"Terry Goodkind - Sword of Truth 1 - Wizard's First Rule" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goodkind Terry)

Wizard's First Rule
By
Terry Goodkind


CHAPTER 1
IT WAS AN ODD-LOOKING vine. Dusky variegated leaves hunkered against a stem
that wound in a stranglehold around the smooth trunk of a balsam fir. Sap
drooled down the wounded bark, and dry limbs slumped, making it look as if the
tree were trying to voice a moan into the cool, damp morning air. Pods stuck
out from the vine here and there along its length, almost seeming to look
warily about for witnesses.

It was the smell that first had caught his attention, a smell like the
decomposition of something that had been wholly unsavory even in life. Richard
combed his fingers through his thick hair as his mind lifted out of the fog of
despair, coming into focus upon seeing the vine. He scanned for others, but
saw none. Everything else looked normal. The maples of the upper Ven Forest
were already tinged with crimson, proudly showing off their new mantle in the
light breeze. With nights getting colder, it wouldn't be long before their
cousins down in the Hartland Woods joined them. The oaks, being the last to
surrender to the season, still stoically wore their dark green coats.

Having spent most of his life in the woods, Richard knew all the plants-if not
by name, by sight. From when Richard was very small, his friend Zedd had taken
him along, hunting for special herbs. He had shown Richard which ones to look
for, where they grew and why, and put names to everything they saw. Many times
they just talked, the old man always treating him as an equal, asking as much
as he answered Zedd had sparked Richard's hunger to learn, to know.

This vine, though, he had seen only once before, and not in the woods. He had
found a sprig of it at his father's house, in the blue clay jar Richard had
made when he was a boy. His father had been a trader and had traveled often,
looking for the chance exotic or rare item. People of means had often sought
him out, interested in what he might have turned up. It seemed to be the
looking, more than the finding, that he had liked, as he had always been happy
to part with his latest discovery so he could be off after the next.

From a young age, Richard had liked to spend time with Zedd while his father
was away. Richard's brother, Michael, was a few years older, and having no
interest in the woods, or in Zedd's rambling lectures, preferred to spend his
time with people of means. About five years before, Richard had moved away to
live on his own, but he often stopped by his father's home, unlike Michael,
who was always busy and rarely had time to visit. Whenever his father went
away, he would leave Richard a message in the blue jar telling him the latest
news, some gossip, or of some sight he had seen.

On the day three weeks before when Michael had come to tell him their father
had been murdered, Richard had gone to his father's house, despite his
brother's insistence that there was no reason to go, nothing he could do.