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

Astowell to Selidor; the only living Dragonlord. There he knelt beside a fountain, a short man and
not young, a quiet-voiced man, with eyes as deep as evening.
Arren scrambled up from sitting and knelt down formally on both knees, all in haste. "My
lord," he said stammering, "let me serve you!"
His self-assurance was gone, his face was flushed, his voice shook.
At his hip he wore a sword in a sheath of new leather figured with inlay of red and gold;
but the sword itself was plain, with a worn cross-hilt of silvered bronze. This he drew forth, all
in haste, and offered the hilt to the Archmage, as a liegeman to his prince.
The Archmage did not put out his hand to touch the sword hilt. He looked at it and at
Arren. "That is yours, not mine," he said. "And you are no man's servant."
"But my father said that I might stay on Roke until I learned what this evil is and maybe
some mastery -I have no skill, I don't think I have any power, but there were mages among my
forefathers- if I might in some way learn to be of use to you-"
"Before your ancestors were mages," the Archmage said, "they were kings."
He stood up and came with silent, vigorous step to Arren, and taking the boy's hand made
him rise. "I thank you for your offer of service, and though I do not accept it now, yet I may,
when we have taken counsel on these matters. The offer of a generous spirit is not one to refuse
lightly. Nor is the sword of the son of Morred to be lightly turned aside!... Now go. The lad who
brought you here will see that you eat and bathe and rest. Go on," and he pushed Arren lightly
between the shoulder blades, a familiarity no one had ever taken before, and which the young
prince would have resented from anyone else; but he felt the Archmage's touch as a thrill of
glory. For Arren had fallen in love.
He had been an active boy, delighting in games, taking pride and pleasure in the skills of
body and mind, apt at his duties of ceremony and governing, which were neither light nor simple.
Yet he had never given himself entirely to anything. All had come easily to him, and he had done
all easily; it had all been a game, and he had played at loving. But now the depths of him were
wakened, not by a game or dream, but by honor, danger, wisdom, by a scarred face and a quiet voice
and a dark hand holding, careless of its power, the staff of yew that bore near the grip, in
silver set in the black wood, the Lost Rune of the Kings.
So the first step out of childhood is made all at once, without looking before or behind,
without caution, and nothing held in reserve.
Forgetting courtly farewells he hurried to the doorway, awkward, radiant, obedient. And
Ged the Archmage watched him go.

Ged stood a while by the fountain under the ash tree, then raised his face to the
sunwashed sky. "A gentle messenger for bad news," he said half aloud, as if talking to the
fountain. It did not listen, but went on talking in its own silver tongue, and he listened to it a
while. Then, going to another doorway, which Arren had not seen, and which indeed very few eyes
would have seen no matter how close they looked, he said, "Master Doorkeeper."
A little man of no age appeared. Young he was not, so that one had to call him old, but
the word did not suit him. His face was dry and colored like ivory, and he had a pleasant smile
that made long curves in his cheeks. "What's the matter, Ged?" said he.
For they were alone, and he was one of the seven persons in the world who knew the
Archmage's name. The others were the Master Namer of Roke; and Ogion the Silent, the wizard of Re
Albi, who long ago on the mountain of Gont had given Ged that name; and the White Lady of Gont,
Tenar of the Ring; and a village wizard in Iffish called Vetch; and in Iffish again, a house-


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