"Van Lustbader, Eric - Pearl 01 The Ring of Five Dragons(eng)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Lustbader Eric)

"Thank Mьna!" Giyan said sardonically, though only she saw Frawn wink at her.
They went down a hallway the V'ornn had deliberately narrowed and made dim so that anyone passing through was observed from unseen windows clad in V'ornn crystal recessed into the stone walls. Light was such that you could only see what was directly in front of you.
"Kurgan needed a lesson in humility," Giyan said as if there had been no pause in their conversation. "He thinks altogether too much of himself."
"He's very smart."
"Of that I have no doubt."
They came to a thick-paneled door girdled by riveted metal strips. It was guarded by Haaar-kyut of the inner ring. Again, Giyan was obliged to be officially identified by her okuuut. Annon wondered how much she minded being tagged like an animal in a long-term experiment. While he waited, he studied with fascination the Kundalan designs and sigils carved into the face of the door. Once, he had asked Giyan why none of the Kundalan artwork was signed. She had told him that artists and artisans both worked in the service of the Great Goddess Mьna and for their own satisfaction.
"Tell me how I destroyed his bolt," she said, switching to Kundalan. They had entered a small three-walled antechamber that gave out onto an octagonal courtyard. This exceptionally peaceful and pleasant space was surrounded by a loggia, its sea-green tile roof supported by carved shanstone pillars, five to a side. Above the courtyard, the indigo sky seemed to underscore Mьna's -diminished presence. A soft breeze stirred the fragrant olive and rosemary trees that dotted the courtyard, lending punctuation to the vivid colors of the rows of star-roses that were Eleusis' passion. He had planted them himself on the day of his coronation.
Annon was grinning. "You didn't destroy it."
"I didn't. But everyone saw—"
"Everyone saw what you wanted them to see." Quick as an ice-hare he hooked a finger inside her sash, found the knot, and undid it. As he whirled it off her Kurgan's bolt clattered to the cold stone floor. "I knew it!" He picked it up, let out a long whistling breath, twirled it around like a prize. "You palmed it while everyone's attention was on the illusion of the vine."
"Well done!" Giyan was cloaked in her smile. "But what about the tree? What happened to the wound the bolt made in it?"
When Annon frowned he looked very like his father. "Well, to be honest, that part has me stumped."
She laughed and ran her fingers over his long, tapering, yellowish skull. "I am gratified I can still hold some secrets from you."
He handed her the bolt. "Would you teach me how to heal wounds?"
"It is Osoru, Kundalan sorcery, Annon," she said in her most serious tone. "For a V'ornn, dangerous knowledge."
"But I'd be careful! I swear I would!"
"And what would you do with this knowledge, I wonder?" Giyan asked, as they strode along the loggia.
Upon the inner walls were wondrously delicate Kundalan frescoes depicting the origins of Kundala. Here was Mьna, floating alone in the Cosmos; here was the Great Goddess, gathering the cosmic material from which She birthed the Five Sacred Dragons; there they formed the endless Mandela, tip of fiery crescent tongue to tip of scaly tail, caught up in the Dance of Creation, the planet Kundala forming to Mьna's specifications; and there, when they were finished with the world, they obeyed her final command and, exhaling all at once, fabricated the most holy and sacred object in the Kundalan universe: The Pearl. The sole oddity was a panel in the lower right-hand corner. Either it had been damaged or defaced during the first days of V'ornn occupation. In any event, the images on it were unrecognizable. He traced faint lines on the wall, added his own, drawing out of his imagination great beasts that seemed so ferocious but were tame to his touch and voice.
Annon pointed to the panel. "Do you have any idea what was meant to be shown here?" he asked.
Giyan barely glanced it. "We are late," she said curtly.
"But surely you must know."
"We have no time for idle speculation. Your father will be cross with me if I do not bring you directly to him, Annon."
"When I was younger I was sure it showed beasts that frightened everyone but protected me."
She looked at him curiously for a moment. "There used to be a depiction of the Rappa, sorcerous creatures, always at Mьna's right hand."
