Silverthorn
raymond E. Feist
the riftware saga
book 2
A poisoned bolt has struck down the Princess Anita on the day of her
wedding to Prince Arutha of Krondor.

To save his beloved, Arutha sets out in search of the mytics herb
called Silverthorn that only grows in the dark and forbidding land of
the Spellweavers.

Accompanied by a mercenary, a minstrel, and a clever young thief, he
wil confront an ancient evil and do battle with the dark powers that
threaten the enchanted realm of Midkemia.



Prologue
Twilight

The sun dropped behind the peaks.
The last rays of warmth touched the earth and only the
rosy afterglow of the day remained. From the east, indigo
darkness approached rapidly. The wind cut through the
hills like a sharp-edged blade, as if spring were only a
faintly remembered dream. Winter's ice still clung to
shadow-protected pockets, ice that cracked loudly under
the heels of heavy boots. Out of the evening's darkness
three figures entered the firelight.
The old witch looked' up, her dark eyes widening
slightly at the sight of the three. She knew the figure on
the left, the broad, mute warrior with the shaved head
'and single long scalp lock. He had come once before,
seeking magic signs for strange rites. Though he was a
powerful chieftain, she had sent him away, for his nature
was evil, and while issues of good and evil seldom held
any significance for the witch, there were limits even for
her. Besides, she had little love for any moredhel,
especially one who had cut out his own tongue as a sign
of devotion to dark powers.
The mute warrior regarded her with blue eyes, unusual
for one of his race. He was broader of shoulder than
most, even for one of the mountain clans, who tended to
be more powerful of arm and shoulder than their forest-
dwelling cousins. The mute wore golden circle rings in his
large, upswept ears, painful to affix, as the moredhel had
no lobes. Upon each cheek were three scars, mystic
symbols whose meaning was not lost upon the witch.
The mute made a sign to his companions, and the one
to the far right seemed to nod. It was difficult to judge,
he was clothed in an all-concealing robe, with a deep
hood revealing no features. Both hands were hidden in
voluminous sleeves that were kept together. As if speak-
ing from a great distance, the cloaked figure said, 'We
seek a reading of signs.' His voice was sibilant, almost a
hiss, and there was a note of something alien in it. One
hand appeared and the witch Pulled away, for it was
misshapen and scaled, as if the owner possessed talons
covered with snakeskin. She then knew the creature for
what it was: a priest of the Pantathian serpent people.
Compared to the serpent people, the moredhel were held
in high regard by the witch.
She turned her attention from the end figures and
studied the one in the centre. He stood a full head taller
than the mute and was even more impressive in bulk. He
slowly removed a bears...

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