"Andre Norton - Brother To Shadows" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

He gathered up his sentries, returned them to their pouch, and swung his pack up on his
shoulder. However, when only a few feet from his last night's camp, he paused to eye
something protruding slantwise from the rubble which must have descended in a small
slide from the heights he must now face.

It was certainly not the remains of any bush, or sapling. No, he had seenтАФand usedтАФits
like before. This was a pass staff which, in the right hands, could even confront a steel
swinging opponent. The flash of recognition sent his hand out to close firmly about it.

The slide held it well in grip and he had to work it loose. When he had it wholly free he
could see that the hook at its end had been bent out of shape, but it was still a weapon of
which he could make excellent use. His issha was assuredly strongтАФ

But whence had it come? He took several steps backward so he could view the upslant of
the way before him more clearly. Then he saw itтАФa clean angle which was not of nature.
There had beenтАФstill wasтАФa wall!

Jofre closed his eyes for a moment and drew to the fore of his mind the map. No, he was
certain that there had been no hint of any such along the route he had chosen. How could
he have gotten so far off trace? He turned his attention to the staff he now held. It was old
but it had been painstakingly carven of armor woodтАФthat precious growth which could
be worked by a great deal of effort, but once shaped would perhaps well outlast its maker.

He pulled off his thick glove and took the shaft into his bare hand, allowing it to slide
along between his fingers as he held it closer to centered sight. Then that grip tightened.
His breath came with the faintest hiss.

Qaw-en-itter!

Dead Lair, long dead Lair! And by all the teaching of assha a site to be avoided lest the ill
fortune of that place still weave some pattern to entrap. Even as his own home Lair would
now be regarded by any chancing close to its deserted compound. HoweverтАФJofre slid
the staff back and forth between both hands as he sifted logic from superstition.
The Master he had served had been one to discount much in the way of rumor and
legend. His outlooking for off-world contracts had brought him a wealth of contradictory
information which he had sifted patiently, and for the past half year Jofre had oftentimes
served as a kind of sounding boardтАФsince the Shagga priest and the Master's Right and
Left Hands were all of a conservative turn of mind. The Shagga doubtlessly believed, and
would tell it near and far, that the now dead Master's loss of assha had come because of
that very turning from orthodox ways. But something in Jofre had responded eagerly to
whatever speculation the Master had wished to voice.

Now he could remember that small warning mark on the map. However, there was a far
better way to the Pass if one tried the ancient route from Qaw-en-itter. He would save
perhaps a day's journey time, maybe more. A glance at the lowering clouds, at that threat
of storm to come, made him think it would be worth the try.

Slinging the staff to be fastened to the lashings of his pack took only a short time. He was
moving upward determinedly, watching for the best footholds, almost at once.