"Ed Greenwood - Forgotten Realms - Elminster 2 - Elminster In Myth Drannor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenwood Ed)

angrily away across the moon-drenched moss and flagstones before whirling around to face him once
more.
"All of House Starym," she said firmly, "must needs take up arms against a ruler so twisted in his
head and heart-so tainted in his elven bloodlines-as to preside over, nay, eagerly embrace the
destruction of the fair realm of Cormanthor."
Their gazes met in silence, but the Coronal seemed carved of patiently smiling marble. Ildilyntra
Starym drew in a deep breath and went on, her voice now as imperious as that of any ruling queen. "For
make no mistake, Lord: your Opening, if it befalls, will destroy this mightiest realm of the People."
She stalked impatiently across the garden, flinging her hands up at the trees, shrubs, and sculpted
banks of flowers. "Where we have dwelt, loved, and nurtured, the beauties of the forests we have tended
will know the brutal boots and dirty, careless touch of humans." The Starym matriarch turned and pointed
at the Coronal, almost spitting in her fury as she advanced upon him, adding a race with each step. "And
halflings." She came on, face blazing. "And gnomes." Her voice sank with anger, trembling into a harsh
whisper as she delivered the gasp of ultimate outrage: "Even . . . dwarves!"
The Coronal opened his mouth to speak, as she thrust her face forward almost to touch his, but
she whirled away again, snapping her fingers, and turned back immediately to confront him again, hair
swirling. "All we have striven for, all we have fought the beast-men and the orcs and the great wyrms to
keep, will be diluted-nay, polluted-and in the end swept away, our glory drowned out in the clamoring
ambitions, greater numbers, and cunning schemes of the hairy humans!"
That last word rose into a ringing shout that tore around their ears, setting the blue glass chimes in
the trees around the distant Heartpool singing in response.
As their faint clamor drifted past the Living Seat, Ildilyntra stood facing the Coronal in silence,
breast heaving with emotion, eyes blazing. Out of the night a sudden shaft of moonlight struck her
shoulders, setting her agleam with cold white light like a vengeful banner.
Eltargrim bowed his head for a moment, as if in respect to her passion, and took a slow step
toward her. "I once spoke similar words," he said, "and thought even darker things. Yet I have come to
see in our brethren races-the humans, in particular-the life, verve, and energy we lack. Heart and drive
we once had; we can only see now in the brief glimpses afforded by visions of days long gone sent by
our forebears. Even the proud House of Starym, if all of its tongues spoke bare truth, would be forced to
admit that we have lost something-something within ourselves, not merely lives, riches, and forest
domains lost to the spreading ambition of others."
The Coronal broke into restless pacing as Ildilyntra had done before him, his white robe swirling
as he turned to her in the moonlight and said almost pleadingly, "This may be a way to win back what we
have lost. A way where for so long there has been nothing but posturing, denial, and slow decline. I
believe true glory can be ours once again, not merely the proud, gilded shell of assumed greatness we
cling to now.

More than that: the dream of peace between men and elves and dwarves can at last be upon us!
Maeral's dream, fulfilled at last!"
The lady with blue-black hair and darker blazing eyes moved from her stillness like a goaded
beast, striding past him as a forest cat encircles a foe it remains wary of... for a little while yet. Her voice,
when it came, was no longer melodious, but instead cut like a lustily waved razor.
"Like all who fall into the grip of elder years, Eltargrim," she snarled, "you begin to long for the
world as you want it to be, and not as it is. Maeral's dream is just that-a dream! Only fools could think it
might become real, in this savage Faerun we see around us. The humans rise in magecraft-brutal,
grasping, realm-burning magecraft-with each passing year! And you would invite these-these snakes into
our very bosoms, within our armor . .. into our homes!"
Sadness made the Coronal's eyes a little bleak as he looked at what she'd become, revealed now
in her fury-far and very far from the gentle elven maid he'd once stroked and comforted, in the shy tears
of her youth.