Denner's Wreck

Начало книги

The sun was high in the heavens at mid-secondlight, shining fiercely down on the shadeless plain. Bredon could feel its light clearly, bright and warm on his back, pouring over him like honey as he crouched in the tall grass.

He blinked away sweat, then cautiously raised himself up to peer over the waving blades.

The plain lay palely green before him, flat and even to the mountain-rimmed western horizon. Warm wind hissed and muttered around him, through grass already half-bleached by summer and well on its way to becoming golden hay.

His gray hunter's vest lay crumpled on the ground at his heel, dropped there when he had stopped to crouch. The thin leather garment had been designed for comfort and convenience and had served him well in the year he had worn it, but in the long wakes of pursuit it had begun to chafe him, to feel unbearably hot and confining by light and heavily clammy in the cool darks. He had removed it a couple of hours ago, just after the wake's second sunrise. He now wore only short bleached cotton breeches, but he had carefully dragged the vest along rather than risk losing it.

Читать дальше →