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

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
SPELLFIHE
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