"Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon - Valdemar - Darians Tale 03 - Owlknight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

flowers; they were not necessarily bigger, but they bloomed all year long, their
subtle perfume filling the air. The leaves of these new plants were enormous,
and not just green - veins traced scarlet pathways, and pinks, oranges, and even
blues made patterns that resembled flowers, enormous insects, or abstract
collages on their surfaces.

It would take a very long time before this Vale looked anything like k?Vala,
several generations, perhaps, but the beginnings were there, and Darian took a
great deal of pleasure in seeing them. As he walked along the sand-softened
pathway, he glanced up now and again, catching brief glimpses of new ekeles in
the enormous trees. The treehouses of k?Valdemar were a bit more inventive than
the ones in k?Vala; perhaps spurred on by hertasi creativity, there were
experiments in Hawkbrother housing going on up there. Not all of them were
successful, but the failure rate was low, and failures were never disasters. If
one plan didn?t work out, would-be home builder and hertasi just put their heads
together and tried a new direction.

All this building had been spurred on by the existence of the Veil, making it
possible to have ekeles that took full advantage of the constant balmy
conditions. The hedonistic Tayledras loved it. So did those ubiquitous residents
of established Vales, the hummingbirds and messenger-birds. Strictly off-limits
as dinner or snacks for the predatory bondbirds, these feathered gems frolicked
fearlessly from the ground to the treetops. The messenger-birds sported feathers
of every hue possible, and in combinations that sometimes made Darian blink.
Their natural voices were a bit shrill, but fortunately the heavy foliage tended
to disperse and muffle their joyful shrieks. The voice they used to repeat
messages was a bit more pleasant, a kind of hoarse chuckle, and when they chose
to permit someone to scratch or tickle them, they would chortle and chirp their
pleasure in a way that was quite funny.

A flock of the messenger-birds hurtled overhead, screaming with delight,
apparently in pursuit of the falcon and the crow. A hummingbird hovered at a
flower cluster just beside the path, paying no attention to Darian as he walked
by.

He should have been contented; there should have been nothing more he could have
wanted. But underneath, he was restless and uneasy.

Perhaps it had been the dream he?d had last night, that had sent him up out of
sleep with a feeling of something threatening. He couldn?t remember it though,
that was the problem. All he could recall were the eyes of the Ghost Cat he had
seen so long ago, and an odd sort of raven with the same kind of eyes. . . .

It?s probably just that I?ve gotten used to crisis, he told himself wryly. Once
you get to the point that you watch for signs of crisis everywhere, totally
innocuous events seem like grave portents. I should be glad that the worst
crisis is where we?re going to put the latest batch of ?pilgrims? to the ?Holy
Dyheli!?

That was an ongoing problem; every new group that made it down from the tribal