"01 - Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham 1.0.palmdoc.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Starlight And Shadows)

unworthy escorts and climbing out of the boat unaided. Donigarten might be off
the traveled path for most drow, but here Shakti was at home and in command. She
stood for a moment on the narrow dock, head thrown back, to admire the miniature
fortress above.
The overseer's quarters loomed some hundred feet overhead, carved out of the
solid stone that rose in a sheer wall from the water. Shakti's boat had docked
at the island's only good landing site: a tiny cove unmarred by the sharp and
rending rocks that surrounded the rest of the island. The only way off the
island was through the stone fortress, and the only way down to the dock was a
narrow stairway carved into the rock wall. The water around the island was deep
and cold, utterly black except for an occasional faint, luminescent glow from
the creatures that lived in the still depths. From time to time, someone tried
to swim these waters. So far, no one had survived the attempt.
Shakti ignored the stairs and levitated smoothly upward to the fortress door.
Not only did this small flight grant her a more impressive entrance, but it also
had a practical purpose. The proud drow, with their love of beauty, did not
allow imperfect children to survive and had little patience for those who
developed physical defects later in life. Shakti was extremely nearsighted and
took great pains to conceal this fact. She did not trust her footing on the
treacherous stairs, and was not certain which would be worse, the actual tumble
down the steep incline, or having to explain why she had missed a step.
The overseer, a female from some lesser branch of the Hunzrin family tree, bowed
deeply when Shakti walked into the vast center room. Shakti was somewhat
mollified by this show of respect, and pleased to note that her brothers fell
into guard position at either side of the entrance, as if she were already a
respected matron.
She laid aside her own weapon—a three-tined pitchfork with a slender,
rune-carved handle—and walked over to the far window. The scene beyond was not
encouraging. Moss and lichen fields had been dangerously overgrazed, and the
irrigation system was clogged and neglected. Rothe wandered aimlessly about,
cropping here and there at the meager fodder. Their usually thick, long coats
were ragged and histerless. Shakti noted with dismay there would be little wool
at shearing time. Even more distressing was the utter darkness that enshrouded
the pasture.
"How many born so far this season?" Shakti snapped as she shrugged out of
herpiwafwi. One of her brothers leaped forward to take the glittering cloak.
"Eleven," the overseer said in a (pirn tone. "Two of those stillborn."
The priestess nodded; the answer was not unexpected. The rothe were magical
creatures who called to prospective mates with faint, blinking lights. At this
season, the rothe's courting rituals should have set the island aglow. The
neglected animals were too weak and listless to attend to such matters.
But what else could she have expected? Most of the ores and goblins who tended
the rothe herds had been taken as battle fodder, without regard for the logical
consequences. These were things the ruling priestesses did not heed, expecting
meat and cheese to appear at their tables as if by magic. In their vaunting
pride, they did not understand some things required not only magic, but
management.
This Shakti understood, and this she could provide. She seated herself behind a
vast table and reached for the ledger that kept the breeding records. A sharp,
pleasurable feeling of anticipation sped her fingers as she leafed through the