"Irene Radford - Merlins Descendents 03 - Guardian of the Vision" - читать интересную книгу автора (Radford Irene)

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Prologue

23 April, 1553, St. GeorgeтАЩs Day, sixth year of the reign of our most sovereign King Edward VI, of
England, Ireland, Wales, and France. The border hills beyond Carlisle.

I turned my face into the rising wind. My hair whipped away from my eyes. The bite of salt stung my
cheeks and chin. My horse shied and tried to turn east, away from the approaching storm. I mastered his
headstrong grasp of the bit and surged forward, north and west into the storm and toward our target. I
reveled in the savage lash of my primal element. It matched my anger in ferocity. The rain would come
soon, covering the tracks of the two dozen mounted men who rode with me. We would be across the
crumbling remnants of HadrianтАЩs Wall when the storm crashed around us. Our quarry retreated just
beyond the border of Scotland, close enough to menace our home, far enough to be beyond our kingтАЩs
laws and justice.

Justice. The thought hammered at the minds of my men.

The outlaws would lose their refuge tonight, and Meg would be avenged.
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Our sister could regain her wits without fear.

To my right, Donovan, my twin, raised his hands to the storm, seeking to draw its power into himself. He
could not, of course. I had inherited the magical talent from our grandmother that skipped my father and
my twin. With the wonders of magic comes responsibility, Grandmother RavenтАЩs voice pounded inside
my head.

I ignored her. This was manтАЩs business. Meg must be avenged.

Peace is manтАЩs business. There is always an alternative to war. тАЬShut up, Raven!тАЭ I spoke into the wind,
letting my element carry my opinion home.

You know I am right. You question everything I say, challenge the traditions I pound into your thick
skull, Griffin Kirkwood. Now you must question yourself. тАЬNot in this, Raven. Not in this. We must
avenge Meg. She cannot heal unless we bring her attackers to justice.тАЭ

I heard her mental snort of disgust. An inkling of doubt crept into my mind. Helwriaeth, my wolfhound,
mighty warrior that she was, let loose with the triumphant battle cry that I kept trapped within my throat.
Seven more wolfhounds took up the trumpeting challenge. The sound rolled around the hills and vales as
thunder.