"Andre Norton & Lackey, Mercedes - Elvenbane 1 -The Elvenbane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

sparkling droplets surrounding her, but never quite touching her. And
although it appeared that there was a gale-force wind blowing, the gentle
zephyr stirring her hair was not enough to disarrange a single strand.

She raised her eyes from the crashing breakers beneath her, and gazed out
over the seeming ocean. There was one spot of soft light in the midst of the
wind-tossed waves; in the middle distance, an island rose above the churning
foam, its top planed level, and illuminated by floating balls of silver. On that
island stood a great white-draped table, and two silver chairs. One of those
chairs was already occupied.

She wondered what he planned to do for an encore.

Alara stepped out onto the open air confidently, as if she walked every day
upon thin air, above fanglike rocks and surging seas. This particular type of
illusion was a common one for the powerful elven lords, who changed the
appearance of their "public" rooms to suit their mood, sometimes many times
a day. This dining hall could just as easily have been the setting for a sylvan
glade, or a mountaintop, or a marketplace in some exotic city.

And indeed, her feet told her that she walked upon some cool, smooth
surface--probably another white marble floor--even as her eyes said she
trod only upon air. From the door, it seemed as if the island was a far enough
walk that a gently reared girl would be quite tired by the time she reached it,
but the apparent distance to the table was deceptive; another illusion, as
Alara had suspected. She took her time, placing each step carefully, and still
attained her goal in less than a hundred paces. As she reached the "island,"
set her feet again on solid, nonillusory ground, and bent in a deep curtsy, she
hid a smile. Rathekrel had kept to his white-and-silver motif here, at least.
After the black water, the midnight-dark of the sky, and the wind-whipped
waters, the table and its environs made a study in contrast, of quiet and
peace.

Rathekrel was going to extremes to court his guest; the kind of illusion he
had chosen was an expensive one to maintain, and displayed his power to
advantage. Yet he had made it clear that it was only an illusion; he had
controlled his effects with absolute precision, permitting only enough breeze
to refresh her, and not enough to tousle his guest's careful coiffure, nor to
disarrange her gown. And while he had created the voices of the ocean's roar
and the howling of the wind, it had only been enough to give an air of
reality--not enough to interfere in any way with normal conversation.

This was the first time she had seen her host face-to-face. In her form of a
human slave, of course, she seldom saw the Lord, and would have risked his
wrath if she had dared to look at him directly. He was handsome enough, by
elven standards; his hair was more silver than gold--a characteristic of
several of the Clans, his included. He wore it long, and pulled back in a tail
at the nape of his neck, held there by an elaborate silver clasp that matched
the silver headband he sported. His forehead was broad, his eyes deep-set
beneath craggy browridges. His cheekbones were even more prominent than