"FEIST, Raymond E - The RiftWar Saga - 1 - Magican" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

the wall, Swordmaster Fannon or Horsemaster Algon would surely have a lot
worse in store for him than words. While he rested, the rain took on an
insistent quality and the sky darkened as the late-afternoon sun was
completely engulfed in storm clouds. His momentary relief was replaced with
anger at himself for losing the sack of sandcrawlers. His displeasure
doubled when he considered his folly at falling asleep. Had he remained
awake, he would have made the return trip unhurriedly, would not have
sprained his ankle, and would have had time to explore the streambed above
the bluffs for the smooth stones he prized so dearly for slinging. Now
there would be no stones, and it would be at least another week before he
could return. If Megar didn't send another boy instead, which was likely
now that he was returning empty-handed. Pug's attention shifted to the
discomfort of sitting in the rain, and he decided it was time to move on.
He stood and tested his ankle. It protested such treatment, but he could
get along on it. He limped over the grass to where he had left his
belongings and picked up his rucksack, staff, and sling. He swore an oath
he had heard soldiers at the keep use when he found the rucksack ripped
apart and his bread and cheese missing. Raccoons, or possibly sand lizards,
he thought. He tossed the now useless sack aside and wondered at his
misfortune. Taking a deep breath, he leaned on his staff as he started
across the low rolling hills that divided the bluffs from the road. Stands
of small trees were scattered over the landscape, and Pug regretted there
wasn't more substantial shelter nearby, for there was none upon the bluffs.
He would be no wetter for trudging to town than for staying under a tree.
The wind picked up, and Pug felt the first cold bite against his wet back.
He shivered and hurried his pace as well as he could. The small trees
started to bend before the wind, and Pug felt as if a great hand were
pushing at his back. Reaching the road, he turned north. He heard the eerie
sound of the great forest off to the east, the wind whistling
Through the branches of the ancient oaks, adding to its already foreboding
aspect. The dark glades of the forest were probably no more perilous
than the King's road, but remembered tales of outlaws and other, less
human, malefactors stirred the hairs on the boy's neck. Cutting across the
King's road, Pug gained a little shelter in the gully that ran alongside
it. The wind intensified and rain stung his eyes, bringing tears to already
wet cheeks. A gust caught him, and he stumbled off balance for a moment.
Water was gathering in the roadside gully, and he had to step carefully to
keep from losing his footing in unexpectedly deep puddles. For nearly an
hour he made his way through the ever growing storm. The road turned
northwest, bringing him almost full face into the howling wind. Pug
leaned into the wind, his shirt whipping out behind him. He swallowed hard,
to force down the choking panic rising within him. He knew he was in danger
now, for the storm was gaining in fury far beyond normal for this time of
year. Great ragged bolts of lightning lit the dark landscape, briefly
outlining the trees and road in harsh, brilliant white and opague black.
The dazzling afterimages, black and white reversed, stayed with him for a
moment each time, confusing his senses. Enormous thunder peals sounding
overhead felt like physical blows. Now his fear of the storm outweighed his
fear of imagined brigands and goblins. He decided to walk among the trees
near the road; the wind would be lessened somewhat by the boles of the