Ведьмак: Кровь эльфов

           Riencewasstandinginfrontofhimandhisevileyesglintedinthelightofalanternheldaloftbyanunshavenruffianwhostoodoversixfeettall.Anotherruffian,probablynoshorter,stoodbehindhim.Dandilioncouldhearhisbreathingandcaughtawhiffofstalesweat.Itwasthereekingmanwhotuggedontheropeloopedoveraroofbeamandfastenedtothepoet’swrists.

           Dandilion’sfeettoreoffthedirtfloor.Thepoetwhistledthroughhisnose,unabletodoanythingmore.

           "Enough,"Riencesnappedatlast–hespokealmostimmediately,yetithadseemedanagetoDandilion.Thebard’sfeettouchedthegroundbut,despitehismostheart-feltdesire,hecouldnotkneelagain–thetightdrawnropewasstillholdinghimastautasastring.

           Riencecamecloser.Therewasnotevenatraceofemotiononhisface;thedampeyeshadnotchangedtheirexpressionintheleast.Histoneofvoice,too,remainedcalm,quiet,evenalittlebored.

           "Younastyrhymester.Yourunt.Youscum.Youarrogantnobody.Youtriedtorunfromme?Noonehasescapedmeyet.Wehaven’tfinishedourconversation,youclown,yousheep’shead.Iaskedyouaquestionundermuchpleasantercircumstancesthanthese.Nowyouaregoingtoanswerallmyquestions,andinfarlesspleasantcircumstances.AmIright?"

           Dandilionnoddedeagerly.OnlynowdidRiencesmileandmakeasign.Thebardsquealedhelplessly,feelingtheropetightenandhisarms,twistedbackwards,crackingintheirjoints.