"Bradley,.Marion.Zimmer.-.Darkover.-.Clingfire.2.-.Zandru's.Forge.(.With.Deborah.J.Ross)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradley Marion Zimmer)

bowl heaped with some kind of nut porridge and topped with cream. "Can you hold the spoon?"
Varzil's fingers curled around the handle. His hand shook, but he managed a mouthful of the stuff. Whatever happened, he was not going to be fed like a baby.
The porridge turned out to be a mixture of oats, hazelnuts, and dried apples, seasoned with cinnabark. It tasted wonderful, blending the earthiness of the grain, the crunchiness of the nuts, and the chewiness of the fruit.
Varzil's vision returned to focus and his hands steadied. He thanked the women, adding, 'This is very good."
"It should be," she said, again reminding him of his aunt. "Eat it all up. Lord of Light, boy, you look as if you haven't had a decent meal in a tenday!"
Varzil lowered the spoon. "I'm grateful, vai domna, but I didn't come here to beg a meal." He handed her back the bowl.
"I won't hear such prideful nonsense," she retorted, shoving it back at him. "I'm house mother to all the novices here and when I say eat, they eat. Even the royal ones. Is that clear?"
Varzil had not taken more than another two or three spoonsful when the door at the far end swung open and a tall, heavy-shouldered man strode into the room.
Rust and silver mingled in his neatly trimmed beard and hair. His features were too irregular to be conventionally handsome, with his overlarge ears and crooked mouth. Eyes blue and dark as lapis regarded Varzil. An aura of steely power hung about the man like a mantle.
Yet he wore ordinary clothing, comfortable and warm, a leather vest trimmed with bright embroidery over a belted linex tunic, and loose pants tucked into laced calf-high boots. A chain of dark gray metal hung about his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt.
Two other men entered the room from a door at the opposite end. One was the white-robed man who had taken Varzil into the Tower. The other was robed, too, but in a soft deep green. Yet there was no doubt in Varzil's mind who held the power here.
Varzil got to his feet and bowed deeply to the heavy-shouldered man.

So you are the Ridenow boy who wants to train at Arilinn Tower? The voice rang out like a sword on the anvil. Never had anyone spoken so directly to Varzil's mind, or with such crystalline clarity. Even the household leronis, who had given him rudimentary training in the use of his starstone, had sounded muffled, as if in another room, when she used her laran to speak with him. Varzil realized that of all the tests he might face, this was the basic and most crucial one of all. He bowed again.
"Vai dom, I am."
"Sit down, then, and let us get to know you a little. Do you know who I am?"
"Sir, you are Auster Syrtis, Keeper of Arilinn Tower."
"One of them, anyway." A smile flickered at the corner of the man's mouth. "What makes you think I am he? How can you be sure?" With one hand, he gestured to his clothing, as if to indicate the absence of the traditional crimson robes.
Does he think I'm such a head-blind fool? Varzil wondered. His indignation evaporated as the man tilted his head back in laughter.
For the next hour, Varzil sat before the fragrant fire, answering questions from the three men. The woman, whose name was Lunilla, alternated between sitting quietly in her own chair and offering the men jaco and Varzil food, on some schedule of her own devising. Nobody argued with her.
Varzil showed them the starstone he had been given by the household leronis, a light blue crystal the size of his thumbnail. As he had been taught, he kept it wrapped in layers of silk. When he took it out and held it in his bare fingers, the ribbons of twisting brightness in its heart flared to life. The patterns first appeared when he had keyed into the stone. Now, with the prolonged exposure to the psychic energies of Veil and circle, he sensed it as a living thing, responding to his touch. The stone sang to him, danced with him.
Varzil answered questions and performed a few simple laran exercises very much like those the Ridenow leronis had taught him. Without his starstone, he had very little psychokinesis, although by focusing, he could cause a small feather to

