"Melanie Rawn - Dragon Prince 1 - Dragon Prince" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rawn Melanie)

PART ONE

Faces in Fire

Chapter One

Prince Zehava squinted into the sunlight and smiled his satisfaction. All the
signs were good for the hunt today: claw marks on the cliffs, wing marks on
the sand, and the close cropping of bittersweet plants along the canyon
ridges. But the prince's perceptions were more subtle and had no need of these
obvious signs. He could feel the presence of his prey all along his skin,
scent it in the air, sense it in every nerve. His admirers said he could tell
when the time was ripe for the hunt simply by glancing at the sky. His enemies
said it was not surprising that he could sense such things, for he himself had
been dragon-spawned.
In truth, he seemed a human version of the dragon he hunted today. A long,
proud nose reared out of a lean and predatory face, saved from ruthlessness by
the humor lurking at the corners of his mouth. Nearly sixty winters had framed
his eyes with deep lines, but his body was still tough and supple, his pose in
the saddle easy, his back straight as his sword. The proudest of old dragons
was Zehava, a cloak as black as his eyes billowing out behind him like wings
as he rode a tall black war-horse into the Desert he had ruled for thirty-four
winters.
"We advance, my prince?"
Zehava glanced at his son-by-marriage. "We advance," he replied in the time-
honored formula, then grinned. "We most certainly advance, Chay, unless your
sword arm is already growing tired."
The young man grinned back. "The only time it ever did was when we fought the
Merida, and then only a little, and only because you kept tossing so many in
my direction!"
"Tobin wanted to boast of your prowess, and I've sever been able to deny my
daughter anything." He pressed his heels to the horse's ribs and the troop
advanced into the Desert behind him, bridles muffled and saddles devoid of the
usual trappings that might clatter a warning to the dragon.
"Another ten measures, I make it," Chaynal said. "Five."
"Ten! That son of the Storm Devil will be holed up in the hills and strike
from there."
"Five," Zehava said again. "And he'll be at the mouth of Rivenrock like High
Prince Roelstra at Castle Crag." Chaynal's handsome face pulled into a
grimace. "And here I was enjoying myself. Why did you have to mention him?"
Zehava laughed. Inwardly, however, he was wishing that this fine young man was
truly the son of his body, his heir. He felt much closer to Chay than he did
to his blood son, Prince RohanтАФa slight, quiet youth given to study and
thoughtfulness rather than devotion to the manly arts. Rohan was a credible
swordsman, an excellent hunter of everything but dragons, and a cunning
whirlwind in a knife fight, but Zehava found his son incomprehensible in that
these things were not the end and aim of life to him. Rohan's taste for books
and learned discussion was utterly beyond Zehava's understanding. Honesty
compelled him to admit that Chaynal had interests other than the hunt and the
skirmish, but at least he did not prefer those other things to all else. Yet