"Karl Edward Wagner - Sing a Last Song of Valdese" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wagner Karl Edward)

heard of certain inscriptions on what are said to be prehuman ruins near
there. If so, I'd like to copy them for study and comparison with others that
I've seen."
"So it's true that you plan to supplement Nentali's Interpretation of Elder
Glyphics?" suggested the grey-cowled priest.
Claesna lifted a bushy eyebrow. "Supplant, not supplement, Revered
Callistratis. Well, I see you are an extraordinarily well-informed man
yourself. This does promise to be an illuminating evening."
"Oh, please, learned gentlemen," mimicked a sneering voice from the corner.
"Don't bore us all to death with such learned discussions."
"Shut up, Hef!" A gruff voice cut him off. "You'll find a neater death than
boredom when we get to Rader!"
The other made an obscene reply. An open fist slapped on flesh, then sounded
the clash of chains, subdued cursing.
"Ranvyas, you son of a pox-eaten whore, you busted that tooth half out of my
head. Takes guts for a pissant bounty hunter like you to bust a man all
chained up."
"You had an even chance before the chains went on, Hef," growled Ranvyas. "And
you won't need that tooth once I get you to Rader."
"We'll see, Ranvyas. Oh, we'll see, won't we? There was other smart bastards
all set to count their bounty money, but ain't one of them lived to touch a
coin of it."
Claesna indicated the two men in the near corner. One was a tall,
lantern-jawed swordsman with iron-grey hair who wore the green tunic of a
ranger. The other, his prisoner, was a wiry man with pinched face and stained
yellow heard, whose blue eyes seemed startlingly innocent for one weighed down
with wrist and leg irons.
"That's Mad Hef over there, whose black fame ought to be known even to you,
revered sirs. Looks harmless enough, though I doubt all the prayers of your
priesthood could cleanse his soul of the deeds he's committed here in the
mountains. They were talking about it before you came in. The ranger finally
tracked him to the cave where he laired, and if he succeeds where so many
other brave men have failed, the public executioner at Rader is due for a
strenuous afternoon."
From the rooms above came the echoing moan of a woman in agony.
The priest started from his chair, then halted half-crouched when none of the
room's other occupants seemed to pay heed.
Again the cry of pain ripped through the panelled hallway above, down the
narrow log stairway. A door slammed at the foot of the stairs, muffled the
outcry.
Two other travellers exchanged glances. One, grotesquely fat, shrugged and
continued to devour an apple pastry. His smaller companion shuddered and
buried his chinless face in his hands.
"Pray Thoem, make her stop!" he moaned.
The fat man wiped his slobbery lips and reached for another pastry. "Drink
more wine, Dordron. Good for the nerves."
Passlo's hand pulled at the priest's arm. "Don't be alarmed, Revered
Callistratis. The merchant's young wife is giving birth upstairs. No one
thought to mention it. As you see, the father is untroubled. Only his brother
seems a bit shaken."