Книга только для ознакомления
.
"What would your . . . your lordship like?" Slegart
asked, hurrying after the guest, an ear cocked attentively.
Though the guest spoke Common, the accent was strange,
and the innkeeper still couldn't tell if his guest was male or
female.
"Anything," the guest said wearily, turning its back upon
Slegart as it walked over to the shadowy booth. On its way,
it cast a glance at the table where the warrior, Caramon, and
his brother sat. "That. Whatever they're having." The guest
gestured to where the barmaid was heaping a wooden bowl
full of some gray, coagulating mass and rubbing her body
up against Caramon's at the same time.
Now, perhaps it was the way the mysterious guest
walked or perhaps it was the way the person gestured or
even perhaps the subtle sneer in the guest's voice when it
noticed Caramon's hand reaching around to pat the barmaid
on a rounded portion of her anatomy, but Slegart guessed
instantly that the muffled guest was female.
It was dangerous journeying through Ansalon in those
days some five years before the war. There were few who
traveled alone, and it was unusual for women to travel at all.
Those women who did were either mercenaries - skilled
with sword and shield - or wealthy women with a horde of
escorts, armed to the teeth
|
