Книга только для ознакомления
. Nelk darted between the two.
"He'll be ready. I will see to him."
"You?" Sylverlin scowled. "You're mistaken, friend
Nelk. This one is definitely mine."
"It is you who are mistaken, friend Sylverlin."
Sylverlin glanced at the wary knight. "A pity," he said,
shrugging. "I'd hoped that our blades might cross. Now, no
such luck. You'll be dead before I get the chance."
Arryl would have replied, but Nelk was quicker. He
brought the mace around and pushed the swordmaster's
blade away. "Never wish ill, Sylverlin. The gods have a
habit of returning such wishes to their makers."
The serpentine fighter laughed, bowed mockingly to
the knight, and left without another word. Arryl was barely
able to restrain himself from charging after.
"He has marked you for his own sport. This changes
everything," Nelk muttered.
Tremaine studied the elf's features. A sense of
foreboding washed over him as he noted his companion's
dark expression. "What do you mean?"
"Sylverlin has never really cared about those I choose
to fight. But you, Knight, are something special to him. He
hates your kind and always has. He murdered the last
knight quickly enough. Some say he is one of your cast-
offs
|
