Odnośniki
- Indeks
- Goodkind, Terry Das Schwert der Wahrheit 07 Die Nächte des roten Mondes_1
- Bradley, Marion Zimmer Anthology The Best of MZ Bradley's Fantasy
- Lawrence_Terry_Misja_uczuc_RPP022
- First King of Shannara Terry Brooks
- Kushner, Ellen Los Mejores Relatos de Fantasia II
- Fae Sutherland Letting in the Light (pdf)(1)
- C Hammond Light from the Spirit World
- Pratchett_Terry_ _Nomow_Ksiega_Kopania_scr
- A.Maclean Krwawe pogranicze
- Holzer_Erika_ _Oko_za_Oko
- zanotowane.pl
- doc.pisz.pl
- pdf.pisz.pl
- szostka.htw.pl
and twisted the hem of her robe wretchedly. I mean, staying. . . not letting your-
self be. . . not losing your qualifications. . .
55
Qualifications? said Twoflower, earning the Rincewind Cup for the slowest
person on the uptake in the entire multiverse. The girl s eyes narrowed.
I could have been up there with the Moon Goddess by now, drinking mead
out of a silver bowl, she said petulantly. Eight years of staying home on Saturday
nights right down the drain!
She looked up at Rincewind and scowled.
Then he sensed something. Perhaps it was a barely heard footstep behind him,
perhaps it was movement reflected n her eyes but he ducked.
Something whistled through the air where his neck had been and glanced off
Twoflower s bald head. Rincewind spun round to see the archdruid readying his
sickle for another swing and, in the absence of any hope of running away, lashed
out desperately with a foot.
It caught the druid squarely on the kneecap. As the man screamed and dropped
his weapon there was a nasty little fleshy sound and he fell forward. Behind him
the little man with the long beard pulled his sword from the body, wiped it with
a handful of snow, and said, My lumbago is giving me gyp. You can carry the
treashure.
Treasure? said Rincewind weakly.
All the necklashes and shtuff. All the gold collarsh. They ve got lotsh of
them. Thatsh prieshts for you, said the old man wetly. Nothing but torc, torc,
torc. Who she the girl?
She won t let us rescue her, said Rincewind. The girl looked at the old man
defiantly through her smudged eyeshadow.
Bugger that, he said, and with one movement picked her up, staggered a
little, screamed at his arthritis and fell over.
After a moment he said, from his prone position, Don t just shtand there, you
daft bitcsh help me up. Much to Rincewind s amazement, and almost certainly
to hers as well, she did so.
Rincewind, meanwhile, was trying to rouse Twoflower. There was a graze
across his temple which didn t look too deep, but the little man was unconscious
with a faintly worried smile plastered across his face. His breathing was shallow
and strange.
And he felt light. Not simply underweight, but weightless. The wizard might
as well have been holding a shadow. Rincewind remembered that it was said
that druids used strange and terrible poisons. Of course, it was often said, usu-
ally by the same people, that crooks always had close-set eyes, lightning never
struck twice in the same lace and if the gods had wanted men to fly they d have
given them an airline ticket. But something about Twoflower s lightness fright-
ened Rincewind. Frightened him horribly.
He looked up at the girl. She had the old man slung over one shoulder, and
gave Rincewind an apologetic half-smile. From somewhere around the small of
56
her back a voice said, Got everything? Letsh get out of here before they come
back.
Rincewind tucked Twoflower under one arm and jogged along after them. It
seemed the only thing to do.
The old man had a large white horse tethered to a withered tree in a snow-filled
gully some way from the circles. It was sleek, glossy and the general effect of a
superb battle charger was only very slightly spoiled by the haemorrhoid ring tied
to the saddle.
Okay, put me down. There sh a bottle of shome linament shtuff in the shaddle
bag, if you wouldn t mind. . . Rincewind propped Twoflower as nicely as possible
against the tree, and by moonlight and, he realised, by the faint red light of the
menacing new star took the first real look at his rescuer.
The man had only one eye; the other was covered by a black patch. His thin
body was a network of scars and, currently, twanging white-hot with tendonitis.
His teeth had obviously decided to quit long ago.
Who are you? he said.
Bethan, said the girl, rubbing a handful of nasty-smelling green ointment into
the old man s back. She wore the air of one who, if asked to consider what sort of
events might occur after being rescued from virgin sacrifice by a hero with a white
charger, would probably not have mentioned linament, but who, now linament was
apparently what did happen to you after all, was determined to be good at it.
I meant him, said Rincewind.
One star-bright eye looked up at him.
Cohen ish my name, boy. Bethan s hands stopped moving.
Cohen? she said. Cohen the Barbarian?
The very shame.
Hang on, hang on, said Rincewind. Cohen s a great big chap, neck like a
bull, got chest muscles like a sack of footballs. I mean, he s the Disc s greatest
warrior, a legend in his own lifetime. I remember my grandad telling me he saw
him. . . my grandad telling me he. . . my grandad. . .
He faltered under the gimlet gaze.
Oh, he said. Oh. Of course. Sorry.
Yesh, said Cohen, and sighed. Thatsh right, boy. I m a lifetime in my own
legend.
Gosh, said Rincewind. How old are you, exactly?
Eighty-sheven.
But you were the greatest! said Bethan. Bards still sing songs about you.
57
Cohen shrugged, and gave a little yelp of pain.
I never get any royaltiesh, he said. He looked moodily at the snow. That sh
the shaga of my life. Eighty yearsh in the bushiness and what have I got to
show for it? Backache, pilesh, bad digeshtion and a hundred different recipesh
for shoop. Shoop! I hate shoop!
Bethan s forehead wrinkled. Shoop?
Soup, explained Rincewind.
Yeah, shoop, said Cohen, miserably. It sh my teeths, you shee. No-one
takes you sheriously when you ve got no teeths, they shay Shit down by the fire,
grandad, and have shome shoo Cohen looked sharply at Rincewind. That sh a
nashty cough you have there, boy.
Rincewind looked away, unable to look Bethan in the face. Then his heart
sank. Twoflower was still leaning against the tree, peacefully unconscious, and
looking as reproachful as was possible in the circumstances.
Cohen appeared to remember him, too. He got unsteadily to his feet and
shuffled over to the tourist. He humbed both eyes open, examined the graze,
felt the pulse.
He sh gone, he said.
Dead? said Rincewind, In the debating chamber of his mind a dozen emo-
tions got to their feet and started shouting. Relief was in full spate when Shock
cut in on a point of order and then Bewilderment, Terror and Loss started a fight
which was ended only when Shame slunk in from next door to see what all the
row was about.
No, said Cohen thoughtfully, not exshactly. Just gone.
Gone where? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]