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

In short succession he was buffeted by a portly woman carrying a sack of flour, a ragman's cart, and a
young boy running full tilt after a mechanical toy dragon that had escaped him. As he caught up, Artus
grabbed Zin by the arm and pulled him into a doorway. "What am I going to do? The mages I've seen tell
me they can't remove the enchantment."
"Skuld probably wouldn't let the enchantment be lifted," the scholar noted. "And I believe he has the
power to stop all but the most skilled mages, ones with expertise in Mulhorandi magic." For the first time,
his eyes took on a sympathetic cast. "Artus, I know of only one suchтАФ"
"Phyrra al-Quim?"
Zin nodded. "Even if you wanted to speak with her, she resides in Tantras now. The murder charges are
still pending against you there, are they not?"
"You know they are," Artus sighed, slumping against the door. "I wouldn't bother with Phyrra anyway.
That business with the Cult of Frost was just the end of a long feud. She hated me when we were both
your students. She thought you gave me too many breaks."
"I did," the scholar said flatly. After glancing at the bright highsun sky visible between the close-set
roofs, he added, "I really must get back to the temple. I can do a little research, but it will take some time
and some more prayers to Oghma." He smiled at the exasperated look that crossed Artus's face. "Don't
worry, though. Skuld may have a bit of an attitude, but I believe his purpose is to protect you from danger.
This unfortunate incident could actually work to your favor, just so long as you stay out of trouble until we
quantify the spirit's purpose and powers."
Artus watched Zintermi pass unruffled through the bustling, noisy throng. There were few men he
respected as much as the scholar, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to believe his hopeful prognosis.
Artus boasted many strengths and skills, but staying clear of trouble was not counted among them.

* * * * *

"Welcome back, Master Cimber. We've missed you."
The butler who served the Society of Stalwart Adventurers bowed his magnificently horned head in
deference to Artus. He took the cloak the young man offered, folding it gently over his arm. "Sir Hydel is
awaiting you in the library." With a red, clawed hand, the butler motioned for him to enter.
"Thanks, Uther," Artus said distractedly. He barely gave the butler's demonic features a second glance
as he hurried inside.
The children gathered across the street were another matter entirely. It was as if the youth of Suzail had
posted a schedule, for there were always at least six children loitering there, day and night. Some begged
money from wealthier members of the society, others picked pockets of adventurers and passers-by alike.
All the ragged urchins taunted Uther whenever he answered the door.
 The butler had been handsome once, in a mundane sort of way. Some women found him attractive still,
though only those favoring a more exotic lifestyle. A spell, cast five years ago by a young dandy from
Waterdeep who'd had too much to drink and too little training in magic, had misfired rather spectacularly.
The dandy had, in a fit of unoriginality, decided to punish the butler for refusing to refill his glass by giving
him an ass's head, albeit temporarily. It hadn't quite worked that way.
Uther had suffered many indignities at the hands of the younger members of the society, and he took
this all in stride. He shrugged and went laconically about his business when it was discovered the dandy's
spell had made him rather resistant to any further magic, especially any aimed at restoring his mundane
good looks. The huge trust established by the dandy's familyтАФthe extremely wealthy Thanns of
WaterdeepтАФhelped him adjust somewhat. Truth be told, though, Uther secretly enjoyed his new
appearance. To discourage gate-crashers, all he need do was narrow his slitted yellow eyes and arch one
wicked eyebrow. He'd never been forced to use the pair of twisted horns atop his head, the black claws
that capped his gnarled fingers, or the pair of fangs protruding from his thin lips. Their very existence was
enough to stop any brawl that broke out in the club's gaming room.
This particular afternoon, the butler was in high spirits. He placed Artus's cloak inside on a table. Then,