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

were unnaturally, eerily silent, and stood without fidgeting.
"My lord." The elven overseer, garbed in livery and helm, with a face so
carefully controlled that it could have been carved from granite, actually
saluted. "The trainees."

The trainees? Now Serina was very puzzled. What on earth was he talking
about?

"Have you tested them?" Dyran asked absently, walking slowly towards the
group of children, who one and all fixed their enormous eyes on him with
varying expressions of fear. "It wouldn't do to send Lord Edres less than the
very best."

Lord Edres? What did he have to do with children?

"Yes, my lord," the overseer replied, never moving from his pose of
attention. "Reactions, strength, speed, they're the top of their age-group.
They should make fine fighters."

Now Serina understood, and understood the references to Lord Edres.
Dyran's ally and father-by-marriage trained the finest of duelists, gladiators,
and guards; Dyran had begun a stepped-up breeding program with his
fighters as soon as the ink on the marriage contract was dry; no doubt part of
the bride-price was to be paid in slaves for training. These children were
evidently the result of that program.

"I believe they're ready for you, my lord, if you're satisfied with them." Now
the overseer stepped back several paces as he spoke, as if to take himself out
of range of something.

"Yes, I think they'll do." Dyran raised his hands, shaking back his sleeves--
and she felt a moment of unfocused fear, as if something deep inside her
knew what was going to happen next, and was terrified.

Dyran clapped his hands together and Serina was blinded by a momentary
flash of light, overwhelming and painful--when her eyes cleared, the
children stood there still, but all signs of fear or unhappiness were gone.
Each wore a dreamy, contented smile; each looked eagerly from Dyran to the
overseer and back, as if waiting for an order to obey--
A tiny fragment of memory: standing in line with the other ten-year-old girls.
Lord Dyran, in brilliant scarlet, raised his hands. A flash of light. And--
Serina shook her head, and the tiny memory-fragment vanished, as if it had
never been.

"Exactly what are these going to be trained for?" Dyran was asking the
overseer. The other removed his helm, and Serina recognized him; Keloc by
name, and one of the few of Dyran's subordinates he actually trusted.

"Half of them are going straight into infantry training; line soldiers, my
lord," Keloc said, shaking back his hair. "A quarter's going into bodyguard