"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 28 - Wizard of Rentoro" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

completely washed out their hoofprints and there was no place they could have left the road to cut across
country without leaving tracks.
Now the road curved sharply, vanishing around the rocky flank of a steep wooded hill. As Blade
followed the road around to the right, he came to a small wooden bridge leading across the ditch.
Beyond the ditch a flock of sheep milled about aimlessly. In the middle of the flock the slight form of a
shepherd boy was sprawled on the ground. He lay on his back, his dark hair spread out around his head
and his cap fallen to one side. His crook lay in three pieces beside him.
Blade ran across the bridge, crouching low and scanning the landscape for signs of movement. He
noticed as he ran that some planks of the bridge were scarred and gouged by iron-shod hooves and that
the ground on the far side bore a tangle of hoofprints. Some of the riders had come across the bridge
only a few minutes before. They'd killed the shepherd boy, then apparently ridden away without doing
anything to his flock—which made no sense.
Blade pushed through the sheep, who scattered with plaintive bleats. He knelt beside the shepherd
and with relief discovered the boy was not dead. He had a nasty lump on his head and blood was
seeping from a cut under one eye, but his limbs were straight and his chest rose and fell steadily. Blade
stood up and started looking for shelter. The boy would come to no further harm if he could be dried off
and warmed up.
Then an explosion of new sounds cut through the dying rain. Men and women were crying out in fear,
children were screaming wildly, sheep, goats, and cattle were all bleating or lowing frantically. Other men
were shouting angrily, and the hooves of fast-ridden animals splashed and thudded.
Blade had caught up with the riders. Somewhere over on the other side of the wooded hill, they were
going into action. Whatever they were doing involved many more people than a single shepherd boy.
Blade drew the boy's cap over his face, then ran back across the bridge and out into the road.


Chapter 3
«^»
As Blade reached the road the uproar from beyond the hill seemed to double. There was a pitched
battle, a wild panic, or both going on over there. Remembering the riders' crossbows, Blade changed his
mind about following the road around the hill. Walking unarmed straight into whatever was going on
would be a fine way of committing suicide and not much else.
Instead Blade ran on across the road, vaulted the wall, and started up the hill. The trees swallowed
him before he'd gone a dozen paces but the cries and shouts still came loud and clear. He went up the hill
with a rush, ignoring rocks that bruised his feet and thorn-laden branches that lashed across his skin, In
places the slope was so steep he had to grip saplings or roots and haul himself upward. At last he
reached the crest and ran to the nearest gap in the trees. He threw himself flat behind a spreading
evergreen bush and peered down at the scene below.
Nestled in a hollow at the foot of the hill was a village—sixty or seventy houses, stables, barns,
storehouses, a couple of inns, all arranged on either side of a single graveled street. The six men-at-arms
were riding up and down that street at a canter, while their leader sat on his mount at one end of the
street.
The leader's visor was still up and his face was turned toward the sky. He seemed totally deaf and
blind to the uproar around him. He reminded Blade of nothing so much as a faithful dog sitting at his
master's feet, waiting for a command. Where that command was going to come from, Blade couldn't
imagine.
The men-at-arms, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what they were doing and were grimly
at work. They still had their bows slung, but their swords and maces danced in their hands. Blade saw
one of them ride down a boy who could not have been more than ten. The mace whistled down and
Blade braced himself to see the child's head smashed to pulp. Then he saw the mace flash with frightening
precision inches over the child's head, close enough to ruffle his dark hair. The boy missed a step and