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.He could see what lay at its end now: a squat stone tower that leaned slightly to one side.Tarth held his staff menacingly in one hand, hoping he would not have to use it.Its power seemed to have been growing weaker of late.On his other hand gleamed the Lost Ring of Murbrand.Tarth hoped there would be no need to call upon its powers, either.Despite days of research and experimentation, he did not know how to command the ring to do anything.At the spot where a trail of moss and beaten grass branched off and ran down to the pond, a large flat rock lay beside the path.Its top was worn smooth, as if many folk had sat upon it over the years.Just now it held a curved, smooth-carved pipe, twin to the one he carried.It was lit, smoking quietly in the morning air all by itself.Tarth stared at it.Was it some sort of trap? The Old Mage himself, perhaps, shapechanged to avoid prying intruders? The young wizard looked at the pipe for a long time and then with a shrug reached down.He'd faced danger enough and lived to tell the.tale-and this was only a pipe.He hoped.His fingers touched it, warm and hard and smooth, and he almost jerked his hand away.His fingertips tingled against it as he waited.A bird flew past; silent minutes lengthened.Carefully Tarth picked the pipe up and quickly looked all around.Nothing menaced.Nothing was altered.It was exactly the same as the one the elf had given him.Two pipes that smoked by themselves.Tarth held them carefully out before him to avoid breathing in their smoke, and walked on toward the waiting tower.Its small, plain door faced him blankly.Tarth leaned his staff into the crook of one elbow and reached out with his freed hand toward the pull ring of the door, to knock.His fingers were still inches away when the door swung open silently.Tarth stepped back in alarm.After a few breaths of silence, he stepped forward again, and then hesitated, peering into the darkness."Well, stand not on the threshold, welcoming flies in! Enter, and unburden thyself of whatever matter ye have sought me out for, mageling!" came an imperious voice from within.Tarth swallowed, and took a step forward."How-how did you know I work magic?" he found himself asking, before he could stop the words from spilling out." Tis written in foot-high letters on thy forehead, of course," came the dry answer.""Have ye not noticed it before?" A sort of grunt followed, and the voicecontinued."Hmm.ye must be an adventurer.such pay the least heed to the world around them.Well? Come in, then! Tis not so difficult-advance thy other foot, as ye did the last, use thy staff for balance, then boldly reach ahead thy first foot, again, and the deed is done!"Tarth did so, and found himself in a dark, dust-choked chamber piled to the ceiling with parchments and thick leather tomes.Upon a stack of particularly massive books perched an old, straggle-bearded man in flowing robes.One gimlet eye fixed on Tarth.In one hand the old man held a tiny bird, cupped carefully.The bird, too, regarded Tarth.It cheeped once disdainfully.The old man's other hand reached out."My pipes," he demanded simply."Ye must have met Aelrue."Wordlessly Tarth handed over the pipes.The mage's fingers brushed his, and Tarth felt a brief tingle of raw power.He stood awed in the dimness of the cluttered chamber, as the old man spoke softly to the little bird in words Tarth did not understand.It cheeped again, briefly, and flew into the darkness at the back of the room.When it was gone, the old man looked up."Tea?" he asked, almost roughly."Ye look dry." Without waiting for a reply, he called, "Tea, Lhaeo! For two."He waved at an old barrel, atop which were stacked several wrinkled maps of Thay and the Utter East, the hues of their magical inks glowing faintly in the dimness."Toss those aside and sit ye," the old man commanded."We may as well get started.Time not spent is not saved.Thy name?"Tarth gave his first name, looking around for a place to set the maps and finding none [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]