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

so the town's youth had never been in danger. Truly the Red King had no use
for a scroll. Vet, as he held it, he began to sense that it was indeed an
object of rare worth.
A strange feeling came over him as he examined the exterior of the scroll
case. He saw a picture of a beautiful young woman, sensual and rounded, and
yet his reaction was a wish to protect her. Other picturesтАФa vast field of
grain, a smooth lake, and a cozy fire in a hearth of stoneтАФall beckoned him
with sensations of warmth and comfort.
Disquieted, he took the scrolls gruffly. He turned on his heel and ordered his
surprised crews back to their vessels, leaving Lodi almost unscathed. They
took no other plunder but instead put straight to sea under the harsh urging
of the Red King.
And so came the scrolls with him to the Moonshaes.
This season of plunder had dragged on for Grunnarch,
22
DARKWELL
for he lacked the fiery battle lust that had once made him relish the strike
of steel against steel, the striving of man against man. Now battle was merely
another tiresome task that faced him all too often.
After the raid on Lodi, the Red King had lost heart for battle altogether.
Rationalizing that the season was late, he had ordered the two ships homeward,
ignoring the surprised reactions of his crew. After two weeks upon the
Trackless Sea, they had returned once again to the Moonshaes. Now they slipped
between two kingdoms of the Ffolk, headed toward his own lands to the north.
And still that feeling of foreboding remained with him, perched upon his broad
shoulders like some unnatural apparition.
A great brown bear shuffled across the dead land, pausing to turn over a log
with his broad forepaw or to snuffle under a stump with his nose. Once again,
the spoor of even a tiny maggot or grub eluded him. Grunt huffed in
frustration, too weak to take even a halfhearted swing at the offending stump.
There was no food here.
Grunt stumbled on, sensing that to stop was to die. Long gashes covered his
shaggy flanks, now crusted with dried blood. One of the cuts lay freshly
opened, a victim of some scrape against a looming trunk.
Even in the depths of his fatigue, Grunt moved with pride and purpose. His
head held high, his posture was a challenge to any lesser creature that might
cross his path. But his footsteps were unsteady, and the great brown eyes grew
dull. There were no creatures to cross his path and behold his prideful agony.
This was land Grunt had known all of his life, yet he did not know it now. The
grove of his mistress, Genna Moon-singer, the Great Druid of the isle, now
festered and decayed. Many were the animals that had lived here, amid a lush
blanket of greenery. Now there was no creature. Now there was nothing green.
DOUGLAS MILES
Grunt growled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. He blinked, peering around
as if trying to clear the nightmare vision from his eyes. Then he lumbered on,
resolutely plodding across the wasteland in search of food or water.
Suddenly the bear Kited his great head and froze. His only motion was the
twitching of his broad nostrils as they searched the air. Whatever it was, a
scent excited the bear like nothing else in many days.
Grunt started forward faster now, breaking into a clumsy trot. He uttered one