"Mercedes Lackey - Firebird" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

another rotten trick. That was altogether like Pietor. He was never happier than when
he got a chance to spoil something of Ilya's as well as add another to Ilya's ongoing
collection of bruises.
The day was still sunny and beautiful, but a dark cloud hung about Ilya's soul. He
hated going back to Mother Galina empty-handed, even if he hadn't promised her
anything; in his own heart, the promise had been made.
But a splash of pink in a patch of sun caught his eye, promising help with his
predicament, and he made a brief detour toward the tangle of thorny branches.
Roses! Of course! A bouquet won't last as long as a carving, but with any luck, it'll
last long enough for me to carve her another little beast.
With great care for the thorns and one ear cocked for Pietor's approach, Ilya cut
several branches bearing three or more of the flat-petaled pink blooms with their
centers of molten gold. The soft petals trembled as he stripped blood-hued thorns
from the fibrous green stems with the aid of his knife. It had always seemed
appropriate to him, given the number of times the sturdy barbs had bitten into his
flesh, that the thorns of the wild rose looked as if they had already tasted blood.
When he had what he considered to be a sufficiently large bouquet in light of his
failure to produce a carving, he resumed his journey back to the palace, home of his
father the tsar and all of his brawling brothers.
Tsar! He's only a boyar, but he has to call himself a tsar to prove he's stronger
and more important than his neighbors. Then what do his neighbors do? They
call themselves tsars! Tsar Ivan actually ruled a little more land than most of the
other neighboring "tsars." Part of it he had acquired by marriage, part by warring
with his neighbors, both of which had been successful pursuits. All three of his
wives had gotten substantial marriage-portions of land and beasts settled upon them
by way of a dowry. Ilya's mother, the middle wife, had been the least successful in
regard to land, having brought with her more horses than hectares, and Tsar Ivan still
coupled Ekaterina's name with a certain degree of failure. She had failed him in two
ways: She had borne him only one son before dying, and had brought him only a
fraction of her own father's holdings.
Not that Father needed any more sons! Ilya thought sourly. He's quite surfeited
with such blessings as it is!
As Ilya neared the palace, the sounds of a normal afternoon among Tsar Ivan's
offspring met him long before the palace itself was in sight. Shouts of pain and
triumph shook the leavesтАФthe birds had long since scatteredтАФand the clangor of
metal on wood, wood on wood, and metal on metal punctuated the din. Arms
practice or outright quarrelingтАФit didn't much matter which was going on, they
would sound -the same, and none of Ilya's brothers ever held back in either.
When the tsar's numerous offspring and probable by-blows weren't battling one
another, they were either preparing to battle a neighbor or, more rarely, drinking and
carousing. Ivan encouraged them in all three pursuits; battle with a neighbor would
probably add more land to his kingdom, while brawling and drinking were both
activities that were hazardous in and of themselves. Tsar Ivan was in the peculiar
position of having had all of his sons survive infancy and childhood, including the
ones whose mothers had not survived the births. Ilya and Sasha had both survived
the travail of their arrival and the scramble for a suitable wet-nurse afterward, even
though both their mothers had been cooling in their coffins before a nurse could be
located among the serfs and servants. While this strange circumstance of a plurality
of male offspring was gratifying to Tsar Ivan's pride and implied certain things about
his virility, it also created a difficult situation. Obviously only one son could inherit,