"Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman. Time of the Twins ("DragonLance Legends" #1) (angl)" - читать интересную книгу автора

within the bookcases. She sat in the straight, uncomfortable,
wooden chair, her clear, bright eyes fixed upon the red-stained
fringes of the clouds above the mountains as if she were watch-
ing the sun set for possibly the first - or last - time upon
Krynn.
So intent was she upon the sight beyond the window that
Astinus entered without attracting her attention. He regarded
her with intense interest. This was not unusual for the histo-
rian, who scrutinized all beings living upon Krynn with the
same fathomless, penetrating gaze. What was unusual was
that, for a moment, a look of pity and of profound sorrow
passed across the historian's face.
Astinus recorded history. He had recorded it since the begin-
ning of time, watching it pass before his eyes and setting it
down in his books. He could not foretell the future, that was
the province of the gods. But he could sense all the signs of
change, those same signs that had so disturbed Bertrem. Stand-
ing there, he could hear the drops of water falling in the timing
device. By placing his hand beneath them, he could cease the
flow of the drops, but time would go on.
Sighing, Astinus turned his attention to the woman, whom
he had heard of but never met.
Her hair was black, blue-black, black as the water of a calm
sea at night. She wore it combed straight back from a central
part, fastened at the back of her head with a plain, unadorned,
wooden comb. The severe style was not becoming to her pale,
delicate features, emphasizing their pallor. There was no color
at all in her face. Her eyes were gray and seemingly much too
large. Even her lips were bloodless.
Some years ago, when she had been young, servants had
braided and coiled that thick, black hair into the latest, fash-
ionable styles, tucking in pins of silver and of gold, decorating
the somber hues with sparkling jewels. They had tinted her
cheeks with the juice of crushed berries and dressed her in
sumptuous gowns of palest pinks and powdery blues. Once she
had been beautiful. Once her suitors had waited in lines.
The gown she wore now was white, as befitted a cleric of Pal-
adine, and plain though made of fine material. It was
unadorned save for the belt of gold that encircled her slim
waist. Her only ornament was Paladine's - the medallion of the
Platinum Dragon. Her hair was covered by a loose white hood
that enhanced the marble smoothness and coldness of her com-
plexion.
She might have been made of marble, Astinus thought, with
one difference - marble could be warmed by the sun.
"Greetings, Revered Daughter of Paladine," Astinus said,
entering and shutting the door behind him.
"Greetings, Astinus," Crysania of Tarinius said, rising to her
feet.
As she walked across the small room toward him, Astinus