"Raymond E. Feist - Riftwar Saga 1a - Magician Apprentice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

Pug picked up speed when he came to the first stretch of open beach. The storm was coming in faster
than he would have thought possible, driving the rising tide before it. By the time he reached the second
stretch of tide pools, there was barely ten feet of dry sand between water's edge and cliffs.



Pug hurried as fast as was safe across the rocks, twice nearly catching his foot. As he reached the
next expanse of sand, he mistimed his jump from the last rock and landed poorly. He fell to the sand,
grasping his ankle. As if waiting for the mishap, the tide surged forward, covering him for a moment. He
reached out blindly and felt his sack carried away. Frantically grabbing at it, Pug lunged forward, only to
have his ankle fail. He went under, gulping water. He raised his head, sputtering and coughing. He started
to stand when a second wave, higher than the last, hit him in the chest, knocking him backward. Pug had
grown up playing in the waves and was an experienced swimmer, but the pain of his ankle and the
battering of the waves were bringing him to the edge of panic. He fought it off and came up for air as the
wave receded. He half swam, half scrambled toward the cliff face, knowing the water would be only
inches deep there.



Pug reached the cliffs and leaned against them, keeping as much weight off the injured ankle as
possible. He inched along the rock wall, while each wave brought the water higher. When Pug finally
reached a place where he could make his way upward, water was swirling at his waist. He had to use all
his strength to pull himself up to the path. He lay panting a moment, then started to crawl up the pathway,
unwilling to trust his balky ankle on this rocky footing.



The first drops of rain began to fall as he scrambled along, bruising knees and shins on the rocks, until
he reached the grassy top of the bluffs. Pug fell forward exhausted, panting from the exertion of the climb.
The scattered drops grew into a light but steady rain.



When he had caught his breath, Pug sat up and examined the swollen ankle. It was tender to, the
touch, but he was reassured when he could move it: it was not broken. He would have to limp the entire
way back, but with the threat of drowning on the beach behind him, he felt relatively buoyant.



Pug would be a drenched, chilled wretch when he reached the town. He would have to find a lodging
there, for the gates of the castle would be closed for the night, and with his tender ankle he would not
attempt to climb the wall behind the stables. Besides, should he wait and slip into the keep the next day,
only Megar would have words for him, but if he was caught coming over the wall, Swordmaster Fannon
or Horsemaster Algon would surely have a lot worse in store for him than words.