Книга только для ознакомления
. The ceiling was high
enough to accommodate all.
Right now, a haze of greasy smoke hung just below the
stained ceiling beams. The spattering of the grill - Moldoon
always seemed to get the most succulent cuts of meat - and
the familiar low rumble of conversation sounded like the
same talk in any tavern in Ansalon.
Flint saw an old man behind the lower section of the bar.
White bearded, with an equally full, platinum mane of hair,
he stooped slightly with age, but revealed a frame that had
once been broad and lanky.
"Moldoon?" Flint asked in disbelief, his face alight with
expectation. The dwarf stepped over to the bar and spun the
nearest stool top to his level.
Recognition dawning, the man's face broke into a
crooked grin. "Flint Fireforge, as I live and breath!" With
amazing alacrity the man vaulted the bar and gathered up
the stout dwarf in an awkward bear hug.
"How long have you been in town, you old scut?" he
asked, shaking the dwarf by the shoulders.
"First stop." Flint grinned broadly, his whiskers tickling
his nose. The human seized Flint up again, and after much
back-thumping and hand-pumping, he grabbed a pitcher
and personally overfilled a mug for the dwarf, scraping the
foam away with a knife
|
