Книга только для ознакомления
. In addition, he was forced to use
make-shift tools left behind by his friend, the minotaur.
The prayers lasted until the sun set. Torbin, his body
stiff, rose and wandered over to the lean-to. He picked up
the small, crude blade with which the lone man-beast had
created his handiwork. After studying it, he put it into one
of his pouches.
His mount greeted him energetically, inaction and the
scents of the minotaurs having caused him no end of
frustration. Torbin soothed the animal and then slowly
climbed on. He did not look back. *****
His reappearance in the village caused a great
commotion, despite the lateness of the day. Villagers
pressed around him, asking if the beast was dead. The
mayor and his cronies located him some five minutes later
while he was packing the rest of his gear onto his horse.
"Is it true? Have you dispatched the beast?" The mayor's
breath smelled of fish and beer.
"The minotaur is dead." Torbin continued to concentrate
on packing his equipment.
The group let out a rousing cheer. The mayor declared
the next day a holiday. A feast would take place, each
villager bringing food or drink as a contribution. The
victorious Knight of Solamnia would be the guest of honor
|
