"Dan Parkinson - Dragonlance Tales - Cataclysm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Parkinson Dan)

red like a memory
of blood in the distance:
THERE IS NO LAW,
Orestes murmured,
his hand on the harp strings,
NO RULE UNWRITTEN
THAT YOUR FATHER'S SLANDERER
CANNOT INSTRUCT YOU,
THAT THE MAN YOU MURDER
YOUR HEART CANNOT HONOR,
EVEN AS YOUR HAND
CONCOCTS THE POISON.
The landscape ahead
was diminished and natural,
no thing unforeseen
sprang from the heavens,
the waters were channeled
and empty of miracles.
SO THIS IS HISTORY,
Orestes considered,
SO THIS IS HISTORY
NOW I CAN UNDERSTAND
as the road lay before him
uninherited, heirless
cut off from its making
and silenced by blood.

At the borders of Southlund
the smoke was rising,
the Arm of Caergoth
harbored incessant fire:
Orestes rode swiftly
through billows of prophecy,
the stride of his horse
confirming the dead words of Arion.

The cavalry plundering
the burgeoning fields,
leveling villages,
approaching invulnerable Caergoth,
heeded little the ride
of a boy in their column
cloaked in the night
and in helpless mourning.
A bard, some said,
or a bard's apprentice
returned to his homeland
burning and desolate.
The captain of cavalry
turned to the weeping boy