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

Murmurs of ascent followed Tarl's request Kern wondered what his father was referring to. All he
knew was that Mil-tiades was a legendary paladin Tyr had once raised from the grave to help save Phlan.
"Before Miltiades was called back to Tyr's halls, he spoke of one destined to be called Hammerseeker."
Kern leaned forward, anxious to hear the lucky cleric's name.
"And who is to be the Hammerseeker?" Patriarch Anton intoned ceremoniously.
Tarl drew in a deep breath. "The name of the Hammerseeker is Kern Miltiades Desanea!" His deep
voice rever-berated about the temple.
Listle's silvery eyes nearly popped out of her head.
Tarl smiled proudly at his son.
Kern gaped at his father in utter astonishment as all eyes turned expectantly toward him.
"Who?" he blurted in an unexpectedly squeaky voice. "Me?"
 3
Mysterious foes
The huge assassin called Slayer strode into the smoky subterranean hall and surveyed the gathered
throng with cruel eyes, his lips curling back from his strong white teeth in a feral grin. It looked as if every
last member of Phlan's guild of thieves had answered the call, from the scroungiest cutpurse to the deadliest
killer. Over three hundred men and women stood before Slayer, and all of them were his to command. The
old fools of the temple of Tyr had seen their last sunrise.
"I have a gift for you, thieves of Phlan!" Slayer pro-claimed in his booming voice. "From Guildmaster
Sirana herself. You would do well not to refuse it."
He gestured to a huge, misshapen heap before him, covered with a rough cloth the color of old blood. At
his signal, a trio of thieves leaped forward to pull back the cloth, revealing a pile of ebony armor. Next to it
was a stack of long swords as dark and polished as onyx.
"With these weapons, we will crush the wretched cler-ics and seize the tome that points the way to the
Hammer of TyrтАФand the riches Bane is said to have buried with that relic. Clad yourselves in this armor
and take up these swords, thieves of Phlan, and I promise you, you will fight as you never have before!"
The thieves eyed Slayer hesitantly. He had been sec-ond-in-command of the thieves' guild for no more
than three moons, and many were still wary of him.
Slayer watched them scornfully. "Now!" he thundered, drawing himself up to his full seven feet. The
soot-covered rafters shook with the force of his voice, and his dark eyes blazed with menace. Clad all in
black leather, he was a commanding figure.
The resistance of the thieves broke. Swiftly they pressed forward, grabbing breastplates as smooth as
beetle cara-paces and swords as sleek as adders. Most of them were at a loss as to how to don the armor,
and they stared at the weapons in confusion. Thieves were usually creatures of stealth and trickery, not
warriors.
"We're cutthroats, Slayer, not bone-brained fighters!" a voice sneered over the din. "Or did you forget
that, just as you and your foul mistress have forgotten so many of our other traditions?"
Slayer turned his dark gaze toward a wiry man with a shaved head and an eye lost in a mass of scar
tissue. Kankorlin. He had been loyal to Bercan, the guildmaster Sirana had murdered three months before.
Kankorlin had been whispering against Sirana ever since she seized command of the guild. Now he had
finally summoned the courage to speak out.
"I for one won't wear this junk!" Kankorlin tossed down a breastplate in disgust and turned to the
assembled thieves. "We can't lumber up to the temple in these. Fine targets we'll make for the spells of
those idiot clerics."
Murmurs of agreement drifted through the hall.
"Is that so, Kankorlin?" Slayer replied, his voice as smooth as oil. "Well, if you don't care to wear the
armor, you certainly don't have to."
Kankorlin smiled at his easy victory. However, his plea-sure was short-lived.
With an idle flick of his black-gloved hand, Slayer sent an inky sphere of magic hurtling toward
Kankorlin. It struck the wiry thief directly in the chest. There was a siz-zling sound and a smell of burning