"Ed Greenwood - Band of Four 02 - The Vacant Throne" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenwood Ed)

The Vacant Throne
Book 2 of Band of Four series
By Ed Greenwood

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 Prologue
The old minstrel shook his head. " 'Tis hard to believe, lad," he said to the depths of his empty tankard,
"even for such as us. Legends come to lifeтАФfour vagabond adventurers, one of them the Lady of Jewels
with her spells swirling around her like fire, rousing the Lost King back to us."
Flaeros Delcamper nodded, eyes shining. "I know," he almost babbled, "but it did befall, just as I've said!
I was there! I stood in the throne room on Flowfoam Isle and saw the barons kneel to the Risen King!"
His voice was rising, he knew, but Flaeros cared not. So what if the remembered thrill made him
babble? He was home in Ragalar, in the tankard-hung back room of the Old Lion, and the man across the
table from him had been house minstrel to the Delcampers for near a century, and tutor to Flaeros since
he'd been a muddy-faced boy.
Old Baergin smiled and shook his head again in disbelief, even though all Darsar had heard by now that
the king had returned to Aglirta, and a shining future of peace and prosperity could well be opening up
before every last jack and lady who saw the sun rise and the moon fall.
The hands that had guided the fumbling fingers of Flaeros on their first tentative pluckings at harp-strings
and travels up and down pipes set down their tankard, and their owner asked softly, "So what of these
famous Four now, lad? What was the last you saw of them?"
Flaeros took a generous swig from his own tankard and replied happily, "The Risen King summoned
them for a private audience, just before I left the Isle, and then sent them forth on a mysterious errand!"
Baergin nodded again, glanced once over his shoulder at the folk in the Lion who'd drifted closer to
stand listening while trying not to be doing so, and asked with the wry beginnings of a smile, "And have you
begun your ballad about it all?"
"Not yet," Flaeros told him, a little embarrassed. "Soon, but not yet."
Baergin lifted his shoulders in a shrug, and said in a voice that was barely more than a grim whisper,
"That's a pity. I'd have liked to hear it."
He rose in a smooth, unhurried surge to lean forward across the tableтАФand in the arm that was drawn
back at his side, ready to thrust forward, gleamed the long, wicked length of a drawn dagger.
It flashed down, and almost by accident the astonished Flaeros struck it aside with his tankard.
His longtime mentor stabbed again, viciously, and Flaeros flung himself desperately sideways in his seat,
kicking out at Baergin's knees and cursing in surprised dismay.
The bright steel fang bit into the paneled wall a few fingerwidths away from the young bard's ear, and
Flaeros dashed the dregs of his tankard into Baergin's face as the old minstrel tugged his blade free.
Baergin spat out beer and slashed blindly, but the young bard was whirling away around the end of their
table, headed for the nearest door.
And waiting trouble.
Even before Baergin shouted, "To me!" from behind him, Flaeros was twisting aside from the greasy
leather stormshields that hung in front of the doorтАФas a grim-faced armaragor burst through them, sword
drawn.
There was another battle-knight behind the first, and both of them wore full armor, without any sigil on
their breastplates. Some of the patrons of the Lion had their swords out now, too, and were advancing on
Flaeros with warily intent faces. From the far end of the many-pillared taproom came the glint of more
armor, and the bobbing helms of more armaragors.
Gods, he was going to die.
Something flashed past the young bard's eyes, caressing his shoulder with the lightest of touches as it