"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 3 - Sword Of Bheleu" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

ignore the capture of one of his baronies."
"It would seem we have a stalemate then."
"Only temporarily; sooner or later your Baron will recover and face us.
It should be a simple matter to resolve everything when that happens."
"I hope you're right."
"In the meanwhile, of course, I must stand watch in this miserable rain.
There is no need for you to be here, though; go home and dry off. I appreciate
your efforts at peacemaking, but there's little you can do."
"So it would seem. Farewell, then, Galt, and I wish you luck." He
turned, and began slogging back toward the ruined gate. The overman watched as
the lantern light receded and finally merged once again with the light of the
flickering watch fire.


CHAPTER TWO

The rain stopped shortly after dawn. Garth mounted his warbeast-which had been
named Koros after the Arkhein god of war by a captured bandit a few months
earlier-for the last leg of his long journey back to Skelleth from the
black-walled city of Dûsarra. The clouds lingered in the sky, hiding the sun,
making the day gray and gloomy, allowing the road to remain a soggy, muddy
mess. Garth's supplies and clothing and the clothing of his human captive had
all been thoroughly drenched when Garth had found no shelter from the downpour
the evening before, and they remained uncomfortably damp for hours. Even
Koros' fur was soaked, and the captive, a Dûsarran girl who called herself
Frima, complained about the smell.
It didn't bother Garth particularly, though he couldn't deny its
presence. He ignored her monologue; in the last two weeks, spent mostly in the
saddle, he had grown accustomed to Frima's fondness for complaining.
When she had exhausted her first topic, the smell of wet warbeast fur,
she went on to others-her own sopping garments, the unsuitability of her
attire for a respectable person, the length of the journey, and all the other
things that displeased her about the world and her place in it.
The overman didn't really blame her. He wasn't particularly happy about
being caught in the rain; the water had soaked into the garments he wore under
his mail, and the armor was holding the moisture in. His own fur was as wet as
the warbeast's, though not as odorous.
Even Koros seemed to be irritated, and it was usually the most tranquil
of beasts as long as it was properly and promptly fed and not attacked. The
mud of the highway stuck to its great padded paws, slightly impeding its usual
smooth, silent, gliding walk, so that its footsteps were audible as faint
splashings.
Frima was still complaining when Garth first caught sight of Skelleth, a
low line of sagging rooftops and jagged broken ramparts along the horizon.
He pointed it out to her, and she immediately forgot her complaints.
"You mean we're finally there?"
"Almost."
"I can't see any domes or towers."
"There aren't any."
"There aren't?"