Книга только для ознакомления
. No one ever went anywhere from here.
They are all still here. Encased in ice, with ashes under-
foot.
Three spells did Fistandantilus cast. The words echoed
in Chane's mind. The first was fire, the second ice...
Fire and ice. Chane turned away from the ice window,
feeling very cold.
"Isn't this great?" The kender hurried past, chattering
his enthusiasm. "Dwarfcicles! Imagine! There's one over
there you should look at. That little tall lump... there
are four dwarves really going at it. One of them has an
axe and he's fighting the other three. Better hurry... but
then again, I suppose he'll last as long as the ice lasts,
won't he? Wow, this is like a museum of statues, with
frosty windows!"
The dwarf turned to glare at the kender, but Chess was
already heading off to look at more lumps.
Chane growled, and the growl became a sigh. I don't
want to be here, he told himself. I don't want to look at
this. And yet, he went on, from mound to mound in the
field of frozen death, peering here, kneeling there for a
better view within the ice, searching. And through it all
he felt the faint tingling of the little red spot on his
forehead - the mark of the red moon - driving him on.
None who were on this field when those spells were
cast ever left here, Chane thought glumly
|
