"Brooks, Terry - Heritage 01 - The Scions of Shannara" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brooks Terry)

him suddenly, spoiling his contentment.

"There are always rumors," he replied.

"And the rumors are often true. Talk has it that they plan to
snatch up all the magic-makers, put them out of business and

The Scions of Shannara 9

close down the ale houses." cole was staring intently at him.
"Seekers, Par. Not simple soldiers. Seekers."

Par knew what they were. SeekersЧFederation secret police,
the enforcement arm of the Coalition Council's Lawmakers. He
knew.

They had arrived in Varfleet two weeks earlier. cole and he.
They journeyed north from Shady Vale, left the security and
familiarity and protective confines of their family home and came
into the Borderlands of Callahom. They did so because Par had
decided they must, that it was time for them to tell their stories
elsewhere, that it was necessary to see to it that others besides
the Vale people knew. They came to Varfleet because Varfleet
was an open city, free of Federation rule, a haven for outlaws
and refugees but also for ideas, a place where people still lis-
tened with open minds, a place where magic was still toler-
atedЧeven courted. He had the magic and, with cole in tow, he
took it to Varfleet to share its wonder. There was already magic
aplenty being practiced by others, but his was of a far different
sort. His was real.

They found the Blue Whisker the first day they arrived, one
of the biggest and best known ale houses in the city. Par per-
suaded the owner to hire them in the first sitting. He had ex-
pected as much. After all, he could persuade anyone to do just
about anything with the wishsong.

Real magic. He mouthed the words without speaking them.

There wasn't much real magic left in the Four Lands, not
outside the remote wilderness areas where Federation rule did
not yet extend. The wishsong was the last of the Ohmsford
magic. It had been passed down through ten generations to reach
him, the gift skipping some members of his family altogether,
picking and choosing on a whim. cole didn't have it. His parents
didn't. In fact, no one in the Ohmsford family had had it since
his great-grandparents had returned from the Wesdand. But the
magic of the wishsong had been his from the time he was born,
the same magic that had come into existence almost three hun-
dred years ago with his ancestor Jair. The stories told him this,