Книга только для ознакомления
." Slowly, the carved wooden head turned to
the right, and in the ice pool the landscape slithered past:
a place of broken lands; a wide, cold marsh with moun-
tains beyond. Only a few miles away, a range of giant
peaks rose above the sheer wall of a great cliff hundreds
of feet high, a diff that soared upward from a misted
gorge. And just at the top of the cliff, facing on a narrow
ledge, was a massive, closed gate.
The great northern gate of the undermountain realm
of Thorbardin, still intact though its approaches had
been sheared away for centuries.
Abruptly the picture vanished, and the carved
wooden face of Hobby was again in the ice. "Hobby has
shown what you wanted to see," the horse said.
Glenshadow drew his staff across the ice, and again it
was only ice. He stood, wind whipping the fringes of his
bison cloak, rippling the hems of the faded red robes
beneath.
Far out across the plain, tiny with distance, plumes of
dust arose where armies moved. Glenshadow watched
these, deep in thought. Out there, somehow joined to the
woman who led the invaders, was Caliban.
Caliban, the renegade black-robed mage Glenshadow
and two others had hunted down years before... Cali-
ban, who chose to fight them rather than accept the rules
of the robed orders... Caliban, whose magic destroyed
two of the three before he himself died.
Glenshadow's cold eyes were as bleak as a winter
storm as he remembered
|
