"Roger Taylor - Arash-Felloren" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

avoiding the gaze of its pack leader. The hand near the cudgel softly curled and eased away from it, as if
even its hidden proximity to the weapon might antagonize. The actions were instinctive and he could not
have accounted for them even if he had realized what he was doing. Habit, however, overrode this
response and straightened him up to receive his new customer.

Whatever ominous presence the newcomer had seemed to exude on his first appearance vanished as the
door closed, and the dim light of the inn dressed him in a long, travel-stained coat and a wide-brimmed
and equally stained hat. His right hand was wound around the strap of a pack hanging from his shoulder.
He looked about him as he walked through the silence, then he reached up and removed his hat to reveal
a lean weather-beaten face.

The innkeeper found himself looking into deep-set eyes. They were heavily shaded in the poor light and
he could thus read nothing in them, though a fleeting glint from the depths unnerved him momentarily.
Uncertain of his voice, he raised his eyebrows in insolent inquiry.

‘Do you have a room where I can stay?’

The ordinariness of the question aided the innkeeper’s recovery. He frowned, though it was not at the
request, but at the man’s accent, which he could not place immediately. Still, that would have to wait.
First things first.

‘Got any money?’ he demanded.

The man nodded slightly. ‘How much is the room?’

The innkeeper told him, increasing the normal price by a half and adding, ‘In advance.’

Unexpectedly, the man did not quibble and his left hand dropped two coins on the counter. ‘Three
nights,’ he said quietly.

The innkeeper swept them up a little too eagerly, then, remembering himself, examined them carefully.
They were local and they were good. ‘Three nights,’ he confirmed, stoically keeping a gleam from his
eyes.

‘I’ll put my horse in the stable,’ the man said, turning away.

Fully himself again now, the innkeeper jingled the two coins significantly. The man paused, then placed a
smaller coin on the counter. ‘This will feed us both.’

The innkeeper opened his mouth to remonstrate, but though the voice had been soft and unprovocative,
the statement was categorical and he found himself disinclined to barter. The coins in his bulbous fist
weighed heavily and he nodded in agreement. The man turned and left. As the door opened and closed,
the red light washed briefly into the inn again.

‘Gave me a start when he came in, that one, Ghreel. Thought he was one of Barran’s men.’

The speaker was a rat-faced individual. He scraped his chair back and sidled up to the counter. Ghreel
jingled the coins again, then grunted. He was speculating urgently about who the newcomer might be but
he had no intention of exposing his confusion to the likes of ale-swilling flotsam such as Riever here.