"Brooks, Terry - Jerle Shannara 01 - Ilse Witch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brooks Terry)

bow and hunting knife by his side as he waited for the Healer to
reemerge. The sun had set, and the last of the light lay across the
waters of the bay in splashes of scarlet and gold. Hunter Predd was
small and slight for a Wing Rider, but tough as knotted cord. He
was neither young nor old, but comfortably settled in the middle
and content to be there. Sun-browned and windburned, his face
seamed and his eyes gray beneath a thick thatch of brown hair, he
had the look of what he wasЧan Elf who had lived all of his life in
the outdoors.
Once, while he was waiting, he took out the bracelet and held it
up to the light, reassuring himself that he had not been mistaken
about the crest it bore. The map he left in his pocket.
One of the Healer's attendants brought him a plate of food,
which he devoured silently. When he was finished eating, the atten-
dant reappeared and took the plate away, all without speaking. The
Healer still hadn't emerged.
It was late when he finally did, and he looked haggard and un-
nerved as he settled himself next to Hunter. They had known each
other for some time, the Healer having come to the seaport only a
year after Hunter had returned from the border wars and settled
into Wing Rider service off the coast. They had shared in more than
one rescue effort and, while of different backgrounds and callings,
were of similar persuasion regarding the foolishness of the world's
progress. Here, in an outback of the broader civilization that was
designated the Four Lands, they had found they could escape a little
of the madness.
How is he?" Hunter Predd asked.
The Healer sighed. "Not good. He may live. If you can call it
that. He's lost his eyes and his tongue. Both were removed forcibly.
Exposure and malnutrition have eroded his strength so severely he
will probably never recover entirely. He came awake several times
and tried to communicate, but couldn't."
"Maybe with timeЧ"
"Time isn't the problem," the Healer interrupted, drawing his
gaze and holding it. "He cannot speak or write. It isn't just the
damage to his tongue or his lack of strength. It is his mind. His
mind is gone. Whatever he has been through has damaged him ir
reparably. I don't think he knows where he is or even who he is."
Hunter Predd looked off into the night. "Not even his name?"
"Not even that. I don't think he remembers anything of what's
happened to him."
The Wing Rider was silent a moment, thinking. "Will you keep
him here for a while longer, care for him, watch over him? I want to
look into this more closely."
The Healer nodded. "Where will you start?"
"Arborlon, perhaps."
A soft scrape of a boot brought him about sharply. An attendant
appeared with hot tea and food for the Healer. He nodded to
them without speaking and disappeared again. Hunter Predd stood,
walked to the door to be certain they were alone, then reseated