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Brooks Terry Magiczne Krolest Krolestwo na sprzedaz
Brooks Terry Shannara 004 Potomkowie Shannary
Brooks Terry Magiczne Krolest Nadworny czarodziej
Carr, Terry (Ed.) [Anthology] Universe 14 [v1.0]
Brooks Terry Magiczne Krolest Czarny jednorozec
Brooks,Terry [Royaume Magique a
Blood of the Fold Terry Goodkind
Czarodzicielstwo PRACHETT TERRY
Confessor Terry Goodkind
Druon,Maurice [Rois Maudits 1]L

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.You have to try to occupy a lot of space, she thought.It makes you look bigger, like a tomcat fluffing his tail.She’d seen it a lot in the inn.The boys tried to walk big in self-defence against all those other big boys out there.I’m bad, I’m fierce, I’m cool, I’d like a pint of shandy and me mam wants me home by nine.Let’s see, now.arms out from the body as though holding a couple of bags of flour.check.Shoulders swaying as though she was elbowing her way through a crowd.check.Hands slightly bunched and making rhythmical circling motions as though turning two independent handles attached to the waist.check.Legs moving forward loosely and ape- like.check.It worked fine for a few yards until she got something wrong and the resultant muscular confusion somersaulted her into a holly bush.After that, she gave up.The thunderstorm came back as she hurried along the trail; sometimes one would hang around the mountains for days.But at least up here the path wasn’t a river of mud, and the trees still had enough leaves to give her some protection.There was no time to wait out the weather, anyway.She had a long way to go.The recruiting party would cross at the ferry, but Polly was known to all the ferrymen by sight and the guard would want to see her permit to travel, which Oliver Perks certainly didn’t have.So that meant a long diversion all the way to the troll bridge at Tübz.To the trolls all humans looked alike and any piece of paper would do as a permit, since they didn’t read.Then she could walk down through the pine forests to Plün.The cart would have to stop there for the night, but the place was one of those nowhere villages that existed only in order to avoid the embarrassment of having large empty spaces on the map.No one knew her in Plün.No one ever went there.It was a dump.It was, in fact, just the place she needed.The recruiting party would stop there, and she could enlist.She was pretty certain the big fat sergeant and his greasy little corporal wouldn’t notice the girl who’d served them last night.She was not, as they said, conventionally beautiful.The corporal had tried to pinch her bottom, but probably out of habit, like swatting a fly, and there was not enough for a big pinch, at that.She sat on the hill above the ferry and had a late breakfast of cold potato and sausage while she watched the cart cross over.No one was marching behind it.No lads had been recruited back in Munz this time.People had kept away.Too many young men had left over the last few years, and not enough had come back.And, of the ones who’d come back, sometimes not enough of each man had come back.The corporal could bang his big drum all he liked.Munz was running out of sons almost as fast as it accumulated widows.The afternoon hung heavy and humid, and a yellow pine warbler followed her from bush to bush.Last night’s mud was steaming when Polly reached the troll bridge, which crossed the river in a narrow gorge.It was a thin, graceful affair, put together, it was said, with no mortar at all.And it was said that the weight of the bridge anchored it ever more deeply into the rock on either side.It was said to be a wonder of the world, except that very few people around here ever wondered much about anything and were barely aware of the world.It cost one penny to cross, or one hundred gold pieces if you had a billygoat.* Halfway across Polly peered over the parapet and saw the cart far, far below, working its way along the narrow road just above the white water.* Trolls might not be quick thinkers but they don’t forget in a hurry, either.The afternoon’s journey was downhill all the way, through dark pines on this side of the gorge.She didn’t hurry and, towards sunset, she spotted the inn.The cart had already arrived, but by the looks of it the recruiting sergeant had not even bothered to make an effort.There was no drum-banging like there had been last night, no cries of ‘Roll up, my young shavers! It’s a great life in the Ins-and-Outs!’ There was always a war.Usually it was a border dispute, the national equivalent of complaining that the neighbour was letting his hedge grow too long.Sometimes it was bigger.Borogravia was a peace-loving country in the midst of treacherous, devious, warlike enemies.They had to be treacherous, devious and warlike, otherwise we wouldn’t be fighting them, eh? There was always a war.Polly’s father had been in the army before he took over The Duchess from Polly’s grandfather.He didn’t talk about it much.He’d brought his sword back with him, but instead of hanging it over the fireplace he used it to poke the fire.Sometimes old friends would turn up and, when the bars were shut for the night, they’d gather round the fire and drink and sing.The young Polly found excuses to stay up and listen to the songs they sang, but that had stopped when she’d got into trouble for using one of the more interesting words in front of her mother; now she was older, and served the beer, it was presumably assumed that she knew the words or would find out what they meant soon enough [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]