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

be put to death as soon as it was known.

Alara wasn't sure where the Prophecy came from, if it had been created by
the Kin or was something one of the Kin picked up and decided to use, but it
certainly kept the elves nervous...

And by now, between the disappearance of his "bride," the reemergence of
the Prophecy among his slaves, and the Great Kite appearing as an omen of
disaster, Lord Rathekrel was probably paralyzed with rage. That had been
several months ago, long enough for word to spread among the other elven
lords and give them time to complete plans of their own for him. And
meanwhile, a dozen of the other power brokers were undoubtedly jockeying
for position, hoping he'd fall.

It was about time for a Council session. If he was thrown out of his Council
seat for incompetence, that would upset the balance of power. The elves
would all be too busy trying to find a compromise candidate to pay any
attention to what went on out on the borders, which should make it safer to
hunt this way for a while, and those rumors that Rathekrel had seen dragons
were going to be completely discredited--

Which was what she would tell the others if they ever found out what she
was doing. But she would have done it all anyway. Elves deserved to have
trouble visited on them, the hateful creatures.

Still, none of this had anything to do with the meditation she was supposed
to be doing. In fact, she'd actually been distracted enough that she had shifted
form a little, allowing her tail to move a claw-length. She gave herself a
mental shake, and tried to settle down again.
But something had entered the immediate vicinity, something that was not a
dragon. She felt its--her--presence.

She abandoned all thought of mischief, and all pretense at meditation, as a
human female staggered from behind the wall and fell against her side.

Alara shifted back quickly, all but a very thin veneer of her surface. She still
looked like a rock, but now she had eyes and ears, and she employed both
cautiously.

The woman, heavily pregnant, moaned and got to her hands and knees,
crawling towards the water. This was not the sort of desert traveler Alara
would have expected; the woman was young, unscarred, burned red and
blistered by the sun, and the clothing she wore was of delicate silk, fit for a
boudoir, but hardly for desert travail. Her long red hair had been looped up in
a series of elaborate braids; now half of her coiffure hung down in her face,
and the rest was a tangled mess. Her feet were bare, the soles burned and cut,
but she seemed oblivious, so delirious she was beyond pain. Even as Alara
watched, she fell again, but not before she had reached the pool.

She dragged herself to the water's edge, put her face down into the water, and