Книга только для ознакомления
. He
was gesturing frantically for the hermit to come inside. The
staff had already lost the aura summoned by the ancient
command word, but the merchant's bulging eyes were
staring greedily at it.
The hermit grunted a minor dwarvish epithet to himself
and pushed past the excited shopkeeper into the store.
Smells of candlewax, oil, and soap mingled with those of
wood smoke, spices, and leather - the comfortable and
familiar odors of Martin's General Store. Lodston came to
Digfel no more than four or five times a year, and this was
one of the few places he liked to shop for provisions. Digfel
was a rowdy human mining town on the outskirts of the
dwarven mountains, steeped in fears and prejudices dating
to the Cataclysm. Milo Martin's shop had a reputation as a
brief haven amid the turmoil of the times, perhaps because
Martin himself was such a tolerant man. The jolly but
enterprising little merchant sold his goods to anyone with
iron coins in his pockets, whether dwarf, human, or elf.
Only kender, those notorious shoplifters, were unwelcome
in his store.
"You old fool! Don't you know you can't fight all of those
bumpkins by yourself, with or without a magic staff?"
Milo's gentle reprimand was undercut by an excited sparkle
in his crisp blue eyes
|
