"L. E. Modesitt - The Forever Hero 1 - Dawn for a distant Ear" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

the other darkness twisting leftward, away from the shambletown. With the slump of his shoulders
that passed for a sigh, he silently took the left opening, which, as he had hoped, again forked.
From his right came the definite smell of shambletown, although he could detect a gentle
incline which bothered him. The last thing he wanted was to pop out high on the Maze wall in clear
range of the shambletown guards and their slings.
Two more branches and he squatted just inside an exit overlooking the eastern wall of the
shambles. He was higher than he would have liked-more than a body length above the wall and three
body lengths above the uneven clay expanse between the Maze and the wall. His exit was to the
north of the small eastern gate and the majority of the torches.
He shifted his weight to relieve the nagging ache and the pressure on his left leg and studied
the wall. He would have to slip over the wall roughly opposite his vantage point. Unlike the
northern wall, which was higher, the eastern wall, behind the bulk and protection of the Maze,
also sloped outward as it dropped to its stone base. The slope might be just enough to let him
make the climb quickly.
By now, it was as dark as it would get. The frozen rain pelted down in a desultory click,
click, click that might cover any noise he made climbing down to the clay.
Only a single torch by the gate was lit, and the boy decided that the sooner he moved the
better.
With a single fluid motion, he slid out of the hole and let his bare feet search for the
outcroppings he knew were there, careful to let the bulk of his weight rest upon his good right
leg. That brought him within two body lengths of the hard ground.
Ears, eyes, and nose all alert for rats, coyotes, or shambletown guards, he began easing
himself down the Maze's rough surface as quickly as he could.
The animals avoided the freezing rain when they could, as did the shambletown guards, and he
reached a position under the wall without an alarm being raised.
Again ... He stopped and listened, straining to hear, to see if he could sense anyone on the
far side of the wall. Had he judged his position correctly, once over the clay bricks he would be
opposite a narrow lane leading deeper into the lower shambletown.
No sound came from beyond the wall-just the click, click, click of the frozen droplets hitting
the hard surface.
Flexing his fingers, toes, he sprang, scrambling quietly to the top, the abrasiveness of the


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sandpaint giving his extremities just enough purchase to support the effort.
He vaulted over-and down onto a covered clay barrel.
Boom!
Even as the sound of his impact on the empty container rumbled down the cleared area next to
the wall toward the guard post, he was dashing for the alley.
"Hear that?"
"Storm, stand?"
"No storm!"
The boy did not stay to hear the debate between the two guards, but slunk down the narrow
alleyway deeper into the dark, sniffing and listening.
He sought an empty dwelling. In all those he had passed, he could sense shambletowners mumbling
to each other after their evening meal. Either that or sullen silence.
Dark was the shambletown, lit but by a few ratfat torches set behind salvaged glass, and by the
dim glow from deep within the claybricked homes.