"Modesitt, L E - Recluse 10 - The Magic Of Recluse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"Lerris, did you know that five thousand people died in Southern Hamor last year?"
I shook my head. What did five thousand deaths in Hamor have to do with an imaginary world? What did the imaginary world have to do with boredom? Or order?
"Do you know how they died?" Cassius's voice rumbled.
"No." How was I supposed to know?
"They starved to death. They died because there was no food."
Wrynn, sitting back against the black oak that paneled the lower half of each wall, pursed her lips.
Anyone could die without food. I nodded.
"Do you know why there was no food?"
"No."
"Does anyone here know?"
"Was that the rebellion?" asked Tamra. She seemed amused, as if she knew where Cassius was leading us.
I wondered how she knew about a rebellion in Southern Hamor. And who cared?
"There was food in Western Hamor," Cassius added slowly. "Enough food that the price of grain was lower than in years."
Myrten looked puzzled.
"Yes, Myrten?" Cassius acknowledged the ferret-faced man with the unruly hair as thick as a buffalo's coat.
"Couldn't they have at least smuggled some grain?"
"The Imperial Army blocked the roads. Some grain was smuggled, a great deal, in fact, but not enough to compensate for the fields burned by the emperor's troops."
There was a moment of silence.
"Lerris, has one person ever starved to death in Recluce?"
"I don't know." Damned if I would admit the point, although I wasn't sure which point I wasn't about to admit.
"So . . . you are saying that avoiding starvation is boring? That having happy and well-fed people is boring? Would you prefer to live in Hamor, where the lack of order leads to rebellions, oppression, and starvation? Is death preferable to boredom?"
"Of course not." My voice was louder than it should have been. "But you're saying that boredom is necessary to avoid death or some kinds of evil. That's what I don't accept."
"I never said that, Lerris. You did."
I started to open my mouth, except Tamra snorted. "Lerris, try thinking for once."
Krystal giggled.
I glared at her. She didn't look at me. Wrynn did, but she was shaking her head, even as she stretched out those long shapely legs.
No one said anything.
Magister Cassius finally sighed-a real sigh.
"All right," I demanded, "would someone explain to dumb Lerris?"
"You're not dumb," snapped Tamra. "You just refuse to see."
"See what?"
"Lerris . . ." rumbled Cassius, "order is necessary to prevent evils such as starvation and murder. Will you grant that point?"
I nodded. "Yes."
"You find excessive order boring, you said."
I had to nod again.
"Do you see the difference between the first point and the second?"
I must have looked blank.
Everyone was shaking their heads.
Cassius took a deep breath. "Honest order prevents evil. That is a truth of life, and also of magic. On this ... on our earth that truth approaches a fact." He paused.
"All right," I admitted, still wondering why he insisted on a difference between truth and fact.
"You call excessive order boring. That is a personal value judgment. When you apply that boredom to order, you are the one who says that boredom is necessary to avoid evil. Boredom is not a component of order. It is only your reaction. Boredom is not necessary to prevent starvation; order is. You just find that order boring."
Magister Cassius was just twisting words. Too much order was still boring.
"You all have a problem similar to Lerris's," continued the black man in black. "Tamra-you find order a tool of men. Therefore, you refuse to accept our way of life totally because order accepts the valid differences between men and women. You feel that women can do anything, if not more, than men can."
"We can," murmured the redhead, so low that no one seemed to hear it except me, although she was across the room from me. My hearing seemed to be getting better, or perhaps I was more alert. Tamra smoldered, but kept it hidden.
I slipped back down onto the brown leather pillow. The Magister smiled faintly and turned. "Wrynn," continued the black man implacably, with his eyes turning toward his next victim, "you feel that strength is the answer to all problems, and that, given enough effort, anyone can be strong. Your philosophy would leave infants and the sick to grow-or die-as they could."
"That's not true . ." Wrynn straightened on the pillow. Her brown-flecked green eyes turned cold.
"Then," Magister Cassius smiled, "would you explain it for us? Feel free to stand or walk around."
I watched Tamra, as graceful as a dancer, yet wound with a steel inside that would have dulled the sharpest blade. Her flame-red hair framed a freckled face that almost-almost-looked friendly when she was not speaking. She turned toward me, caught my eyes. I felt like a cold dash of water had been thrown across the room at me, and I looked toward Wrynn.
"Everyone has an obligation to be as strong as they can be. It isn't right for the strong to have to take care of those who refuse to be strong." Wrynn hadn't stood from her cushion, and her hands were clenched into fists. She looked down at the knife sheath at her belt.
"What do you mean by 'strong'?" asked Cassius in that low rumbling voice.