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

his body strong. Only his graying hair and the lines on his face gave
evidence of his advanced years. He was a direct descendant of the
great Queen Wren Elessedil, who had brought the Elves and their
city out of the island wilderness of Morrowindl into which the Fed-
eration and the hated Shadowen had driven them. He was her
great-great-grandson, and he had lived the whole of his life as if
measuring it against hers.
It was difficult to do so in these times. The war with the Federa-
tion had been raging for ten years and showed no signs of ending
anytime soon The Southland coalition of Bordermen, Dwarves,
and Elves had halted the Federation advance below the Duin two
years earlier on the Prekkendorran Heights. Now the armies were
stalemated in a front that had failed to shift one way or the other in
all that time and continued to consume lives and waste energy at an
alarming rate. There was no question that the war was necessary.
The Federation's attempt at reclaiming the Borderlands it had lost in
the time of Wren Elessedil was invasive and predatory and could
not be tolerated But the King couldn't help thinking that his an-
cestor would have found a way to put an end to it by now, where he
had failed to do so.
None of which had anything to do with the matter at hand, he
chided himself. The war with the Federation was centered at the cross-
roads of the Four Lands and had not yet spilled over onto the coast. For
now, at least, it was contained.
He walked into the reception room where the Wing Rider was
waiting and immediately dismissed those who accompanied him. A
member of the Home Guard would already be concealed within
striking distance, although Allardon had never personally heard of a
Wing Rider turned assassin.
As the door closed behind his small entourage, he extended
his hand to the Rider. "I'm sorry you had to wait. I was sitting with
the High Council, and my aide didn't want to disturb me." He
shook the other's corded hand and scanned the weathered face. "I
know you, don't I? You've brought me a message once or maybe
twice before."
"Once, only," the other advised. "It was a long time ago. You
wouldn't have reason to remember me. My name is Hunter Predd."
Ihe Elven King nodded, failing to recognize the other's name,
but smiling anyway. Wing Riders cared nothing for formalities, and
he didn't bother relying on them here. "What do you have for me,
Hunter?"
The Wing Rider reached inside his tunic and produced a short,
slender length of metal chain and a scrap of hide. He held on to
both as he spoke. 'Three days ago, I was patrolling the waters north
off the island of Mesca Rho, a Wing Hove outpost. I found a man
floating on a ship spar. He was barely alive, suffering from exposure
and dehydration. I don't know how long he was out there, but it
must have been some time. His eyes and his tongue had been cut
out before he had been cast adrift. He was wearing this."
He held out the length of metal chain first, which turned out to