"Feist,.Raymond.E.-.Riftwar.2.-.Silverthorn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

Silverthorn
raymond E. Feist
the riftware saga
book 2
A poisoned bolt has struck down the Princess Anita on the day of her
wedding to Prince Arutha of Krondor.

To save his beloved, Arutha sets out in search of the mytics herb
called Silverthorn that only grows in the dark and forbidding land of
the Spellweavers.

Accompanied by a mercenary, a minstrel, and a clever young thief, he
wil confront an ancient evil and do battle with the dark powers that
threaten the enchanted realm of Midkemia.

"I found Silverthorn to be as exciting and absorbing as Magician in
every way. The excellent characterization wedded to a tight and
well-tuned plot makes it one of the outstanding fantasy offerings of
the season." --Andre Norton


Prologue
Twilight

The sun dropped behind the peaks.
The last rays of warmth touched the earth and only the
rosy afterglow of the day remained. From the east, indigo
darkness approached rapidly. The wind cut through the
hills like a sharp-edged blade, as if spring were only a
faintly remembered dream. Winter's ice still clung to
shadow-protected pockets, ice that cracked loudly under
the heels of heavy boots. Out of the evening's darkness
three figures entered the firelight.
The old witch looked' up, her dark eyes widening
slightly at the sight of the three. She knew the figure on
the left, the broad, mute warrior with the shaved head
'and single long scalp lock. He had come once before,
seeking magic signs for strange rites. Though he was a
powerful chieftain, she had sent him away, for his nature
was evil, and while issues of good and evil seldom held
any significance for the witch, there were limits even for
her. Besides, she had little love for any moredhel,
especially one who had cut out his own tongue as a sign
of devotion to dark powers.
The mute warrior regarded her with blue eyes, unusual
for one of his race. He was broader of shoulder than
most, even for one of the mountain clans, who tended to
be more powerful of arm and shoulder than their forest-
dwelling cousins. The mute wore golden circle rings in his
large, upswept ears, painful to affix, as the moredhel had