Книга только для ознакомления
. We
still have a few." Rhael lifted a rag-wrapped bundle and
gave it to Graym. "This is Galeanor, the Axe of the Just."
"Just what?" Jarek asked.
Graym took the axe, eyed it dubiously. "Just kidding."
Darll muttered in his ear. "Perfect. The fat man fights
and dies with the Axe of the Just Kidding."
Rhael handed the others dented weapons, the few the
Protector had left behind. Darll examined his sword with
distaste. Jarek looked at his with delight. The Wolf brothers
picked up two badly corroded maces, after touching them
gingerly to be sure they weren't dangerous. They stood
there, then, staring at one another.
"Don't you think you'd better take up positions opposite
the enemy?" Rhael suggested.
"You're absolutely right, Miss," Graym said firmly.
"Move out." With only a small twinge of guilt, he added,
"And we'll take the cart with us - for supplies . . . and . . .
strategy."
They traipsed down the hill, walked through Graveside.
It was, Graym noted, a pleasant enough place, not much
bigger than Sarem. There were cart tracks in front of the
homes and manure piles in the tilled fields. It obviously was
a farm-to-market town for a larger city. "Krinneor isn't far
now," Graym said to the others. "We're closer to the city
itself. I know it. Now, if we can just shake this lot. . ."
Graym glanced behind him. Werlow began organizing
the elders for a safe retreat down the road. Rhael had gone
into one of the cottages.
Graym smiled; they continued on.
At the crest of the hill, Darll raised his hand in silent
warning
|
