"Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Love and War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)

look even older than he was, for he had a drawn, haggard
face; his hair, though thick, was totally white; and his
hands, clenched before him, were gnarly, almost arthritic.
Still, Aril could see much in the man that boasted of the
old grandeur of his order. He was dressed in his full plate
armor, a great sword hanging at his side, his visorless
helmet and shield resting nearby on a flat rock. And though
he was kneeling, he did seem to be quite tall - that is, long
of limb. But what impressed Aril Witherwind the most was
his truly copious moustache, a long white one that drooped
with a poignant flourish so that its tips nearly brushed the
ground as he knelt there.
A lot of pride must go into that moustache, mused Aril
as he waited patiently for the knight to finish whatever he
was doing.
Now, all that time, the itinerant folklorist thought he
was unobserved, so he was startled when the knight, not so
much as lifting his head or moving a muscle, spoke up in a
deep, though tired, voice:
"What do you want?"
"Oh! Pardon me," said Aril Witherwind, stepping
ahead, bent forward as if he were bowing, though, in fact,
he was merely carrying his heavy tome. "I didn't mean to
interrupt anything. Only, if you are done, I would like to
speak with you."
"I am in meditation."
"So you are. But perhaps you could return to it in a
moment," suggested Aril. "This will not take long."
The old knight sighed deeply. "Actually, you're not
interrupting much," he said, his body slumping from its
disciplined pose. "I no longer have the concentration I once
did."
"Then we can talk?"
The knight began to rise to his feet, though it clearly took
some effort. "Ach, it's getting so I can't distinguish between
the creaking in my armor and the creaking in my bones."
"I believe it was your armor that time," said Aril with a
smile.
At his full height, the knight indeed proved to be a very
tall man, as tall as Aril, who himself, when he did not carry
his book, was a gangly fellow. And when the knight faced
him fully, Aril got goosebumps because engraved upon the
knight's tarnished breastplate was a faint rose, the famous
symbol of his order.
"On the other hand, I do not feel much like talking,"
said the knight sullenly, walking right past the half-elf and
seating himself upon a large rock where he leaned back
against another and gazed languidly up at the blue sky and
white clouds bracketed by the opposing walls of the valley.
"I am a man of action only."