"R A Salvatore - Icewind Dale Trilogy 3 - Halfling's Gem, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Salvatore R. A)

"How quickly things have changed," Harkle whispered under his breath,
feeling sympathy for the young woman. He remembered a time, just a few weeks
earlier, when Bruenor Battlehammer and his small company had come through
Longsaddle in their quest to find Mithril Hall, the dwarf's lost homeland. That
had been a jovial meeting of tales exchanged and promises of future friendships
with the Harpell clan. None of them could have known that a second party, led by
an evil assassin, and by Harkle's own Sydney, held Catti-brie hostage and was
gathering to pursue the company. Bruenor had found Mithril Hall, and had fallen
there.
And Sydney, the female mage that Harkle had so dearly loved, had played a
part in the dwarf's death.
Harkle took a deep breath to steady himself. "Bruenor will be avenged," he
said with a grimace.
Catti-brie kissed him on the cheek and started back up the hill toward the
Ivy Mansion. She understood the wizard's sincere pain, and she truly admired his
decision to help her fulfill her vow to return to Mithril Hall and reclaim it
for Clan Battlehammer.
But for Harkle, there had been no other choice. The Sydney that he had loved
was a facade, a sugar coating to a power-crazed, unfeeling monster. And he
himself had played a part in the disaster, unwittingly revealing to Sydney the
whereabouts of Bruenor's party.
Harkle watched Catti-brie go, the weight of troubles slowing her stride. He
could harbor no resentment toward her - Sydney had brought about the
circumstances of her own death, and Catti-brie had no choice but to play them
out. The wizard turned his gaze southward. He, too, wondered and worried for the
drow elf and the huge barbarian lad. They had slumped back into Longsaddle just
three days before, a sorrow-filled and weary band in desperate need of rest.
There could be no rest, though, not now, for the wicked assassin had escaped
with the last of their group, Regis the halfling, in tow.
So much had happened in those few weeks; Harkle's entire world had been
turned upside down by an odd mixture of heroes from a distant, forlorn land
called Icewind Dale, and by a beautiful young woman who could not be blamed.
And by the lie that was his deepest love.
Harkle fell back on the grass and watched the puffy clouds of late summer
meander across the sky.
* * *
Beyond the clouds, where the stars shone eternally, Guenhwyvar, the entity
of the panther, paced excitedly. Many days had passed since the cat's master,
the drow elf named Drizzt Do'Urden, had summoned it to the material plane.
Guenhwyvar was sensitive to the onyx figurine that served as a link to its
master and that other world; the panther could sense the tingle from that
far-off place even when its master merely touched the statuette.
But Guenhwyvar hadn't felt that link to Drizzt in some time, and the cat was
nervous now, somehow understanding in its otherworldly intelligence that the
drow no longer possessed the figurine. Guenhwyvar remembered the time before
Drizzt, when another drow, an evil drow, had been its master. Though in essence
an animal, Guenhwyvar possessed dignity, a quality that its original master had
stolen away.
Guenhwyvar remembered those times when it had been forced to perform cruel,
cowardly acts against helpless foes for the sake of its master's pleasure.