"02 - Tantras - Richard Awlinson 1.0.palmdoc.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Avatar Trilogy)

"A few more hours of this and I'm going to become delirious," Midnight said at last, slamming her spellbook shut. "We need to eat something."

"No one's stopping you," Cyric croaked, his throat dry from the intense heat of the midday sun.

Midnight frowned. She was hungry, but she wanted Cyric to rest for a while and eat, too. The thief hadn't allowed her to take a turn at the oars since they left Shadowdale, and he just snorted and shook his head when Midnight had suggested Adon try to row. "You need to rest, Cyric. Why don't we pull in to shore and all eat something?"

"Because the dalesmen might catch up to us, and I, for one, don't want that to happen," Cyric said. Midnight crossed her arms and leaned back into the how. The thief scowled and turned away from the raven-haired mage. When he looked over his shoulder, though, Cyric was startled to see Adon holding out a large chunk of bread to him. A warm, foolish smile, like that of a simpleton, flickered across the cleric's face.

"Get away from me!" Cyric growled and slapped the cleric across the face with the back of his hand. Adon fell backward in a heap, and the bread flew from his hand. The boat rocked from side to side as Cyric made a grab for the oar he had released and Adon crawled as far away from the thief as he could manage inside the skiff.

"Damn you!" Midnight cursed. She climbed over Cyric and moved to Adon's side. The cleric was quivering, his knees drawn up to his chest. A strange mixture of fear and anger lingered in his eyes.

"Why did you do that?" Midnight snapped to Cyric as she caressed the cleric's shoulders.

Cyric thought of making a nasty retort, but instead he only narrowed his eyes and remained silent as he watched Midnight brush the hair from the younger man's face. Adon had pulled himself up into a ball, his hands covering his face as he rocked back and forth, humming an unfamiliar song.

"Answer me!" Midnight hissed. She leaned closer and glared at Cyric.

The thief was silent. There was no answer he could give that Midnight would be able to accept. Ever since Arabel, where their journey began, Cyric had viewed Adon as a liability. Very little had happened to change his opinion. The cleric could not call on his deity for spells, so he was useless as a healer. Adon's fighting skills, when they had been employed, were adequate but not exceptional. We can get along perfectly well without him, Cyric thought. That's why I hate him. I just don't need him.

"Tell me about Tantras again," Cyric sighed, anxious to change the subject.

Adon stopped rocking and looked up at Midnight. Any anger in his face had disappeared, and now only fear showed in the cleric's features. Don't tell him, Adon whispered in his mind. He doesn't need to know.

However, Midnight didn't see Adon's expression. The mage stopped caressing the cleric's back and looked down at the bottom of the boat. "One of the Tablets of Fate is hidden there. At least, that's what Elminster told us at the Temple of Lathander before the battle with Bane."

All emotion drained from Cyric's face. "Where is it hidden in Tantras?"

"Elminster didn't know." The mage sighed and looked up at the hawk-nosed thief. "All the sage could tell us ... before he died . . . was that one of the tablets was hidden there."

At mention of Elminster's death, Adon started to rock again and began to whistle a mindless tune. Cyric scowled at the cleric. He probably would have slapped Adon again if Midnight weren't sitting in his way. "So how are we supposed to find it? I'm not even sure I know what the tablets look like."

Midnight shivered. When Mystra, the Goddess of Magic, had been destroyed in her attempt to enter the Planes without the Tablets of Fate, she had granted Midnight a vision of the artifacts. Now the tablets and the death of her god were irrevocably linked in the magic-user's mind. "They look like simple clay tablets," Midnight said with a sigh. She closed her eyes, and an image of the Tablets of Fate formed in her mind. "They're a little less than two feet high. Runes naming all of the gods and their duties are etched upon the stones. The runes are magical. They glow with a blue-white light."

Cyric tried to picture the tablets. However, each time he tried to form an image of them in his mind, thoughts of what he could do with the Tablets of Fate, or, more precisely, the power they could give him, charged into his consciousness. The thief saw himself as a powerful ruler, with armies strong enough to trample the mighty forces of King Azoun of Cormyr into the dirt. The tablets will give me the power to do what I want, the thief thought. At last I will be free to run my own life!

"Cyric?" Midnight said and leaned over to tap the thief on the shoulder. "I said, let's forget about the tablets for now. All right?"

Cyric frowned. "Yes, yes. Whatever you say." The thief paused for a moment, then attempted to smile warmly. "We should eat something. We need to keep our strength up if we're ever going to reach Tantras." Adon whimpered softly.

Midnight relaxed a bit and nodded. "I'm glad you agree. We need to start acting like friends again."

Cyric guided the skiff toward the shore. Thick forest flanked the river, and when they got close to the bank, Cyric leaped into the shallow water. The thief guided the craft close to the shade of a large, gnarled tree. Securing the boat to the base of the tree, Cyric reached out to help Midnight climb to shore.

When she got a firm footing on the boggy shore, Midnight turned back to the skiff and held out her hand. "Come on, Adon."

The cleric did not move.

"Adon, get out of there and join us!" Midnight snapped and put her hands on her hips. The cleric trembled, then rose to his feet.