"Claremont, Chris & Lucas, George - Chronicles of the Shadow War 02 - Shadow Dawn - part02" - читать интересную книгу автора (Claremont Chris)

her manner so commanding, that she seemed a match and more for
them all.
She stepped back into a graceful pirouette, one arm and leg lan-
guidly extending with a sweeping elegance that bespoke endless
hours of practice in flowing, floor-length formal gowns. It was the en-
gagement used to open every grand cotillion in Angwyn and it ended
with her standing before a wizened elder of the town, whose leather
apron marked him as the publican of the tavern and sutler's store that
had in happier times occupied the ground floor of the tower.
She led, he followed. Her invitation was too gracious, her smile too
irresistibly winning, to be refused.
They weren't together for long before their dance segued smoothly
into the more elemental and rustic steps favored out along the frontier.
The publican began to prance and kick and whirl with an abandon he
probably hadn't seen in himself in a fair while, and the smile that
gradually swept out across his face was a wonder to behold. With a
whoop that caught Elora by surprise, he spun her around in a fast
pirouette that flung her to the full extension of both their arms. Before
she had even a moment to collect wits or breath, he snapped her back
against his body. He held one arm upraised and lifted her off her feet
with the other, embarking on a succession of snap turns that ended
with a dip and finally a release that placed each of them just out of
reach of the other. They both looked ready and eager to start the
whole joyous sequence all over again.
Instead, with an ease that suggested the entire dance was choreo-
graphed, Elora swirled into the arms of a lad half her size and age. The
beat in this instance was sharper and more peremptory, in keeping
with the boy's character. From one soul to the next she passed among
the crowd, offering as much of herself as was needed, freely and with-
out reservation, trusting to her own inner resources to sustain her. The
only constant was that she led, her partner-regardless of age or gen-
der or race or inclination-followed.
'D'you see, Rool," Bastian called softly, as though a normal tone of
voice might shatter the crystalline delicacy of the moment, "what's
happening?"
'Better to ask, do I credit it?"
'Your soul no more plays you false, runt, than does hers."
'What is she doing, Bastian?"
'No more, no less, than your eyes reveal. She's healing them, one
and all."






Suddenly both bird and brownie were startled by the sound of fi
gertips on drumhead. Rool was still edgy from the battle in the towe
he had arrow nocked to bow in a twinkling as he spun around to b
hold the Daikini they'd rescued sitting up in the lean-to with