"Raymond E. Feist - Darkwar 1 - Flight Of The Nighthawks" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

Raymond E. Feist

FLIGHT OF THE NIGHTHAWKS
The Darkwar
Book One
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As I have done in the past and will continue to until Midkemia is no more, my
thanks everlasting to the mothers and fathers of Midkemia for giving me a wonderful
sandbox in which to play. From Thursday to Friday nights, for thirty years your
voices echo in my ear each time I sit down to spin a yarn on our world. To Jonathon
Matson, as always, my thanks for friendship and wise counsel.
To my editors, for always trying hard no matter how crazy the circumstances.
To my mother, for always inspiring me through sheer endurance and unqualified
love.
To my children, for giving me a reason for existing beyond mere self-gratification
and personal goals.
To those ladies with whom I dine, thanks the amusement, the affection, the drama,
and the glimpse into a world I barely understand.
To new friends and to enterprises that keep things interesting. Again to my readers,
who let me keep doing this. Without any of the above mentioned, and some I'm
leaving out would not be worth enduring, let alone living.


Raymond E. Feist San Diego, CA July, 2005
For Andy and Rich,
long overdue thanks for stepping in and being there at the right time
Fate will bring together those a thousand miles apart;
without fate, they will miss each other though they come face to face.
Chinese proverb
 тАв PROLOGUE тАв

Harbinger


THE STORM HAD BROKEN.
Pug danced along the edge of the rocks, his feet finding scant purchase as he made
his way among the tide pools. His dark eyes darted about as he peered into each pool
under the cliff face, seeking the spiny creatures driven into the shallows by the
recently passed storm.
His boyish muscles bunched under his light shirt as he shifted the sack of
sandcrawlers, rockclaws, and crabs plucked from this water garden. The afternoon sun
sent sparkles through the sea spray swirling around him, as the west wind blew his
sun-streaked brown hair about. Pug set his sack down, checked to make sure it was
securely tied, then squatted on a clear patch of sand. The sack was not quite full, but
Pug relished the extra hour or so that he could relax. Megar the cook wouldn't trouble
him about the time as long as the sack was almost full. Resting with his back against a
large rock, Pug settled in to relax. He opened his eyes suddenly. He had fallen asleep,
or at least he knew he had fallen asleep here once . . . He sat up.
A cool wet spray struck him in the face. Without having closed his eyes, somehow
time had passed. Fear rose up within his chest, and he knew he had stayed much too