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

jar alike; a second later the wood was burning steadily and naturally, the
water beginning to steam slightly.
"Call me when they're ready," the old man said as he turned back toward
Valder's sword.
Valder watched him leave, trying to tell himself that the wizard was not
accustomed to dealing with people and could not know how annoying his behavior
was. When the old man had settled cross-legged beside the sword and begun
making a new series of mystical gestures, Valder turned back to the improvised
cooking pot and poked at the crabs with his dagger far more viciously than
culinary concerns required.
He tried to force himself to relax. He had escaped the northern patrol --
in fact, the old fool had saved his life with his spells. The wizard had told
him where to find water, had provided food, and had lighted the fire when
Valder could not. There was no cause for annoyance save for the old man's
utter disregard for the little diplomacies of everyday life. Valder had always
had a healthy respect for such niceties and had used them to forestall a few
barracks brawls; he wondered whether two months alone in the woods and four
days of desperate flight might have impaired his own behavior sufficiently to
justify the hermit's rudeness.
By the time he judged the crabs to be fit to eat, he was calm again. The
heat of the fire had dried most of the rain, mist, and marsh out of his hair
and clothing, and the improvement in his comfort had contributed to his
improvement in mood.
He called, "Wizard! Breakfast is ready!"
For several seconds the only reply Valder received was the bubbling of
the water in the broken jar, and the crackle of the flames. Finally, the
wizard paused in his mysterious gesturing and called, "Keep it warm, will you?
I can't stop here."
Valder shrugged. "Please yourself," he answered. He fished out a crab
with his knife and sat down to eat.
When he had eaten three of the four -- as might be expected so far north,
none were very large -- he threw three more in the pot and settled back
against a hillock, feeling reasonably content. Settled comfortably, he watched
the old man.
The candle-stubs were burning, and the smoke was weaving about
unnaturally, forming something resembling blue tatted lace hanging in mid-air;
his sword stood upright, unsupported, in the center of the tangle. Valder had
no doubt that the wizard was doing something to the weapon, though he had no
idea what.
The old man barked a single word that Valder didn't quite catch, in a
voice surprisingly powerful for so short and thin a body; the sword and smoke
froze, hanging immobile in the air. The wizard rose to his feet, arms spread
wide, walked sideways around the column of petrified smoke, then turned away
from it and strolled over to the cookfire.
"Let me use your knife, soldier; all mine are either lost or in use." He
gestured, and Valder noticed for the first time that the wizard's own dagger
was balanced on its tip below the sword, spinning about and gleaming more
brightly silver than the light of the sun could explain. He shrugged and
handed the old man his knife.
The wizard ate all four of the cooked crabs in silence, wolfing down the