"Ursula K. LeGuin - Earthsea 3 - The Farthest Shore" - читать интересную книгу автора (Le Guin Ursula K)

in Berila was full of them: men who owned much, who bought and sold much, who were rich in the
things of the world. They ate meat and drank wine and talked loudly; many disputed, many
flattered, most sought something for themselves. Young as he was, Arren had learned a good deal
about the manners and disguises of humanity. But he had never been among such men as these. They
ate bread and talked little, and their faces were quiet. If they sought something, it was not for
themselves. Yet they were men of great power: that, too, Arren recognized.
Sparrowhawk the Archmage sat at the head of the table and seemed to listen to what was
said, and yet there was a silence about him, and no one spoke to him. Arren was let alone also, so
that he had time to recover himself. On his left was the Doorkeeper, and on his right a grey-
haired man with a kindly look, who said to him at last, "We are countrymen, Prince Arren. I was
born in eastern Enlad, by the Forest of Aol."
"I have hunted in that forest," Arren replied, and they spoke together a little of the
woods and towns of the Isle of the Myths, so that Arren was comforted by the memory of his home.
When the meal was done, they drew together once more before the hearth, some sitting and
some standing, and there was a little silence.
"Last night," the Archmage said, "we met in council. Long we talked, yet resolved nothing.
I would hear you say now, in the morning light, whether you uphold or gainsay your judgment of the
night."
"That we resolved nothing," said the Master Herbal, a stocky, dark-skinned man with calm
eyes, "is itself a judgment. In the Grove are patterns found; but we found nothing there but
argument."
"Only because we could not see the pattern plain," said the grey-haired mage of Enlad, the
Master Changer. "We do not know enough. Rumors from Wathort; news from Enlad. Strange news, and
should be looked to. But to raise a great fear on so little a foundation is unneedful. Our power
is not threatened only because a few sorcerers have forgotten their spells."
"So say I," said a lean, keen-eyed man, the Master Windkey. "Have we not all our powers?
Do not the trees of the Grove grow and put forth leaves? Do not the storms of heaven obey our


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word? Who can fear for the art of wizardry, which is the oldest of the arts of man?"
"No man," said the Master Summoner, deep-voiced and tall, young, with a dark and noble
face, "no man, no power, can bind the action of wizardry or still the words of power. For they are
the very words of the Making, and one who could silence them could unmake the world."
"Aye, and one who could do that would not be on Wathort or Narveduen," said the Changer.
"He would be here at the gates of Roke, and the end of the world would be at hand! We've not come
to that pass yet"
"Yet there is something wrong," said another, and they looked at him: deep-chested, solid
as an oaken cask, he sat by the fire, and the voice came from him soft and true as the note of a
great bell. He was the Master Chanter. "Where is the king that should be in Havnor? Roke is not
the heart of the world. That tower is, on which the sword of Erreth-Akbe is set, and in which
stands the throne of Serriadh, of Akambar, of Maharion. Eight hundred years has the heart of the
world been empty! We have the crown, but no king to wear it. We have the Lost Rune, the King's
Rune, the Rune of Peace, restored to us, but have we peace? Let there be a king upon the throne,
and we will have peace, and even in the farthest Reaches the sorcerers will practice their arts
with untroubled mind, and there will be order and a due season to all things."
"Aye," said the Master Hand, a slight, quick man, modest of bearing but with clear and
seeing eyes. "I am with you, Chanter. What wonder that wizardry goes astray, when all else goes