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

flesh eagerly. When he had finished and tossed the shells in the marsh, he
remarked, "Magic is hungry work, and that smoke is making my throat dry. Go
for some more water, soldier, if you aren't doing anything else."
"Give me back my knife first," Valder replied. He saw no point in wasting
argument or courtesy on the old man.
The wizard handed back the dagger, and Valder reluctantly set out for the
stream.
He spent the rest of the day alternately sitting doing nothing, and
fetching wood or water -- or, once, three black pine cones, an item the wizard
needed for his spells. Valder discovered that black pine cones were a scarce
item; most were brown or gray. Eventually he located an odd bluish tree that
yielded the desired objects.
The sun crawled across the cloud-strewn heavens and sank toward the sea,
and still the wizard continued with his spell-casting. Glowing runes and
weaving smoke were just two of the myriad odd effects Valder observed, and he
wondered more and more just what the old man was doing to the sword.
Well after the sun went down, Valder finally dozed off, not far from the
fire, while the wizard was etching fiery red lines in the dirt with a golden
something-or-other that was oddly unpleasant to look at.
He was awakened suddenly by a loud whooshing sound and a shout. He
started up, reaching automatically for a sword that wasn't there. He glanced
about wildly.
The fire had almost died, and there was no longer any magical glow
anywhere -- no runes in the air nor lines on the earth nor glittering blades.
It took him a few moments to interpret the dim shapes he could make out.
The wizard was walking toward him, the sword sheathed and cradled in his
arms.
"Here, soldier," he said, thrusting the weapon forward. "Take your damned
sword and get out of here!"
"What?" Valder was not at his best when suddenly awakened. He looked
blankly at the completely ordinary-looking scabbard and hilt in the wizard's
arms.
"I'm finished with your sword, I said. It's carrying all the enchantments
I could put on it under the circumstances. If it won't get you home safely,
then nothing I know will. Take it and go. And don't draw it until you're over
the horizon."
Still befuddled, Valder accepted the sword and looked at it stupidly for
a moment before hanging it in its accustomed place on his belt. It looked no
different, as far as he could see by the fire's faint glow, from what it had
been when he arrived. When it was securely in place, he reached for the hilt
to check the draw; a soldier needed to be able to get his blade out quickly.
"No, I said!" the wizard barked at him; a bony hand clamped around his
wrist. Irrelevantly, as he looked at the hand, Valder noticed that the last
traces of the Sanguinary Deception had vanished. "You mustn't draw it here!
It's dangerous! Don't draw it until you need it, and you won't need it until
you're well away from here."
"Whatever you say," Valder said, taking his hand off the sword.
The wizard calmed. "That's better. Ah... I gave it a name."
"What?" Valder was still too sleepy to keep up with this apparent change
of subject.