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

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fell but for the snap of the fire as those in the taproom leaned forward to hear the better.
The bard was good, and his gentle words brought the tragic tale of the last king of Westgate to chilling life. All listened, in the cozy room where the old axe hung.
The mood of the evening had changed, the danger past and forgotten, Gorstag affably at ease again. Marimmar the mage never did tell his tale... .
The Company of the Bright Spear drank much and went up to their room late. Rymel, his lute left upstairs with their travel gear, had led the locals in a score of ballads with his fine voice atone. Delg the dwarf had lost his favorite dagger somewhere and was moody and suspicious. The burly fighter, Ferostil, was very drunk, andЧas usualЧtrading coarse jests in voices loud and slurred, and the wizard Thail, grim and sober, was guiding him up the stairs with many a sigh and jaundiced look.
"Lend me a hand, Burlane," he pleaded, as Ferostil nearly fell back on top of him. "This lout is nearer your size."
"Aye," their burly leader said good-naturedly. "We've lost enough tonight." He leaned back to grab Ferostil's shoulder. "Come then, Lion of Tempus," he said, hauling hard. "Now, where's that room?"
"This one," the wizard said, and threw the door wide.
Within, all was as they had teft itЧpacks strewn about, cloaks thrown over racks. A single lantern had been lit.
"My spear!" Burlane roared suddenly. "Where is the Bright Spear?" They peered all about, alert upon the instant, but there was no place in the room that could have concealed its flickering radiance. Their greatest treasure was gone.
"By all the gods!" Burlane bellowed. "I'll have this inn apart stone by stone if need be! That thieving bastard of an innkeeper! DelgЧquick, run to demand it of him! Thail, look to our horses! Is anything else missing?"
"Aye," said the wizard thickly. His hands trembled above his opened pack. "All my spells." His face was ashen; he sat down on the bed suddenly and stared at nothing, dazed.
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"Thail!" Burlane roared, shaking him. "Come, we mustЧ"
"My axe also," the dwarf's sour voice cut through Burlane's rage. "I see no sign of our charter from the king, nor Ferostil's shield. RymeP"
The bard was standing sadly by his pack. His shrug and empty hands told them his lute was gone as well. The men of the company stared at each other mutely. Everything dearest and of most value was gone.
Into the shocked silence came a knock upon the door.
Delg was nearest. Dourly he flung the door wide, expecting trouble. Over his shaggy head they all saw the pale, solemn face of a young girl with large, dark eyes. In one hand, she held their charter from the King of Cormyr. In the other, she gripped a spear that flickered with a pale blue light. She stepped calmly into the room past the astonished dwarf, cleared her throat in the tense silence, and said softly, "I understand you need a thief."
in tbe Mist
If discomfort and danger be always at hand, why then adventure? There is something in mankind that leads some always on to such foolishness, and the rest of us benefit by the riches and knowledge and dreams they bring us. Why else tolerate such dangerous idiots?
Helsuntiir of Athkatla
Musings
Ifear of the Winged Warm
The Company of the Bright Spear were six in number. The tall warrior Burlane bore the magical Bright Spear and led the company. A younger bladesman rode with him, the merry Ferostil. Delg, the dwarf, was also a warrior. His constant companion was the bard Rymel, probably the brightest of them all. The wizard Thail deferred to his younger, louder companions. Last and least of the company was the thief, one Shandril, a bright-eyed, soft-spoken waif in ill-fitting old breeches and a much-patched tunic.
They had nearly slain her when she had appeared with their missing gear, which she had slipped away and stolen while the ladies Storm and Sharantyr were facing down the company in the taproom. After their rage had subsided (under Rymel's laughter), only Delg had protested against her joining, but the fighterЧwith the same avid look in his eyes that Korvan gotЧwas enthusiastic. So far, however, Ferostil had not bothered her.
Shandril had slipped out of the inn that same night to wait for the company in the trees on the edge of Deepingdale,
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leaving only a hastily scribbled note for Gorstag. She had spent anxious hours in the dark with small forest creatures rustling and scuttling unseen around her, afraid that the company would change their minds and ride off without her. Shandril's heart had leaped when they had come into view through the dawn mists, leading Lynxal's empty horse for her. She had trembled so with excitement that she could hardly speak, but she had gotten into the saddle somehow, though she had never before ridden a horse. She was relieved to discover the dead thiefs weapons and gear strapped securely to the saddle, though she had no idea how to use them either. She would just have to learn... and
fast!
She'd taken nothing from the inn but the clothes she wore, and the single nice gown that had been made for her. Robbing Gorstag seemed a poor way to repay him for his kindness, and Shandril was not a thief at heart.
