"Bertin,.Joanne.-.The.Last.Dragonlord.(1998).ShareConnector.com" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bertin Joanne)

"Maylin! Guess what? Guess, guess, guess!" Kella squealed, hopping with excitement.
Untying the apron from her plump middle, Maylin asked, "I can't even begin to guess, gigglepuss. Tell me."
"Mama said that since we couldn't go to watch them arrive the other day, we could go watch the Dragonlords ride up the Processional before we have to help her in the shop! Today's the first Council meeting."
The apron sailed across the kitchen, missed its hook on the wall, and slid to the flagstones unnoticed. Maylin whooped and seized Kella's hand. "Don't just stand there! We'll have to run if we want a good spot."
They yelled their good-byes as they dashed out the door. Laughing in the early morning chill, they ran through the streets of Casna, stopping now and again to restЧbut not for long. Their excitement urged them on each time before they'd completely caught their breath.
"I know a good place to wait," said Maylin, gasping between each word, at one such stop. "Under that big elm, the one where that little street behind the temples meets the Processional. It will be a bit of time yet before they go to the palace and we can wait in the shade."
"Yes!" Kella agreed, and was off like an arrow.
Maylin groaned and ran after her. At least it was still cool enough to run; the day had not yet begun its descent into the sultry heat that had plagued the city for the past two tendays.
Still, Maylin was puffing by the time she caught up with Kella. Taking her sister's hand once more, Maylin kept her to a slow jog.
Although they made good time, when they reached their goal they found a great many other people had had the same idea. The ProcessionalЧthe great avenue leading to the palaceЧwas thronged with people as far as Maylin could see.
"Oh, bother," she grumbled as she eyed the crowd. "Kella, grab on to the hem of my tunic and hold on for all you're worth."
Kella seized a double handful of cloth; Maylin plunged into the crowd. She twisted and turned, Kella clinging like a burr, worming a way between the tightly packed spectators. One ill-mannered yokel in farmer's garb wouldn't let her pass, although he could easily have seen over her head even if she stood right in front of him. When he turned to leer at her, she thrust her face up at him, eyes wide, making certain that he got a good look at them. He stumbled back from her, making the sign against the evil eye. Maylin seized the moment to slip past him, grinning wickedly.
That's right, foolЧthey're two different colors. And a pox on your ignorance, thinking they mean evil. They simply run in my family.
At last she fetched up against a back clad in scarlet livery; someone pushed her and she jostled the palace guard. The guard turned, frowning. Maylin stared up at him, frightened, Kella hugging her. But frown turned to smile, and the guard said kindly, "Hoy, lassesЧlittle bits like you won't see nothing over us. Come stand'twixt Tully here and m'self. Hurry; here they come."
"Th-thank you," Maylin stuttered as the guards shifted to make room for them. She gathered Kella up in her arms so that the little girl could see better and craned her neck to look down the Processional.
The scarlet of palace guards and the blue-and-red of the City Watch lined the great avenue. They held back a crowd that suddenly erupted into happy shouting. Now Maylin could see a scarlet line of palace guards marching abreast down the avenue. The heads of their upright spears glittered in the sun. Behind them were three figures on horseback.
"Kella! There they areЧdo you see them?"
Kella nodded vigorously; Maylin hoisted her a little higher. She held her breath as she watched the riders.
Two were menЧa smaller one on the right, the taller closest to their side of the streetЧwith a woman riding between them. They looked wonderful in their ceremonial garb.
The small man had brown hair and a thin, mild face. He was slender and altogether most unextraordinary in appearance. He's a Dragonlord? He looks like one of Father's journeymen, Maylin thought.
The woman had pale blonde hair hanging in a tumble of curls down her back. She was pretty, but with a sharp set to her full red lips that made Maylin think she'd be chancy to cross.
Now what had she heard their names were? Oh, yesЧKief Shaeldar and Tarlna Aurianne, the soultwinned pair. The other one is Linden Rathan.
