"Dave Duncan - A Man Of His Word 2 - Faery Lands Forlorn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

He had never breathed such air-warn and affectionate on the skin, sweet
with scents of sea and vegetation. The humidity stole his breath away.
It made his head spin, seducing him like a hot bed. It felt decadent. He
distrusted such air, and the soft warm sand, also.

Morning was coming, and he had not slept at all. His eyelids kept
drooping, no matter how fiercely he told them to behave themselves. Not
that he needed his eyes, for his farsight told him that no danger lurked
nearby. Nothing larger than a raven stirred within that dense foliage,
and whatever those jeweled birds might be, they were not ravens. He had
already scanned carefully as far as he could reach, satisfying himself
that the forest was not merely deserted, it was impenetrable, a tangle
of lush vines, succulent leaves, and nasty fleshy flowers. It teemed
with bugs and snakes. He had never known trees so huddled, nor so


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varied.

Three young men stranded on a beach ... Oppressed by the sticky warmth
after the brittle chill of Krasnegar, they had all stripped off their
heavy clothes. Imp and faun sat with aims on knees; the goblin was
stretched out on his back. They had established that they had nothing-no
money and no weapon except Little Chicken's stone dagger. They had no
idea where they were.

Rap had just finished telling Thinal of his two earlier encounters with
Bright Water, witch of the north. He was certain that it had been the
voice of the old goblin woman that had summoned Little Chicken to the
casement and thus brought all three of them here-wherever here was.

Thinal made a shivery noise. "She's not around now, though, is she? I
mean, you can't farsee her?"

"No. But she doesn't always show to my farsight, even when my eyes can
see her. " Rap brooded a moment, and then said, "Is it true she's mad?"

Thinal squealed. "Don't say such things! " He whimpered. "Why not? She's
either not here or she's spying on us, and that's not polite. "

"Polite? Rap, witches and warlocks don't give a spit about polite! "

"But do sorcerers lose their power as they grow old? If she's three
hundred years old and she's been one of the Four for ... how long? "

"Dunno." Thinal had turned surly, hunched very small. "You wanna talk
that sort of thing, then I'll call Sagorn."