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

Sir Hydel Pontifax had been a soldier forty years past, and a mage-for-hire for much of the time since
then. His mind knew, therefore, that he should shield Artus from the first assault. After all, the younger man
had his back to the attacker and was still resting in a crouch, a terrible position to launch any kind of
respectable defense. Sadly, Pontifax's body could only vaguely follow the orders his mind rattled off; he
took a single step toward Artus, but instead of shielding him, the mage knocked his comrade into the pillar.
A colorful curse half-formed on his lips, Artus felt his shoulder strike the stone pillar and that stone give
way just slightly. It was enough. The silver statue tottered on its base, then toppled. Had Artus's reflexes
been as dulled as Pontifax's, he might have saved himself a great deal of trouble. Yet Artus was still a
young man, just over thirty-five winters old. His mind told him to save the priceless statue from harm, and
his hands did just that.
As the multi-eyed creature slammed into Pontifax, the statue touched Artus's skin. A flash of silvery
light filled the room. The explorer could only hope that he'd broken the artifact's fall, since the flash left his
eyes useless and the statue had somehow slipped from his grasp. He didn't bother to grope about for the
lost artifact, though. What concerned him more was the sound of a scuffle going on close at hand.
 "Pontifax?" Artus asked, stumbling to his feet.
"Behind you, my boy," came the reply. "Seems this blasted creature wants us for dinner."
An animalistic growl followed, as did the sound of a body hitting the floor. Artus drew his dagger and
waved it before him. With his other hand he rubbed his eyes, hoping to banish the moving blotches of light
that clouded his vision. "Pontifax?"
No answer came, only the scrape of a heavy object being dragged across the dirty stone.
When Artus's eyes cleared, he saw that the room was dark save for the wan light cast by his blade. The
smoking stump of Pontifax's torch lay on the ground nearby, next to the toppled pillar. From there, a wide
trail of disturbed dust and rubble led to the doorway. Artus tensed for a confrontation, then took a step
toward the dark archway.
"Blasted creature," came Pontifax's voice from the hallway.
"Thank Tymora's luck, you're all right," Artus breathed. As he took a step into the hall, he moved to once
more sheathe his dagger. "How about a little light, myтАФ"
It was not Pontifax awaiting Artus. The mage was laid out in a bloodied heap, his steady breathing rising
from his nose like puffs from a steam kettle. No, the multi-eyed creature squatted there, repeating Artus's
name with the voice of his old friend. Fortunately, Artus's dagger was still bared. The light it cast was
sufficient for him to get a very clear look at the stunningly ugly thing before it sprang.
Two legs and two arms radiated out from a round torso. Its skin was dark and smooth, as devoid of hair
as the silver statue's pate. Like its body, the beast's head was bulbous and bloated, with sixteen
heavy-lidded, evil looking eyes scattered about it. The source of its noiseless flight became clear the
moment it moved an arm; a thin, almost transparent membrane stretched from this appendage to its side.
The creature flaunted long, dirty claws and needlelike teeth.
Later, Artus would facetiously describe the beast as looking quite a bit like the animals made by street
entertainers in Halruaa, using gas-filled bags they called balloons. Actually, the thing was just very well fed,
having killed every man, elf, goblin, or orc foolish enough to wander into the depths of the ruined keep. And
it was fully intent upon adding Artus Cimber and Hydel Pontifax to that sad roster.
Using the same tactic that had worked so well on the elder man, the creature leaped at Artus in an
attempt to bowl him over. The explorer sidestepped the beast's lunge, then planted a vicious kick to its
stomachтАФat least to where he assumed its stomach to be. Anatomy aside, Artus knew he'd hit something
vulnerable from the almost-human groan the blow elicited. That noise, too, sounded like Pontifax. The thing
most likely picked the noise up when it clubbed the poor old fellow, Artus decided morbidly.
Keeping a wary eye on the glowing dagger, the creature stumbled to its feet. It crouched again,
preparing for another go at Artus.
"Just so long as my friend's none the worse for it, we can call this over right now," Artus said. "If the
statue's yours, we'll gladly leave it here." He hoped to see the glimmer of intellect in any of the sixteen eyes
squinting at him. He didn't.