"Dragonlance - Deathgate Cycle 02 - Elven Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Deathgate Cycle)

" 'When you see me, I'll be there. Signed, Human Priest.' Bah!" Calandra thrust the letter back at her father. "That's the most ridiculous- Paithan's playing a joke. No person in his right mind would send a letter like that, not even a human. 'Human FHesf indeed!"

"Perhaps he's not in his right mind," said the Master Astrologer in ominous tones.

*The thickness of moss used to cover elven dead.

,20" WEIS AND HICKMAN

A mad human priest was coming to her house.

"Orn have mercy!" Calandra murmured, gripping the edge of the laboratory table for support.

"There, there, my dear," said Lenthan, putting his arm around his daughter's shoulders. "I'll take care of it. Just leave everything to me. You shan't be bothered in the slightest."

"And if I can be of any help"-the Master Astrologer sniffed the air; the smell of roast targ was wafting down from the kitchen-"I shall be happy to lend my aid. I shall even overlook certain things that were said in the heat of emotional distress."

Calandra paid no attention to the wizard. She had recovered her self-possession and her one thought now was to find her worthless brother and wring a confession out of him. She had no doubt-well, she had little doubt-that this was Paithan's doing, his idea of a practical joke. He was probably laughing heartily at her right now. How long would he laugh when she cut his allowance in half?

Leaving the astrologer and her father to blow themselves to smithereens in the cellar if they liked, Calandra stormed up the stairs. She marched through the kitchen where the scullery maid hid behind a dish towel until the awful specter was gone. Ascending to the third level of the house-the sleeping level- Calandra halted outside her brother's door and banged on it loudly.

"Paithan! Open your door this instant!"

"He's not there," called a sleepy voice from down the hallway.

Calandra glowered at the door, knocked again, and rattled the wooden handle. No sound. Turning, Cal stalked down the hall and entered the room of her younger sister.

Clad in a frilly nightdress that left both white shoulders exposed and just enough of her breasts to make things interesting, Aleatha lounged in a chair before her dressing lable, lazily brushing her hair and admiring herself in the mirror. Magically enhanced, the mirror whispered compliments and offered the occasional suggestion as to the correct amount of rouge.

Calandra paused in the doorway, shocked almost beyond words. "What do you mean! Sitting there half-naked in broad daylight with the door wide open! What if one of the servants came by?"

Elven Star

Х 21*

Aleatha raised her eyes. She performed this motion slowly and languorously, knowing and enjoying full well the effect it had. The young elfmaid's eyes were a clear, vibrant blue, but- shadowed over by heavy lids and long, thick lashes-they darkened to purple. Opening them wide, therefore, had the effect of seeming to completely change their color. Numerous elven men had written sonnets to those eyes, and one was rumored to have died for them.

"Oh, one servant has already been past," said Aleatha without the slightest perturbation. "The footman. He's been up and down the hall three times at least in the last half-hour." She turned from her sister and began arranging the ruffles of her nightdress to show off her long, slender neck.

Aleatha's voice was rich, throaty, and sounded perpetually as if she were just about to sink into a deep slumber. This, combined with the heavy-lidded eyes, gave an impression of sweet languor no matter where the young woman went or what she was doing. During the fevered gaiety of a royal ball, Aleatha- ignoring the rhythm of the music-would dance slowly, in an almost dreamlike state, her body completely surrendered to her partner, giving him the delightful impression that without his strong support she would sink to the floor. The languid eyes stared into his, with just a tiny sparkle of fire deep in the purple depths, leading a man to think of what he might do that would cause those sleepy eyes to open wide.

"You are the talk of EquUan, Thea!" snapped Calandra, holding the handkerchief to her nose. Aleatha was spraying perfume over her neck and breast. "Where were you last darktime?"3

The purple eyes opened wide, or at ieast wider. Aleatha would never waste their full effect on a mere sister.

"Since when do you care where I was? What wasp's gotten into your corset this gentle-time, Callie?"

"Gentle-time! It's nearly winetime! You've slept away half the day!"

T>arktime is not truly dark in terms of night falling. It refers to the time during the cycle when shades are drawn and proper people go to sleep. It is also the time, however, when the lower, "darker" levels of the city come to life, and so has developed a rather sinister connotation.