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

The ale arrived, and Allardon sat with Hunter Predd on a bench
in the gardens and questioned the Wing Rider again and again, cov-
ering the same ground several times over, approaching the matter
from different points of view, making certain he had learned every-
thing there was to know. Perhaps understanding in part at least, the
trauma he had visited upon the Elven King by his coming, Hunter
was cooperative. He did not presume to ask questions of his own,
for which Allardon was grateful, but simply responded to the ques-
tions he was asked, keeping company with the King for as long as it
was required.
When the interview was ended, Allardon asked the Wing Rider
to stay the night so that the King could have time to consider what
further need he might have of him. He did not make it a command,
but a request. Food and lodging would be provided for rider and
mount, and his staying would be a favor. Hunter Predd agreed.
Alone again, in his study now, where he did most of his thinking
on matters that required a balancing of possibilities and choices,
Allardon Elessedil considered what he must do. After thirty years
and considerable damage, he might not be able to recognize his
brother, even if it was Kael whom the Bracken Clell Healer at-
tended. He had to assume that it was, for the bracelet was genuine.
It was the map that was troubling. What was he to do with it?
He could guess at its worth, but he could not read enough of it to
measure the extent of its information. If he were to mount a new ex-
pedition, an event he was already seriously considering, he could
not afford to do so without making every possible effort to discover
what he was up against.
He needed someone to translate the phrases on the map. He
needed someone who could tell him what they said.
There was only one person who could do that, he suspected.
Certainly, only one of whom he knew.
It was dark outside by now, the night settled comfortably down
about the Westland forests, the walls and roofs of the city's build-
ings faded away and replaced by clusters of lights that marked their
continued presence. In the Elessedil family home, it was quiet. His
wife was busy with their daughters, working on a quilt for his
birthday that he was not supposed to know about. His eldest son,
Kylen, commanded a regiment on the Prekkendorran front. His
youngest, Ahren, hunted the forests north with Ard Patrinell, Cap-
tain of the Home Guard. Considering the size of his family and the
scope of his authority as King, he felt surprisingly alone and help-
less in the face of what he knew he must do.
But how to do it? How, so that it would achieve what was
needed?
The dinner hour had come and gone, and he remained where he
was, thinking the matter through. It was difficult even to consider
doing what was needed, because the man he must deal with was in
many ways anathema to him. But deal with him he must, putting
aside his own reservations and their shared history of antagonism
and spite. He could do that because that was part of what being a