"David Freer - The Forlorn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Freer Dave)

an empty sack. She picked it up and ran to the last wagon in the row. The deity who watches over fools
and amateurs must have been working overtime for her that night. The guard had just stepped over to an
alley to relieve himself, a thing even Morkth-men must do, as she scrabbled and scrambled her way up
the cargo net to the top. She burrowed into the sack and lay still, holding onto the net and hoping they'd
not notice that the one lumpy sack was outside the net.

A few minutes later she heard the crack of whips, and then, with a jerk, the steel-cased wheels started
to rumble their way over the cobblestones. Never had the movement of one of her feather-sprung
carriages felt as lovely as that slow, rough, bouncing progress. She lay dead still as the wagons rolled
away under the gate arch, past the flaring torches, and out into the welcome darkness.

How long could her soft hands survive this? The ropes cut at them, but if she let go on this uneven road
she would almost certainly slide and fall. By the paling sky, dawn would be here soon. They'd see her for
sure then. Perhaps she should try to get off now? There was a patrol marching behind them. How could
she get clear? The train halted abruptly. She risked a peep to see the patrol leader moving past, leaving
his men waiting with swords at the ready.

A few moments later he came back. "Sheath swords. One of the wagons has broken a wheel. Come.
We must move it from the road."

As soon as they'd filed past, Shael slid out of her sack, scrambled down the netting and ran into the dark
shadows among the trees of a small dell. Her protective deity must have gone to answer a call of nature
himself just then, because there was a shout behind her.

She ran.

Tripping and falling, tearing through brambles, stumbling down a steep bank and into the stream, up the
muddy bank opposite and out into the heather and broken heathlands.

In the woods she'd heard them behind her. Now, although her heart was hammering like a drum in her
ears, the sounds seemed further away. It didn't matter any more. They might as well catch her. She
simply couldn't run another step. She collapsed into the bushes, and waited, panting.

No sane fugitive would leave the shelter of the woods for open ground. Thus it was that the Morkth-men
were peering up every vast-boled tree and sapling instead of following the simple, straight course to their
quarry. After a short while Shael realized they were still searching amongst the trees. She got onto hands
and knees and crawled away, towards the lip of the dell and over, onto the hillside. Once she was
beyond the line of sight she got up and began to walk, painfully. Her feet were unused to such
punishment, but she forced herself to go on. She was heading for no specific place, justaway .

Her lack of decision was probably just as well. She had no real idea where she was. She had always
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been escorted and taken to places. She had no real notion of distance or direction, for someone else had
always taken care of this. She only knew that she was tired and sore, her feet and legs bleeding from a
myriad of small cuts and scratches. On top of this she was also hungry, thirsty and cold. The sky was
pale now, but the dawn breeze still sliced at her dew-wet legs. If only she'd kept the sack, she thought,