Аннотация
“Your medallion,” the man said, gesturing with his chin toward the mandala resting on Pennington’s chest. “It is quite unusual. How did you acquire it?”
The manner in which the man asked his question made Pennington uncomfortable. “A friend gave it to me.”
“Odd,” the man said. “Such rarities are usually bequeathed only to family members.”
Pennington broke eye contact and tried to sidestep the Vulcan. “You must be mistaken.”
Blocking his path, the Vulcan said, “It comes from the commune at Kren’than, does it not?”
At the mention of T’Prynn’s native village, a technology-free retreat populated by mystics and ascetics, Pennington froze. He suspected the man was not really interested in the medallion. Facing him, Pennington was wary as he said,
“Yes, it does.”
“As I thought,” the man said.
The Vulcan handed him a scrap of fragile parchment that had been folded in half. As soon as Pennington took hold of it, the stranger walked away at a br...
Отзывы