"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 1 - The Misenchanted Sword" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

his ruse; instead his face was contorted with anger and pain at the
destruction of his home and his work.
From the corner of one eye Valder noticed the northerner doing something
with his wand, perhaps making a mystical gesture or perhaps only adjusting
something; then he lifted it to chest height and pointed it at the fiery
remains of the hut. Red streaks of light scarred the air, etching themselves
into Valder's vision, and the burning ruin fell inward all at once with a
roar, collapsing into a smoldering heap less than two feet high.
A seething hiss sounded.
The northerner did something else to his wand and pointed it again;
something seemed to leap from the wand to the wreckage. With a white flash and
a sound like tearing metal, the smoldering heap vanished in a shower of
burning fragments, leaving only a crater.
For several seconds lumps of hot mud and burning reeds splashed into the
marsh around the two fugitives, sprinkling them liberally with salt water and
mud, but not actually striking either of them. It seemed to Valder that some
pieces actually dodged aside in mid-air in order to miss them. "That aversion
spell," the wizard whispered beside him.
After what seemed like hours, quiet and darkness descended again. Valder
lay absolutely still. For a long moment the only sound was the hissing of
burning debris as it was extinguished by the marsh; then a voice called out.
Valder could not understand the words. He whispered, "Do you know what he's
saying?"
"No," the old man answered. "I told you, I don't know their language."
Another voice called back to the first, and both laughed.
Then came the sound of feet slogging through the marsh with no attempt at
stealth.
"They must think we're dead," Valder whispered.
"That's the idea," the wizard replied.
They lay still as footsteps splashed about; when the sound stopped for a
moment Valder risked a glance and saw two of the northerners poking about the
smoking crater, carrying torches. One stopped, knelt, then stood, holding out
something for his companion to see. Valder squinted. He couldn't be sure, but
the object looked like a scorched bone.
The northerners exchanged a few words in their own language, and one gave
a short, unpleasant laugh, then glanced around at the surrounding marshland.
Valder froze. The northerner's eyes came to rest looking directly at the spot
where the two Ethsharites lay. The man called something to his companion, then
marched toward them, moving out of Valder's line of sight. Valder did not dare
to shift his eyes.
A moment later a boot splashed into the marsh beside him and a hand
gripped his hair and pulled him up. The pull hurt, but Valder kept himself
limp, refusing to react, playing dead. Blood dripped from his beard.
He toyed briefly with the idea of pulling his knife and taking the
northerner by surprise, but the sorcerer was waiting, watching from the rim of
the crater, and Valder did not think much of the idea of suicide, even when
taking an enemy with him. He had too much to live for. He hung limp in the
northerner's grasp.
Then the man dropped him, and he fell heavily to the mud; the side of his
face stung with the impact, but he kept still.