"Raymond E. Feist - Riftwar 1 - Magician2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

"Sir?"
"Never mind, Pug." He paused for a moment, then
said, "I was using that toy for the first time, judging how far I could
send my sight, when I spied you making for the road. From your limp and
bruised condition, I judged that you would never reach the town, so I sent
Meecham to fetch you." Pug looked embarrassed by the unusual attention,
color rising to his cheeks. He said, with a thirteen-year-old's high
estimation of his own ability, "You needn't have done that, sir. I would
have reached the town in due time."

Kulgan smiled. "Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not. The storm is
unseasonably severe and perilous for traveling." Pug listened to the soft
tattoo of rain on the roof of the cottage. The storm seemed to have
slackened, and Pug doubted the magician's
words. As if reading the boy's thought, Kulgan said, "Doubt me not,
Pug. This glade is protected by more than the great boles. Should you pass
beyond the circle of oaks that marks the edge of my holding, you would feel
the storm's fury. Meecham, how do you gauge this wind?" Meecham put down
the bread dough he was kneading and thought for a moment. "Near as bad as
the storm that beached six ships three
years back." He paused for a moment, as if reconsidering the estimate,
then nodded his endorsement. "Yes, nearly as bad, though it won't blow
so long."
Pug thought back three years to the storm that had blown a Quegan trading
fleet bound for Crydee onto the rocks of Sailor's Grief. At its height, the
guards on the castle walls were forced to stay in the towers, lest they be
blown down. If this storm was that severe, then Kulgan's magic was
impressive, for outside the cottage it sounded no worse than a spring rain.
Kulgan sat back on the bench, occupied with trying to light his extinguished
pipe. As he produced a large cloud of sweet white smoke, Pug's
attention wandered to a case of books standing behind the magician. His
lips moved silently as he tried to discern what was written on the
bindings, but could not. Kulgan lifted an eyebrow and said, "So you can
read, aye?" Pug started, alarmed that he might have offended the magician
by intruding on his domain. Kulgan, sensing his embarrassment, said, "It is
all right, boy. It is no crime to know letters." Pug felt his discomfort
diminish. "I can read a little, sir. Megar the cook has shown me how to
read the tallies on the stores laid away for the kitchen in the cellars. I
know some numbers, as well."
"Numbers, too," the magician exclaimed good-naturedly.
"Well, you are something of a rare bird." He reached behind
himself and pulled out one volume, bound in red-brown leather, from the
shelf. He opened it, squinting at one page, then another, and at last found
a page that seemed to meet his requirements. He turned the open book around
and lay it upon the table before Pug. Kulgan pointed to a page illuminated
by a magnificent design of snakes, flowers, and twining vines in a colorful
design around a large letter in the upper left corner. "Read this,
boy." Pug had never seen anything remotely like it. His lessons had been on
plain parchment with letters fashioned in Megar's blunt script, using a
charcoal stick. He sat, fascinated by the details of the work, then realized