"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 4 - The Blood of a Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

The Blood of a Dragon

Dedicated to Marian, Tom and Gordon

Chapter One
The boy stared eagerly down into the Arena, chewing his lip in anticipation.
The horse races were over, and as a foretaste of what was to come the sands
were being raked smooth by magic.
The rakes themselves were the same perfectly ordinary wooden rakes that had
been dragged back and forth across the sand by perfectly ordinary people
before each race. Now, however, the rakes were moving by themselves, as if
held in invisible hands, and the slaves, or servants, or whoever the people
were who were responsible for the Arena's maintenance, were nowhere to be
seen.
Dumery wondered whether the rakes had been animated somehow, or whether they
were being wielded by sylphs or sprites or demons, or whether the servants had
been turned invisible. Magic could do so many amazing things!
The rakes were all painted bright blue, and he wondered if that was important.
Did the magic in use here only work on blue things? He knew that magic could
have peculiar requirements. Or were the rakes blue because the Lord of the
Arena had taken blue and gold as his colors?
Or perhaps, had he taken his colors from the golden sand, and the blue rakes
and other fittings?
Or was there some other reason entirely?
There were so many things that he didn't know! He had read everything he could
find about magic, but that wasn't much; he had asked questions of everyone he
knew, but he knew no wizards, nor witches or warlocks or sorcerers or any
other sort of wonder-worker. He had occasionally met a magician or two, and
had always asked questions, but he hadn't always gotten answers.
The rest of the time he just asked whoever was handy, even though they weren't
magicians. Sometimes they had answers anyway, sometimes they didn't, so he
just kept trying.
"Dad," he asked, "why are the rakes blue?"
Startled out of a contemplative half-doze, Doran of Shiphaven let the front
legs of his chair drop heavily to the floor of the family box, rattling the
gold chain that draped across his velvet-clad chest. Rings clicked against
wood as he gripped the arm of the chair and turned to stare at his son.
"What?" he asked.
"Those rakes out there," Dumery said, pointing. "Why are they all painted
blue?"
On his left, Dumery's sister Dessa, a year older than he, giggled into her
hands. Their two older brothers, noticing the noise, peered over from their
father's right side to see what the fuss was about.
"So they won't rot, I suppose," Doran said, puzzled, "or to keep down the
splinters."
"But whyblue?" Dumery persisted. "Why not red, or green? Brown wouldn't show
the dirt as much, or if theywant to see the dirt then white would be better.
Why blue?"
After a baffled pause, his father admitted, "I don't have the faintest idea."
Derath leaned over, smirking, and said, "It's to match your eyes, Dumery!"