Книга только для ознакомления
.
Michael's staff lashed out, caught one on the side of one
man's head, sent him into the dust. Nikol gave another a
slash on his cheek that he would carry to his grave. The
men, eyeing the knight and the cleric, decided they'd had
enough. They broke and ran.
"Cowards!" jeered Nikol, cleaning her sword with the
tail of the dead man's shirt. "'Thieves and knaves."
"Yes, but they'll be back," said Michael grimly. "And
they'll bring help. We can't stay in the city. We'll have to
leave." He cast a longing, disappointed glance at the great
library.
"We'll return," said Nikol confidently. "I have an idea.
Hurry up. One of those thugs is talking to that so-called
Revered Son."
Sure enough, the Revered Son was turning, staring hard
in their direction. The man was pointing at them excitedly.
The two ran, blended in with the rest of the flotsam and
dregs of humanity that had washed ashore in Palanthas.
Reaching the gates, they were walking out just as one of the
Revered Son's henchmen came pounding up, breathless, to
deliver a message to the guard.
Michael and Nikol ducked behind a wagon that had
become mired in the crowd.
"Knight of Solamnia!" the man shouted. "A huge
fellow with a sword six feet long! He's got a friend, some
fellow wearing the blue robes of the false goddess."
"Yeah, sure, we'll watch for them," said the guard, and
the henchman dashed off, to spread the alarm at other
gates. "Get that wagon moving! What's the matter with
you?"
Nikol drew her cloak close around her, pressed her
sword against her thigh
|
