Книга только для ознакомления
. The goblin crouched down,
pulled a thin, ceramic flask from a leather pouch on his
rope belt. It was time. Uncorking the lid, he drank the
contents, screwing up his face at the bitter taste. Wiping his
mouth, he stood up, tossed the flask aside, and moved
toward the firelight in a crouch. He had to reach the top of
the hill before the kender arrived with the fireball.
Every step of the way, the goblin pictured the sword.
He saw himself holding it instead of his machete, and saw
himself after he made his wish, the one wish, the only wish.
The thought almost made him hurry too fast and give
himself away to the humans, who were directly ahead of
him. He dropped down behind a tree and faded into the
darkness. He was only two hundred feet from the fire on
top of the hill.
"It's not like we're killing real people, you know." The
human who spoke kept his voice low, but his tone was sure
and knowing. He shifted his stance, and his armor clinked.
Chain mail, maybe with plate. "You and I, we're real
people. We know the difference between right and wrong.
The great gods blessed us with vision that no other race
has. That's the vision to see our destiny. We're not like the
mongrel races who see only to the next day's meal
|
