"Ed Greenwood - Silverfall - Stories Of The Seven Sisters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenwood Ed)

Silverfall: Stories of the Seven Sisters
Ed Greenwood
Prologue

Rise, and be not afraid.
I have no need to be feared. I am more of a goddess than that. Look upon me, and know
Magic.
I am Mystra.
Priests may prattle of this god or that, but over what mortals of Toril call
"magic"тАФbecause they understand it notтАФthere is no other.
I am the Weaver, the Road Ascending, the One True Way.
Terrible I must be, all too often, and the mortals whom I so loveтАФfor I was one of you, not
so long agoтАФoften cry out at me, or entreat me to work magic for them, or unfold all its mysteries
to them at once, like a child who desires all that is good to eat to appear upon his platter in an
instant.
And if I gave the mysteries that are mine to nurture and keep, unfolded and bright in all
their myriad glory, who among mortals could behold them and remain sane?
Aye, think on that, and for the love I bear you and all your kind, leave off cowering. I
smite or give aid as I see needful, not in whatever wise trembling supplicantsтАФor those who
threatenтАФdesire to move me.
When you feel lonely, or lost, and think dark magics raised against you, remember this
moment. Feel the weight of my power, as it flowsтАФnot turned against you, but so vast that it
could sweep you away, cries unheard, in an effortless instant. My power, bent upon you as I
regard you now . . . and touched and awed by it, you yet live. I am always here, all about you. You
are never truly alone. I flow wherever life flows, wherever winds blow and water runs and the sun
and moon chase each other, for there is magic in all things.
This vast, ever-changing, living Weave is a tapestry of power beyond the minds of mortals,
though with each passing year my work gives me back bright pay-ment, and those who work
magic can do a little more, and see a little more.
Yet those who can see and work with much more than most are rarely sane. The power
burns them, twists them, and makes all that is flawed and mean greater. Wherefore we have cruel
tyrants, liches walk-ing beyond death who desire to destroy or use all that lives, and wild-eyed
dreamers who think that to reshape all Toril to their own visions is to master it. We have lands of
mages who destroy or ruin more than they ever raise up; we have doom and devasta-tion, and
lives wasted or shattered. Mortals know the pain of such darkness, but I share it. I have the work
of banishing the gloom and seeking to temper the blades that are mortal souls so that each time
they can take a little more, do a little more, see a little more.
In this work, my hands are manyfold, thanks to the few mortals who can see and work
with more Art, and remain saneтАФor, as some of them have put it, "sane enough."
I deem these rare few, if they will serve me, my Chosen. And they are rare. Mortals are so
easily bent to willfulness by power, so easily broken into tools I can no longer use, for I work with
love, and must be served willingly, by those who love me. I shall not compel serv-ice, ever. I will
not become what my predecessor did, in the despair of her long waiting. I shall give, with love,
and never cease in my giving.
The power I oversee, because of its might, is a danger to mortals, to gods, and to Toril. All
three may be blighted or ruined if the Weave is torn or misused enough. I stand against that. I am
the Guardian of the Weave, and its lover. Those who serve me must be the very best of mortals,
so that they blunder little, and love the Weave as much as I do, coming to understand it as best
they canтАФand far better than others.
Chosen do my work best when they feel my hand but lightly; when they feel free to move