"Simon Hawke - Wizard 7 - The Wizard of Camelot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

of Sherwood Forest, once a sprawling woodland, now a fenced-in acreage that
was
mined and patrolled by guards armed with automatic weapons. The surrounding
countryside had been virtually denuded of trees as cordwood continued to go
up
in price and what was not chopped down by individuals for their own use was
razed by opportunistic profiteers who sought to gain from other people's
hardship. There was a thriving market in illegally cut cordwood and the
authorities had been forced to take up drastic measures to protect the
few-remaining acres of woodland that were left.

I was not in a reasonable state of mind, but if I knew what I risked, I
didn't
give a damn. I was in such a state that I never gave any consideration to how
I
would manage to carry enough wood back to serve our needs, even assuming I
would
not be caught. One thought, and one thought only, was foremost in my mind.
Wood.
Wood, Goddamn it! At that point, the thinnest, hair's-breadth of a line
separated me from poor James Whitby. I was on the razor's edge.

The rain was falling much harder as I cut my way through the concertina wire
and
breeched the fence without encountering any of the guards, who doubtless
believed no one in their right mind would venture out on such a night. And,
indeed, no one in their right mind had. I used my knife to probe for mines as
I
made my way farther back into the trees, thinking I would need some cover for
my
work, and should probably go some distance in to make certain any noise I
made
would not attract attention. I passed any number of small trees I could have
chopped down easily, thinking, "Just a little farther better safe than
sorry,"
and other such nonsense. I have no idea how far I went, but before long, I
realized I had lost all sense of direction. And, in that one moment, however
briefly, my presence of mind returned and I thought, "Dear God, what am I
doing?" My family had need of me, and there I was, probably catching my death
of
cold, breaking the law and committing a felony, endangering my life and, in
consequence, theirs by my foolishness. What if I was blown up by a mine? What
if
I was shot in the act of chopping down a tree, or caught and arrested as I
was
bringing out... what? A measly armload of wood?

I felt despair overwhelm me and I put my head down in my arms as I lay upon
the
muddy ground and wept, the rain commingling with my tears. "Fool! Fool!" I