"Eisenstein,.Phyllis.-.Elementals.2.-.1988.-.Crystal.Palace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eisenstein Phyllis)

He sighed. УI would rather have found a natural model to give me some guidance.
Still, I think I understand whatТs wrong now. I always assumed that at worst
gold would be an innocuous addition. Now I think that the gold itself is
stunting my poor treeТs growth.Ф
Delivev stroked a stray lock back from his forehead. УIt isnТt so very stunted.Ф
УI wanted it to be taller.Ф
УItТs tall enough. I wouldnТt care for it to shade too much of the garden.Ф
He smiled up at her, a wry smile. УMother, you are too satisfied with things as
they are. You have no ambition.Ф
She laughed. УMy ambitions have all been fulfilled.Ф Playfully, she tweaked a
tuft of his close-cropped beard. УAs you well know.Ф
Cray finished the last of the fowl, then wiped his hands on the cloth servantТs
empty sleeve. УCome,Ф he said, pushing away from the table, Уnow that IТve a
full belly and can think clearly again, letТs see how my little beauty is doing
today.Ф
The tree grew in a corner of the garden. It was not a tree whose identity was
easy to discern; rather, it was a composite of many different kinds of trees,
fused together while still in seed by the power of CrayТs sorcery. It was not
tall or many-boughed or densely leafed, yet it would have stood out in any
forest. It fed, as all trees did, on the nourishment of the soil, but to that
soil Cray had added ensorcelled gold, which the tree had taken into itself. And
so its bark was shot with flecks that sparkled in the sunshine; its leaves,
whose upper surfaces were glossy green and broad as a sycamoreТs, shone a rich,
translucent red when held up to light, with veins like golden wire; and its
flowers resembled daffodils, but grown huge, the petals deliнcately edged with
gilt.
The leaves rustled softly as Cray pulled one trumpet-shaped blossom close to his
face and breathed of its perfume. Compared to the other flowers of the garden,
the scent was faint, but he found it sweet. For him, it was the best part of the
tree.
He had learned the sorcery of woven things from his mother, learned of spiders
and caterpillars, of nesting birds, of twining snakes, of thread and cloth. And
then he had moved beyond that knowledge, to perнceive the structure of living
things, to recognize that they, too, were patterned, but on some level deeper
than the surface, deeper than the human eye could see. Life itself was woven of
a multitude of twisting strands, of interlocking pieces, as surely as a
tapestry, as surely as a suit of chain mail. Feeling this principle in his very
being, Cray was able to use it to make living things grow and change, to make a
thick forest out of ashes, to make a new kind of tree blossom in DelivevТs
garden.
Glancing sidelong at his mother, Cray smiled. The sorcerer to whom he had once
apprenticed, Rezhyk the demon master, had scorned DelivevТs powers. He had
thought his own metallurgical skills superior to anything governing mere cloth
and spiders. But if he had known where weaving could lead, he would never have
been so arrogant.
Yet metallurgical sorcery had its strengths, not the least of them demon
mastery. The smelting of power into a handful of rings could give a sorcerer
absolute control over as many demon slaves. He could comнmand them to fetch
whatever he desired, to build any edifice, to destroy any person or thing, and
through them he had access to the vast knowledge that lay in the demon worlds of