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

"Where am I supposed to go? The patrol thinks I'm dead, but I'm still cut
off, a hundred miles behind enemy lines. I might as well stay here and help
you rebuild; I can't go home."
"I don't want your help." The wizard's tone had changed from righteous
fury to petulance.
"You're stuck with it, unless you can figure out how to get me back to
friendly territory."
The wizard stared at him resentfully. "Just walk back. No one will bother
a walking corpse."
"The spell is permanent?" Valder was horrified. The idea of spending the
rest of his life gushing illusory blood was unappetizing, to say the least.
"No," the wizard admitted. "It wears off in a day or so."
"It took me two months to come this far north!"
"Well, I can't fly you out with my supplies all gone! Even the simplest
levitation I know needs ingredients I haven't got any more." He paused; before
Valder could speak, he continued, "I have an idea, though. Give me your sword.
You've been waving it about; we might as well use it."
"What?" Valder realized he was still holding his drawn sword; he had
never sheathed it after cutting through the wall of the hut and had picked it
up without thinking when he got to his feet. "What do you want it for?"
"I want to get rid of you, idiot."
"How? By killing me?"
"No, of course not. You may be a fool, but that's not enough reason to
kill you. I don't kill anybody. Besides, you are an Ethsharite, even if you
are an idiot, and I'm still a loyal Ethsharite myself, even out here."
"Then what do you want my sword for?"
"I'm going to enchant it. I'm going to put every spell I can find on it,
every enchantment I can come up with that might help you fight your way back
and out of my life forever."
"Can you do that without your supplies?"
"I can do something; I know a few spells that don't take anything fancy,
and a couple of them are good ones. It may not be the greatest magic sword in
the world when I'm done, but it will get you home, I promise you. I've got one
spell I invented myself that I'm sure will do it, and it doesn't need any
ingredients I can't find here in the marsh. If you stay around here very long,
I may kill you, Ethsharite or not -- and neither of us wants that to happen."
Valder was still reluctant to give up his weapon, though the offer was
tempting. He had not really wanted to build a boat and sail down the coast; he
was no sailor, and storm season was approaching. He couldn't even swim. "How
do I know I can trust you?" he asked.
The wizard snorted. "You don't need to trust me. You're twice my size and
a third my age; I'm a feeble little old man and you're a trained, healthy
young soldier. Even if I had the sword, you could handle me, couldn't you?
You've got the knife on your belt; I'm not leaving you defenseless."
Valder remained wary. "You're a wizard, though, not just an old man."
"Well, then, if I'm a powerful enough wizard to handle you, how much
difference can that stupid sword make? I've already got my own dagger, if I
need a blade for some spell. You can't have it both ways; either I'm too old
and feeble to worry about, or I already have the advantage. Look, soldier, I'm
in no hurry. I can't do any magic to speak of until morning, because I'll need