"Michael A. Stackpole - Dragon Crown Saga 1 - The Dark Glory War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stackpole Michael A)

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Book Information:
Genre: Epic Fantasy
Author: Michael A. Stackpole
Name: The Dark Glory War
Series: DragonCrown Saga 1 (Prelude)
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CHAPTER

The day they gave me my mask was the first day I felt truly alive. Though I received my
mask over two decades ago, I remember the events surrounding it clearly. The tinge of
win-ter had not quite left the air that year, so even as we were coming to Mid-SummerтАЩs
Eve the days were cooler than nor-mal. Many people were happy with the weather, since
the previous year had been a scorcher, and some went so far as to suggest that the mild
weather might have betokened the death of Chytrine, the scourge of the Northlands. I
didnтАЩt care about the weather or the tyrant of Aurolan because this was my eighteenth
summer, which made it special and me anxious.
The mask I got was, not, of course, the first mask I had ever worn, nor would it be
the last. It was a simple moonmask, as white as the orb for which it was named. If the
gods smiled and I proved worthy, as the moon again became full I would be awarded
my first life mask, and this moonmask would be a memento of my transition from
childhood frivolity to adult responsibility.
It had been my intention, that morning, to wake early and dress myself, as befit my
new station in life. I wanted to be able to greet my father as an adult in all but the mask
he would bring. Unfortunately I awoke much too early, spent time in my bed wondering
if I should get up or go to sleep again, then fell asleep and remained so rather solidly
until, dimly, I heard my fatherтАЩs heavy tread on the stairs. Before I could rub sleep-sand
from my eyes, the door opened and he entered my room.
My memory of his coming to me that mid-summer morn-ing, bearing the mask, still
endures and is one of my most favorite of him. All over Oriosa other children in their
eigh-teenth summer were also receiving their masks. For many of them the presentation
would be a family affair, but among the Hawkinses, fathers presented masks to sons,
mothers to daughters, making it a more intimate and solemn occasion. I welcomed this
moment of serenity before what I guessed would be a month of controlled insanity.
My father stood there, at the foot of my bed, looking down at me. His life mask,
which he seldom wore in our house, had a fearsome visage. White temeryx feathers,
with their shifting rainbow highlights, splayed out and back at the maskтАЩs tem-ples. The
cut of the maskтАЩs lower edge had been sharpened into a hawkтАЩs beak over his nose. This