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

He was so intrigued by this evidence of a human habitation where he had expected
none that he forgot his pursuers for the moment and made his way toward the roof
without first checking behind. He knew that the inhabitant was just as likely to
be a northerner as an Ethsharite, but if the gray thing had indeed been a hat,
then whoever wore it was probably not a soldier. Valder was armed and reasonably
capable. He had the sword on his hip and a dagger on his belt; a sling was
tucked away. He wore a breastplate of good steel. His helmet had been lost two
days earlier, and he had abandoned his bow when he had run out of reusable
arrows, but he still felt confident that he could handle any civilian, whether
northerner, Ethsharite, or unknown.

One reason for his intense interest in the roof was that its mysterious owner
might well have a boat, since he or she lived here in a coastal marshЧand that
might save Valder the trouble of building a raft, as well as being safer and
more comfortable.

He crept forward through the tall grass, across another dry patch, then through
a reed-clogged expanse of water and mud and over another hummock, and found
himself looking at a tidy little hut. The walls were plastered over with
yellowish baked mud or clay; wooden shutters covered the two small windows on
the near side. The roof, as he had thought, was thatch. A doorway faced the
ocean, with a heavy drape hooked back to leave it mostly open. Seated in the
doorway opening was the hut's inhabitant, an old man in a gray robe, his tall,
pointed hat perched on one knee. He was leaning back against the frame, staring
out over the sea at the setting sun. The hut was built on the highest bit of
land in the marsh, but faced down a short, steep, bare slope, giving a fine view
of rolling waves and crying gulls.

Valder saw no weapons, but that didn't mean the old man had none; he had no way
of knowing what might be inside the hut. The hat and robe did seem to resemble
an archaic wizard's costume, and wizards of any sort could be dangerous.

He saw nothing to indicate the man's nationality, unless he counted the fact
that the Northern Empire had very few wizards, archaic or otherwiseЧbut then,
the garb could easily be that of some obscure variety of sorcerer or other
northern magician. He debated with himself what action he should take. He was
not about to turn and leave, with the patrol still somewhere behind him. He
could approach by stealth, try to take the old man by surprise, but that would
appear definitely hostile and might cost him an ally, and, with the rustling
grass, stealth might not be possible. Far better, he decided, to make his
presence known and then see how the hut-dweller reacted.

With that resolve, he stood up straight, waved a hand in the air, and called,
"Hello, there!"

The old man started violently, grabbed at his rope belt, and looked about
wildly.

"Hello! Over here!" Valder called.