"Raymond E. Feist - Conclave of Shadows 3 - Exile's Return" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

He had heard guards talking outside his quarters while he had been awaiting
what he anticipated would be his execution. Leso Varen, his magician advisor, had
been killed in the battle for the citadel. The magician had first come to him years
earlier, promising great power in exchange for Kaspar's protection. His presence had
been only a minor distraction at first and he had from time to time provided useful
service.
Kaspar took a deep breath and returned his attention to gaining his freedom.
There would be time for more reflection on his past, assuming he lived long enough
to have a future.
Kaspar was a broad-shouldered man of unusual strength, but his looks were
deceptive. Unlike many men of his build, he kept himself limber. Expelling all the air
from his lungs and hunching his shoulders forward, he pulled his knees hard up
against his shoulders, sticking his head between his thighs, forcing his feet between
his bound wrists. He could feel ligaments protest as he stretched his arms as far as
possible, but he managed to get his hands in front of him.
And almost pulled the tent down in the process. He found himself able to lie
down, easing the tension on the rope and peg. He studied it. The bindings were indeed
of rawhide, and he set to them with his teeth. Using saliva, he got the simple knot wet,
gnawing at it until it loosened. For long minutes he worried at the loops of the knot,
then suddenly it came loose and his hands were free.
He flexed his fingers and rubbed his wrists as he slowly stood up. Forcing his
breathing to a slow, deep rate, he crept around to the front of the tent. He peered
around the edge of the tent and saw a single guard sitting with his back to the fire at
the other end of the camp.
Kaspar's mind raced. He knew one thing from years of experience: more harm
came from indecision than from bad choices. He could attempt to silence the guard,
thereby possibly gaining several hours on the pursuit that would certainly follow, or
he could simply leave, and hope the guard didn't come to check on him before dawn.
But whichever choice he made, he had to act now!
Without conscious effort, he took a step in the guard's direction. He trusted in his
instincts: the risk was worth the potential reward. The guard hummed a simple tune,
perhaps as a device to keep himself alert. Kaspar trod lightly on the balls of his feet
and came up behind the man.
Some change in the light as Kaspar stepped between the guard and the campfire,
a slight sound, or just intuition, made the man turn. Kaspar lashed out as hard as he
could and struck him behind the ear. The guard's knees wobbled and his eyes lost
focus and Kaspar struck him across the jaw. The man started to fall, and Kaspar
caught him.
He knew his freedom was measured in seconds as he stripped the guard of his
headcover, and sword. But the man had smaller feet than him and his boots were
useless to Kaspar.
He cursed the soldier who had taken his boots on the night of his capture. He
couldn't attempt an escape barefoot. He lacked the calluses of those who traveled
without boots and while he knew little of the terrain around him, what he had seen
told him it was rocky and unforgiving. He remembered a small copse of trees on a
distant hillside to the northeast, but doubted he could effectively hide there. What
other cover might be nearby was unknown to him; he had had no time to study his
surroundings between his arrival and the confrontation with his captors. His only
escape option would be to find a pair of boots and put as much distance between
himself and his captors before they awoke, climbing into the rocky ridge above them