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

white, and black smoke rose over the table.
"Grant me the knowledge I seek, great Oghma." Zintermi lowered his voice to a powerful bass rumble.
"For I have sought truth and recorded it in your name, bound the past for all to study and captured the
fleeting lives of great men on parchment. Allow me the blessing of understanding, that I may exalt it in the
transient world of mortals, that I may show others the light of reason, thatтАФ"
"That I may drone on forever," Artus grumbled. He gave his former teacher a withering look. "I'm not a
yokel at a county fair, impressed by smoke and chanting. If you haven't caught on yet, Zin, I'm really
worried about this thing. It may be cursed!"
Artus noticed then that the other patrons of the Black Rat were staring at him. Magic certainly wasn't
uncommon in such establishments. It was often in taverns and hostels that traveling mages did their best
business. From the frightened looks on their faces, he assumed they had heard him mention a curse. No one
in Cormyr took such matters lightly.
Zin cocked an eyebrow. "We will need to continue this exploration out in the street if you don't keep
your voice down." He turned a suddenly smiling face to the barmaid. "Have no fear, my dear. The only
curse from which my friend suffers is occasional rampant stupidity."
Artus bristled at the insult. The others laughed, returning to their food and chatter.
"Now," the scholar said, slipping into the pedantic tone Artus always found incredibly annoying, "we
obviously need to discuss the importance of praying to Oghma before delving into such mysteries. As you
should know from your yearsтАФ"
His hand held up to stop the lecture, Artus nodded. "As always, Zin, you're right. Go on with the
service." He slouched back in his chair. "Just wake me up when it's over."
 The droning prayer resumed. Closing his eyes, Artus let his mind wander. He had nothing against
scholars like Zintermi; he actually respected the man quite highly. Much of what he knew about history,
myth, and archaeology he'd learned from the old man. It was Zin's sanctimony that always set him off, that
damned mile-wide streak of religious certainty. Artus was certain of only three things in his life: himself, the
trustworthiness of Sir Hydel Pontifax, and the importance of the Ring of Winter.
The problem was, the latter two certainties had begun to conflict in the past few months. Hydel had
been in favor of the quest for the ring ten years ago, when Artus had first decided the legends were true.
They had taken up the hunt eagerly, intent on finding the ring and using it for good causes. Neither wanted
the power the artifact granted in itself, but such power was necessary to fight the dark forces that were
always threatening to overwhelm the lands of Faerun.
Yet more and more often Pontifax was voicing strong objections to the hunt. He claimed Artus had
become blind to the reason behind the quest, that he was seeking the Ring of Winter merely to be the one to
find it after it had been lost for so long. Though he disagreed with that assessment, Artus knew the old
mage was right in one thing: searching for the artifact had become quite dangerous. The incident with the
statue had been the latest in a three-year-long string of misfortunes.
Artus frowned and counted off a few of the more major unpleasantries they'd faced because of the
quest. Let's see, first were the murder charges in Tantras, then the undead halflings in Thay, then the frost
giants north of Zhentil Keep. There's the Cult of Frost, of course. ... He sighed. For almost as long as Artus
had hunted the ring, Kaverin Ebonhand and his villainous Cult of Frost had dogged his every step.
"You are disturbing my rest, lackey of Oghma."
The voice was deeper than any Artus had ever heard, and it seemed to be coming from him. There was
also a rumble of feet on the pegged floor as three people ran for the door. Artus opened his eyes, only to
find Zin staring right back at him.
"Most unusual," the scholar said calmly. He saw Artus looking at him and pointed straight up.
There, above Artus, hovered the head and upper body of a ghostly silver figureтАФthe statue come to life.
A snarl twisted the bald phantom's lips, revealing a row of glinting teeth filed to savage points. "Should I
tear the nosy one limb from limb, O mighty one?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Of course not!" Artus yelped. He glanced at the pendant banging around his neck. A trail of silver
smoke rose from it to the apparition.