spent the night huddled under two blankets and the glowing iron pipe.
The stone was hard, but the warmth wonderful. In dry clothing and with breakfast (their own rations)
under their belts, they felt better, if sore.
Drigor walked into the room shouting, "Are you better?"
Noise made Sunbright's head throb, but he answered civilly, "Yes, we're better, thank you. This is
my friend, Knucklebones, by the way."
The dwarf only puffed a wisp of ring-braided mustache from his mouth. "It's well you can travel,"
he said, "for you must leave."
"Leave?" The word was jerked from Sunbright.
By the glow of luminous paint the dwarf's face looked like old parchment. He nodded glumly,
brooking no argument, and said, "We have nothing to offer you, and you nothing to offer us. Your
mission is accomplished and you may go. We conserve food and fighters because of yak-men. What
you saw yesterday was another scout party. The yak-men covet our mountains. They push in from the
east, and we are busy killing them. This takes food, and we have barely enough to feed ourselves."