"James Lowder - The Harpers 05 - The Ring of Winter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lowder James)

with tales of their trip to the Stonelands and their misfortune with the statue.
The next room was filled with a tangle of exotic plants, so full, in fact, the walls and ceiling were
completely obscured. This was the work of Philyra, the ranking druid of the Stalwarts. She didn't
particularly like visiting the city and had created this riot of green as a hideaway. As Artus walked along the
narrow path between the tangles of vines and bushes, a blur of color caught his eye. The growl from behind
a frond-heavy plant made it clear the president's leopard had gotten loose again. The cat, like the druid,
favored this room above all others.
Making a mental note to send one of the servants to collar the harmless, if somewhat grouchy, beast,
Artus hurried on.
Through laboratories filled with bubbling, gurgling beakers of odd-colored liquids and sizzling arcs of
magical energy, tranquil halls lined with white marble pillars where various clerics quietly debated matters
both spiritual and mundaneтАФthrough these and other more unusual rooms Artus passed. He'd never given
much thought to the design of the club; like many things in Suzail, it had been created largely through the
use of magic. If its architecture seemed out of the ordinary, its floor plan labyrinthine, then the builders had
merely succeeded in creating something new to Faerun.
At last he came to the library, the largest room in the club and the central gathering spot for both old and
new members. The high walls were fined with books and scrolls of every description, bound in every type
of leather or hide imaginable. Ladders reached the highest shelves. There was always at least one person
balanced precariously atop them, reaching for some desired tome. A winged monkey and a giant owl
fluttered through the air, carrying scrolls they'd retrieved for their masters. Memorabilia of the members'
exploits filled every other available spot on the wallsтАФshields, swords, regimental colors, medals, and
plaques. There were trophies of rare beasts throughout the room, the most awe-inspiring being the red
dragon's head perched over the doorway. Its eyes seemed to watch the proceedings in the room with
eternal malevolence.
A magnificent thousand-candled chandelier dominated the ceiling, casting bright light throughout the
room. Its candles, brought from magical Halruaa, never needed to be replaced. On the ceiling around the
chandelier were painted portraits of four of the five founders of the society, each in a different, remote part
of the world. The fifth founder, and first president of the Stalwarts, was immortalized in a life-sized bronze
statue in the room's center, directly below the magical chandelier.
Artus's eyes were drawn to this statue of Lord Rayburton whenever he entered the library. Explorer,
historian, warrior, Rayburton had been all of these and more. Twelve hundred years past, when Cormyr had
been little more than a rough collection of wilderness outposts, he had blazed trails to the interior of the
Anauroch Desert and the heart of the Great Glacier. He'd been among the first Westerners to cross the
dangerous Hordelands to the ancient kingdom of Shou Lung. His books filled three shelves, and all of them
were classics in their field, the basis for a hundred other derivative works.
The thirty or so people in the library were divided into five clusters, with a few of the more studious
hunched over books in the far corners. The younger members mostly told tales of their adventures,
competing in both volume and exaggeration with everyone else in the room. One group had toppled a table
to clear room for a makeshift battlefield. They were reenacting an old skirmish from Cormyrian history with
tiny, enchanted soldiers wrought from lead. In the mock war, a line of ogres and orcs charged in a ragged
line toward an arrow-straight formation of miniature human infantrymen.
"There he is now," someone shouted. "A giant among us!"
"Better clear the room in case his body swells to fit his ego again."
Artus forced a smile and headed straight for Pontifax.
The older members of the club, white-haired and pompous, encircled Sir Hydel. Their discussion rarely
ranged to their own exploitsтАФall were expected to know the merits of their elders in the society, so they
had no need to brag. The senior members discussed the glories of long-dead Stalwarts and the foolishness
of the youngsters. Artus knew their topic to be his own misfortunes even before he reached the circle of
comfortable chairs.
 "Well met," he said as he arrived. The half-dozen men and women murmured their greetings over