"Kerr,.Katharine.-.Deverry.03.-.Bristling.Wood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

Even though the People sighed out the word УrememberФ with
proper respect, no one wept, because none of them had ever
seen the Vale of Roses or walked the Sun Road to the temples.
With a nod, Manaver stepped back to allow Devaberiel forward to
sing a dirge for the fallen land. The songs would go on for hours,
each bard taking a turn and singing of happier and happier things,
until at last the alardan would feast and celebrate, dancing far into
the night. Ebaёy got up and slipped away. Since heТd heard his
father practice the dirge for some months, he was heartily sick of it.
Besides, his Deverry blood pricked him with guilt, as it did every
year on the Day of Commemoration.

By talking with Deverry scholars, Ebaёy had pieced together
something about the Burning that no one else knew. Since it would
only lead to hatred between his two races of kinfolk, he kept the
secret even from his father. The Hordes had been driven south by
the great influx of the people of Bel, as the Deverry men called
themselves, when theyТd come from their mysterious homeland
over a thousand years ago. Although to the PeopleТs way of
thinking the Deverry men were a bloodthirsty lot, in the old days
theyТd been ruthless conquerors, hunting their enemiesТ heads to
decorate the temples of their gods, In their wanderings before they
founded their holy city, theyТd swept through the far north,
slaughtering, looting, enslaving some of the strange race, even,
before they passed down the valley of the Aver Troe Matrw to their
new lands. And the Hordes had fled before them, fled south.

УYou never lifted a sword against us, O men of Deverry,Ф Ebaёy
whispered aloud. УBut you slaughtered my fatherТs people sure
enough.Ф

With a little shudder, he ducked into the tent, where the sun came
through the dyed leather and turned the air to ruby. Since theyТd
arrived late for the alardan, piles of tent bags and gear lay
scattered on the leather ground cloth. Idly he picked up a few bags
and hung them from the hooks on the tent poles, then sat down, in
the clutter to poke through a canvas bag of the Deverry sort. Down
at the bottom he found a tiny leather pouch, opened it, and took out
a simple silver ring. A flat band about a third of an inch wide, it was
engraved with roses on the outside and words in Elvish characters
but some unknown language on the inside. The roses caught the
reddish light and seemed to bloom double hybrids of the cultivated
sort now found only in Deverry,

УAnd are you spoil from Rinbaladelan or Tanbalapalim?Ф he asked
it. УThe only roses my people know now are the wild ones with their
five meager little petals.Ф

The ring lay mute on his palm, a gleaming paradox. Although it