"Brooks - Heritage 2 -The Druid of Shannara" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brooks Terry)

do so. But all of them had been placed in extreme peril. All
were in danger of dying, threatened in the east, south, and west
by the Shadowen and in the north by Uhl Belk, the Stone King.

The old eyes closed momentarily. He knew what was needed
to save the Shannara childrenЧan act of magic, one so powerful
and intricate that nothing could prevent it from succeeding, one
that would transcend the barriers that their enemies had created,
that would break past the screen of deceit and lies that hid ev-
erything from the four on whom so much depended.

Yes, four, not three. Even Allanon did not understand the
whole of what was meant to be.

He turned and made his way back toward the center of his
refuge. He let the songs of the birds, the fragrances of the flow-
ers, and the warmth of the air soothe him as he walked and he
drew in through his senses the color and taste and feel of all that
lay about him. There was virtually nothing that he could not do
within his Gardens. Yet his magic was needed without. He knew
what was required. In preparation he took the form of the old
man that showed himself occasionally to the world beyond. His
gait became an unsteady shamble, his breathing wheezed, his
eyes dimmed, and his body ached with the feelings of life fad-
ing. The birdsong stopped, and the small animals that had
crowded close edged quickly away. He forced himself to sepa-
rate from everything he had evolved into, receding into what he
might have been, needing momentarily to feel human mortality
in order to know better how to give that part of himself that was
needed.

When he reached the heart of his domain, he stopped. There
was a pond of clearest water fed by a small stream. A unicorn
drank from it. The earth that cradled the pond was dark and
rich. Tiny, delicate flowers that had no name grew at the water's
edge; they were the color of new snow. A small, intricately
formed tree lifted out of a scattering of violet grasses at the
pond's far end, its delicate green leaves laced with red. From a
pair of massive rocks, streaks of colored ore shimmered brightly
in the sunshine.

The King of the Silver River stood without moving in the
presence of the life that surrounded him and willed himself to
become one with it. When he had done so, when everything had

4 The Druid of Shannara

threaded itself through the human form he had taken as if joined
by bits and pieces of invisible lacing, he reached out to gather
it all in. His hands, wrinkled human skin and brittle bones,