"Mithgar - Hel's Crucible - 01 - Into The Forge" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKiernan Dennis L)

"And just who is Agron?"

"I don't know, Beau. The man merely said, 'East, go east, and take this to Agron.' I would have questioned him, but I thought it more pressing to get aid."

"But east? Hoy, now, there's nothing to the east but Drearwood . . . and the Grimwall. Awful places. Deadly. Filled with Rucks and such." Beau's amber eyes widened. "Say, now, likely where these Spawn came from."

"Nevertheless, Beau, that's what he said—east. Besides, I hear that there's Elves somewhere 'tween here and the Grimwall. Of course, beyond, there's all sorts of lands."

Beau cocked an eyebrow and looked at the token again. "Well, I don't see how this coin could be significant. I mean, huh, it seems to be made of common pewter and of little worth. It's completely lackluster . . . and without device of any kind—no design, no figure, no motif. It's even got a hole in it." Beau shook his head and handed the drab disk and thong back to Tipperton.

"Well, it meant something to the man. And it'll probably mean something to this Agron, whoever he or she may be." Tip peered about at the disorderliness and sighed. "Perhaps you are right, Beau, and the coin held no significance to the Rucks and such. Perhaps the Spawn were simply searching for loot."

Beau shrugged, then looked at the corpse. "We need to put him to rest, Tip. A pyre, I should think, what with the ground being frozen and all."

Tip sighed and nodded and glanced out at the dawn skies. "We'll build one in the clearing. Burn the Rucks and the Hlok as well."

"What about the horse? Cut it up and burn it, too?"

Tipperton pursed his lips and shook his head. "No ... I think we should leave it for the foxes and other such." Tipperton took up his bow and started for the door. "I'll get an axe and break up some deadwood; you get some billets from my woodpile and build the base for the pyre."

Beau uprighted the table and set his satchel on it, then followed after, finding Tipperton stopped just beyond the porch.

"What is it?" breathed Beau, glancing about for sign of foe but finding none.

Tipperton groaned and pointed northwestward through the gap in the trees where the river ran. "Beacontor. The balefire burns."





Chapter 3




"Beacontor?" Beau's gaze followed Tip's outstretched arm. In the far distance atop a high tor nearly thirty miles away glinted the red eye of fire. A signal fire. A balefire. A fire calling for the muster of any and all who could see it throughout the entire region.

Now it was Beau who groaned. "Oh, my. As I said, what with Drearwood just to the east, and beyond that the Grimwall, and these Rucks and such sneaking 'round, I think those of us hereabout are in for some hard times. I mean, look at what happened right here at your mill—the fighting, the dead man, the slain Rucks and the Hlok."

Tipperton shook his head. "If Beacontor is lit up, Beau, it means more than just troubles us folk 'round Twoforks've got. Look, you could be right: it might be a skirmish against raiders or such—Rucks and the like. But if the alarm came from elsewhere—downchain from the north, or up from the Dellin Downs, well then—"

"Oh, Tip—regardless of this, that, or the other, it spells woe."

Tipperton turned to his comrade. "Well, Beau, if the warning did come from upchain or down, it'll signify war as well."

Beau's eyes flew wide. "War? With whom?"

Tip gestured about. "Mayhap with Rucks and Hloks and other such."

"No, no, Tip"—Beau shook his head—"I mean, if it's war, who's behind it? And what would they hope to gain?"