"L. E. Modesitt - Recluce 07 - The magic Engineer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

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THE MAGIC ENGINEER
by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
Recluce Book Three
Copyright й 1994
Edited by David G. Hartwell
Cover art by Darrell K. Sweet
A Tor Book Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
175 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10010

To and for Carol Ann


Part I - SEEKER


I

THE BOY LOOKS at the iron, cherry-red in the tongs.
The wiry man-small and compact, unlike the traditional smith-holds the tongs higher as he
glances toward the boy. "That's hot enough to bind storms and wizards, boy. Strong enough to hold
giants, just like Nylan bound the demons of light for Ryba ..." Sweat pours from his forehead
despite the breezes channeled through the smithy by the Very nature of the building. "Iron . . .
iron runs through the center of Recluce. That's what makes Recluce a refuge of order."
"That story about Nylan isn't true. The demons of light were gone by then," states the child in
a clear, but low voice. His narrow solemn face remains unsmiling. "And there aren't any giants."
"So there aren't," agrees the smith. "If'n there were, though, iron's the stuff to hold 'em."
He returns to his work. "And black iron-that'll hold the worst of the White Wizards. Been true
since the time of Nylan."
"The strongest of the White Wizards? They weren't as strong as the founder."
"No," says the smith. "But that was back then. They're a-breedin' new demons in Fairhaven these
days. You wait and see." He lifts the hammer. "Then the Black Brothers'll need black steel . . .
even if I need an order-master to help me forge it.. ."
Clung . . . clung. The hammer falls upon the metal that the tongs have positioned on the anvil,
and the ringing impacts drown out the last of his words.
The solemn-faced boy, his hair redder than the cooling metal, nods, frowns.
"Dorrin, I'm done. Where are you?" A girl's voice, strong and firm, perhaps even a shout
outside the smithy, barely penetrates between the hammer blows rippling through the heat and faint
mist of worked metal.
"Good day, ser," says the redhead politely, before dashing from the smithy into the sunlight.
. . . clung. . .
The smith shakes his head, but his hands are sure upon the hammer and the metal.


II

THE RED-HEADED YOUTH leafs through the pages of the heavy book, his eyes flicking from line to
line, from page to page, oblivious to the scrutiny from beyond the archway.
"What are you reading?"