"Barb & J. C. Hendee - Noble Dead 03 - Sister of the Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hendee JC & Barb)

of your inheritance. "

Chane shook his head. "I cannot go crawling home for coins. If my father learned how I lost... I cannot.
"

Welstiel scanned their surroundings until his gaze returned to the small brass urn hanging upon a chain
around Chane's neck. He pointed first to Chane's sword, then to the urn.

"You are skilled and resourceful, so you may be useful to me. I offer you a bargain. I will pay you
enough to travel west across the ocean, to Calm Seatt in Malourne or from there to the Suman Empire
and the capital of Samau'a Gaulb. Both cities have longstanding branches of the Guild of Sagecraft. They
are like nothing you can imagine compared with the meager offerings in Bela. I will prepare letters of
introduction for you to certain connections I have. You have time on your side. In thirty years, few here
will even remember your name, and you can return, if you wish. Time is the one true advantage that our...
kind has. "

The last words were spoken bitterly, and this gave Chane pause. Did Welstiel despise his own
existence? He pushed the question aside.

"And in exchange?"

"Assist me and be rewarded, " Welstiel replied, and then his voice lowered. "And put aside any foolish
notion of revenge. "

Welstiel's offer still smacked vaguely of servitude, but some of the fog clouding the future lifted from
Chane's mind. He longed to speak with Wynn even once more, but this was impossible now that she
knew what he was. The prospect of finding a place in another sage's guild was at least a second-best
enticement. It filled him with anticipation akin to warm blood flowing from a fear-filled victim. And if
Welstiel should forget this arrangement, there remained the smaller pleasure of revenge upon the dhampir,
and thereby against Welstiel himself for any deceit.

Chane nodded his acceptance.

Welstiel pulled on his black leather gloves and started for the barn's doors. Chane picked up the sack
and leather-strapped chest that held his remaining possessions and followed. They did not speak again
while walking.

The woods were not dense between the farmland fields, but Welstiel kept to the trees and off the road
until they were almost upon the small inn. It rested amid its scant neighboring buildings beside the main
road out of Bela. Ill-kempt, weathered, and with a side stable that leaned severely into its eastern timber
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wall, the inn had the look of a place rarely visited. Few incoming travelers would stop here so close to a
city where better options waited. And once leaving the capital, likely at daybreak, fewer still would pause
for the night after traveling such a short distance.

Welstiel knocked at the front door. When no one answered, he knocked again. The door eventually