She wondered that night if she'd be any good at thievery, with the company's eyes on her in judgment. Her arms shrieked stiffly from gripping at reins and saddlehorn. Her legs ached even worse. Places on her thighs had been rubbed raw, and when it rained and cold, lashing winds blew at the same time, Shandril wondered why she'd ever left the safe, warm household of The Rising Moon.
The next morning, her heart light and free, she knew why she'd left. All around her lay the green gloom of deep woods, where men said only elves had walked scant summers ago. Everywhere she looked she saw new, wondrous things. When Burlane had changed their course after a discussion in which Rymel and Thail spoke most, Shandril had been thrilled at the simple freedom of choice.
There was another reason she'd left to start a new life. For the first time in her life, she had friends around her. Oh, Gorstag and Lureene had been her friends, but they were always busy, always rushing off to do something that did not involve her. But now she had friends who rode with her and would fight with her and were there all the time. Hunger for freedom and friendship had pushed her to take that extra step, to steal up to the long room and knock on the door to face the Company of the Bright Spear. Even in the
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taproom, when it might have meant gruff old Ghondar-rath's death and they had been loud and mocking, even then it had thrilled her: the belonging, the trust.
One of their number had been endangered. As one, they sprang to aid him, daring all, heedless of rules or cost. Above all in the world they were companions, and each one raised his blade to defend the others, no matter how weak. That's what she was, the weakest of the company, the one with the least experience and with no magical weapons or magery to boast of. She was not even truly a thief. The weakest of the company, indeed.
But she was of the company, a full and proper member who darned her socks with the rest of them by the fire the next night in wild country and washed herself, fully clad, in an icy stream, as they did in the gray, misty morn that followed. Shandril had given up on her snarled, greasy hair, pulling it back into a simple tail with a broken strap of Delg's. Even if she was the only female and jests were often hurled her way as she scrambled, red-faced, out of the deep brush after relieving herself, she belonged. They were her companions, her family, and she would die for them.
The company had left Deepingdale and promptly turned north into the woods, heading for Lake Sember. From old records in Suzail, the wizard Thail had learned that the elves had lived on the shores of the Sember in great numbers for two thousand years or more. Even if nothing of value had been left behind, Lake Sember lay along their path to Myth Drannor, and scouting it would serve them as practice for when they reached the ruined city. The company had come upon good trails in the woods, and for days they had ridden steadily north. Game was plentiful. The forest was never quiet around them, but neither did they see men or other large, dangerous creatures. At last the trees thinned ahead, and they looked out over Lake Sember.
The waters of Lake Sember were deep blue and very still. Clouds scudding overhead were mirrored in the lake at their feet; by the shore, the water seemed as clear as crystal. Beneath it they could see the bottom of the lake falling
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away, a drowned tree's limbs long, dark, and silent, and the scuttling of a tiny crayfish bound for deeper waters.
The company fell silent as they looked upon Lake Sember. They all knew now why it had been so special to the elves. Far away down the long lake, a great gray heron rose from the near shore and winged silently across the lake. They watched in silence. The heron vanished into the trees.
The air had grown cooler, and Shandril shivered. Tall Burlane looked up abruptly and said, "We must move east. I hope to make camp where the Semberflow leaves the lake tonight. Let us go."
The company turned east along the shore, weaving in and out around the trees, but keeping the water always in view. It would not do to get tost and stray south again now. Mist began to gather in white curls along the water's edge as the air grew colder. Wisps drifted in under the trees, and the sky fell to silver-gray. Burlane hurried them on. Shandril found a cloak in the saddlebags and thankfully drew it on over her chilled arms and shoulders.
Somewhere ahead, a bird called amid the trees. The call did not echo, but faded away. Glancing around in the gathering darkness, Shandril noticed that Ferostil had quietly drawn his sword. The trees grew dense and the footing uneven, so they continued on foot.
"Sharp watch," Burlane commanded quietly. Blades were drawn all around Mm. Shandril drew her own slim long-sword and clutched it firmly. Made for her predecessor, Lynxal, it was just a trifle too heavy. She felt no safer. The mist closed in around them.
Suddenly there came a high, weird, unearthly call, as if from a great distance. The horses snuffled and shifted uneasily. Looking at her companions, Shandril could see that they were puzzled by the sound as well. She was not the only frightened one, either.
By unspoken agreement, the Company of the Bright Spear waited in tense silence, but the call was not repeated. Shandril breathed a silent prayer for the kindness of Tymora, Goddess of Good Fortune. Finally Burlane ordered the advance again with a silent jerk of his head. Glad to be moving, they all shifted damp grips on weapons and reins and
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ted the horses on through the thick white wall of mist.