"01 - Azure Bonds - Jeff Grubb & Kate Novak [4.0]" - читать интересную книгу автора (Finder's Stone)

distinct symbols was set deep into her flesh, all done in shades of blue.
She held up her arm in the light of the dying sun. The symbols caught the rays
and glowed as if they were stained glass lit from behind. She flexed her arm and
twisted it back and forth. It wasn't really a tattoo at all, she realized,
noting how her skin rippled across the surface of the massive inscriptions, as
though they were buried beneath the surface of her flesh.
Engrossed by the symbols, Alias unconsciously sat on the edge of the bed in the
fading light. Afraid the symbols might have some hypnotic quality, she studied
them with her fingernails pressed into her palms so the pain would distract her
from whatever power they might try to exert over her.
The first symbol, at the bend of her arm, was a dagger surrounded by blue fire.
The tip of the dagger rested on the second symbol, a trio of interlocking
circles. Beneath this was a dot and a squiggle which reminded Alias of an
insect's leg. The leg danced above the fourth symbolЧan azure hand with a fanged
mouth in the center of its palm. The last symbol consisted of three concentric
circles, each a more intense blue, so that the centermost circle was the
white-blue of a lightning strike and almost unbearable to look at. At the base
of her wrist the pattern wound about an empty space, as if a sixth symbol was
yet to be added.
Alias cursed, rattling off the names of as many gods as she could immediately
think of. When neither Tymora nor Waukeen nor any of the others manifested
themselves, she sighed and reached for her gear. She considered bolting out of
the room, sword in hand, prepared to smite anyone she could hold responsible.
She also considered dropping to her knees and praying for a divine revelation of
what she had done to deserve this. Neither action was likely to do her any good,
so she settled for getting dressed.
Alias tugged her tunic over her head and stepped into her leather leggings. She
frowned at the clothing. Why are these so stiff? I bought them over a year ago.
They should be broken in by now. Unless they're replacements, she mused. There
was no mistaking the newness of this set of clothing-it even smelled new.
But I don't remember buying any new clothes recently. Is this a spare set I
shoved into the bottom of my pack and forgot? she wondered. She looked around
for her pack, but it wasn't among her belongings. It might have been stolen, she
realized, but then it was equally likely she lost it or even hocked it.
She slipped her shirt of light chain over her head but decided against attaching
the breast, shoulder, arm, and knee plates. She felt a rocking sensation in the
pit of her stomach. I know there was a sea trip. Did I get this. . . tattoo
before I sailed or after I arrived?
She pulled on her hard-soled boots. The soft leather uppers reached nearly to
her knees. She checked for her daggers. Each boot pocket held a slender,
balanced wedge of silvered steel. All that remained on the chair was her plate
mail and her cloak. Her fire-scorched longsword and the eagle-shaped barrette
she used to keep her hair in place lay on the dresser. Worse than her missing
pack, there was no money among her belongings, but she was still too concerned
about the tattoo to worry about money.
This memory loss and tattoo may be nothing, she tried to tell herself as she
reached for the barrette. Holding the silver clasp in her teeth she wound up her
long reddish hair and bound it to the back of her head with the barrette. She
remembered Ikanamon the Gray Mage telling her about the time he got so drunk and
obnoxious that his fellow party members had a vulgar scene involving centaurs