"Ed Greenwood - Forgotten Realms - Elminster 2 - Elminster In Myth Drannor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenwood Ed)

a brigand not two paces away to his right. Elminster could not resist doing something he'd once delighted
in, years ago, in the streets of Hastarl: he plucked the man's belt dagger out of its sheath so softly and
deftly that the brigand didn't notice. Its pommel bore the scratched outline of a serpent, rising to strike.
Then he froze, not daring to take a step for fear of crushing dead leaves underfoot, and betraying
his presence. He stood as still as a stone as the man stalked away, moving cautiously toward where the
young mage had run to.
Could he get his saddlebag and flee without being noticed? Even if they hadn't had arrows and
some skill in firing them, he really didn't want to waste spells on a handful of desperate men, here in the
heart of the Skuldaskar. He'd seen bears and great forest cats and sleep-spiders already on his journey,
and heard tales of far more fearsome beasts that hunted men along this road. He'd even found the
gnawed bones and rotting, overturned wagons of a caravan that had met death along the road, some time
ago . . . and he didn't want to become just one more grisly trailside warning.
As he stood, undecided, another brigand strode around the tree, head down and hurrying, and
walked right into him.
They fell to the leaves in startled unison-but the young Athalantan already had a blade in his hand,
and he used it.
The dagger was sharp, and his slash laid open the man's forehead with a single stroke as El rolled
to his feet and sprinted away, making sure that he stomped on the bow that the man had dropped. It
snapped under his boots, and then he was running hard for the road, startled shouts following him.
The man he'd cut would be blinded by the streaming blood until someone helped him, and that
made one less brigand to chase Elminster of Athalantar. The Berduskan Rapids were still days
away-longer, now that he had to walk-and Elturel was an even longer trip back. He didn't relish going
either way with a band of cutthroats hunting him, day and night.
He reached his horse, scrambling back down onto the road, and used his borrowed dagger to
cut free his saddlebag and the loop that held his scabbard.
Snatching up both of them, he ran hard along the road, seeking to win a little distance before he'd
have to try some other trick.
Another arrow hummed past his shoulder, and he swerved abruptly into the forest on the far side
of the road. So much for that brilliant tactic.
He was going to have to stand and fight. Unless...
In frenzied haste he dropped his burden and snatched out his sword, the daggers from both
boots, and the knife sheathed down his back, its hilt hidden under his hair at the nape of his neck. They
joined the borrowed dagger on a clump of moss, clattering into a heap-and he added his fire-blackened
cooking fork and broad-bladed skinning knife to them even as he began the chant.
Men were leaping and running through the trees, fast approaching, as Elminster muttered his way
through the spell, taking each blade in turn and carefully nicking himself so that drops of his blood fell on
the steel. He touched each blade to the tangle of feathers and spiderweb strands he'd scooped out of his
pouch-lined baldric, thanking Mystra that she'd whispered to him to mark each pouch so he knew their
contents at a glance, and then clapped his hands.
The spell was done. Elminster snatched up his saddlebag to use as a shield against any swift
arrows that might come his way, and crouched low behind it as the seven weapons he'd enchanted rose
restlessly into the air, skirled against each other for a moment as they drifted about as if sniffing for
prey-and then leapt away, racing points-first through the forest air.
The first brigand shrieked moments later, and El saw the man spin around, clutching at one
eyeball, and fall down the bank onto the road. A second man spat out a curse and swung his blade in
frantic haste; there was a ringing of steel on steel, and then the man reeled and fell, blood spurting from
his opened throat.
Another man grunted and clutched at his side, snatching out the cooking fork and flinging it down
with a groan. Then he joined the frantic retreat, outpaced by some of his fellows who were sprinting
desperately to stay ahead of blades that were rushing hungrily after them.