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

beside the cleric and carefully turned him over. "What did you see?" he
asked urgently. "Tell meтАУI command you!"
Vedvedsica took his hands from his face. His eyebrows were singed,
his face blackened. "Five words . . . I saw only five words, Highness," he
said falteringly.
"What were they?" Sithel nearly shook the fellow in his haste to
know.
"The Tobril said, 'They both shall wear crowns . . .' "
Sithel frowned, his pale, arching brows knotting together. "What does
it mean? Two crowns?" he demanded angrily. "How can they both wear
crowns?"
"It means what it means, Twice-Blest."
The speaker looked at the brazier, its coals still glowing. A few
seconds' glimpse into the great book had nearly cost Vedvedsica his sight.
What would the knowledge of Gilean's prophecy cost Sithel himself?
What would it cost Silvanesti?
1
SpringтАУYear of the Hawk
(2216 PC)
Clouds scattered before the wind, bright white in the brilliant
sunshine. In the gaps of blue that showed between the clouds, a dark,
winged form darted and wheeled. Far larger than a bird, the creature
climbed with powerful strokes of its broad wings. It reached a height
above the lowest clouds and hovered there, wings beating fast and hard.
The beast was a griffon, a creature part lion, part eagle. Its
magnificent eagle's head and neck gave way to the torso and hindquarters
of a lion. A plumed lion's tail whipped in the wind. Behind the beast's
fiercely beaked head and unblinking golden eyes, the leather straps of a
halter led back to a saddle, strapped to the griffon's shoulders. In the
saddle sat a helmeted figure clad in green and gold armor. An elven face
with brown eyes and snow-colored hair peered out from under the bronze
helmet.
Spread out below them, elf and griffon, was the whole country of
Silvanesti. Where wind had driven the clouds away, the griffon rider could
see the green carpet of forests and fields. To his right, the wandering silver
ribbon of the Thon-Thalas, the Lord's River, flowed around the verdant
FallanIsland. On this island was Silvanost, city of a thousand white
towers.
"Are you ready, Arcuballis?" whispered the rider to his mount. He
wound the leather reins tightly around his strong, slender hand. "Nowl" he
cried, drawing the reins sharply down.
The griffon put its head down and folded its wings. Down they
plummeted, like a thunderbolt dropped from a clear sky. The young elf
bent close to the griffon's neck, burying his fingers in the dense,
copper-hued feathers. The massive muscles under his fingers were taut,
waiting. Arcuballis was well trained and loyal to its master; it would not
open its wings again until told to do so. If its master so desired, the griffon
wouldplunge straight into the fertile soil of Silvanesti.
They were below the clouds, and the land leaped into clear view. The
rich green canopy of trees was more obvious now. The griffon rider could