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

"You left the same day the strangers arrived," Storm stated sharply.

"That is true." Lhaeo said.

"Was it possible that Elminster did not trust the strangers and was attempting to protect you from them?" Storm asked.

Lhaeo hesitated for a moment, Storm's words striking him like a blow. "I don't think so," the scribe said slowly. "No, that would not have been like him."

"Yet you rarely accompanied him on his many ventures throughout the Realms. Why was that?"

Drawing a sharp breath, the scribe looked away from the bard. "I don't know," he said softly.

"I have nothing further to ask." Storm turned away from the glaring green eyes of the scribe. Thurbal gripped the handle of his walking stick, his fingers caressing the dragon skull of the handle. Perspiration trickled down his face as he spoke.

"Why did Elminster allow Midnight and Adon to stay at his tower?" Thurbal said.

"Elminster trusted them and felt they would be of valuable assistance in the Battle of Shadowdale," Lhaeo said.

"Elminster told you this?" Thurbal asked.

"Aye, and he allowed Midnight to assist him in the casting of many spells as the cleric researched mystical tomes."

"Did he seem frightened or suspicious of Midnight and Adon in any way?" Thurbal inquired.

"No," Lhaeo said. "Not at all. Quite the opposite."

Biting his lip, Thurbal asked his next question. "Is the goddess Mystra dead?"

Storm rose up to shout in protest, but Mourngrym silenced her and ordered the scribe to answer the question.

"According to Elminster, a horrible fate befell the goddess. Whether or not she is dead, I cannot say." Lhaeo sighed and hung his head.

"When Midnight arrived with her claims of a message from the goddess, Elminster did not laugh or send her away," Thurbal stated flatly. "He was convinced of her integrity and dedication to the Realms." Both Thurbal and the scribe remained silent for a moment.

"If you have nothing else to ask, Thurbal, I think we've heard enough from this witness," Mourngrym said.

Lhaeo quietly left the stand and returned to his seat. Storm moved forward and called a burly guardsman with hazel eyes named Irak Dontaele.

"Your patrol was on duty the night of the attack against the Temple of Tymora. You were the first to enter the temple and discover the bodies of the worshipers and the desecration of the temple itself," Storm said.

"No," Irak growled. "Not true." Quickly he rushed past the other guards, grabbed Adon by his robes, and lifted the cleric up off his knees. "This one was there before any of us!"

"Put him down!" Mourngrym said, and the crossbows of the guards who stood behind the prisoners were suddenly leveled at the witness. Adon's dull eyes swam in their sockets as he was lowered reluctantly to the ground. "What is the meaning of this, Storm? Are you trying to show some connection between the attacks on the two temples?"

"There's the connection!" Storm cried, pointing at Adon. "This man was present both times. They say he is a cleric of Sune, the Goddess of Beauty, yet look at his face. Even without the ugliness of his scar, he is hardly what one would expect. I submit that Adon of Sune and Midnight of Deepingdale are allies of the Black Lord, and their true allegiance is to that evil god and the city of Zhentil Keep. That is why they murdered Elminster!"

A roar erupted from the crowd. "Kill them!" someone cried.

"Yes!" screamed a woman. "Death to the servants of Lord Bane!"