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

ED GREENWOOD
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
SPELLFIHE
ted the horses on through the thick white wall of mist.
"We should tarry until this mist passes," Rymel said, his bard's voice and
gray eyes serious for the first time in Shan-dril's memory. Tiny droplets of
mist hung in the curls of his short beard.
"Aye," Ferostil replied, his voice low and wary. "And yet-that cry we heard.
If we wait, who knows what might hunt us? Surround and entrap us, and we not
able to even see them until too late?"
His words left a deafening silence. Shandril met Burlane's eyes, trying to
look calm. A trace of a smile crossed his lips as they traded glances, but his
calmness was an act too. Shandril felt grateful, and suddenly she was less
afraid.
Delg the dwarf spoke. "I second that. I cannot abide waiting a whole night
through in this damp, doing nothing. I say push on, and we'll be the sooner
out of it!" The light was growing dim. One of the horses snorted and shifted
again, and Delg went to it and spoke soothingly.
"What say you, Thail?" Burlane asked quietly.