"Paul Thompson - [Elven Nations Trilogy 1] - Firstborn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Paul B)

him, to his left, in a tree. Sitting comfortably on a thick branch, his back
propped against the ancient oak trunk, was a slender young person, clad in
mottled green-brown tunic and hose. A hood was drawn up over his head.
The tan face that showed under the hood was painted with loops and lines,
done in bright red and yellow pigment.
"Help me!" Kith-Kanan shouted. "I can reward you handsomely!"
"Really? What with?"
"Gold. Silver. Jewels.тАЭ Anything, he vowed to himself. Anything in
all of Krynn.
"What is gold?"
The mud was halfway up Kith-Kanan's chest. The pressure against his
body made it difficult to draw breath. "You're mocking me," he gasped.
тАЬPlease! I haven't much time!"
"No, you haven't," noted the hooded figure uninterestedly. тАЬWhat else
would you give me if I help you?"
"My bow! Would you like that?"
"I can pick that out of the mire once you're gone.тАЭ
Blast the fellow! "I haven't anything else!" The cold muck was nearly
at his shoulders. "Please, for the gods' sake, help me!"
The hooded figure rolled nimbly forward onto his feet. "I will help
you, for the gods' sake. They often do things for me, so it seems only fair I
do something for their sake now and again."
The stranger walked heel to toe along the branch until he was almost
directly over Kith-Kanan. The prince's shoulders were in the mud, though
he held his arms above his head to keep them free until the last possible
second. The fellow in the tree unwrapped a belt from his waist. It had
circled his slim body several times and, when unwound, was over ten feet
long. Lying flat on the branch, he lowered the leather strap to Kith-Kanan.
The prince caught it in his left hand.
"What are you waiting for? Pull me out!" Kith-Kanan ordered.
"If you can't pull yourself out, I cannot do it for you," his rescuer
remarked. He looped the belt around the tree limb a few times and secured
it with a knot. Then he lay on the branch, his head propped on one hand,
awaiting the outcome.
Kith-Kanan grimaced and started to haul himself out by the strap.
With much gasping and cursing, Kith-Kanan climbed out of the deadly
mire and pulled himself up to the tree branch. He threw a leg over the
branch and lay panting.
"Thank you," he finally said, a little sarcastically.
The young fellow had moved several feet back toward the oak tree
and sat with his knees drawn up. тАЬYouтАЩre welcome,тАЭ he replied. Behind
the barbarous face paint, his eyes were brilliant green. He pushed back his
hood, revealing himself to be a boy with a shock of bone-white hair. His
high cheekbones and tapered ears bespoke his heritage. Kith-Kanan sat up
slowly, astride the branch.
"You are Silvanesti," he said, startled.
"No, I am Mackeli."
Kith-Kanan shook his head. "You are of the race of the Silvanesti, as
am I."
The elf boy stood on the branch. "I don't know what you mean. I am