"Ed Greenwood - Spellfire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenwood Ed)

SPELLFIRE

ZHENTIL KEEP
At Ctae Sign op Tbe Rising Moon
Neglect not small things, for all ruling and war and magecraft are naught but
small things, one built upon another. Begin then with the small, and look
close, and you will see it all.
Seroun of Calimport
"fifes of Far Ttevels
Yfear of the Rock
It was a good inn, but sometimes Shandril hated it. She was crying at the pain
in her scalded hands, the tears running down her chin and arms into the suds,
as she washed a small mountain of dishes.
ft was a hot Flamerule noon. Sweat stood out all over her like oil, making her
slim arms slippery and glistening. She wore only her old gray tunic, once
Gorstag's. It stuck to her here and there, but only the cook, Korvan, would
see her, and he would slap and pinch even if she were bundled up in furs like
some northern princess. She blew, sharply, and the lank blonde hair falling
from her forehead parted reluctantly in front of her eyes. Tossing her head to
fling her hair aside, Shandril narrowly surveyed the stack beside her and
concluded with a sigh that there were at least three hours' worth of dishes
left.
Not enough time. Korvan was starting the roasts in the hearth already. He'd be
wanting herbs cut and water brought soon. He was a good cook, Shandril allowed
grudgingly, even if he was fat and he stank and his hands were always hot and
sticky. Some folk came to The Rising Moon just because of Korvan's cooking.
ED GREENWOOD
Shandril had heard the story about how KorvanтАФ younger and slimmer thenтАФhad
once been a cook in the Royal Palace of Cormyr, in the fair city of Suzail.
There had been some trouble (probably over a girl, Shandril thought darkly,
perhaps even one of the princesses of Cormyr), and he'd had to leave Cormyr in
some haste, banished therefrom upon pain of death.
Shandril wondered, as she eyed a soapy platter critically, what would happen
if she ever managed to get Korvan drunk senseless or knocked cold with a
skillet and somehow could drag him through the Thunder Gap and over the border
into Cormyr. Perhaps King Azoun himself would appear out of thin air and say
to the Cormyrean border guards, "Here he is!" and without hesitating they'd
draw their swords and hack off Korvan's head. She smiled at the thought.
Perhaps he'd plead for mercy or cry in fear.
Shandril snorted. Great chance, indeed, of that ever happening! He was here,
now, and too lazy to ever go anywhereтАФand too fat for most horses to carry
him, if it came to that. No, he was trapped here, and she was trapped with
him. She scrubbed a fork fiercely until its two tines gleamed in the sunlight.
Yes, trapped.
It had been a long time before she'd realized it. She had no parents, no
kinтАФand no one would even admit to knowing where she'd come from. She had
always been here, it seemed, doing the dirty work in the old roadside inn
among the trees. It was a good inn, everyone said. Other places must be worse,
Shandril reasoned, but she had never seen them. She could not remember ever
having been inside any other building, ever. After sixteen summers, all she