"Greenwood, Ed - Shandril 02 - Crown of Fire_v1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenwood Ed)

meadows, where he spent most days alone with his flock. It was something
-- or someone -- that wore or carried metal. It wasn't on the road
through the Gap, so it couldn't just be another trading wagon hung with
pots and pans. Perhaps it was a knight of Cormyr, perhaps even one of
the Dragon Knights, who were the personal swordguard and messengers of
Azoun, the Purple Dragon, king of all this land. With quickening
interest, Brann watched for another flash.

There it was again. Metal, surely, and bobbing in short, choppy moves --
so it wasn't a horse, or someone riding. It looked... as if some
splendid knight in gleaming armor were marching afoot across the hills
toward him.

Brann leaned on his staff and shaded his eyes for a better view. Then
his mouth fell open. A dwarf -- a real dwarf, with an axe and a beard
and a mail shirt, and all! Brann stood frozen in wonder. A tiny voice
inside him chuckled at his awe and reminded him that this was what he'd
wished for. Adventure was striding to meet him, after all. Staggering,
actually. The dwarf stumped along on one side of a girl who was being
carried, and a slim young man struggled along on the other. The dwarf
was bearing most of the girl's weight on his broad shoulders, but he was
so much shorter than the man that the two were having trouble moving
straight forward with their burden. "Keep on, lad," Delg grunted.
"There's a guard post not far ahead... two hills ahead, and we should
see it." Sweat dripped from the dwarf's dusty beard as he spoke.

Narm nodded grimly, saving all his breath for carrying his lady.
Shandril was slim and shorter than most; she couldn't be this heavy. She
hung loose between them, senseless. Narm stumbled, caught himself with a
wordless hiss of apology to Delg, and shook his head impatiently;
stinging sweat had run down into his eyes again. He looked ahead-and
stiffened. Through the blurring of sweat he saw dark, moving blobs on
the grassy hills ahead. "'Ware --" he panted.

"They're sheep, lad," the dwarf said dryly. "Right dangerous, if ye're a
clump of grass, I suppose. Aye? just sheep."

Narm shook his head wearily. His legs felt hollow and weak, his strength
draining out of them with every step. He had to-to rest. "Stop, Delg
just a breath," he panted, wiping sweat away with his sleeve. "Just a--"

"No," the dwarf said in tones of cold iron. "If you stop now, boy,
you'll never get on again in time. They'll catch up with us and run us
down out here like boar, and Shan will have cooked twenty-odd Zhents in
vain. Keep moving! We're almost there."

Brann watched, astonished, as the bristle-bearded dwarf in armor and the
young man in mage robes staggered past him, panting under the weight of
the girl they carried. Her long reddish-gold hair dangled along one limp
arm as they strode doggedly and unevenly on, up the last hill before the