quiver. He had no difficulty hearing questions in thought form, rather than spoken aloud. The shifts in mood and emotion appeared to him as clear and distinct as musical phrases played on different instruments.
Even as the examination continued, Varzil sensed an undercurrent beneath the innocent-sounding questions. On one or two occasions, he caught the edge of a quickly-guarded thought, and knew it had nothing to do with the quality of his laran.
Again and again, the questions skirted the issue of how he had come, and whether his father knew of this visit and had given his blessing. The Keeper never asked directly, yet suspicion shadowed his words. Perhaps they feared he had come on some purpose other than his ownЧto penetrate their company, learn their secrets, or somehow weaken them.
But surely they would read the truth in his mind....
Realization dawned slowly. Yes, they were suspicious, but it was because they saw him as sickly and feared he might fall ill under the rigors of training. Since Varzil was a son of Ridenow, there might be serious repercussions if he died. His family might act in retaliation against Hastur or Asturias, destabilizing the balance of power. Political relations continued to be precarious since the last wars. Arilinn itself might be drawn into the conflict....
I will not be a pawn in any lordling 's game!
In the middle of a question from the green-robed man, Varzil got to his feet and bowed.
"Vai dom'yn" he said in such a serious tone that the man stopped in midsentence. "I am happy to answer any questions about my background or fitness for Tower work. You have a right to know these things. ButЧ" and here his composure wavered, "Чbut you must either admit or refuse me based on my talent. I am here on my own behalf, not anyone else's. Others may use their laran to plot and spy, but I do not," he said glaring pointedly at Auster.
"Children do not address a Keeper of Arilinn Tower in that manner!" Lunilla gasped. The green-robed man scowled, but Auster bent to look at Varzil even more carefully with those intense blue eyes.

"No, it's all right," said Auster. "He has spoken like a man, so he deserves a man's answer. Young Ridenow, you have undeniable talent, but you have also come here, by your own admission, without your father's permission and against his wishes. We are not prepared to offer you a place here under those circumstances. In these troubled times, it is not a simple matter of accepting anyone with laran. We of the Towers must do everything we can to hold ourselves apart from the greater events of the world."
With a sinking heart, Varzil realized that he'd guessed rightly. His admission to Arilinn Tower involved much more than his own desires and abilities. Nothing he could say now would change that fact.
"You seem untroubled by the illnesses which so often accompany the awakening of laran," the white-robed monitor said, "so there is no compassionate need for training to save your life or sanity, no emergency which might justify overriding your father's wishes. The training you have already received from your family leronis should suffice."
Auster rose, signaling that the interview was over. Stunned, Varzil stood as the leronyn left the room, all except the white-robed man. He gestured Varzil to follow him. They retraced their steps, descending in the strange matrix-powered chute as before, guided by ritual hand motions.
In parting, the monitor spoke to Varzil in a kindly tone. "It has been a pleasure to breakfast with you. With the blessing of the gods, you will prosper, sire many sons, and be a credit to your family."
But the waste of talentЧ Abruptly, the man's mental barriers slammed shut.
Regardless of his private feelings, the laranzu would never speak out against his Keeper's verdict.
Varzil thought wildly that in another moment, he would be gone from the Tower. He must find a way back. There was so much he wanted to ask, wanted to know! Words clogged his throat as the seconds slipped by. He found himself standing at the entrance to Arilinn Tower with morning sun filling the streets of the city. When he turned back, the gate had closed.

2
From his turret window, Carolin Hastur, called Carlo after his boyhood nickname, watched the strange boy standing outside the gates of Arilinn. Fists clenched at his sides, back rigid, the boy drew in one heaving breath after another. Carolin himself did not have a vocation in Tower work, but he could recognize it in others. Never before had he seen such passion, such intensity as in that slender form below.
Carolin had only a modest amount of laran and no particular interest in closeting himself inside a Tower. He was here for a short time only, for his destiny had been fixed on the day of his birth. He'd been sent to Arilinn last spring, at the age of seventeen, as part of the training suitable for a young man of his caste.
Looking down at the boy below, seeing the bony shoulders rise and fall, the tension in each muscle, Carolin could well believe the boy was born to the Tower, even as he, Carolin, was born to the throne. He remembered how the boy had spoken to the kyrri, not only in words, but with a gentle mental touch that even Carolin could sense.
Had he been turned away summarily? Any prospective student applying to the Tower was given hospitality as he was evaluated. Once or twice in Carolin's knowledge, the Keepers sent a likely boy to another Tower. Each circle maintained a balance of different skills and gifts.

The Keeper must have a good reason for what he did, he told himself. And would tell me to keep out of things which are none of my concern. He slumped in the window seat, wishing it were so simple to banish that slender, ardent figure from his thoughts.