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

letting his breath puff into the chill air like a snorting bull, he snarled menacingly and took a half-dozen quick
steps toward the children. They dropped the sticks they'd been using as mock horns and scattered. Their
whoops of fright could be heard echoing from the alleys all around the club.
Uther smiledтАФa terrible thing to seeтАФand turned back to the door. A thin man in a black, hooded cloak
was trying to sneak in through the open doorway.
"Are you a member, sir?" Uther asked blandly. He already knew the answer, but etiquette demanded he
not directly confront the stranger with his questionable conduct.
The hooded man stiffened, then leaped for the door. Etiquette neatly put aside, Uther dashed forward to
defend his post, grabbing the gate-crasher with one hand. The butler had the strength to match his
intimidating visage, though even he was startled to hear a crack when he clamped down on the fellow's
shoulder. The man didn't react as if his bone had been broken, but he was as cold as a frost giant's nose.
Spinning the intruder around, Uther was not surprised in the least to find his face hidden by the cloak's
sizeable hood. "You are either a very, very stupid thief or an amazingly bold assassin," the butler said. His
voice was now little more than a rumble. "Or, perhaps, an attorney of some sort. In any case, you're not
welcome here."
Without a word, the dark-cloaked figure slid out of Uther's grip and dashed away at a stiff-legged gait.
The butler watched him until he ducked down an alley a few buildings away. Satisfied that he had once
again deterred an unwelcome guest to the club, he securely bolted the front door.
Once inside, the butler noted with some amusement that Artus hadn't even got past the entryway. At the
end of the long corridor leading to the heart of the club, a young Cormyrian nobleman had cornered the
explorer. The manтАФor, more precisely, the half-elfтАФwas just over six feet tall, with striking black hair and
gently pointing ears. In his hands he held a book and a long sheet of parchment. He energetically waved
them both in Artus's face as he spoke.
"All I want is for you to sign my petition," the nobleman said. His voice was high with enthusiasm, and it
rang in the otherwise silent hallway. "This dratted book of lies has branded my poor departed father
incompetent. Imagine the fourteenth Lord Darstan, berated by a commoner! I want the king to know the
Stalwarts won't stand for this sort of shoddy history, especially when it slights one of our ranks." He thrust
the bookтАФA History of the Crusade Against the TuiganтАФinto Artus's face.
The explorer stared blankly at the massive tome. He was paying no attention whatsoever to the young
Lord Darstan's blathering, for he was undoubtedly on a rampage again about his father. The previous Lord
Darstan had led a disastrous cavalry charge during Azoun's crusade against the barbarians. All the histories
agreed upon that. The young half-elf would not be placated, though. He regularly roamed the halls of the
club, jabbing his petition into everyone's face, demanding they help restore his father's good name.
The half-elf was a friend and a powerful political ally, but even that couldn't ease the growing
annoyance Artus felt. "Didn't I sign this before, Darstan?" he asked irritably.
"Oh, that was a petition against that other book about the crusade. In that one, my fatherтАФ"
Uther seemed to materialize at Lord Darstan's side. The butler clamped a clawed hand firmly over the
nobleman's head and lifted him from the floor. "Lady Elynna has asked you to refrain from circulating the
petition in the club, sir," the butler noted. He removed the book and the blank parchment from Darstan's
hands. "And since she is the president of the society, I'm afraid I must enforce her word. I do so with the
greatest regret, of course."
Artus recognized a rescue when he saw one, and he smiled gratefully at Uther before hurrying down the
corridor and into the maze of rooms that led to the heart of the club.
In a long dining hall, a small crowd of dwarves flipped gold coins at the fifteen chandeliers, trying to
make the disks land flat atop the candles, snuffing them out. The room was darker than one had any right to
expect; either the dwarves were very good at the game or had been at it for days. The ringing of coins as
they fell noisily to the floor, as well as the empty ale mugs and dirty dishes stacked haphazardly on all the
flat surfaces, suggested the latter.
"Well met, Artus," one of the dwarves shouted. "Nice to see you back to size!"
Artus groaned and hurried through the shower of coins. Pontifax had obviously been regaling everyone