"Why weren't they restored like the rest of the fresco? Did the artists forget to put them back in?"
Giyan sighed. "Legend has it that the Rappa were responsible for Mother's death here in this very palace, on the day the V'ornn arrived. Among the Ramahan, they are despised now, expunged from our lore and our teachings. But, then, from what I gather there have been many changes in the Sacred Scripture since Mother's death."
He cocked his head, suddenly attuned to her voice and expression. "You do not believe the Rappa are evil?"
"No, I don't. But, then, I have many strange notions, Annon." She smiled. "No doubt because I have lived so long among you V'ornn."
He put his hand on the blank space as if he were able to feel something no one else could. "I don't think they're evil, either."
Once again, she gave him that familiar look of curiosity. He never knew quite what to make of it, or how to respond. It was as if she were looking at another person altogether. "Would you like to see what a Rappa looks like?"
"Would I?" he said excitedly.
Giyan took his hand from the blank space and replaced it with hers. When she took it away, the fresco had been completed. There were two small furry creatures with six legs, long bushy tails, intelligent eyes, and tapering snouts.
"How did you do that?" he asked.
Giyan laughed softly.
They turned a corner, continued to circumnavigate the garden. This was something Giyan always did with him when she brought him to the palace. Mostly, they spoke not a word during this walk; sometimes he was bored, impatient to see his father. Always, it appeared to him as if Giyan was deep in alien meditation or prayer, which engendered in him a dizzying sense of dislocation, as if for a moment he was somewhere else. It heightened his awareness, as if he could sense a rustling of unseen things, whispers of ancient days, perhaps, the ghosts of Kun-dalan past. Being here was, for him, like being lost in a dream—the strange and familiar blending into something new.
Abruptly, she turned to him. "You have not answered me. What would you do with your sorcerous knowledge?"
"I would become invincible," he said. "Why, there would be no fight I couldn't win."
"An excellent reason to withhold such knowledge from you! Have you no—" She paused and, gripping his arm, turned him to face her. "What is it?" she asked.
"Nothing," he lied. That damned wound he had received from the gyreagle was like a live flame beneath his skin. When he had bent down to pick up Kurgan's bolt he had felt a surge of pain, and now it would not let up.
"Do not lie to me, Annon," she said sternly. "You are hurt."
"I am not hurt," he cried. He had switched to V'ornn, which he always did when he was cross at her. He could not allow her to discover what had happened down by the creek. He and Kurgan had sworn the seigggon—
She pulled aside his jacket, saw the turquoise blood seeping through his silk blouse. "Ah, Mьna! How long were you planning to hide this from me?"
"Till N'Luuura is consumed in flames." he blurted, disgusted to be caught in the lie.
She slapped him across the face. "Don't you know how precious you are to your father? To me? If something should happen to you—"
"What?" he cried. "What would happen? Would my father grieve?
Would you cry? Oh, yes. Because it would be the end of the Ashera Dynasty. As long as a son is born to a sitting regent, the power is passed from father to son. But if I were to die, who would succeed my father? The Gyrgon would choose another house, another dynasty to rule for them. So, yes, my father would grieve for the end of his dynasty, and you would cry because my father would turn his wrath on you. He would kill you in a flash for failing him, for letting me die!"
Something strange and, perhaps, forbidden flickered behind Giyan's whistleflower-blue eyes, and she pulled him close. "Oh, my dear, how very wrong you are in what you say. You must understand that—"
She stopped at the quick tramp of boot soles against the quartzite floor and Annon could feel the infinitesimal tremor run through her as if he were inside her.
"Little regent, your father sent me to fetch you as soon as you arrived." The rich resounding basso of Line-General Kinnnus Morcha echoed along the loggia like thunder down a gorge. As he came up, his wide intelligent eyes drank Annon in, analyzed his position and posited a theory. "Is anything amiss? Has the regent's heir taken ill?"
"No, Line-General," Giyan said in her meekest voice. "But he is tired. He and his friend, Kurgan, were out all day hunting."