Книга только для ознакомления
. It sounded like an elven tongue,
Silvanesti. The speaker mumbled; his words were unclear.
"I can't understand you," said a human voice in a
language the goblin remembered well from his days in East
Dravinar. 'Talk Istarian, boy."
Someone mumbled again. The goblin was almost at
the top of the hill. No guards were visible. He carefully
checked his bow, arrows, and machete, then began to crawl
toward a fallen tree trunk overgrown with briars and thick
vines, slightly downslope on the hill's far side. The wind
covered the sounds of his movements.
"Talk to me, gods damn you!" Beefy smacks sounded
from the hill's other side.
A few seconds later, the goblin reached the fallen log
and looked down the slope.
There were three humans, two men and a woman. All
wore the brown and gray leather of Istarian free rangers.
Once the defenders of Istar's forested west, the free rangers
were now no better than mercenaries and bounty hunters. A
thin, blond-haired man was leaning into the face of a male
elf, whose arms were wrapped back around a tree trunk and
presumably tied there. The elf's head sagged; cuts and
bruises were visible through his long, sun-bleached hair.
Both his eyes were blackened and swollen
|
