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

of the sword's owner would not work, but any other would. The hermit had told
him that the sword had some sort of an ownership spell on it.
He remembered the sickening sensation as the sword had twisted in his
hand, determined to cut the northerner's throat out; no, the sword was not
satisfied with just a little blood. It had wanted the man's life. Not his
soul, perhaps, but his life.
That was not a pleasant thought. Wirikidor might indeed protect Valder,
but he did not think he would enjoy owning it. For one thing, it was a
nuisance carrying it about unsheathed. He promised himself that the next time
he got it into the scabbard he would leave it there until he needed it again.
Putting aside for the moment his consideration of the sword's nature, the
next important question was what this northern soldier had been doing here.
From the man's nonchalant attitude, it was obvious that he had not been
expecting any Ethsharitic activity -- at any rate, not on land close at hand.
Valder could guess well enough what he had been doing skulking in the bushes,
from the sound if nothing else -- even northerners needed to relieve
themselves -- but where had he come from? As nearly as Valder could estimate,
he was still several leagues behind the northern lines -- unless the
Ethsharitic forces had successfully counterattacked.
That was an encouraging thought, but Valder was not at all sure it was
justified. He glanced about, hoping to pick up the northerner's trail.
He found it with surprising ease. The man had made no attempt to conceal
it and had, in fact, obviously used the same path several times, judging by
the amount of wear. Mosses and creepers had been thoroughly trampled. With
Wirikidor in hand, Valder followed the trail southwestward through the forest
and in only minutes emerged onto the top of a rocky bluff and found the
northerner's little encampment, overlooking the sea. The dead man's duty was
clear; he had been stationed to watch for Ethsharitic landings along this
stretch of coastline. The elevated position gave him a clear view of several
miles of beach.
He had not expected an attack on land, of course. Valder's presence must
have been a shock.
This realization left Valder with only guesswork to tell him how far
behind the northern lines he might still be. He had no way of knowing how much
of the coastline the enemy would consider worth guarding. His own army might
be a league away, or a hundred. All he could be certain of was that the war
was still being fought, as it had always been, or else there would have been
no need to post a coastal watch at all.
Any number of questions were now vital. When was the soldier's relief
due? How far apart were the shore-watchers posted? Would it be worthwhile to
travel inland to avoid them?
He glanced at Wirikidor. He was protected, he told himself; he could go
where he pleased. That was not really a major concern, after all.
No, he corrected himself, there were still crossbows, not to mention the
arcane weaponry of sorcerers and shatra. He did not want to encounter any more
of the enemy than he had to, and where possible it would be best to meet at
close quarters, where Wirikidor would, it seemed, do his fighting for him.
Besides, he had no particular desire to kill northerners -- though he
felt a twinge of guilt at making that unpatriotic admission to himself.
Creating a disturbance back here behind the Empire's lines might draw troops