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

be a bracelet. Allardon accepted it, studied it, and went pale. The
bracelet bore the Flessedil crest, the spreading boughs of the sa-
cred Ellcrys surrounded by a ring of Bloodfire. It had been more
than thirty years since he had seen the bracelet, but he recognized it
immediately.
His gaze shifted from the bracelet to the Wing Rider. "The man
you found wore this?" he asked quietly.
"It was on his wrist."
"Did you recognize him?"
"I recognized the bracelet's crest, not the man."
"There was no other identification?"
"Only this. I searched him carefully."
He handed the piece of softened hide to Allardon. It was frayed
about the edges, water stained and worn. The Elf King opened it
carefully. It was a map, its symbols and writing etched in faded ink
and in places smudged. He studied it carefully, making sure of what
he had. He recognized the Westland coast along the Blue Divide. A
dotted line ran from island to island, traveling west and north and
ending at a peculiar collection of blocky spikes. There were names
beneath each of the islands and the cluster of spikes, but he did not
recognize them. The writing in the margins of the map was indeci-
pherable. The symbols that decorated and perhaps identified cer
tam places on the map were of strange and frightening creatures he
had never seen.
"Do you recognize any of these markings?" he asked Hunter
Predd.
The Wing Rider shook his head. "Most of what the map shows
is outside the territory we patrol. The islands are beyond the reach
of our Rocs, and the names are not familiar."
Allardon walked to the tall, curtained windows that opened
onto the garden, and stood looking out at the flower beds. "Where
is the man you found, Hunter? Is he still alive?"
"I left him with the Healer who serves Bracken Clell. He was
alive when I left."
"Have you told anyone else of this bracelet and map?"
"No one knows but you. Not even the Healer. He is a friend, but
I know enough to keep silent when silence is called for."
Allardon nodded his approval. "You do, indeed."
He called for cold glasses of ale and a full pitcher from which to
refill them. His mind raced as he waited with the Wing Rider for the
beverage and containers to be brought. He was stunned by the sal-
vaged articles and by what he had been told, and he wasn't certain,
even knowing what he did, what course of action to take. He recog-
nized the bracelet and, thereby, he must assume, the identity of the
man from whom it had been taken. He had not seen either in thirty
years nor had he expected to see them ever again. He had never
seen the map, but even without being able to decipher its language
or read its symbols, he could guess at what it was meant to show.
He thought suddenly of his mother, Aine, dead for twenty-five
years, and the memory of her anguish during the last years of her