"Stephen Lawhead - Pendragon Cycle 02 - Merlin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

No one laboured harder, or enjoyed his labours more than I. First awake among the boys in the boys'
house, and out on the yard before sunrise for sword practice, or riding, or throwing, or shieldwork, or
wrestling. . . I embraced it all with the ,- ardour of a zealot. And the summer passed in a white-hot blaze
of youthful passion; I prayed that it would last for ever.

Nevertheless, the summer ended and I returned to Ynys Avallach with Blaise and an escort of warriors.
I remember riding through bright autumn days, passing fields ripening to harvest and small, prosperous
settlements where we were greeted warmly and fed.

My mother was overjoyed to see me home at last, but I sensed a sadness in her, too. And I noticed that
her eyes followed my every move, and lingered on my face. Had I changed somehow in those few
months at Caer Cam?

'You are growing so fast, my little Hawk,' she told me. 'Soon you will fly this nest.'

'I will never leave here. Where would I go?' I asked, genuinely puzzled. The thought of leaving had never
occurred to me.

Charis shrugged lightly, 'Oh, you will find a place somewhere and make it your own. You must, you see,
if you are to be the Lord of Summer.'

So that was on her mind. 'Is it not a real place, Mother?' She smiled a little sadly and shook her head.
'No тАФ that is, not yet. It is up to you, my soul, to create theKingdomofSummer .'

'I thought the Summerlands тАФ'

'No,' she shook her head again, but the sadness had passed and I saw the light of the vision come up in
her eyes, 'the Summerlands are not the Kingdom, though your father may have intended them to be.
TheKingdomofSummer is wherever the Summer Lord resides. It only waits for you to claim it, Hawk.'

We talked about theKingdomofSummer then, but our talk was different now. No longer was the
Kingdom a story such as a mother might tell a child; it had changed. From that time I began to think of it
as a realm that did exist in some way and only waited to be called into being. And for the first time I
understood that my destiny, like my father's, was woven thread and strand into his vision of that golden
land.

That autumn I resumed my studies with Dafyd, the priest at the shrine. I read from his holy texts, badly
patched and faded as they were, and we discussed what I read. At the same time, I continued my
lessons with Blaise who instructed me in the druid arts. I could not imagine giving up either endeavour
and in the following years gave myself mind and soul to my study, as I gave body and heart to my
weapons each summer at Caer Cam.
 I confess it was not easy; I often felt pulled in all directions despite my various tutors' attempts to ensure
that I should not. Never did a boy have more caring teachers. Still, it is inevitable, I suppose, when
someone desires so much so badly. My teachers were aware of my discomfort and felt it themselves.

'You need not drive yourself so hard, Myrddin,' Blaise told me one drizzly, miserable winter evening as I
sat struggling with a long recitation entitled the Battle of the Trees. 'There are other things than being a
bard, you know. Look around you, not everyone is.'