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

his head and came: should he not feel pride? But he did not. He felt only wonder.
He went down through the steep, wandering streets of Thwil Town, found his ship's master
on the Quays, and said to him, "I sail tomorrow with the Archmage, to Wathort and the South Reach.
Tell the Prince my father that when I am released from this service I will come home to Berila."
The ship's captain looked dour. He knew how the bringer of such news might be received by
the Prince of Enlad. "I must have writing about it from your hand, prince," he said. Seeing the
justice in that, Arren hurried off -he felt that all must be done instantly- and found a strange
little shop where he purchased inkstone and brush and a piece of soft paper, thick as felt; then
he hurried back to the quays and sat down on the wharfside to write his parents. When he thought
of his mother holding this piece of paper, reading the letter, a distress came into him. She was a
blithe, patient woman, but Arren knew that he was the foundation of her contentment, that she
longed for his quick return. There was no way to comfort her for his long absence. His letter was
dry and brief. He signed with the sword-rune, sealed the letter with a bit of pitch from a
caulking-pot nearby, and gave it to the ship's master. Then, "Wait!" he said, as if the ship were
ready to set sail that instant, and ran back up the cobbled streets to the strange little shop. He
had trouble finding it, for there was something shifty about the streets of Thwil; it almost
seemed that the turnings were different every time. He came on the right street at last and darted
into the shop under the strings of red clay beads that ornamented its doorway. When he was buying
ink and paper he had noticed, on a tray of clasps and brooches, a silver brooch in the shape of a
wild rose; and his mother was called Rose. "I'll buy that," he said, in his hasty, princely way.
"Ancient silverwork of the Isle of O. I can see you are a judge of the old crafts," said
the shopkeeper, looking at the hilt -not the handsome sheath- of Arren's sword. "That will be four
in ivory."
Arren paid the rather high price unquestioning; he had in his purse plenty of the ivory
counters that serve as money in the Inner Lands. The idea of a gift for his mother pleased him;


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the act of buying pleased him; as he left the shop he set his hand on the pommel of his sword,
with a touch of swagger.
His father had given him that sword on the eve of his departure from Enlad. He had
received it solemnly and had worn it, as if it were a duty to wear it, even aboard ship. He was
proud of the weight of it at his hip, the weight of its great age on his spirit. For it was the
sword of Serriadh who was the son of Morred and Elfarran; there was none older in the world except
the sword of Erreth-Akbe, which was set atop the Tower of the Kings in Havnor. The sword of
Serriadh had never been laid away or hoarded up, but worn; yet was unworn by the centuries,
unweakened, because it had been forged with a great power of enchantment. Its history said that it
never had been drawn, nor ever could be drawn, except in the service of life. For no purpose of
bloodlust or revenge or greed, in no war for gain, would it let itself be wielded. From it, the
great treasure of his family, Arren had received his use-name: Arrendek he had been called as a
child, 'the little Sword.'
He had not used the sword, nor had his father, nor his grandfather. There had been peace
in Enlad for a long time.
And now, in the street of the strange town of the Wizards' Isle, the sword's handle felt
strange to him when he touched it. It was awkward to his hand and cold. Heavy, the sword hindered
his walk, dragged at him. And the wonder he had felt was still in him, but had gone cold. He went
back down to the quay, and gave the brooch to the ship's master for his mother, and bade him
farewell and a safe voyage home. Turning away he pulled his cloak over the sheath that held the