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

The best, he could do was a fallen limb, perhaps once the top of a tree
but now a crooked, dried-out chunk of wood as long as he was tall and as thick
as his forearm. Broken up, with kindling beneath, he judged it would serve
well enough.
He gathered a pouchful of twigs and dry needles to start the fire with,
then tucked the full jar in the bend of one arm, hefted the limb in his other
hand, and headed back toward the marsh.
The journey back was even more difficult than the trip out. Although he
knew better where he was going and what terrain he faced, he had the added
problems of keeping the water in the inverted half of a jar and keeping the
wood, already wet from the night's rain, from becoming even wetter. This last
proved virtually impossible in crossing the marsh, but he managed to reach the
crater with only one end of the branch newly soaked and with several inches of
water still in his makeshift container.
The old man did not immediately acknowledge his return; the wizard was
bent over the sword, inscribing blue-glowing runes in the air an inch above
the blade with the tip of his finger. His false wounds appeared to be healing,
Valder noticed, and some color had returned to his face. Valder dropped the
tree-limb on a convenient mound of earth, placed the water container nearby,
and glanced around.
Some semblance of organization had been created, turning the crater from
simple desolation to a camp among the ruins. A small pile of crabs lay to one
side of the wizard; that, Valder guessed, would be breakfast, though he could
not imagine how anyone could have found so many crabs so quickly in such
northern waters as these. Arranged about the wizard were various elements of
his arcane paraphernalia -- a fragmentary skull, small glittering stones,
shards of this and that, and five broken candle-stubs. Valder marveled that
any candles could have survived the preceding night's inferno.
After a long moment, as he was beginning to wonder whether there was
anything he should be doing, the wizard looked up at Valder and said, "Cook
the crabs, why don't you? Boil them, if you think that thing will hold water
well enough."
Valder looked at the crabs, then looked at the broken jar, and then
looked back at the wizard. "I thought you were thirsty," he said.
"No, I'm hungry; you were thirsty. Cook the crabs."
Annoyed, Valder scooped four of the crabs into the broken jar and set
about building a fire. He had no trouble in breaking the wood into suitable
lengths and arranging it over the tinder, but found that the twigs and needles
were still damp from the rain, though he had chosen the driest he could find,
and would not light readily. He knelt, smothering curses lest he accidentally
say something that might let demons interfere with the wizard's spell-making,
and struck spark after spark without success.
After several minutes he sat back on his haunches and found the old man
standing beside him. Without a word, the wizard extended a forefinger that
flamed at the tip like a candle, his nail serving as the wick, as he had the
night before when lighting the lamp. He thrust it into the little heap of
tinder, which flared up immediately.
That done, he snuffed his finger by curling it into his palm, then used
his other hand to flick a yellowish powder on the young flames. He said one
unfamiliar word. With a sudden roar, the fire leaped up and engulfed wood and