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

"But why? she had cried. " Why do they rule us? Who said they could? It isn't
fair!"

Another parent might have cuffed her; might have said: "Because that's the
way it is." But not Ambra.
"They rule us because they are strong, and powerful, and they have magic,"
she said, and Serina sensed a resigned sadness in her words. "We are weak,
and the gods gave us no magic at all. The lords live forever, and our lives are
short. If we are to prosper, we must please the lords, for the gods love them,
and despise us."

"But why? Serina had wailed.

Ambra only shook her head. "I do not know. There are those who say that
the lords are the children of the gods; there are those who say the lords are
demons, sent by the gods to punish or test us. I only know that those who
please them live and are rewarded, and those who do not, die. It is up to
Tamar and Kaeth now, to please their lords. As you must please Lord Dyran,
and those he sets over you. Nothing else matters, and neither I, nor your
father, nor your kin or friends can help you. They can only hinder you. If you
would rise, you must do so alone."

Serina remembered that, and remembered the glimpse she'd had of Lord
Dyran this afternoon, when he had come to see how the training of his
fighters was progressing. She'd watched as her proud, stern father bent until
his forehead touched the ground; how the other fighters had knelt in
obeisance. And how Lord Dyran had seemed a creature out of a tale; tall,
haughty, clothed from head to toe in cream-and-gold satin, and cream-
colored leather, so supple and soft-looking that Serina had longed to touch it.
How he seemed to shine, taking in the light of the sun and sending it back
out redoubled. He was so beautiful he made her breath catch, and she had
thought, He must be a child of the gods... And the woman with him, like a
jewel herself, made Serina ache with envy. The woman was clothed in the
softest silks Serina had ever seen, and laden with a fortune in gold chains.
Gold chains formed the cap that crowned her golden hair, gold chains
depended from the cap and flowed down her back, gold chains circled her
neck and arms, and held her cream-colored dress closely to her body at the
waist. She was magnificent, nearly as beautiful as the elven lord beside her,
and Serina wanted to be wearing that dress, standing in her place.

She recalled how Lord Dyran had taken an imperfectly made sword that her
father had brought to him in complaint, and bent it double, then bent the
doubled blade back on itself a second time. That strength took her breath
away once more, and sent little chills over her. What would it be like to have
that strength--or be the one for whom it was gentled?

Then he had the smith who made the blade brought to him. All he had done
was stare at the man for a moment, then make a little flicking motion of his
hand--but the man had bent over double and had dropped screaming to the
ground, and had to be carried out. No one protested or lifted a hand to help