"Melanie Rawn - Exiles 1 - The Ruins of Ambrai" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rawn Melanie)

knowing you had been sold?

His owner was Scraller Pelleris. Scraller was that vanishing rarity, a man in complete charge
of his family's estate. He had inherited by virtue of having outlived every single one of his
relations. Virtue, of course, had nothing to do with it. By the time Scraller acquired a certain
very young copper-haired slave, talk had long since died down about the fortuitous (for
Scraller) deaths of three sisters, four aunts, and five cousins. His mother had drawn her final
breath approximately one minute after Scraller drew his first. It was said she had a
premonition of what her son would become and, as she died, muttered, "I choose to join the
Wraiths." Presumably this was preferable to staying around to watch her lastborn's career.
Before Scraller was twenty, she had welcomed all her relatives into the Wraithenwood,
probably with an I told you so .

Pelleris Fief became known by Scraller's nickname. In the local parlance of The Waste, a
"scrall" was the clever and invariably criminal act of making something out of nothing.
Despite its connotation, Scraller used it with pride. Many peopleтАФincluding his own late,
unlamented familyтАФhad called him worse.

Scraller's Fief was a massive stone warren built atop a substantial pile of rock in The Waste. A
climb of three hundred and eighty-six stepsтАФone for each day of the yearтАФ past two
barbicans bristling with guards led through iron gates to a courtyard scarcely wide enough to
circle a wagon in. The main tower was a gigantic construction of gray granite roofed in blue
tile. From the courtyard, the effect was that of a face topped by a thatch of blue hair. A broad
balcony and overhanging stone canopy, both studded with iron spikes, formed toothy
half-open jaws. Above were two tall windows like great pale eyes reflecting the sun. The nose
was the banner dangling between the windows, crimson edged in brown and lacking a
device. The First Tier Pelleris family had neither money nor influence to purchase their way
into Blood status. They owned much of The Waste, but as the name implied, that wasn't
saying much. Scraller's ambition was to swell his coffers and create a court worthy of notice
by First Councillor Avira Anniyas, so he could ride through his gates into his courtyard and
behold his castle grinning down at him with a golden galazhi galloping across its crimson
nose like a wart on the nose of a drunkard.

When Scraller was twenty-eight, the death of the last notable opponent of the First
Councillor's power gave him the opportunity he needed. In exchange for a percentage off the
top, Scraller was given complete control over all economic activities in The Waste. Again, this
wasn't saying much. But Scraller hadn't earned his nickname in vain. He undertook a
massive drainage projectтАФnever mind that the noxious siphoning of The Waste Water
polluted the sea into which it spilled for five years afterward. Dried salts scraped off sunbaked
land revealed soil perfect for concreteтАФnever mind that half of it was adulterated with those
same salts, and tended to crumble after ten years. Scraller made a luscious profit, even after
Avira Anniyas took her share.

So it was that Scraller was elevated to the status of Blood. Golden galazhi minced not only
across the courtyard banner but on every door, carpet, chair, fireplace hood, pillow slip, and
napkin in the castle. (The launderers said that its execution in gold embroidery on Scraller's
crimson underdrawers was especially fine.) The First Councillor was generous to those who
served her well. Besides, The Waste was so far from Ryka Court that she didn't much care
what happened there so long as her percentage kept rolling in, the concrete for her own
building projects was top grade, and the rebellious Mage Guardians found no succor at the