"Forgotten Realms - Shandril's Saga 01 - Spellfire (2002) (Greenwood, Ed)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forgotten Realms)

"What is your name, wise apprentice?" the woman asked.
"Narm, good lady."
"Nay, that I'm not. A lady, yes, when I remember, but I fear my tongue prevents my being called 'good' overmuch, save in courtly politeness. Slow your mount a bit, NarmЧthis next stretch is all roots and holes."
"Yes, but the devils?"
"We are largely clear. They seem to be under orders as to how far they may venture. If we are beset now, I have time enough to call on ElminsterV
"Ehninster?"
"The Sage of Shadowdale. He has seen some five hundred winters, and he is one of the most powerful mages in Faerun. Mind your manners to his face, Narm, if you would see the next morning as a man and not a toad or worse."
"As you say, lady. This ElminsterЧis he in need of an apprentice?"
IJlistyl chuckled. "He enjoys having a 'prentice as much as coming down with a plague, as he has often put it. But you may ask."
Narm managed a grin. "I know not if I dare, good lady."
"A man who fights bone devils with a stick of wood, afraid to ask a question of Elminster? He'd be most flattered to hear of your trepidation." She chuckled again, the full, throaty chuckle few women allow themselves, and leaned over to lead Nairn's horse by the bridle through a narrow
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passage between two trees and then sharply to the left, around the lip of a large pit.
Narm could see her clearly at last. Tb his astonishment, she was a tiny wisp of a girl, no older than he, clad in a simple, dark cloak over the earthen-hued tunic and breeches a forester might wear. Her boots, he noticed, were of the finest leather and make, although their swash-topped cuffs were plain and not of fancy cut or ornament. She felt his gaze and turned in her saddle with a smile.
"Well met," she said simply. Narm smiled back as she turned away and spurred down a slope in the path, and then blinked. How powerful were these knights, that one so young might, with but one companion, calmly contend with devils? And what would become of Narm in the hands of ones so powerful?
With dull despair Narm realized that he had lost all of his books of magicЧworse, all he owned but a knife, a few coins, and the clothing on his back. He now had no home, no master, and no means of earning coins anew. What need would Shadowdale have of an apprentice worker of the art with the likes of Elminster and Lady Hlistyl in residence?
Narm set his jaw and rode on with a heavy heart. Ulistyl saw and said nothing, for some things must be faced and fought alone.
They rode on, and the day waned and grew dark beneath the trees. Suddenly a great eagle swooped down from the sky to join them in a clearing. Writhing before their eyes, the eagle became a lively eyed man in the simple robes of a druid. Narm bid a grave greeting to Lanseril Snowmantle.
Lanseril returned it gravely and asked him if he cooked meals or washed up afterward. There was laughter, and the darkness within Narm lightened.
Nothing disturbed their camp that night, but in his dreams Narm died a thousand times and saved his surly master a hundred times and slew ten thousand devils. He awoke many times screaming and weeping, and each time Illistyl or Lanseril sat close to reassure him with words and hand-clasps. As Narm lay down again he would shake his head wearily. He knew it would be a very long time before his dreams would be free of grinning, hissing devils.
ED GREENWOOD
The next day, riding westward through the vast wood with Hlistyl while Lanseril flew above, Narm knew that he must return to Myth Drannor. Not to avenge Marimtnar or to try to recover lost spellbooks that would doubtless have been seized by now anyway, but to be free of the taunting devils of his dreams. Half-asleep, he slumped in his saddle and wondered if he would live long enough to see the ruined city itself. They rode on toward Shadowdale.
They rode at last through a beautiful dale of busy farms and gardens and well-loved trees to a keep on the banks of the river Ashaba, at the base of that bald knob of rock known as the Old Skull. Illistyl nodded to the guards and turned their mounts out into a meadow, into the care of an old and limping master of horses and three eager youths, and led Narm into the Twisted Tbwer.
Watchful guards within nodded to Illistyl as sbe turned left in the great hall that led back from the doors. She nodded back and went through massive arched inner doors into a vast chamber where an expressionless man in elegant finery sat on a throne and listened to two farmers argue over the ownership of some hogs, stemming from a broken fence. Lord Mourngrym's moustache bid his mouth. One finger repeatedly traced a chased, sinuous design of stags and hunters worked into the gold scabbard of the slim long-sword he wore.
