"Douglas Niles - Forgotten Realms - Viperhand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niles Douglas)

had been broken, Halioran knew, their doom must be imminent.
For more countless hours, they marched, seeking shelter that could not be
found. Their last water gone, consumed at the end of the previous day's march,
they all understood that their only hope lay in continuous, desperate search.
"I have failed," Poshtli croaked finally as they crested yet another sharp,
parched ridge. "It was a mistake to seek the desert dwarves. We would have
done better to brave the lands of Pezelac and Nexal. There, at least, we would
have found food and drink to sustain us."
Hal shook his head weakly. "But enemies, too. They would kill us before we
could ever reach the city."
Erixitl stumbled past, as if she did not hear. But she did. She knew that she
was the cause of their ill-chosen path, selected to avoid human habitation and
the bloodthirsty priests who strived to place her lithe body across a gruesome
sacrificial altar. Every tiny village had a temple devoted to this god of war,
and any one of the priests to be found there would strive mightily for the
chance to offer this girl's heart to Zaltec. She did not know why the priests
of Zaltec sought her death so unceasingly, but she understood that their
hatred was implacable.
Before entering the desert, they had slain one of these agents of deathтАФnot a
priest, but rather one of the black-robed leaders of the cult of Zaltec known
as the Ancient Ones. Even the priests of Zaltec looked to the Ancient Ones for
leadership and direction. Halioran had told her that these beings were known
as drow, or dark elves, in other parts of the world. EverywhereтАФon the Sword
Coast, in Maztica, or beneath the surface of the landтАФthey were hateful and
malicious.
12
VlPERHAND
But the drow represented only one of the enemy's tentacles. The savage priests
of Zaltec, the god of war, sought Erix's heart for their bloodstained altars.
And unlike the dark elves, the priests of Zaltec would be encountered in every
town, every small village, that lay in their path.
Another cause of their flight lay in Hal's former comrades, now his enemies,
who fought under the golden banner of Captain-General Cordell. The mercenaries
of the Golden Legion had sailed from the Sword Coast, the most populous shore
on the continent of Faerun, in search of the gold and spices of Kara-Tur. They
had found, instead, this land called Maztica, where gold aplenty awaited their
depredations.
But his former swordmates now sought Hal as a fugitive and traitor. Betrayed
by Bishou Domincus, the dour cleric who spoke for the legion's warlike god,
Hal had fled into the interior of this strange land. Pursued by the
frightening elf-wizard Darien, Halioran knew that either the wizard or the
cleric would slay him at the first opportunity. He had only the company of
these two loyal companions to keep him from a plight of complete solitude.
Their only hope of sanctuary, the trio had decided, lay in the great city of
Nexal, the Heart of the True World. There they would seek the protection of
the great Naltecona, Revered Counselor and ruler of all Nexal, and, perhaps
more to the point, the uncle of the Eagle Knight Poshtli.
Hal and Poshtli looked across the bleak landscape from the crest of the low
ridge. No trace of greenery gave the promise of water. The war-horse, Storm,
hung his head listlessly. The faithful steed's eyes were glassy, his flanks