"Lyndon Hardy - Riddle of the Seven Realms" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hardy Lyndon)

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Prologue

KESTREL looked past the flame toward the cabin door and estimated his chance of escape if
something were to go awry. Like the lairs of most wizards, there were no windows in any of the
walls; the distractions of the outside could well be done without.

He glanced back to the center of the room at the figure standing in the chalk-drawn pentagram that
surrounded the firepit. Phoebe was not reputed to be a wizard of prowess and it was no simple
devil that she was trying to summon.

If only she had been as greedy as the rest! The price he asked for an entire wagonload just like
the branches he waved in front of their faces was usually low enough to hurry all of their
thoughts away from testing what they were to receive. Some stored it all in their larders without
even bothering to examine any of the leather sacks. Usually he was well into the next kingdom
before they learned that a simple woodsman had gotten the better of the bargain rather than they.

But this one chose even to doubt that the sack he brought inside contained only anvilwood and
nothing else. She had insisted upon a test to see that more than just the merest of imps was
contacted through the realms, once the fire was lit.

Kestrel looked around the cabin. Thick beams bridged stout walls of white plastered mud. On the
left, a bed of straw with room for only one stood underneath a shelf sagging with rolls of
parchment. Behind Kestrel and extending along the wall on the right were tiers of wood-framed
cubbyholes rising to the high ceiling, a

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1 scrambled collection of nailed-together boxes and wide-mouthed bins.

In most of the openings Kestrel could see the contents stuffed nearly to overflowing and spilling
onto the wood-planked floor with goat-bladder sacks, vials of deeply colored powders, dried lizard
tongue, sunflower seeds, licorice, and aromatic woods; this was as well stocked a wizard's larder
as Kestrel had ever seen.

Kestrel looked again at the wizard staring intently into the flame. He had sought her out because
of the tales of her wealth. All the practitioners in the Brythian hills, though they thought
little of her skill, admitted that she was the richest. But if not for that, his interest might
have been piqued anyway. Rather than in ratted tangles, her well-groomed hair fell in a cascade of
shiny black down the back of her robe. The broad and youthful face was clear and unwrinkled. It
carried the open simplicity of an unspoiled peasant girl, rather than the somber broodings of one
who dared to thrust her will through the fire. The sash of the robe, adorned with the logo of
flame, attempted to pull tight a waist a bit thicker than the current fashion. But at the same
time, it accentuated curves that would otherwise be hidden. Despite her caution, her manner had
been quite warm. She did not display the disdain that vindicated in part what he did.

Kestrel ran his hand down the back of his head, feeling how well the thinning hair still covered