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

to place a fortress where the nomad's camp was. But scanning the horizon, he realized
there was nothing to protect here.
The valley lacked apparent water. The trees he had passed through were a variety
unknown to him. They were scrawny, had tough black bark, thorns, and obviously
needed very little water to survive. Everywhere he looked he saw rocks and dust. The
valley below and the cut through the rocks told him that once a river had flowed
through here. Shifting land or a change in climate had caused it to dry up and now its
only function was to mark a quick passage for horsemen between one place and
another, both unknown to Kaspar.
Distant sounds informed him his escape had been discovered, and he returned his
efforts to climbing, feeling lightheaded and slightly weak. He had not eaten for at
least two days, depending how he calculated the time. He had been dragged before
Talwin Hawkins and his allies in chains at night and transported here instantly at
dawn. He must truly be on the other side of the world.
He needed rest and food. He had found some sort of dried meat and hard cracker
in a pouch on the side of the waterskin, and planned on devouring these when time
permitted, but for the moment he was content to put as much distance between
himself and the nomads as possible.
He reached a ridge, on top of which a narrow path ran. He pulled himself up off
the rocks and turned to look at the distant camp. Tents were being folded and the tiny
dots he took to be men and horses appeared to be moving at a sedate pace. There was
no sign of pursuit below him. Kaspar took a moment to catch his breath and regarded
the path.
It was wider than a game trail. He knelt and examined it. Someone had taken the
trouble to compact the earth beneath his feet. He followed it as it climbed, leading
him away from the area above the camp, and soon he found a rock face on his right
that showed marks made by tools. The sun was partially blocked by the rock face, so
he sat and ate the cracker and some of the dried meat. He drank about a third of the
water in the skin and rested.
He seemed to have escaped and it appeared that his message to the tribe's
chieftain had been understood. No riders fanned out in search, no trackers climbed the
hills below him. He was free of pursuit.
The air was dry. He reckoned his orientation from the rising sun. The trail he was
on had once been a military road, which appeared to have been abandoned for some
reason or another. The surrounding countryside was harsh and ungenerous, so there
seemed little reason to claim it. Perhaps it had once served as a highway for a nation
no longer claiming this region.
He knew the heat of the day would be punishing, so he sought out shelter. None
was evident. He decided to spend a while along this old military road, for if nothing
else it offered him a vantage point. He allowed himself one long sip of water, then
replaced the stopper in the waterskin. He had no idea how long it would be before he
found another supply.
The snatches of conversation he had overheard the night before led him to
believe water was a source of concern to his former captors. He assumed they would
be heading for a new source, so he decided to walk the trail in parallel to their course.
 An hour went by and he noticed that the distance between himself and his captors
was growing. They walked their horses, but they were traversing flat terrain and he
was picking his way along broken stones. The roadbed was flat for a dozen yards or
more at a time, then would be interrupted by breaks, overturned stones and gaps due
to slides in the hillside below. Once he had to climb down half a dozen yards in order