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

"More folk on the move . . ." Sunbright pondered aloud. "Tell me, do you find the animals fewer,
and sickly, even plants not thriving?"
Drigor frowned, and said, "Yes, perhaps. The elk and goats did not climb as high this autumn, and
even the high-dwelling chamois have moved to lower meadows to scratch moss. Scouts tell us the
lichen and gorse is thin on the highest peaks, and not recovering from their graze. Why ask?"
"The high mountains are another harsh territory, but fragile, like my tundra. I sought my people in
traditional lands for months and never found them. They've moved into new territories, unless they're
all dead, which I don't believe. Now you tell me yak-men press in from the east, outside the empire. I
wonder if they too find their land can't support them."
"I care not." Drigor waved a craggy hand as he said, "These mountains can't support them either,
and we kill all they send. But our best fighters are away soldiering, and the yak-men are many.
Sometimes I think ..."
The pause arrested Sunbright and Knucklebones, but the dwarf never finished, only changed tack.
"Never mind. You must go. Gird yourselves. A guide will lead you out." He spun on his heels and
stamped away.
"The rotten bastards!" Knucklebones snapped. "The lousy cheapskates! Pitched out into the storm
without so much as a by-your-leave! Why not just hurl us off the mountain, for Shar's sake?"
"Or charge us for the room and hot water," Sunbright sighed. "It would be kind to give us some of
the yak-men's rations. They had food satchels."
"I'd like one of those carved staves." Knucklebones groused. She rammed clothes into her ox hide
pack, yanked the straps tight, and slammed her blanket roll atop. "They're probably worth a fortune!
And we earned them, for we engaged the enemy first."
"We would have died if the dwarves hadn't attacked," Sunbright reminded her.
"They still stink, the penny-pinching shrimps. I hope their mountain collapses around their ears."
She shut up as a dwarven woman, the same who'd led them here, clomped through the doorway.
Crossing her arms, the dwarf waited impatiently for them to strap on their tackle. Silently, the humans
complied. Without a word, they followed her through corridors black or illuminated, searing hot or
just warm. Knucklebones craned her head around, for she'd seen nothing when carried in. They heard
bursts of coarse laughter, smelled cookfires and food, glimpsed rooms where dwarves repaired gear or
stoked charcoal fires for forging. Once she heard a snatch of lonesome song like a coyote's cry.
Deliberately she dragged her feet to slow them.
For Knucklebones found this mountain enclave enticing. The winding dark tunnels with jots of
light, so warm, reminded her of home, the sewers and tunnels of the floating enclave of Karsus. And
too, the hustle and bustle and busyness reminded her of the thieves' community with its quiet secrets
and bold camaraderie. Visiting the dwarven warrens made the city-born orphan feel homesick, and yet
at home.
But they were ejected. A wave of cold air gushed, and made Knucklebones draw her sheepskin coat
close to her neck. Her breath fogged, misting the picture of the outdoors, though she knew it was
sunny. By the time her one eye had squinted open, they stood alone at the mouth of the pass, the
dwarven woman having turned back.
Sunbright huffed in the clear mountain air. After last night's storm, fair weather brought blinding
sun reflected from a million icicles and knobs and patches on gray, naked rocks. Far in the distance,
beyond lesser peaks, lay some blue-gray and green land to the south.
Knucklebones sipped chilly air and waited for the barbarian to begin the trek down, but he stood
stock-still. His lover realized he seethed inside, furious, the insult of being thrown out finally fanned to
a white-hot rage. Yet he breathed deep, swallowed his anger, and finally summed up, "A hard life
makes a hard people. But still, they could have ... But never mind. Let's go." He tramped off, going too
fast on the icy slope.
That was a contrast between them, Knucklebones thought. While her anger flared quickly, and
quickly died, Sunbright took a long time to anger, smoldering low but hot, perhaps for days, then