"Douglas Niles - Forgotten Realms - Moonshae 02 - Black Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niles Douglas)

boat blended perfectly into the moonless night, as did the eight cloaked
figures within. Each of them used a narrow paddle to move the craft away from
a huge galleon that sat quietly in Corwell Harbor.
The port was silent, for the hour was past midnight. No splashing disturbed
the boat's graceful movement as it glided slowly toward the overhanging
protection of a high pier. Here, six paddles were withdrawn into the boat,
while the remaining two pushed the narrow craft carefully between the pilings.
The shadowy figures lashed the boat to the pilings. One after another, they
sprang to the pier and slipped quietly onto shore.
The figures moved carefully up the street of Corwell Town, darting from
building to building with perfect stealth. The leader of the group, taller and
stockier than the rest, paused to let the others pass while he watched for any
sign of danger.
A silken black mask concealed the face of each of them, but this one pulled
his aside to peer more effectively through the darkness. While manlike, he was
not a man. A broad nose with wide, flared nostrils spread across his face, and
his teeth were gleaming and sharp. Quickly, he pulled his mask into place and
slipped after his band.
Tristan Kendrick, Prince of Corwell, was a little drunk. Perhaps more than a
little, he decided, as a swelling of nausea rose within his stomach. His head
hurt, and he wanted to go to bedтАФall of which made this argument seem that
DOUGLAS MILES
much more unpleasant.
"You don't act like a prince! You don't look like a prince! You'll never be
fit to be a king of the Ffolk!" His father's harsh voice boomed behind him and
cut through Tristan's weariness. The prince whirled to face the king.
"A year ago I routed an army of Northmen from these very walls!" he growled,
resisting the urge to shout. "I fought the Beast that stood within our
courtyard. Father, I even found the Sword of Cymrych Hugh!"
Tristan gestured at the mighty weapon, hanging in its place of honor above the
hearth, crossed with his father's favorite boar spear. The sword was a
treasured relic of his people and had been missing for centuriesтАФuntil he and
his friends had discovered it in the depths of a firbotg lair.
"All deeds very fine and heroicтАФand dramatic," the king sneered. "You've
enjoyed the adulation of the ladies and the drinks of the aleman on those
merits.
"But there is more to being a king than heroism. What do you know of our
lawтАФof the administration of this realm? Could you sit in Judgement over
shepherds who argued about a shared pasture, or fishermen who quarreled over
rights to a berth? Until you change this, you are not fit to rule. You know
the customsтАФyou can only be granted the kingship if a majority of the lords
think you capable! I doubt they would, were the vote taken tomorrow!"
Tristan clenched his hands into fists, and for a moment he was so angry he
could scarcely keep from striking his father. He walked away in frustration,
finally flopping heavily into the largest chair in the study. Already the fog
of alcohol was dissipating.
But his father would not abandon the attack. "It's amazing that the
houndmaster even got you home," he said scornfully. "And where is Daryth now?"
"Probably in bedтАФbut leave Daryth out of this! He's my friend, and I will not
allow you to insult him!"