"Roger Taylor - Hawklan 4 - Into Narsindal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

‘I’ll report him to the Market Senate next time I’m there.’

‘Matured,’ Dar-volci was scornful. ‘You couldn’t tell a matured stone from a potato. They were baked.
I told you that, but you wouldn’t listen.’

Andawyr grunted sulkily and muttered something about the Market Senate again.

‘The Senate would throw them at your silly head,’ Dar-volci said. ‘You’re so naive. Why don’t you
listen to someone who knows, once in a while?’

‘They were a bargain,’ Andawyr said indignantly. Dar-volci made a disparaging noise. ‘Well, warm
yourself on your cheery profit then,’ he scoffed. ‘You and your bargains. They see you coming, great
leader. You shouldn’t try to horse-trade; you’ve neither the eye, the ear nor the wit for it. You should
know that by now. Do you remember that bargain cooking pot you bought – very cheap . . .’

‘Dar!’ Andawyr’s eyes narrowed menacingly, but Dar-volci continued, warming to his theme. ‘Genuine
Harntor smithing . . . where the Riddinvolk get their precious horseshoes from.’ His deep laugh filled the
tent. ‘Backside melted out of it the first time you used it. What a stink! Then there was tha . . .’

‘That’s enough,’ Andawyr snapped. ‘Go to sleep.’

Dar-volci chuckled maliciously. ‘Good night then, old fellow,’ he said. ‘Sleep snug.’

Andawyr ignored the taunt and turned his attention back to the sulky radiant stones, struggling fitfully to
shed their red warmth. Unnecessarily, he glanced from side to side, as if someone might be watching,
then, muttering to himself, ‘Well, just a smidgeon,’ he brought his thumb and first two fingers together,
and with a flick of his wrist, nodded them at the stones.

There was a faint hiss, and a white light spread over the reluctant stones.

‘I heard that,’ Dar-volci said, knowingly.

‘Shut up,’ Andawyr said peevishly.

The heat from stones filled the tent almost immediately and Andawyr removed his cloak and loosened
some of the outer layers of the clothes he had hastily donned at the sudden onset of the snow storm.

He had always been reluctant to use the Old Power for simple creature comforts, sensing that in some
way it would weaken, even demean his humanity. And since his ordeal in Narsindal and his flight along
the Pass of Elewart, this reluctance was even stronger. Still, the othersdid twit him gently about his
excessive concern . . . and thiswas an emergency, he reassured himself faintly.

The wind rattled the tent again as if in confirmation of this convenient rationalization.

After a little while, he reached out and dimmed the bright glow of the stones. Then he lay down and,
staring up at the roof of the tent, listened to the howling wind.

What would tomorrow bring? When he had set off for Orthlund he had expected a cold, perhaps
dismal, journey through the mountains, and had equipped himself accordingly. But this . . .? This was
winter. Granted he was at the highest point of his journey, but such a storm was still unexpected, and he