Illistyl led Narm to a bench at the front of the nearly empty hall. The stolid faces of the guards flanking the throne watched Narm and Illistyl steadily. Looking about the room, Narm saw that huge tapestries hung behind the throne. A balcony curved across a corner of the room to the right, high above them. A guard stood there, too, and Narm noticed the front of a loaded crossbow resting casually on the balcony rail.
"Enough," the lord said then, and the argument stopped immediately. "I shall send down men to repair the fence this day. You are to obey them as you would me. One of them will see you divide all hogs living on both farms into two equal groups, one to each. You will eat together tonight,
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both families, with my men and the wine they'll bring, and I expect you to drop hard feelings, put them behind you, and be true friends again. If any trouble over the fence brings you here again, a hog each it will cost you."
He nodded then, and both farmers bowed and walked out wordlessly. But no sooner had they passed into the hall than their voices could be heard breaking into argument again. Narm thought he saw a smile steal briefly onto the lord's handsome face. Illistyl rose and tugged at his arm.
"Come," she said simply and led him to stand before the throne. Narm started to bow hesitantly. Illistyl's hand on his arm jerked him upright. "Narm," she said, "this is Lord Mourngrym of Shadowdale. He will ask questions; answer him well, or I shall regret having aided you." Smiling, she turned to address the man on the throne. "We found him beset by devils in Myth Drannor, Grym."
Lord Mourngrym nodded and turned clear blue eyes upon Narm. "Welcome," he said. "Why came you to Myth Drannor, Narm?" His gaze held the youth as if at the point of a gentle sword.
Narm was silent a moment, and then his words came out in a rush. "My master, the mage Marimmar, sought the magic he believesЧbelievedЧthe city holds. We rode out of Cor-myr and up through Deepingdale to the ruined city, just the two of us.
"There we met Merith Strongbow and Jhessail Silvertree of the knights, who warned us back. My master was angry. He thought that they were trying to keep him from the city's magic, so we went southeast and turned again to reach the city. We were set upon by devils, and my master was killed. I would have died, too, had not this good lady and the druid Lanseril Snowmantle come to my rescue. They have brought me straight here."
Mourngrym nodded. "Their patrol was ended. Here you stand; what will you do now?"
Narm paused. "A night ago, lord, I would not have known. But I am resolved. I will go back to Myth Drannor, if I can." He saw devils in his mind again and shuddered. "If I run," he added softly, "I shall be seeing devils forever."
"It could be your death."
963*
ED GREENWOOD
"If the gods Tymora and Mystra will it so, then so be it," Narm replied. Mourngrym looked to fllistyl, whose eyebrows rose in faint surprise.
"What say you? Let a man go to his death?"
Illistyl shrugged. "We must do as we will, if we can. The hard task, GrymЧdecreeing who can do as they willЧis yours." She grinned. "I look forward to observing your masterful performance."
Mourngrym's moustache curled in a tight smile. He turned to Narm. "You lack a master; do you also lack spells?"
"Yes, lord," Narm replied. "If I return from Myth Drannor, I would seek a mage of power to study my art. I have heard of Elminster. Are there others here who might stand in welcome to an apprentice?"
Mourngrym smiled openly this time. "Yes," he said. "The lady who stands beside you, for one." Narm looked at Illistyl; she was smiling faintly, eyebrows and gaze raised to the rafters high above. Mourngrym continued. "Her mentor, Jhessail Silvertree, for another. Other, lesser workers of art in the dale may also welcome you."
He inclined his head. "Illistyl trusts you. You have the freedom of the dale and are welcome, here in the tower, to our table and a bed. May the gods smile upon you when you return to Myth Drannor."
Narm bowed and placed his arm firmly on Illistyl's. "Thank you, lord," he said to Mourngrym and turned to go. "My lady?"
Illistyl nodded, winking at Mourngrym. "Adventurers and fools walk together, eh?"
"Yes," Mourngrym agreed. Only Illistyl saw a sparkle glimmering in his eye. "But which is which?"
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