"Douglas Niles - Forgotten Realms - Moonshae 03 - Darkwell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niles Douglas)

DARKWELL
blinding him, but he kept his gaze fastened upon the statue's eyes.
His own eyes watered. The statue grew soft, and Hobarth's hand, together with
the black stone, passed directly into the cold body. Quickly he drew forth his
hand, empty, and the surface of the statue closed behind it. He looked again
into those stone eyes.
Only it was no longer a statue, and the eyes burned with a far from stonelike
fire.
The low green mass of Corwell loomed to starboard. To port, invisible in the
gray haze of sea-miles, lay the island of Moray. And below the keel of the
sleek longship rolled the gray swells of the Strait of the Leviathan.
But Grunnarch the Red knew that the Leviathan was dead. Had not the Red King
played a role in its demise only a short year earlier? He found the memory
vaguely disquieting.
Now the ruler of the northmen stood boldly on the deck of his ship, the
Northwind, and stared into the distance. Not north, toward Norland and home,
but east, toward Corwell.
Why did that land hold such fascination for him? The Red King himself did not
know, though certainly the roots of the answer lay in the disastrous invasion
and his army's subsequent defeat. Grunnarch had been fortunate to escape with
half of his ships and men, while many of his allies had suffered worse. The
men of Oman's Isle, of the kingdom of Ironhand, had been virtually
annihilated.
Now the Northwind, accompanied by the slightly smaller longship Red/in, sailed
past that land after a long summer of raiding shores far from the Moonshaes.
In less than a week, they would be home, but even the prospective homecoming
could not lighten the Red King's brooding sense of foreboding.
True, the raiding had been highly successful. They had sailed south along the
Sword Coast, plundering the towns of Amn, and even northern Calimshan. The
Northwind rode low in the water from the weight of silver stowed along her
21
DOUGLAS NILES
keel, together with golden chalices, mirrors, fine tapestries and silks, and
all manner of things treasured in the Moon-shaes.
And there was the scroll. Grunnarch wondered why that lone treasure, scribed
in a symbology he could not read, should figure so prominently in his thoughts
about the trove.
The lord mayor of Lodi stood before him, outlined by the blazing framework of
his blockhouse. The man met his gaze without fear, but Grunnarch could see
defeat in his eyes. The Red King, his bloody axe in his hands, watched the
mayor with interest.
"I offer you our greatest treasure. In return, I ask only that you spare the
children."
Grunnarch took the ivory tube, surprised at its lightness. He had expected the
container to hold platinum, or at least gold, in quantity. Curious, he pulled
the cap off and saw that it held but four small sheets of parchment.
"Treasure?" he said menacingly. "This is worthless!"
But the mayor did not flinch. "Ttbu are wrong. You have probably never held
such worth in your hands!"
Grunnarch paused. The man's plea meant littleтАФ northmen did not slay children,