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

held in a grip like unmoving iron. Gorstag said quietly, "Drop your blade. All
others, put away your weapons. I will not have this in my house."
At the sound of his voice, everyone relaxed, the dagger clattered to the
floor, and blades slid back into scabbards.
"Have I your peace white you stay at The Rising Moon?" the innkeeper asked.
The company members nodded, said "Aye" in reluctant chorus, and returned to
their seats.
Across the room, the silver-haired bard sheathed her glowing blade and turned
to Ghondarrath. "Forgive me, sir/' she said simply. "They were too many. I
would not shame you." The chair trembled in the old man's hands.
"I am not shamed" he said roughly. "My friends sat all around, and when it
came to the death, I was alone, but for you two. I thank you. I am
Ghondarrath, and my table is yours. Will you?" He gestured toward a chair.
The two ladies clasped hands with him. "Aye, with thanks. I am Storm
SUverhand, a bard, of Shadowdale."
Her companion smiled, too. "I am Sharantyr, a ranger, also of Shadowdale. Well
met."
Gorstag passed them wordlessly, reached the bar, and turned. "The night is
hot," he said to the crowd, "so the house gives you all chilled wine from far
Athkatla." There was a general roar of approval. "Drink up," he added, as
Lureene hastily started around with flagons, "and let this incident be
forgotten!" He lifted the limp body of the thief, its head dangling loosely,
and carried it away.
Across the room, Marimmar removed a restraining hand from Nairn's arm. "Well
done, boy," he said. "Continue to hold your peace, and life will be far easier
for you."
"Aye," agreed Narm dryly. His master had certainly given him much practice in
holding peace. All around them laughter and the clink and clatter of eating
built up again. Tempers had been restored, and it was too soon to talk of the
near-brawl. The company seemed in fairly good humor, as if the thief hadnt
been liked much anyway. Narm looked about for the girl he had locked eyes with
earlier, but she was nowhere to be seen. There was something about her. . . .
Ah, well...
Narm turned his attention to the chilled wine the serving
ED GREENWOOD
girl had just brought, before Marimmar could forbid him to drink more. Now, if
the old man would just take up his tale of the treasures of lost Drannor, and
the city's ruin by devils again. . . .
But Ghondarrath, it seemed, had no more tongue for tales this evening. He sat
talking quietly with the two tall, lithe ladies whose ready blades had saved
his life. His eyes shone and his face was ruddy, and he seemed more alive than
for many a long winter. Several of the locals called on him to resume his
tale, but he paid them no heed. Finally, the calls became more general,
floating across the taproom to the travelers from afar.
To Narm's quiet embarrassment, Marimmar cleared his throat importantly,
squared his shoulders, and turned about grandly in his chair. Oh, gods,
thought Narm despairingly, deliver us all. His eyes sought out the ceiling.
Before the Mage Most Magnificent could draw breath, however, one of the
company of adventurers had turned to another and said, "Rymel! A tale! Give us
all a tale!" "Aye! A tale!" echoed other companions. "Well, J don't know,"