"Realms of the Underdark 2.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthologies)

Miss Latour quickly left Tym's office as he read the short missive.
Justin,
All is forgiven.
Moonsea guide is still in the works, but should be done on schedule.
We can discuss Magic volume when I return (dare I suggest over lunch?).
Till then, please spot me some gelt, care of the Shipmaster's Hall (you know my
earned royalties will make good on it and more).
Best,
Volo
P.S. I'm working on another project that will make the Moonsea guide look like
last year's WHO'S WHO AMONG THE ZHENTARIM, but have decided to keep you in the
dark about it until it nears completion (Hee, hee!).
The publisher stared at the missive several times while mopping his brow with a
recently untied cravat. He was happy the tension brought about by situations
unknown seemed to have been defused, but he was still concerned about the
upcoming schedule. Did this mean the Moonsea guide would be in on time or not,
and what of this other project? Volo had always been fond of puzzles, puns, and
conundrums. Perhaps there was a clue in the note, and maybe the solution would
mean TWL's salvation as well.
Hmmmmm. ...
THE FIRES OF NARBONDEL
Mark Anthony
Chapter One
Weapons Master
There are a thousand deaths in the Underdark-a thousand different horrors
skulking in lightless caverns and lurking deep in still black pools, each
waiting to rend unwary flesh with fang, or talon, or caustic venom. In the
overworld, far above, animals kill so that they might eat and live. But the
creatures that haunt the dark labyrinth beneath the face of Toril do not kill to
live, for life itself is agony to them. They kill because they are driven to
kill: by madness, by hatred, and by the foul atmosphere of evil that pervades
every stone of this place. They kill because, only in killing, can they know
release.
With the silence of one shadow slipping past another, Zaknafein-weapons master
of House Do'Urden, Ninth House of Menzoberranzan, ancient city of the dark
elves-trod down the rough-walled passage. He had left his lizard mount behind,
clinging to the side of a massive stalagmite some distance back. Swift and
soundless as the giant reptiles were, Zak preferred to rely on his own powers of
stealth for the final twists and turns. It would not be far now.
Like a wraith, he plunged deeper into the Dark.
Dominion, the wild region beyond the borders of the underground city. His ebon
skin and black rothe-hide garments merged with the dusky air, and he had
concealed his shock of bone-white hair beneath the deep hood of hispiwafwi, his
magic-tinged cloak. Only the faint red glow of his eyes-eyes that required no
light to see, but only the countless gradations of heat radiated by stone and
flesh and all things in between- might have belied that it was not a dark breath
of air that moved down the passage, but a living being.
Zak cocked his head, pointed ears listening for the first telltale sounds. He
had now passed beyond the farthest reach of the patrols-those merciless troops
of dark-elf soldiers and wizards that kept the tunnels around Menzoberranzan