"Modesitt, L E - Corean Chronicles 3 - Scepters v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

I.
THE SCEPTER OF THE PAST


Chapter 1
Hyalt, Lanachrona


Light fell upon the priest. That single ray of illumination, shaped by
the ancient master-carved lens in the ceiling of the long and narrow
chapel hewn out of the red rock cliffs, bathed the celebrant. His
green tunic and trousers, trimmed in purple, shimmered. So did the
alabaster makeup that covered his face. The blue-silver threads in
the black short-haired wig picked up the light, creating a halo
around his face. The black boots, with inset lifts, reflected light as if
they too were burnished mirrors.

A long chord echoed through the temple, but the priest did not
speak until all was silent.

"When our forebears turned their backs on the True Duarchy, then
the One Who Is turned away and let the Cataclysm fall upon
CorusЕ" The celebrant's voice seemed to come from
everywhere, yet nowhere.

More than a hundred worshippers stood with bowed heads, heads
covered with black scarves of mourning. Only a handful dared to
look from lowered heads toward the front of the temple.

"The Cataclysm did not have to happen. The misery and suffering
did not have to come to pass. And why did it come to be? How
could so many be so blind?"

The only response to his questions was silence.

"The Duarchy of Corus bestowed peace and prosperity upon all
the world, for generation upon generation. Never was there so fair
a realm, so just a world. Never were so blessed the peoples of a
world. Never had so many benefited so much. And then, in an
instant, it all vanishedЕ"

In the next-to-last line of worshippers stood a dark-haired figure in
gray. He was a head taller than those around him, and his face
paler. The weave of the wool of his traveling cloak was somewhat
finer. His head was bent slightly less than the heads of others, and
his eyes never left the celebrant. The faintest hint of an amused
smile appeared from time to time at the corners of his thin lips.

"Е as the Mantra of Mourning declaresЕ Ice flowed from the
skies. The air that had been so fair, and perfumed, became as thin