Луч на английском

Насчёт этого вопроса мнения разделились: одни страстно уговаривали меня перевести книгу, якобы это придаст циклу импульс и новых читателей, во что я не верил - особого рейтинга и статуса у меня нет. 

А другие отмечали, что без толкового (а главное - искренне заинтересованного в успехе) агента ничего не получится. 

И я долгое время был в раздумьях - а правда, кому это нужно? 

Но дело ещё в том, что мои книги с тем ещё характером: они настырные, порой даже вредные и назойливые в какой-то дикой целеустремлённости, если автор сразу не идёт у них на поводу. Луч буквально нашёптывал мне найти переводчика, подмигивал, заманивал и уговаривал так, что я не мог долго сопротивляться. Но честно пытался, да.

В итоге благодаря отзывчивости и таланту замечательной переводчицы Анны Коньковой-Никитиной появилась первая сцена Пролога:

On the Wings of the Falling Light

Part 1. The Cleric of the Rainbow Order

Prologue. The Emperor’s Generosity

Love is the greatest gift for a human being,

for it allows even a slave to become free.

Aelorn of Khorim

Humans are the foulest monsters the world has ever seen:

within each one of them a murderer dwells 

desperate to break free.

High Inquisitor Urgacius

         Hundreds, thousands people shouted with delight, unable to believe what they saw: the true generosity sparkled in the light of the playful sun, falling on the amazed spectators. 

         A moment passed before peasants and artisans started to jump eager to grab the coveted gifts.   

         That day the Arena resembled a large bowl filled with insects. The spectators fussed, taking their seats.  

         When the slaves, stripped to the waist, stepped on the sand from their inner cells, the lower tier exploded with mad roaring. Many peasants recognized the Clevians, their neighbors they used to trade and exchange goods with before the rebellion. Now the rebels were turned into cheap servants to entertain those they had fought against just several days ago. 

         One of the inner cells opened, and a hissing sound came from the huge gap, causing a whole storm of emotions; the spectators argued and speculated which monster would be led out this time. 

         In a minute priests, armed with long staffs, pushed a creature on the Arena, and the very sight of it made even the seasoned warriors turn pale. 

         The creature rose on its hairy spiderlike legs, whirling up fountains of sand, and snapped its pincers, causing shouts of horror ripple over the audience. Then the monster charged at the priests who tried to set it at the Clevians and clearly overdid it, enraging the creature too much. The adepts gave way swiftly, conjuring magic barriers around themselves. 

         The scorpider flew past them, almost hitting one of the adepts with its leg covered in long spikes, and turned to the audience, causing new shouts of terror. Some of the nobles applauded, thinking it was all a surprise prepared in advance. 

“While the nobility stares at this slaughter, monsters kill people like flies,”

Lieutenant Rylen, who stood next to the High Viceroy, winced. “You know, I’d gladly watch those moneybags from the upper tiers becoming a monster’s meal. Now that would be a spectacle to behold, sharp-tooth take me! Gotta see them dancing then!”

         “Keep quiet,” Viceroy Holling looked around, making sure nobody heard them, but everyone was too absorbed in the performance. “Remember my orders: I won’t tolerate mistakes.” 

         “Don’t you try and intimidate me,” the warrior caressed the handle of his sword. “I promised I’ll accompany you to the Arena and have a little chat with that stubborn merchant who – according to you – doesn’t like to share. But I haven’t signed up for shady business. You think I don’t have principles? Even if my hands are steeped with blood of some bastards up to the elbows. These are some dangerous thoughts, Viceroy. I know two barons, who were found in a ditch after they tried to make some imperial officers abandon their principles.”

         “My dear Rylin,” the Viceroy discreetly touched the signet ring on his right hand, feeling the warmth it emanated. “Let me assure you, I of all people value principles of the noble imperial officers. So will you help me? Without violating your sacred Code, of course.”

         “Who, me? You’ve probably gulped rot-eater’s poison, offering me something like this!” the warrior grabbed his sword, but then a spasm made his wide face twitch. “Ye-es… if the Code… then of course… why n-not.”

         “Wonderful, my dear friend! Wonderful.”   

         In the meantime, the Master Priest swung his staff, covering the monster with a magic net as if woven of some wondrous icy flame. The scorpider squatted, hissing fiercely, but the net tangled it like a living cocoon. 

         A sigh of awe rolled over the Arena. 

         “Finish it off! Freeze this freak’s legs!”

         “Come on, turn it into an icicle!” 

         And then something unexpected happened. The scorpider shrunk into itself and then suddenly hit the net with its pincers – the net shook, before breaking into a thousand pieces. 

         The monster gaped and shot sticky web at the young adept. The fellow recoiled, shouting, but in a moment he was right before the enraged creature. 

         Before the priests were able to help, the scorpider grabbed the unlucky fellow with its pincer. After a short agonizing cry, that made the audience shiver, the young adept disappeared in the giant insect’s maw. 

         The priests hit it with a dozen of fiery arrows, but the creature’s hard shell only darkened a bit. 

         The monster hissed, charging at the priests again. The Master threw his hands in the air and cried out, hitting the ground with his staff, whirling up a fountain of sand. 

         His staff sparkled, flashed blue, and in a moment bolts of lightning which looked like glowing serpents, hit the scorpider. The creature recoiled, snapping its pincers angrily. The tribunes froze in anticipation of the outcome, while the adepts hurried back, attempting to increase the distance between themselves and the monster; nobody felt like sharing the young priest’s fate. 

         Meanwhile, the imprisoned slaves stood in the center of the Arena, watching the fight, awaiting their fate. 

         The faces of most prisoners showed no emotion, but desperation reflected in the eyes of the youngest participants.                            

         Kannes had turned sixteen just a couple of days ago. Robbers had killed his father in the woods, so the young man took a guard job from Shaurves, the tavern keeper he knew, to provide for himself and his mother. And when the imperials had come to Clevia, they’d burnt the tavern to the ground and hung the tavern keeper as a rebel abettor. Even now Kannes couldn’t forget what he’d seen then: Shaurves, always so kind and hospitable, dangled on the oak; wind played in his gray hair, a raven pecked at his right eye, clawing at his cheek. The tavern-keeper’s pleasant face looked like a horrible mask then.  

         There was talk that the rebellion was orchestrated by a bunch of imperial nobles, that wished to heroically suppress the uprising and glorify themselves before the Emperor, shifting the blame to some small landowners. Kannes would have given everything to meet those bastards on the Arena. 

         Right now three of his friends stood beside him – Mahren, who was just a year older than Kanness himself, Lucious with his big childish eyes and somewhat girlish eyelashes, and broad-shouldered Rogley. Despite his strong built, Rogley possessed feline dexterity and could thrash a fully armed imperial guard with just a stick – Kannes had seen it personally. Unfortunately, the guard was not overly self-ironic and ordered the soldiers to throw the brave man on the Arena in the first ranks. Kannes didn’t know the rest of the prisoners and thought he wouldn’t get a chance to get to know them. 

         Any Clevian would have gladly traded places with the spectators and bid a couple of coppers to watch some huge warrior finish off a pig looking merchant, or a guard who turned a blind eye to the illegal trade of weapons and narcotics from Shaure. Any Clevian wished to come back home to their family and friends, to hug their wives and children again, and then retell the most outstanding parts of the spectacle. 

Какие у вас впечатления от перевода? И вообще стоит ли сейчас переводить книги на английский?