Won't Rynna be jealous when I tell her! I do hope she makes port here before this is over.
She shifted her gaze to the one known as the Last Dragonlord as they neared her. Her overwhelming impression was of size; Linden Rathan, like almost every Yerrin she'd ever seen, was tall and broad of shoulder and chest. He was also blond like Tarlna Aurianne, but his hair was the bright gold shared by so many of his countrymen. It was thick and shaggy and hung down to his shoulders.
As the Dragonlords drew abreast of where they stood, Kella began frantically waving, well-nigh tearing herself from Maylin's grasp, caroling a greeting in her high, sweet voice.
The sudden movement seemed to catch Linden Rathan's eye, for he looked straight at them. Kella waved harder. To Maylin's everlasting astonishment, Linden Rathan smiled and waved back, calling, "Hello, kitten!"
Kella screamed in delight and dissolved into giggles, burying her face against Maylin's hair and drawing laughter from the crowd. Linden Rathan's smile grew wider; he winked as he and the other Dragonlords passed.
Soon all they could see of the Dragonlords were their backs. The magical moment was past. Maylin suddenly realized her arms ached. She set Kella down with a groan and tried to shake the pins and needles from them.
Kella jumped up and down. "Did you see, Maylin? Did you see?"
"I certainly did. We'll have to tell Mother all about how Linden Rathan waved at you," Maylin said. "And if you grin any harder your face is going to split, gigglepuss."
"He called me'kitten,' " said Kella.
"So he did." Maylin took her sister's hand and led her through the dissipating crowd. "Don't forget to tell Rynna about this when she gets here."
"Will she get here soon?" Kella asked as they wound their way through the streets of Casna. "And I wish Papa hadn't had to go trading. He would have liked this, too."
"He'll be so disappointed he missed the Dragonlords. And I hope Rynna docks here soon; she'd like to see them. But the captain of the other Erdon ship that was here a few tendays ago could only tell us'sometime around the solstice,' so I don't know."
Kella asked, "Will we take her to wave at Linden Rathan?"
"We certainly will, small stuff, if he's still here. And there's the shopЧ won't Mother be surprised!"

"I'm afraid," Kief said as he peeked into the council room through the barely open door, "that this omen does not bode well. My Lord Chancellor of the CouncilЧ"
"Wassilor," Tarlna provided. "Chancellor Wassilor. How unfortunate a combination."
"Is very long-winded," Kief finished. "The esteemed council members' eyes are glazing over."
"Oh, damn," said Tarlna. "This is not what I'd hoped for." She scowled at the walls of the anteroom as though wondering how long she'd have to look at them before escaping.
Linden rocked from foot to foot. Oh, bloody damn indeed. First they had to stand about in this stuffy little room while some pompous ass brayed, then the herald would announce them, giving their human and dragon names, one by one. Then he would present the councilЧone by one.
What idiocy. They'd met these same nobles last night. But now it had to be done with proper ceremony and formality.
Bother the ceremony. He wanted to get started.
He pushed back his sleeves. Wretched things, always in the way. He wished they didn't have to wear the regalia for these meetings. He'd had enough of it last night at the welcoming festivities. He'd spent the entire feast waiting for the wide sleeves to fall into the gravy. They usually did; sometimes he thought they had a mind of their own.
And these blasted tight breeches pinched.
He wanted the soft, loose, Yerrin breeches and well-worn boots waiting in his quarters. And a tunic with sensible sleeves.
Yet the black, scarlet, and silver formal clothes were impressiveЧand necessary. They would remind the council that these were Dragonlords, the ancient Givers of Law, sitting in judgement. Without that reminder, some members would forget that the three before them were not the mere two decades or so old that they appeared.
He shifted his heavy tore of rank, fingering the dragon-heads with their ruby eyes. His clan-braid snagged on the links of his belt. He pulled it free.
Damn these clothes.