Книга только для ознакомления
. He knew
all the stories about dead men. He didn't want to know any
more.
The burned apparition stumbled over a body on the
ground before it collapsed with a muffled cry. For a
moment it tried to rise, then it fell flat and was still at last.
The smell hit him then, and the goblin retched, but he
forced himself to look away from the dead man and began
crawling again. He knew he'd find worse as he got closer to
the blast, but it didn't matter. He had to find the sword.
A jumble of blackened wood appeared in the dying
firelight, only thirty feet away. With a burst of energy he
didn't think he could find, the goblin gave out a gasping
cry, then hurried forward on hands and knees, heedless of
what he had to crawl over or through to get there.
Restless fingers reached for the smoldering boxes. He
saw that they really had been camp supplies, but it was still
possible that the sword was among them. He was so close
now, so close to the only power he would ever know, that
he couldn't stop looking. He got to his knees and tried to
examine the boxes in the dimming firelight.
And, almost at once, he saw one that stood out from
the rest. It was a weapons case, once covered with fine
elven carvings in the wood but now half-charred
|
