"Raymond E. Feist - Kingdom of the Isles 2 - The King's Buccaneer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

f>fiOLOGU£

Ghuda stretched. Through the door behind him came a woman's voice: "Get away
from there!"

The former mercenary guard sat back in his chair on the porch of his inn,
settling his feet upon the hitching rail. In the background the usual evening
serenade was commencing. While rich travelers stayed at the large hostels in
the city or at palatial inns along the silvery beaches, the Inn of the Dented
Helm, owned by Ghuda Bule, catered to a rougher clientele: wagon drivers,
mercenaries, farmers bringing crops into the city, and rural soldiers.

"Do I have to summon the city guards!" cried the woman from inside the common
room.

A large man, Ghuda had found enough hard work keeping up the Jnn that he
hadn't run to rat and he still kept his weapons finely honed; more times than
he cared to recall, he had been forced to toss one or another customer through
the door.

Evenings, just before dining, were his favorite time of the day. Sitting in
his chair, he could see the sun set over the bay of Elarial, the brilliant
glare of the day dimming to a gentler blush that colored the white buildings
soft oranges and golds. It was one of the few pleasures he managed to reserve
for himself in

2 Raymond E. Feist

an otherwise demanding life. A loud crash sounded from within the building,
and Ghuda resisted the urge to investigate. His woman would let him know when
he was needed to inter-

vene.

'Get out of here! Take that fighting outside!" Ghuda took out a dirk, one of
the two he habitually wore on his belt, and absendy began to polish it. The
sound of broken crockery echoed from within the inn. A girl's shriek followed
quickly after, then the sounds of fists striking bodies

joined in.

Ghuda looked at the sunset as he polished his blade. At almost sixty years
old, his face was an aging map of leather— showing years of caravan guard
duty, fighting, too much bad weather, bad food, and bad wine—dominated by an
oft-broken nose. Most of his hair was gone on top, leaving him with a
shoulder-length grey fringe that began halfway between crown and ears. Never
one to be called handsome, he still had something about him, a calm, open
directness, that caused people to trust and like him.

He let his gaze wander across the bay, silver and rose highlights from die