"Mithgar - Hel's Crucible - 02 - Into The Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKiernan Dennis L)

Phais looked at the sky and removed her eyewear. "I think we're in for a blow."

"Oh my," said Beau. "Should we turn back? I mean, we're not too far from the shelter of the mineholt."

Phais glanced at Loric, and he shook his head and said, " 'Tis the 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."

Once again they started easterly. Of a sudden Beau frowned and looked at Phais.