Книга только для ознакомления
.
Mountain-bound Thorbardin traded for grains and
spices, as did his own homeland of Abanasinia. And he
had seen in Abanasinia and Solamnia - among those
who could afford them - plenty of tools and weapons
created by the dwarves of Thorbardin, as well as fine tex-
tiles from Qualinost.
Fibers and fabrics, feathers and furs... comestibles,
combustibles, and exotic baubles - every land he had
seen in his travels possessed an abundance in some com-
modities and shortages in others.
Somewhere in the past there had probably been exten-
sive trade all over Ansalon. But trade now - and for all
the lifetime Wingover and those he knew could
remember - was erratic and hazardous. "It's the way of
the world," he himself had said more than once. "There's
always someone more determined to make a killing than
the rest are to make a living."
"Poor, ravaged Krynn," some poets called the world.
But Wingover had no real quarrel with the nature of
things. It was the only world he had ever known, and in
some respects the very combativeness of its races aided
him in his endeavors. Their aloofness, their distrust of
one another, made the commodities they all sought even
more precious. Sometimes Wingover hired out as a trail
guide, sometimes as an escort for traders
|
