"Mary Kirchoff, Douglas Niles. Flint, the King ("Dragonlance Preludes II" #2) (angl)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Flint's eyes narrowed in irritation, but he let a shake of his
head and a snort of disgust suffice to answer the question.
Tipping his head slightly, he made to squeeze his way be-
tween them and into the greengrocer's.
A bony finger poked him in the shoulder, scarcely enough
pressure for the dwarf even to notice. "I asked you a ques-
tion, gully dwarf." The seeker's friends laughed at the insult.
Flint stopped but did not raise his eyes. "And I believe I
gave you as much answer as your kind deserves."
Egged on by his friends, the young seeker pressed his
point. "You've got an awfully smart mouth for an outnum-
bered old man," he growled, stepping fully in front of Flint.
He reached down to grab the dwarf's lapels.
"Teach him a lesson, Gar," a crony purred in anticipation.
Flint's irritation turned to fury. He looked into the face of his
antagonist. What he saw was the glee-and-fear mixed ex-
pression of an animal who was closing on an easy victim. Or

so the seeker thought.
Flint decided that the fellow needed a lesson in humility
and manners. Moving like lightning, he drove his fist into
the boy's belly. Stunned, the youth doubled over and
clutched at his stomach. The dwarf's stubby fingers flew up
to pull the seeker's droopy, coarse hood down over his red
face. Flint quickly drew the strings tight and knotted the
hood shut, until only the boy's pimply nose poked out.
Flailing his arms desperately, the seeker let out a screech and
tumbled to the planks of the bridgewalk.
Flint was dusting off his hands when his sharp dwarven
ears picked up the familiar "whoosh" of blades being un-
sheathed. Whirling around with stunning quickness, the
stocky dwarf knocked the small daggers from the other
seekers' hands. The metal weapons glinted in the sun as they
flew over opposite sides of the bridgewalk.
"Daggers! Look out below!" Flint called over the railing in
case anyone stood beneath. Looking down, he saw a few
villagers scatter without question, and the blades fall harm-
lessly, point down, into the earth.
When Flint looked up again, he saw the backs of the seek-
ers as they fled, the two toadies pulling their still-hooded,
stumbling leader after them.
"Run home to your mothers, you young whelps!" Flint
was unable to resist shouting. My, but it's a fine day, he
thought, looking up into the blue sky before stepping spirit-
edly into the greengrocer's.
Amos Cartney, a human of some fifty years, owned and
ran Jessab the Greengrocer's. Flint could not enter the shop
without remembering the time he, Tanis, and Tasslehoff had
stopped in for some snacks to bring to a night of fellowship
before Flint's hearth, shortly after Tasslehoff's arrival in Sol-