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

"My lord, what-" His voice stuck a moment. "What is it you seek?"
"I don't know, Arren."
"Then-"
"Then how shall I seek it? Neither do I know that. Maybe it will seek me." He grinned a
little at Arren, but his face was like iron in the grey light of the windows.
"My lord," Arren said, and his voice was steady now, "it is true I come of the lineage of
Morred, if any tracing of lineage so old be true. And if I can serve you I will account it the
greatest chance and honor of my life, and there is nothing I would rather do. But I fear that you
mistake me for something more than I am. "


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"Maybe," said the Archmage.
"I have no great gifts or skills. I can fence with the short sword and the noble sword. I
can sail a boat. I know the court dances and the country dances. I can mend a quarrel between
courtiers. I can wrestle. I am a poor archer, and I am skillful at the game of net-ball. I can
sing, and play the harp and lute. And that is all. There is no more. What use will I be to you?
The Master Summoner is right-"
"Ah, you saw that, did you? He's jealous. He claims the privilege of older loyalty."
"And greater skill, my lord."
"Then you'd rather he went with me, and you stayed behind?"
"No! But I fear-"
"Fear what?"
Tears sprang to the boy's eyes. "To fail you," he said.
The Archmage turned around again to the fire. "Sit down, Arren," he said, and the boy came
to the stone corner-seat of the hearth. "I did not mistake you for a wizard or a warrior or any
finished thing. What you are I do not know, though I'm glad to know that you can sail a boat...
What you will be, no one knows. But this much I do know: you are the son of Morred and of
Serriadh."
Arren was silent. "That is true, my lord," he said at last. "But..." The Archmage said
nothing, and he had to finish his sentence: "But I am not Morred. I am only myself."
"You take no pride in your lineage?"
"Yes, I take pride in it -because it makes me a prince; it is a responsibility, a thing
that must be lived up to-"
The Archmage nodded once, sharply. "That is what I meant. To deny the past is to deny the
future. A man does not make his destiny: he accepts it or denies it. If the rowan's roots are
shallow, it bears no crown." At this Arren looked up startled, for his true name, Lebannen, meant
the rowan tree. But the Archmage had not said his name. "Your roots are deep," he went on. "You
have strength and you must have room, room to grow. Thus I offer you, instead of a safe trip home
to Enlad, an unsafe voyage to an unknown end. You need not come. The choice is yours. But I offer
you the choice. For I am tired of safe places, and roofs, and walls around me." He ended abruptly,
looking about him with piercing, unseeing eyes. Arren saw the deep restlessness of the man, and it
frightened him. Yet fear sharpens exhilaration, and it was with a leap of the heart that he
answered, "My lord, I choose to go with you."
Arren left the Great House with his heart and mind full of wonder. He told himself that he
was happy, but the word did not seem to suit. He told himself that the Archmage had called him
strong, a man of destiny, and that he was proud of such praise; but he was not proud. Why not? The
most powerful wizard in the world told him, "Tomorrow we sail to the edge of doom," and he nodded