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

territory. He adjusted his grip on the sling and slipped a stone into the
pocket, ready to swing and let fly at the first threatening move.
Whoever or whatever was hidden in the bushes did not seem to have spotted
him, but was moving away with no attempt at stealth, back out toward the sea.
As it emerged from behind the leafy barrier, Valder got a good look. The
mysterious figure was, as he had expected, a northerner, but rather than a
shatra or combat sorcerer or some other deadly menace, it appeared to be a
very ordinary young man, with no helmet and no adornments or personalizations
on his standard-issue uniform and weapons.
He did not look threatening. His back was almost directly toward Valder,
and he was totally off guard, oblivious to any lurking danger. Still, he was
an enemy. Valder hesitated.
The northerner was a hundred feet away and widening the gap. Valder was
not good enough with a sling to be sure of hitting him, let alone downing him;
if he missed, the sound of the stone would almost certainly alert the man --
who, like most northern soldiers, carried a crossbow slung on his back.
Valder did not care to become a crossbow target. He decided to wait where
he was and hope the young man went away without seeing him.
Wirikidor seemed to tremble slightly in his hand, and the grip felt
warmer than usual; the Ethsharite remembered for the first time since spotting
the northerner that he held a magic sword, a sword whose enchantment was
supposed to see him safely home. He glanced at it and, without thinking,
shifted his grip for a better hold.
One of his sling-stones fell to the ground and by mischance bounced from
a half-buried rock with a loud click.
The northerner paused and started to turn. His movements were casual and
unhurried; he was obviously thinking more in terms of small game than possible
enemies, but Valder knew the man could hardly fail to see him. He brought his
sling up and set it whirling.
The northerner's mouth fell open in astonishment at the sight of the
Ethsharite. He ducked hurriedly as he recognized the sling for what it was,
falling first to his knees and then flat to the ground. He struggled awkwardly
to bring the crossbow around to where he could use it.
Valder let fly, knowing as he did that his stone would miss. It whizzed
away, two feet above the northerner's head and a foot to the side.
As the pellet left the sling, Valder dove for cover behind a nearby oak.
Once there, he stuffed the sling into his belt and passed Wirikidor from his
left hand to his right, to have it ready for use.
The enemy soldier had not given an alarm, had not yelled for help; to
Valder, that meant that there were no more northerners within earshot. He
depended on that. If he could close with this man and kill him, he would be
safe, at least for the moment. If he could disarm the northerner somehow and
convince him to surrender, better still -- assuming the man knew at least a
little Ethsharitic, since Valder spoke not a single word of the northern
tongue.
He was not even sure that all northerners spoke the same language.
The man looked younger than himself, probably still in his teens, and not
particularly formidable. Had they been matched in weaponry, Valder would have
been fairly confident of victory; as it was, however, the northerner had a
crossbow, and Valder had his enchanted sword. Crossbows were very effective