Night Arrant

Начало книги

Eneever Zig looked the part of a wizard. His robe was rusty black and appliqued with signs and symbols. The girdle that bound it to his thin waist was likewise covered with glyphs and runes of odd sort. He wore a pointed hat that matched his robe down to showing crescent moons, stars, and similar depictions of celestial objects. The willowy-shaped wizard was adorned with strange jewelry befitting a great spell-worker. Brooches, amulets, pendants, bracelets, and rings were all of unusual design and unknown workmanship. These precious gems bore arcane engravings and were set with weird minerals. A pair of ritual daggers hung from the old sorcerer's dragonhide girdle, as did a metal case that looked to be about the right size to house a wand.

There was no way to determine how many years of magic the old sage had under that girdle, but if one were to venture a guess it would be wise to start with a very high number. His beard was pale gray and remarkably less bushy than his jutting brows. His eyes were a piercing pale blue, his mouth a narrow slit barely visible beneath his bristling moustache. His face was drawn and gaunt, an open confession of many years of suffering.

Читать дальше →