"01 - Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham 1.0.palmdoc.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Starlight And Shadows)

solitude of his private study protected by a magical shield. This study was a
large high-domed chamber carved from black stone and lit by the single candle on
his desk. To a drow's sensitive eyes, the soft glow made the gloomy cave seem as
bright as noonday on the surface. Here the wizard sat, perusing an interesting
book of spells he'd acquired from the rapidly cooling body of a would-be rival.
Gromph was old, even by the measures of elvenkind. He had survived seven
centuries in treacherous Menzoberranzan, mostly because his talent for magic was
matched by a subtle, calculating cunning. He had survived, but his seven hundred
years had left him bitter and cold. His capacity for evil and cruelty was
legendary even among the drow. None of this showed in the wizard's appearance,
for thanks to his powerful magic he appeared young and vital. His ebony skin was
smooth and lustrous, his long-fingered hands slender and supple. Flowing white
hair gleamed in the candlelight, and his arresting eyesЧlarge, almond-shaped
eyes of an unusual amber hueЧwere fixed intently upon the spellbook.
Deep in his studies, the wizard felt, rather than heard, the faint crackle that
warned him someone had passed through the magic shield. He raised his eyes from
the book and leveled a deadly glare in the direction of the disturbance.
To his consternation, he saw no one. The magical shield was little more than an
alarm, but only a powerful sorcerer could pass through with an invisibility
spell intact. Gromph's white, winged brows met in a frown, and he tensed for
battle, his hand inching toward one of the deadly wands on his belt.
"Look down," advised a lilting, melodic voice, a voice that rang with mischief
and childish delight.
Incredulous, Gromph shifted his gaze downward. There stood a tiny, smiling
female about five years of age, easily the most beautiful child he had ever
seen. She was a tiny duplicate of her mother, whom Gromph had recently left
sleeping in a nearby suite of rooms. The child's face was angular, and her elven
features delicate and sharp. A mop of silky white curls tumbled about her
shoulders, contrasting with baby skin that had the sheen and texture of black
satin. But most striking were the wide amber eyes, so like his own, that
regarded him with intelligence and without fear. Those eyes stole Gromph's
annoyance and stirred his curiosity.
This, then, must be his daughter. For some reason that thought struck a faint
chord in the heart of the solitary, evil old drow. He had no doubt fathered
other children, but that was of little concern to him. In Menzoberranzan,
families were traced solely through the mother. This child, however, interested
him. She had passed through the magical barrier.
The archmage pushed aside the spellbook. He leaned back in his chair and
returned the child's unabashed scrutiny. He was not accustomed to dealing with
children. Even so, his words, when he spoke, surprised him. "So, drowling. I
don't suppose you can read?"
It was a ridiculous question, for the child was little more than a babe. Yet her
brow furrowed as she considered the matter. "I'm not sure," she said
thoughtfully. "You see, I've never tried."
She darted toward the open spellbook and peered down at the page. Too late,
Gromph slapped a hand over her golden eyes, cursing under his breath as he did
so. Even simple spells could be deadly, for magic runes attacked the untrained
eye with a stab of searing light. Attempting to read an unlearned spell could
cause terrible pain, blindness, even insanity.
Yet the little drow appeared to be unharmed. She wriggled free of the wizard's