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Гудкайнд, Терри

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Терри Гудкайнд. Вера падших (engl)

Терри Гудкайнд. Faith Of The Fallen

Rev 0.0 (please up the revision and repost if you make corrections)

Dust Cover Notes:

A novel of the nobility of the human spirit.
A novel of ideas.
New York Times bestselling author Terry Goodkind returns with an
extraordinary new novel of the majestic Sword of Truth. Richard, the Lord
Rahl and the Seeker of Truth, has returned to his boyhood home, Hartland.
When a Sister of the Dark captures Richard, he makes a desperate
sacrifice to ensure that his beloved Kahlan remains free. Taken deep into
the old World and forced to labor for the tyrannical evil he's sworn to
defeat, he is determined to remain defiant even in the heart of darkness.
Kahlan, left behind and unwilling to abandon the cause of the Midlands,
violates prophecy and breaks her last pledge to Richard. Finally she will
come face to face with the architect of the terror sweeping her land-the mad
dreamwalker, Emperor Jagang.
While Kahlan faces Jagang's vast horde, Richard discovers the truth of
the Imperial Order's rule. Forced to endure his ordeal without magic,
without the Sword of Truth, without his love, he stands against the despair
and soulnumbing regime of the Old World, his hope kept alive only by the
knowledge of the rightness of his cause.

Chapter 1

She didn't remember dying.
With an obscure sense of apprehension, she wondered if the distant
angry voices drifting in to her meant she was again about to experience that
transcendent ending: death.
There was absolutely nothing she could do about it if she was.
While she didn't remember dying, she dimly recalled, at some later
point, solemn whispers saying that she had, saying that death had taken her,
but that he had pressed his mouth over hers and filled her stilled lungs
with his breath, his life, and in so doing had rekindled hers. She had had
no idea who it was that spoke of such an inconceivable feat, or who "he"
That first night, when she had perceived the distant, disembodied
voices as little more than a vague notion, she had grasped that there were
people around her who didn't believe, even though she was again living, that
she would remain alive through the rest of the night. But now she knew she
had; she had remained alive many more nights, perhaps in answer to desperate
prayers and earnest oaths whispered over her that first night.
But if she didn't remember the dying, she remembered the pain before
passing into that great oblivion. The pain, she never forgot. She remembered
fighting alone and savagely against all those men, men baring their teeth
like a pack of wild hounds with a hare. She remembered the rain of brutal
blows driving her t

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