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

twilight, an enchanted tower phased into view before them on the little island
in the pond, its every point twinkling like starlight, and its many twisting
spires reaching up into the evening sky. Emerald green it was, and mystically
inviting, as if sprites and faeries had lent a hand to its creation.
And across the water, right below the hoof of Wulfgar's horse, appeared a
shining bridge of green light.
Drizzt slipped from his mount. "The Tower of Twilight," he said to Wulfgar,
as though he had seen the obvious logic from the start. He swept his arm out
toward the structure, inviting his friend to lead them in.
But Wulfgar was stunned at the appearance of the tower. He clutched the
reins of his horse even tighter, causing the beast to rear up and flatten its
ears against its head.
"I thought you had overcome your suspicions of magic," said Drizzt
sarcastically. Truly Wulfgar, like all the barbarians of Icewind Dale, had been
raised with the belief that wizards were weakling tricksters and not to be
trusted. His people, proud warriors of the tundra, regarded strength of arm, not
skill in the black arts of wizardry, as the measure of a true man. But in their
many weeks on the road, Drizzt had seen Wulfgar overcome his upbringing and
develop a tolerance, even a curiosity, for the practices of wizardry.
With a flex of his massive muscles, Wulfgar brought his horse under control.
"I have," he answered through gritted teeth. He slid from his seat. "It is
Harpells that worry me!"
Drizzt's smirk widened across his face as he suddenly came to understand his
friend's trepidations. He himself, who had been raised amidst many of the most
powerful and frightening sorcerers in all the Realms, had shaken his head in
disbelief many times when they were guests of the eccentric family in
Longsaddle. The Harpells had a unique - and often disastrous - way of viewing
the world, though no evil festered in their hearts, and they wove their magic in
accord with their own perspectives - usually against the presumed logic of
rational men.
"Malchor is unlike his kin," Drizzt assured Wulfgar. "He does not reside in
the Ivy Mansion and has played advisor to kings of the northland."
"He is a Harpell," Wulfgar stated with a finality that Drizzt could not
dispute. With another shake of his head and a deep breath to steady himself,
Wulfgar grabbed his horse's bridle and started out across the bridge. Drizzt,
still smiling, was quick to follow.
"Harpell," Wulfgar muttered again after they had crossed to the island and
made a complete circuit of the structure.
The tower had no door.
"Patience," Drizzt reminded him.
They did not have to wait long, though, for a few seconds later they heard a
bolt being thrown, and then the creak of a door opening. A moment later, a boy
barely into his teens walked right through the green stone of the wall, like
some translucent specter, and moved toward them.
Wulfgar grunted and brought Aegis-fang, his mighty war hammer, down off his
shoulder. Drizzt grasped the barbarian's arm to stay him, fearing that his weary
friend might strike in sheer frustration before they could determine the lad's
intentions.
When the boy reached them, they could see clearly that he was flesh and
blood, not some otherworldly specter, and Wulfgar relaxed his grip. The youth