"Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Dragons of Spring Dawning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)

hammock swung back and forth violently as the first winds of the gale struck
the Perechon as it rode at anchor in the harbor of Flotsam on the Blood Sea of
Istar. Putting his hands-the hands that looked too young on the body of a
fifty-year-old human-beneath his head, Berem stared up at the lamp swinging
from the wooden planks above him.
"Why, look, Berem. Here's a path... How strange! All the times we've been
hunting in these woods and we've never seen it."
"It's not so strange. The fire burned off some of the brush, that's all.
Probably just an animal trail."
"Let's follow it. If it is an animal trail, maybe we'll find a deer. We've
been hunting all day with nothing to show for it. I hate to go home
empty-handed."
Without waiting for my reply, she turns onto the trail. Shrugging, I follow
her. It is pleasant being outdoors today- the first warm day after the bitter
chill of winter. The sun is warm on my neck and shoulders. Walking through the
fire-ravaged woods is easy. No vines to snag you. No brush to tear at your
clothing. Lightning, probably that thunderstorm which struck late last fall...

1

Flight from darkness into darkness.

The dragonarmy officer slowly descended the stairs from the second floor of
the Saltbreeze Inn. It was past midnight. Most of the inn's patrons had long
since gone to bed. The only sound the officer could hear was the crashing of
waves of Blood Bay on the rocks below.
The officer paused a moment on the landing, casting a quick, sharp glance
around the Common Room that lay spread out below him. It was empty, except for
a draconian sprawled across a table, snoring loudly in a drunken stupor. The
dragon-man's wings shivered with each snort. The wooden table creaked and
swayed beneath it.
The officer smiled bitterly then continued down the stairs. He was dressed in
the steel dragonscale armor copied from the real dragonscale armor of the
Dragon Highlords. His helm covered his head and face, making it difficult to
see his features. All that was visible beneath the shadow cast by the helm was
a reddish brown beard that marked him-racially-as human. At the bottom of the
stairs, the officer came to a sudden halt, apparently nonplussed at the sight
of the innkeeper, still awake and yawning over his account books. After a
slight nod, the dragon officer seemed about to go on out of the inn without
speaking, but the innkeeper stopped him with a question.
"You expecting the Highlord tonight?"
The officer halted and half-turned. Keeping his face averted, he pulled out a
pair of gloves and began putting them on. The weather was bitterly chill. The
sea city of Flotsam was in the grip of a winter storm the like of which it had
not experienced in its three hundred years of existence on the shores of Blood
Bay.
"In this weather?" The dragonarmy officer snorted. "Not likely! Not even
dragons can outfly these gale winds!"
"True. It's not a fit night out for man or beast," the innkeeper agreed. He
eyed the dragon officer shrewdly. "What business do you have, then, that takes