"Andre Norton - Quag Keep" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

were theirs alone, that the rest of the patrons, eating and drinking, had sought the other side of the long
room. Nor was he surprised that the stranger should have the pseudo-dragon as a traveling companion
or pet, whichever their relationship might be. For the weres, like the elves and some others, could
communicate with animals at will.
Once more Milo gave a searching, very steady survey of the others in the room. There were
several thieves, he guessed, and one or two foreigners, who, he hoped for their own sakes, were tough
enough to defend themselves if they had wandered into Harvel's Axe without due warning. A cloaked
man who, he thought, might be a druid (of low rank) was spooning up stew with such avidity that
spattering drops formed gobbets of grease on his clothing. Milo was paying particular attention to right
wrists. Those he could see were certainly innocently bare of any such banding as he and the berserker
wore. At the same time, the impression that he was being watched (and not with any kindness) grew in
him. He dropped hand to sword hilt and, for the first time, noted that a shield leaned against the table. On
it was emblazoned an intricate pattern which, though dented in places and plainly weatherworn, had once
been skillfully done. And he had seen that... where?
The vagrant curl of memory grew no stronger for his trying to grasp it. He grinned sourly. Of
course he had seen it many times over-the thing was his, wasn't it? And he had callouses from its weight
along his arm to prove that
At least he had had the wisdom to pick a table where he sat with his back to the wall. Now there
flowed through his mind half memories of other times when he had been in just such uncertain lodgings. A
table swung up and forward could serve as a barrier to deter a rush. And the outer door? . . . There
were two doors in the room. One led, uncurtained, to the inner part of the inn. The other had a heavy
leather drape over it. Unfortunately, that was on the opposite side of the room. To reach it he would have
to pass a group he had been watching with quick glances, five men gathered close together whispering.
They had seemed to show no interest in him, but Milo did not depend on such uncertain reassurance of
innocence.
The eternal war between Law and Chaos flared often in Greyhawk. It was in a manner of
speaking a "free city"-since it had no one overlord to hold it firmly to his will. For that reason it had
become a city of masterless men, a point from which many expeditions, privately conceived and planned
for the despoiling of ancient treasures, would set out, having recruited the members from just such
masterless men as Milo himself, or perhaps the berserker only an arm's length away.
But if those on the side of Law recruited here, so did the followers of Chaos. There were neutrals
also, willing to join with either side for the sake of payment. But they were never to be wholly depended
upon by any man who had intelligence, for they might betray one at the flip of a coin or the change of the
wind itself.
As a swordsman Milo was vowed to Law. The berserker had more choice in such matters. But
this place, under its odors of fresh and stale food, stank to Milo of Chaos. What had brought him here? If
he could only remember! Was he spell-struck in some fashion? That idea caught and held in his mind to
worry him even more. No man, unless he had won to high adeptship and therefore was no longer entirely
human, could even begin to reckon the kinds and numbers of spells that might be set to entangle the
unwary. But he knew that he was waiting-and he again tested the looseness of his sword within its sheath,
keeping his other hand close to the edge of the table, tense as a man may be before he reaches a position
he has chosen for his own defense.
Then-in the light of the fire wasps he caught the flashes from his wrist. Dice-moving! Again he half
remembered a fast, fleeting wisp of some other knowledge he should have and did not-to his own
danger.
But it was not the suspected men in the corner who were a threat. Instead the berserker got to
his feet. Up the mighty thickness of his mailed arm fluttered the pseudo-dragon, to perch upon his
shoulder, its spear tongue darting against the cheekpiece of his heavy helmet. He had caught up his cloak
but he did not turn to the leather curtain of the outer door. Instead he took two strides and stood
towering over Milo.