"Dennis L. McKiernan - Hell's Crucible 2 - Into the Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKiernan Dennis L)

winter season, Beau, and no matter when we set out snow will fly ... lest
thou wouldst have us wait until spring is upon us."
"Oh no," said Beau, pushing out a hand in negation. "We've been on
this mission too long as it is to dawdle about waiting for fair weather.
Besides, whatever message or meaning or charm or hex the coin bears,
we need to get it to the one it is meant for."
At this mention of potential magic, Tip's brow furrowed, and he
nervously touched his eiderdown jacket high on his chest. "Beau, I wish
you'd leave this talk of spellcraft behind. I mean it's enough that we bear
the coin without having to talk about enchantments or magic or
whatever."
"All right, bucco," replied Beau. "I'll be quiet. I know it makes you
uncomfortable and all to think that something actually touching your skin
might be charmed in some way. I mean, if a Mage cast a spell upon the
coin, or if a Sorceress laid a hex, or a Wizard incanted a—"
"Beau, enough!"
Beau's eyes flew wide, and then he frowned in puzzlement. Finally he
grinned sheepishly and said, "Oh, right."
Loric looked at Phais and she at him, and although they tried to
remain solemn, they failed, and laughter rang out across the snow to be
slapped back by the towering mountains to their left, and soon Beau
was laughing, and finally stern Bekki joined in.
Tipperton scowled at them all, but at last even he grinned.
And the south-flowing clouds above thickened.
***
"Oh my," said Beau, pointing ahead and left, air hissing in through
clenched teeth. "Modru's sigil."
A standard pole with a tattered flag jutted up out from the snow, the
symbol a ring of fire on black.
"Abandoned by the fleeing Horde, I ween," said Phais.
 "There's something under the snow," said Loric, spurring his horse to
the flag and dismounting.
"Take care," called Beau.
Loric knelt and with a gloved hand brushed away the blanket of
white.
"What is it?" asked Tip.
"A dead Ruch," replied Loric, looking down at the swart face
revealed. He brushed away more snow, uncovering a long gash in the
quilted armor along the Ruck's torso. Loric looked up at the others. "He
took a cut from a blade. Probably in the battle. Got this far before he
bled to death."
Tip blew out a breath, frosty white in the cold air. "I would rather die
quickly in combat than a slow painful death such as that."
"Oh my, yes," said Beau. "But better still, what say we die of old age
instead?"
As Loric remounted, Tip laughed and said, "Indeed, and after a long
and fruitful life, eh?"
As Beau nodded in agreement, Bekki said, "I would have a long and
fruitful life—three or four centuries—then die in glorious battle. If not
battle, then old age must serve."