"03 - Waterdeep - Richard Awlinson 1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Avatar Trilogy)

Kelemvor nodded. "To help your village recover."
"What you want in return?" Berengaria demanded, squinting at the warrior.
"The book," Adon said. "And Kelemvor's flint and steel. We need those to survive."
Berengaria frowned in concentration, but the children began giggling and she said, "Done. We all—"
Midnight, silent until now, let out a cry of anguish and rushed to the fire. Pulling his sword, Kelemvor leaped past Berengaria and her two old men. "What's wrong?" he demanded.
"My spellbook!" the raven-haired mage yelled. "They burned it!" She snatched Kelemvor's sword, then started poking at a wide strip of shriveled leather in the fire. Kelemvor knew the book was where Midnight stored her spells when they were not committed to memory, so he could understand why she was so upset. Still, he grabbed his sword away from her and put it back into its sheath; fire was no better for a sword's temper than it was for a spellbook.
Midnight stared into the fire, a single tear running down her cheek. "Gone," she whispered.
"It's not so serious," Kelemvor said, trying to comfort her.
Midnight whirled on him, her hands clenched into fists. "Serious!" she screamed. "You oaf! Those were my spells— without them, I'm nothing!"
A pall of silence fell over the camp. For several minutes, Midnight stared at Kelemvor as if the fighter had burned the spellbook himself. Finally, she hissed, "Was burying those halflings worth this?" She turned away and stared into the fire.
A moment later, Berengaria approached Adon. "We still have deal?" she asked timidly. "We still friends?"
Adon nodded. They had nothing to gain by punishing the halflings. "We're still friends. You didn't understand."
"She might not have realized what the spellbook was," said a clear, masculine voice. "But that'd be all she didn't understand." A gaunt halfling male stepped into the clearing. His skin was the color of ash, his eyes were rimmed with red, and a sloppy bandage circled his forehead.
The other halflings backed away from the newcomer, whispering amongst themselves. He knelt beside the fire and picked up two roasted rabbits. "Have these," he said, giving one to Adon and one to Kelemvor. "There are plenty more where they came from, and it's only a fair trade for all you've lost."
Kelemvor accepted the rabbit, but made no move to eat it. The warrior had an uneasy feeling about this halfling, and it was not just because the others feared him. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Atherton Cooper," the halfling replied, his gaze never faltering from the fighter's. "But most call me Sneakabout. Now eat up. Berengaria has not been a good hostess this night."
"Yes, please do," Berengaria added. "We can always catch more coneys." The matronly halfling put the dagger away and smiled.
It did not escape Adon's notice that Berengaria's Common had suddenly improved. It was clear to the cleric that the halfling had been playing them for fools.
"You've known all along we didn't attack your village, haven't you?" Adon demanded. "You were stealing our gear while we collected your dead!"
"That's correct," Berengaria replied, wincing. Then she turned to Kelemvor and added, "But that doesn't negate our deal. What's done is done. Besides, our need is great."
The green-eyed fighter grunted and took a bite from the rabbit. He had no intention of demanding back what he had offered to the halflings, for Berengaria spoke the truth about their need. Nevertheless, he didn't enjoy losing his possessions through guile and trickery.
The warrior chewed slowly, considering Atherton Cooper. Sneakabout was taller and thinner than most of his race, and there was a certain menace to his manner. The tall halfling was the only able-bodied male in the camp, and that in itself was suspicious. Still, Sneakabout was the only halfling who had not stolen from or lied to the heroes, and Kelemvor was determined to treat honesty and respect in kind.
"Where are the other men?" the fighter asked between mouthfuls of rabbit. "There weren't many in the village, and there are fewer here."
"Gone to massage their vanity while their womenfolk starve in the forest," Sneakabout replied.
Berengaria turned from Midnight, whom she was trying to comfort, and added, "The menfolk were hunting when the Zhentilar-—"
"Zhentilar?" Adon interrupted. "Are you sure?"
"Aye, I'm sure," Berengaria replied. "They wore the armor of Zhentil Keep, didn't they? Anyway, the men were gone, or there would have been a different story to tell in Black Oaks. Now our warriors have gone to track down those sons-of-sows!"
"And to get themselves killed," Sneakabout added bitterly.
Berengaria glared menacingly at Sneakabout. "They'll be fine without your company," she snapped.
Sneakabout snorted in reply. "They'll be outnumbered, outsized, and outwitted."
Kelemvor agreed with Sneakabout, though he didn't say so. Even if the halflings caught the raiders, the Zhentilar would cut the inexperienced warriors to shreds. The soldiers of Zhentil Keep were vicious sneaks and backstabbers who would never fight unless assured of an easy victory.
After a thoughtful pause, Sneakabout glumly noted, "I wish I were with the fellows."
"Why aren't you?" Adon asked, watching the halfling suspiciously, still not comfortable with the demihuman's sinister bearing.
"They wouldn't have me," the halfling answered, shrugging-
"It was his fault they came in the first place!" grumbled Berengaria, pointing a gnarled finger at Sneakabout's face. "He had his own pony and a magic sword. That's what they wanted!"
Adon turned to Sneakabout. "Is that right?"
The halfling shook his head and looked at the ground. "Maybe," he mumbled. Then he lifted his gaze. "But I doubt it. They wouldn't have needed to raze the whole town to get what they wanted—they caught me on their way in."
The halfling's red-rimmed eyes grew hard and distant. "Say, you wouldn't be going north, would you? I'd sure like to catch those Zhentish pigs!"
Kelemvor swallowed a bite of rabbit and said, "As luck would have it—"
"Kelemvor!" Adon hissed sharply. "We've got our own trouble."
Sneakabout drew himself up before Adon. "Without your spellcaster's book, you'll need all the help you can get. I'm as fine a scout as you'll meet outside of Elventree."
Adon shook his head firmly. "I'm afraid—"
"He can ride with me," Kelemvor noted flatly, his voice a throaty growl. "Where's your sense of courtesy, Adon?"
The young cleric glared at the warrior for a long moment, once again irritated by Kelemvor's refusal to listen to him. At last, he decided not to argue the point, as long as the fighter was willing to yield something to him. "Then we leave at dawn!" Adon said, summoning his most commanding voice.
Kelemvor would not be bullied. "No. The halfling dead—"
"Will be buried by halflings!" Adon finished, pointing at Kelemvor with a grease-covered finger. "You don't care about these people! You only want to prove your curse is gone. Don't you think we know that?" He glanced at Midnight, who was still staring at the remains of her spellbook. "Your test has cost us too much, Kel."
The cleric put his hand on the raven-haired mage's shoulder. He looked at the fire and added, "I just hope we can make it to Waterdeep without Midnight's spells to aid us."
The four companions left Black Oaks at dawn—hungry, cold, and wet. During the night, the orange fog had changed to a chill drizzle that continued to fall through the morning. Breakfast had been nonexistent. The halflings had eaten the last of the corn biscuits the night before, and in the gray morning light, the greasy hare looked appetizing only to Kelemvor.
Adon took the lead, suggesting they travel north to Eveningstar, then rethink their route to Waterdeep. Sneakabout made the mistake of saying he knew a shortcut, so Adon insisted that the halfling ride with him to act as a guide. Neither enjoyed the experience. Despite his loss of faith, Adon's conversation was no less pedantic, and Sneakabout was not a tolerant listener.
Kelemvor, his brow gloomy and troubled, followed next. Twice, he tried to apologize to Midnight for losing her spellbook. Each time his voice failed him and he barely managed a croak.