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

crow cocked its head and uttered a single sharp screech. Mackeli frowned.
The whorls above his eyes contracted as he knitted his brow together.
"He says you carry an object of power. He says you cut the trees with
it.тАЭ
Kith-Kanan looked down at his mud-caked scabbard. тАЬMy sword is
not magical," he said. "It's just an ordinary blade. Here, you can hold it."
He reversed his grip and held the pommel out to Mackeli. The elf boy
reached out tentatively. The crows chorused as if in warning, but Mackeli
ignored them. His small hand closed over the diamond-shaped pommel.
"There is power here," he said, snatching his hand back. "It smells
like death!"
"Take it in your hands," Kith-Kanan urged. "It wonтАЩt hurt you.тАЭ
Mackeli grasped the handle in both hands and lifted it out of the
prince's hand. "So heavy! What is it made of?" he grunted.
"Iron and brass.тАЭ Mackeli's face showed that he did not know iron or
brass, gold or silver. тАЬDo you know what metals are, Mackeli?"
"No." He tried to swing Kith-Kanan's sword, but it was too heavy for
him to control. The point dropped to the ground.
"I thought as much." Gently the prince took the sword back and slid it
into its sheath. "Are you satisfied IтАЩm not dangerous?"
Mackeli sniffed his hands and made a face. "I never said you were
dangerous," he said airily. "Except maybe to yourself."
He set off and kept up a brisk pace, slipping in and out of the big
trees. Mackeli never walked straight more than a few yards. He pushed off
from the massive trunks, hopped over fallen limbs, and scampered like a
squirrel. Kith-Kanan trudged along, weighed down by hunger and several
pounds of stinking mud. Several times Mackeli had to double back to find
the prince and guide him along. Kith-Kanan watched the boy's progress
through the forest and felt like a tired old man. He'd thought he was such a
fine ranger. This boy, who could be no more than sixty years old, made
the foresters of Silvanost look like blundering drunkards.
The trek lasted hours and followed no discernible path. Kith-Kanan
got the strong impression Mackeli didn't want him to know where they
were going.
There were elves who dwelt entirely in the wilderness, the Kagonesti.
They were given to the practice of painting their skin with strange
patterns, as Mackeli did. But they were dark-skinned and dark-haired; this
boy's features were pure Silvanesti. Kith-Kanan asked himself why a boy
of the pure blood should be out here in the deep forest. Runaway? Member
of a lost tribe? He finally imagined a secret forest hideaway, inhabited by
outlaws driven from Silvanesti by his grandfather Silvanos's wars of
unification. Not everyone had followed the great leader to peace and unity.
Suddenly Kith-Kanan realized that he no longer heard Mackeli's light
tread in the carpet of fallen leaves. Halting, he looked ahead, then spied
the boy a score of yards away, on his right. Mackeli was kneeling, his
head bowed low. A hush had fallen over the already quiet forest.
As he observed the boy, wonderingly, a feeling of utter peace flowed
over Kith-Kanan, a peace he'd never known before. All the troubles of
recent days were washed away. Then Kith-Kanan turned and saw what
had brought this tranquility, what had brought Mackeli to his knees.