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

Rathekrel, from the little Alara could read of his thoughts, was expecting
immediate recognition; after all, Yssandra had been sent as a tacit proposal
of alliance, and by all rights he should have been responding to that proposal.

But to his surprise, the underling was startled to see him in the teleson. "My
lord, what can our house do for you?"

"I want to speak to your Lord," Rathekrel snarled, his thoughts telling Alara
that he suspected insult in being answered by a subordinate. "Now."

He waited, with visible impatience, and beside Alara one of the humans
shivered, nervous sweat running down his face. Finally the quality of the
light coming from between Rathekrel's hands changed, and Alara knew that
someone else had taken the underling's position at the screen. From
Rathekrel's nod of stiff recognition, she knew it was V'Heven Myen Lord
Lainner.
"Greetings, my lord--" a tired voice said cautiously. "I beg your pardon for
having to wait, but there is a problem at--"

"There's more than one problem in your house, my Lord," Rathekrel
growled. "Your daughter seems to have vanished from her quarters. After
accepting my proposal of marriage, I might add. I had thought better of your
training than that."

The speaker's reply came as a startled yelp. Not a sound one normally heard
from a powerful elven lord. "My what?

Rathekrel's face contorted, and the human beside Alara winced. "Your
training, man! No daughter of mine would dare walk off after accepting a
proposal of marriage! What's wrong with your house when mere females--"

Rathekrel's voice rose steadily as his anger increased, and it was obvious that
he was building into a fine froth of rage. But the angrier he became, the more
the humans around Alara relaxed, and several of them sighed with relief. She
knew what was on their minds, for all that she could not read their actual
thoughts. The Lord had found a way to blame his humiliation on someone
else. Oh, humans would die, no doubt of it, but it would be the fighters and
gladiators in challenge, not the house-slaves. They were safe.

"Where is she?" Rathekrel thundered, standing up suddenly and pounding the
desk with his fist. "Where have you hidden her? She couldn't have gotten off
this estate without magic aid, and we both know it!" He remained standing
over the mage-crafted construct, staring down into it in self-righteous wrath.
He did not expect the answer he received.

"My lord," came the stiff reply, "I do not have a daughter of an age that a
normal-minded man would consider nubile. My children number three: two
boys, of thirteen and six, and a girl of ten. Kevan, Shandar, and Yssandra."

Rathekrel froze, his fist halting in midair above the desktop. Alara controlled