"Julian May - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)

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 May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon


his lost fortunes, then so be it. He carried a whale-oil lantern as he descended a slippery flight of steps to a corridor that extended well
below sea level. The widely spaced jars of luminous marine plankton used by these Salka to illuminate the lower precincts of their refuge
gave too meager a light to accommodate human vision. Even the smoky flame of the lantern was inadequate, and Beynor cursed as he
threaded his way among numerous stinking black puddles, fed seawater (and noxious little swimmers) by perpetual leaks in the tunnel
ceiling.

At length he reached the anteroom outside the presence chamber of the great trolls known as the Eminences. Six gigantic Salka guards
holding granite battle hammers stood before double doors faced with slabs of carved amber and wrought gold. The hanging bowls of
glowworms were larger here, giving plenty of light, so the young sorcerer discarded his sputtering lantern, strode forward with as much
fortitude as he could muster, and spoke in the harsh tongue of the monsters.

тАЬI am Beynor ash Linndal, rightful Conjure-King of Moss and honored guest of your people, come for an audience with the Eminent
Four.тАЭ

Slowly, the amphibians inclined their crested heads and studied him with a gaze like banked smoldering coals. They beheld a man tall
and slimly built, having an intense narrow face and long pale hair that had gone stringy in the dampness. His eyes, which seemed at first
to be black, were actually darkest green, with a glimmer of exceptional talent in their depths. The regal garments Beynor had worn when
fleeing his lost kingdom had long since fallen to rags; and since his nonhuman hosts were unfamiliar with clothing, he had fashioned with
his own hands a suit of pieced sea-otter fur, along with a voluminous fox cloak and sturdy boots of seal hide. The sole emblem of
monarchy he had brought from Moss, the Royal Sword in its heavily bejeweled scabbard, was girded about his loins.

Saying nothing, the guards stepped aside and swung the chamber doors wide open. Beynor entered and the doors clanged shut again. He
stood with his hands steepled in the Salka gesture of submission, biding his time until he should be recognized by the Eminences.

The beings who awaited him in the fantastically ornamented undersea cavern lolled on stubby-legged golden platforms, heaped with
seaweed, that served them as couches. They were unattended and conversed among themselves in voices like muted thunder, apparently
paying no attention to the human newcomer. A low table containing dishes and flasks of outlandish food and drink stood within tentacle
reach. Behind the dais rose a huge mosaic made from multicolored bits of amber and gleaming pearl-shell, depicting a legendary Salka
hero. His flexible arms brandished twin obsidian axes, his saucer eyes glared fire-red, and his fanged mouth gaped in a silent roar. The
image was framed by amber-bead curtains and lit with hanging crystal globes containing lively phosphorescent organisms.

Like the champion in the mosaic, each Eminence wore around his thick neck a softly glowing greenish-blue carving suspended from a
golden chain: moonstone sigils of the minor kind that drew magical power from the Beacon-folk at the cost of pain to the wearer.

The Eminences were not royalty, but rather ruling elders chosen by their people for strength of character and proficiency in their separate
fields of endeavor. Three of themтАФthe First Judge, the Supreme Warrior, and the Conservator of WisdomтАФBeynor had never seen
before. As a mere human sorcerer, even one of royal blood who had come bearing a marvelous gift to ensure his welcome, he had been
beneath their notice during his enforced stay in the Citadel of the Dawntide Isles. The only one of the Four familiar to Beynor was Master
Shaman Kalawnn, pre-eminent adept of his race, who had been an intimate friend of the late Conjure-King Linndal. Unaware that Beynor
had murdered his father, Master Kalawnn had agreed to give the deposed young ruler sanctuary after the Great Lights cursed him and
stripped him of all but one of the sigils he had used to secure the throne of Moss.

That single remaining magical moonstone of his, dull and lifeless as it had been since it was first fashioned over a thousand years earlier,
rested now on a spindly gold tripod to the right of the dais. Its presence was presumably a tribute to the human who had finally returned it
to its original owners. The sigilтАЩs name was Unknown Potency, and it was the most celebrated thing of its kind ever made, priceless at the