"James M. Ward - The Pool 3 - Pool of Twilight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ward James M)

"The hiding place of the Hammer of Tyr?" Tarl asked intently.
"Exactly."
Caught up in the excitement, Kern blurted out without thinking, "But if Bane scrubbed out the lines a
thousand years ago, how can we use them to learn where he hid the hammer?"
Immediately Kern realized that he, a mere paladin-aspirant, had interrupted one of the temple's most
august clerics. His cheeks flushed crimson.
"I think Brother Dameron has found a solution to that dilemma, my impatient young paladin." There was
a note of kindly humor in Anton's voice. "If, of course, you would be so good as to permit him the
opportunity to indulge us with the news."
"Of course," Kern managed to sputter despite his mor-tification. Listle glanced at him smugly.
"Thank you," Dameron said, winking at Kern. He drew a small jar from his pocket. Unstoppering it, he
took out a pinch of colorless powder and sprinkled it carefully over the page. Gradually, a faint shine began
to creep across the cracked and yellowed parchment. The shimmering grew brighter, forming spidery lines
and swirling whorls. Kern gasped. The magical glow had outlined a dozen lines of cryptic-looking runes.
"Bane erased the true ending of the prophecy," Dameron explained. "But as any apprentice scribe
copying tomes for his or her master knows, no matter how hard one scours, traces of ink always remain on
the paper."
Listle grimaced, nodding. Shal was always giving her stacks of magical books to copy, and the elf's
mistress was nothing less than a perfectionist. A stray drop of ink usu-ally meant she had to recopy the
entire page.
"The powder I sprinkled on the parchment causes those remaining, almost invisible, flecks of ink to
glim-mer," Dameron concluded. "And thus we are able to read a part of the prophecy we never knew
existed."
"I, too, can read it!" Tarl said in wonderment. Kern looked at his father in surprise. Then he understood.
The runes on the page were glowing with magical light. They would be vivid to his father.
"The language is archaic." Tarl's pale eyebrows knitted together as he studied the tome intently. "And
you're right, Sendara, the verse is atrocious. But I think I can translate it:

When winter comes with magic wild,
Then must the Seeker go
To a riven tower of magic red,
Where a city was shackled below.
With him must come four heroes,
No less and neither no more
To battle the lurking Warder
For this relic of ancient lore.
Though dark may fall before them,
Their strife has just begun,
For awaiting them still is the twilight pool's
Shadowed guardian."

Tarl looked up from his reading in surprise. "It makes reference to the ruins of the red tower, yes?
Where the Red Wizard Marcus imprisoned the city of Phlan twenty-two years ago."
Patriarch Anton nodded, scratching his grizzled gray beard. "That's what we infer. And what's more,
this year, in the reckoning of the kings of Cormyr, is the Year of Wild Magic. The prophecy is clear on this
point. If we are ever going to retrieve the hammer, it must be now."
Kern looked at Listle excitedly, forgetting her annoying habits for the moment. She returned his look
with eager-ness.
Tarl drew himself up to his full height. "Then may I for-mally remind my brothers and sisters of the
prophecy of Miltiades, that most noble of Tyr's paladins?"