Spellsinger

Начало книги

I hope to God I wake up soon.

But if he was asleep... the pain was too real, far more so than trees or otter.

Blood staining the grass, he limped after his assailant.

"Wait a minute... please, wait!" The words were thick in his dry throat, and he

was ravenously hungry. Holding his wounded side with his left hand and waving

his right, he stumbled after the otter. Clover broke fragrantly under his

sandals and small flying things erupted in panic from the grass under his feet,

to conceal themselves quickly in other pockets of protective green.

Bright sunlight filled the meadow. Birds sang strange songs. Butterflies with

stained-glass wings crowned the tulips.

Having reached the outer rank of trees the otter hesitated under an umber

sycamore and half drew his sword. "I'm not afeard o' you, daemon-man. Come

closer and I'll stick you again." But even while he uttered this brave challenge

the animal was backing slowly into the woods, looking to left and right for an

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