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

glasses of Tethyrian brandy. In more than a few faces lurked hints of knowing smiles. "Sir Hydel . . . if you
don't mind?"
"Any word on the medallion?" the mage asked as soon as they moved away from the others. He
gestured to the silver disk. "I see you still have the dratted thing."
The look of genuine concern on his comrade's face lessened Artus's irritation. "I'm stuck with it for
now," he replied. "Look, Pontifax, I wish you wouldn't tell everyone about what happened. I mean, the
curse on thisтАФ"
The mage looked genuinely hurt. "I am the very soul of discretion," he said. "I could hardly call myself a
good soldier if I ran off at the mouth about such things."
"Then how did the Raephel and the other dwarves know about me growing? What about all the
comments I've been hearing since I came in?"
"Ah," Hydel said, clearing his throat. "I must admit I did tell an edited version of the story, leaving out
anything about the curse. Replaced it with a misfired spell, you see. The story got quite a chuckle over
lunch, if I do say so myself. Why, Lady Elynna even asked if I'd write it up for the society's journal!"
"Congratulations," Artus said, frowning. He wasn't sure if it bothered him more that the mage had told
everyone about the embarrassing mishap or that he would never get a chance to tell his own, much livelier
version of the battle. "Any luck selling the artifacts?"
Hydel puffed out his chest. "I've secured an offer of three times the amount you estimated. The society
will buy all the coins and the spearheads we took from the ruins, and the sergeant of the Royal Historical
Office offered to buy everything else for the king's personal collection."
Removing a thin book bound in wyvern hide from his pocket, Artus took a seat at one of the nearby
desks. He opened to a page filled with columns of items and numbers, then recorded the exact amount
they'd been offered for each of the objects recovered.
"You're not keeping anything from this expedition?" Hydel asked. "You usually take something as a
memento."
"I have this," Artus said, holding op the medallion. "SkuldтАФthat's his name by the wayтАФis reminder
enough for me, thank you." He clapped the thin book shut and buried it in a pocket. The journal was a prize
stolen from the libraries of Zulkir Szass Tam, the undead ruler of Thay. No matter how many pages Artus
filled, more appeared without ever adding to the volume's weight or thickness. The book also opened
automatically to whatever page he wished to see.
"Skuld?" the mage asked. His puffy eyebrows rose in shock. "You mean the dratted thing's alive? Why,
Artus, you shouldтАФ"
A roar, followed swiftly by a chorus of astonished gasps and a few quite colorful curses, drowned out
the rest of Pontifax's suggestion. There was a mad scramble to get away from the miniature battlefield as
the reason for the disruptionтАФa fist-sized dragon wrought of lead and painted bright crimsonтАФcircled into
the air. It screeched and dove back toward the miniature armies, a stream of liquid flame shooting from its
jaws.
"Foul!" cried the owner of the Cormyrian infantry. The leaden soldiers were now only so much molten
slag burning its way through the expensive Shou carpet. "I say, tins is really bad form!"
The other would-be general folded her arms across her chest. "Hardly, Jarnon. The rules clearly state . .
."
Sir Hydel glanced around the room, taking stock of the other members. "Looks like I'm senior," he
sighed. "Better settle this before the dimwits burn the place down." The mage waded into the heart of the
conflict and, with a casual gesture, cancelled the enchantment on the leaden armies. The remaining soldiers,
which had scattered throughout the room to avoid the dragon, froze in place, dull metal once more. The
rampaging wyrm screeched, then dropped to the floor with a clatter.
Artus shook his head. The Society of Stalwart Adventurers had been founded as a place for
stout-hearted explorers and renowned world travelers to gather in camaraderie and share their findings. To
be invited to join, a prospective member had to achieve some noteworthy feat and have it recognized by the
society's committee. Over their thousand-year history, though, the Stalwarts had been infiltrated by