Starborn. Katie MacAlister

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      Prologue

      “Who would like to read their poem?”

      The room was stifling hot, so hot that the faint sheen of reddish-brown dust blown in through the glassless window seemed to dance on every surface in the schoolroom. Lala, apprentice in the Temple of Kiriah Sunbringer, ignored the heat and dust to focus every ounce of energy, every iota of power in her being to will Peebles to see her wildly waving arm.

      It seemed as if the priestess must be blind, because as she cast her gaze over the class of approximately six young apprentices, all between five and ten summers old, only Lala’s arm was in the air. After a moment’s consideration, Lala raised her second arm, feeling it greatly increased the odds that Peebles would call on her to read her epic poem.

      And epic it was. She had worked for many a long hour on the poem, and she was not going to have the bad eyesight of her teacher snatch away the praise that was sure to be heaped upon her head after everyone heard her work.

      A gentle cough, really more a clearing of the throat, came from the rear of the room, where Lady Sandor, head of the order of priests, sat. Lala waved her arms with even more vigor, thrilled to the tips of her sandals at the thought of Lady Sandor hearing her poem.

      Visions of honors danced in her head. Sandor might be so overcome with her handling of the poem that she would make Lala a full priest right then and there, eight years sooner than usual.

      The cough repeated itself, and Peebles, with a sigh, said, “Yes, Lala? You have a poem you wish to share with us?”

      Lala didn’t waste time explaining that she did. She didn’t even stand at her desk as the other, more reluctant, apprentices did. She grasped her much scribbled-over pages, and marched to the front of the room, little eddies of dust swirling behind her.

      With another sigh, Peebles moved aside and gestured to her. “You may begin, Lala. But mind you, speak clearly and concisely. Lady Sandor is a busy woman, and she has only a few minutes to spend with us.”

      Lala ignored Peebles, filled as she was with confidence. This was her moment, her time to shine before the goddess Kiriah and Sandor together. With a business like throat clearing that mimicked Lady Sandor, she picked up the first sheet, and began to read. “The Saga of Allegria Hopebringer, by Lala Smalls, apprentice priest.”

      “Allegria? I’m not sure that’s a fitting subject for our class,” Peebles said, casting Sandor a questioning glance. The latter said nothing.

      Lala gave the two youngest apprentices in the front row, who had burst into nervous giggles, a quelling glance before returning her attention to her paper.

      “’Twas a year ago, on this very day

      That Allegria, warrior priestess, rode away.

      To join Lord Deosin, she did plan,

      and fight the dread invading Harborym!”

      “Plan and Harborym don’t rhyme,” Peebles interrupted.

      “I couldn’t very well say Harborham,” Lala replied, frowning. “You said that poets sometimes varied their rhyming scheme, and that to do so was allowed.”

      “Yes, but those are poets who have much experience—” Peebles, with another glance at Lady Sandor, heaved a third sigh, and said, “We will leave that discussion for another time. Proceed.”

      Lala shook her papers in a meaningful manner. Really, to be interrupted was most vexing. She had to count on Lady Sandor recognizing genius even if Peebles didn’t.

      “For Deo had taken the invader’s own magic,

      and used it to create his army most tragic!

      Banes of Eris were they, dire and dreadful to be seen,

      They sailed to Genora, land of Deo’s mama, the queen.”

      “Your timing, my child,” Peebles murmured, shaking her head. “We must have a talk about meter later.”

      “But brave Deo’s father, Lord Israel of Abet.

      Raced to Genora, and there he met

      A handsome young arcanist, one named Hallow

      Lost in a strange land, master-less, his fields were fallow.”

      “Er...his fields were fallow?” Lady Sandor asked, soundly faintly puzzled.

      Lala stifled her irritation at being interrupted again, and with a little frown, said, “It’s a metaphor. It means he didn’t have a plan.”

      “Ah. Indeed.” Lady Sandor passed a hand over her mouth as if she had to cough. “Pray continue, child.”

      “Allegria and Hallow met and fell in love,

      And with them came Thorn, a wooden bird, but not a dove.

      Hallow was given Kelos, land of spirits and fierce ghosts,

      While Allegria wielded the light of Kiriah’s blessed sun motes.”

      “This really isn’t very good,” one of the two youngest apprentices whispered.

      “Shhh! She’s looking at us!” the other СКАЧАТЬ