"Elizabeth Haydon - Rhapsody 5 - Elegy for a Lost Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haydon Elizabeth)

He had given her free rein, under the eye of Omet, his head craftsman, to
move ahead with the firing and inlay of the glass ceiling of Gurgus, which,
once finished and outfitted with the other pieces of the apparatus, would
become the Lightcatcher. He had even dared to look forward to that being
completed by the time of his return.
So it was with more than a little shock moving to unbridled fun' that he
dragged his hapless mount to a halt upon discovering the rainbow grit that
was scattered across the Krevensfield Plain at the foothills of his
kingdom.
Achmed dismounted slowly, his considered movements mirroring the
motion of the reptile he had received a nickname from. He walked in
measured steps to a place where the layer of colorful glass powder was
somewhat thicker, crouched down, and scooped some of the tiny shards
up in his perennially gloved fingers. The glass was little more than dust,
but it still contained the unmistakable colors that he had seen being fired
when he left home some weeks back.
Achmed sighed deeply.
"Hrekin," he swore aloud.
He glanced up from his crouch to the multicolored peaks of the Teeth,
where he reigned over the Firbolg hordes in what was known in their
tongue as the kingdom of Ylorc. Gurgus, the peak in which the colored
windows had been inlaid, was deeper in, past the guardian ring of
mountains at the edge, so it was impossible to see what had befallen his
tower from this distance. He could, however, see that the guard tower of
Griwen, one of the westernmost and highest peaks, was still standing.
At least the entire bloody kingdom didn't blow to bits while I was
gone, he thought ruefully. I suppose I should be grateful.
He tossed the glass powder angrily behind him, mounted, and urged his
horse into a steady canter, growing more irate with each breath of the
wind that poured over his face as he rode.
Sergeant-Major Grunthor, commander of the united Firbolg forces and
Achmed's only other friend in the world, was directing a massive
reconstruction that had clearly been under way for quite some time when
the king returned to the mountain. As Achmed strode down the interior
mountain corridor leading to the former entrance to Gurgus, he could hear
the Sergeant bellowing commands to the workers, his voice occasionally
straining with exertion as he moved massive broken pieces of earth
himself.
The Firbolg king rounded the corner and stopped for a moment,
beholding him. Grunthor was paused as well, though he hadn't caught
sight of Achmed yet; with a dray sled at his feet piled high with broken
basalt, a hand cart gripped in his massive hands, the giant commander
was catching his breath, his skin, the color of old bruises, glistening with
sweat from the exertion. Even at rest he was a terrifying sight, seven and a
half feet of musculature at rest for the moment, preparing to resume the
strenuous task, directing a squad of Firbolg soldiers in their tasks while he
rested.
The sheer scope of the destruction took its toll on Achmed's limited
patience. The king stormed to the end of the hallway, stopping just short
of the Sergeant's presence.