"Terry Goodkind - Sword of Truth 7 - The Pillars of Creation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goodkind Terry)

didn't want to retreat the way he had come in order to climb down into the gorge, it would have been wiser
for him to have made his way through the woods, despite the thick bramble that made travel difficult up
there among the deadfall.
Done was done. If she could find something that would tell her who he was, maybe she could find his kin,
or someone who knew him. They would want to know. She clung to the safety of the pretense.
Almost against her will, Jennsen returned to wondering what he had been doing out here. She feared that
the carefully folded piece of paper told her only too clearly. Still, there could be some other reason.
If she could just find it.
She had to move his arm a little if she was to look in his other pocket.
"Dear spirits forgive me," she whispered as she grasped the dead limb.
His unbending arm moved only with difficulty. Jennsen's nose wrinkled with disgust. He was as cold as the
ground he lay on, as cold as the sporadic raindrops that fell from the iron sky. This time of year, it was
almost always snow driven before such a stiff west wind. The unusual intermittent mist and drizzle had
surely made the icy places on the trail at the top even slicker. The dead man only proved it.
She knew that if she stayed much longer she would be caught out in the approaching winter rain. She was
well aware that people exposed to such weather risked their lives. Fortunately, Jennsen wasn't terribly far
from home. If she didn't get home soon, though, her mother, worried at what could be taking so long,
would probably come out after her. Jennsen didn't want her mother getting soaked, too.
Her mother would be waiting for the fish Jennsen had retrieved from baited lines in the lake. For once, the
lines they tended through holes in the ice had brought them a full stringer. The fish were lying dead on the
other side of the dead man, where she had dropped them after making her grim discovery. He hadn't been
there earlier, or she would have seen him on her way out to the lake.
Taking a deep breath to gird her resolve, Jermsen made herself return to her search. She imagined that
some woman was probably wondering about her big, handsome soldier, worrying if he was safe, warm,
and dry.
He was none of that.
Jennsen would want someone to tell her mother, if it were she who had fallen and broken her neck. Her
mother would understand if she delayed a bit to try to find out the man's identity. Jennsen reconsidered.
Her mother might understand, but she still wouldn't want Jermsen anywhere near one of these soldiers. But
he was dead. He couldn't hurt anyone, now, much less her and her mother.
Her mother would be even more troubled once Jennsen showed her what was written on the little piece of
paper.
Jennsen knew that what really drove her search was the hope for some other explanation. She desperately
wanted it to be something else. That frantic need kept her beside his dead body when she wanted nothing
so much as to run for home.
If she didn't find anything to explain away his presence, then it would be best to cover him and hope that
no one ever found him. Even if she had to stay out in the rain, she should cover him over as quickly as
possible. She shouldn't wait. Then no one would ever know where he was.
She made herself push her hand down into his trouser pocket, all the way to the end. The flesh of his thigh
was stiff. Her fingers hurriedly gathered up the nest of small objects at the bottom. Gasping for breath at
the awful task, she pulled it all out in her fist. She bent close in the gathering gloom and opened her fingers
for a look.
On top were a flint, bone buttons, a small ball of twine, and a folded handkerchief. With one finger, she
pushed the twine and handkerchief to the side, exposing a weighty clutch of coins-silver and gold. She let
out a soft whistle at the sight of such wealth. She didn't think that soldiers were rich, but this man had five
gold marks among a larger number of silver marks. A fortune by most any standard. All the silver pennies-
not copper, silver-seemed insignificant by contrast, even though they alone were probably more than she
had spent in the whole of her twenty years.
The thought occurred to her that it was the first time in her life that she had ever held gold-or even silver-
marks. The thought occurred to her that it might be plunder.