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

"Try anyway."
He ignored my comment, and, for a moment, his eyes almost misted over, as if he were looking a world away.
I took the opportunity to drain the rest of the redberry.
My mother refilled my tumbler, and Dad still hadn't said a word.
Finally, he cleared his throat. ". . . Uuuhhmmm ... you recall . . . Magister Kerwin . . . when he told you that the masters stood between Recluce and chaos because they were the defenders of order?"
I found my fingers tapping on the edge of my refilled tumbler.
"Bear with me . . . this is difficult . . ."
How difficult could it be? Everybody had a role in life, including the masters. Either they controlled Recluce or they didn't.
"Perhaps I should go back to the beginning. It might be simpler . . ."
I managed to keep from grinding my teeth, only because I somehow could tell that he was not trying to put me off. But I still couldn't see why an explanation of who controlled what had to be so difficult.
"... fundamental conflict between order and chaos, or simplistically speaking, between good and evil. Though that's not exactly correct, because chaos and order do not by themselves have a moral component. More important, while certain components of order may be used for evil, and certain components of chaos for good, almost never can anyone devoted to chaos remain committed to good. Someone committed to good finds anything other than the most minor uses of chaos repulsive. That distinction is important, because someone committed to order itself, rather than good, can be corrupted, while seeming orderly in all he or she does . . .
Curiosity was fighting boredom in my case, and rapidly losing.
"No ... I can see you're bored already, Lerris . . . that explanation is too long. Try and remember the beginning, though."
My mother was slowly shaking her head. Finally, she interrupted. "Think of it this way, Lerris. It takes skill to be a potter. A potter may use his skill for producing containers. Those containers may be used for good or evil purposes. Most are used for purposes without much real good or evil. And most people find a truly beautiful and orderly vase hard to use for evil things. In the same way, it is much easier to use a chaotic or disorderly creation for evil."
That made sense, so far. "What does that have to do with the masters?"
"That's the hard part," said my father slowly. "And we may have to continue the discussion over dinner, because the duck is almost ready.
"The masters are responsible for ensuring that things in Recluce are what they seem to be, for rooting out self-deception, and for maintaining our physical defenses against the Outer Kingdoms."
"Physical defenses? Magister Kerwin said that Recluce had no armies and no fleets, only the Brotherhood of the Masters."
"As you will learn, Lerris, words can conceal as much as they reveal." He stood. "Wash up, and we'll try and answer the rest of this question over dinner. A good dinner shouldn't be kept waiting."
Since I didn't know when I'd get that good a duck feast again, I went down to the washstones to rinse the dust from my face and the grime from my hands, and tried to figure out a better set of questions.
The duck smelted as good as I remembered, and I put the questions aside until I had finished my first helping, which included another flake roll warmed in the oven, sliced and spiced sourpears, and some tart greens. The duck was tangy, moist, and not at all oily. Dad was one of the few cooks I knew who could manage the moistness without an oily taste-though I'd tasted few enough foods from other cooks.
I decided to slow my headlong pursuit of various foods and took a sip of water, cold from the deep well.
"About the masters . . . was Magister Kerwin misleading us? Do the masters act like the armies of the Outer Kingdoms? Isn't that a form of chaos?"
My father chuckled. "Yes, and no, to the first. No to the second, and, if true, yes to the third, although it probably wasn't intentional, which would mitigate the impact."
"But-"
"Kerwin let you think what you wished, which is a form of deception, particularly to an agile mind such as yours." He held up his left hand and took a brief sip of his wine.
I'd never liked the wine and still preferred cold water.
Mother continued to pick at her meal.
"Some of the masters deal extensively with the Outer Kingdoms, and counter chaos on a daily basis. We seldom see them, but they're properly called the Brotherhood. They wear scarlet and black. Then there are the masters, who wear black when undertaking their official duties, and whatever they please at other times. There are others as well, whom you will come to recognize in the days ahead.
"While each group has specific duties, all their duties revolve about maximizing reasonable order in Recluce. You remember the baker-Oldham?"
I nodded wearily.
"Who took him away?"
"The masters."
"What did they do with him?"
"Dumped him somewhere in the Outer Marches, I suppose. Or killed him."
"Do you know what he did?"
I drained the rest of the water from the tumbler before answering. "What difference does it make? The masters are powerful, especially the hidden ones."
"Hidden ones?" asked my mother.
"The ones no one knows about. How else would they know about people like the baker?"
"I take it you do not believe in magic, then, Lerris?" asked my father.
"How can I believe or disbelieve? The practice of chaos-magic is prohibited, and I've never seen anything that would be called good magic that could not be explained by either chance or hard work."
My mother smiled, a rather strange smile, almost lopsided.
"What point were you trying to make? What about the baker? Why was that important? Or was it just to show that the masters control Recluce?" By now I was as impatient as I had been when I had left for my apprenticeship.
"I'm not sure, Lerris, except to show that the masters affect everything in Recluce. By the way, the baker is still living, and doing fairly well in Hamor. That might indicate the masters are neither cruel nor vindictive, but only protective of us."
"Then why are they so secretive?" I was beginning to regret even getting into the argument. My parents hadn't changed at all, still talking around things, hinting, but never saying anything outright.
My father sighed. "I'm not sure I can answer that."
He hadn't been able to answer that question before I had left, either.
"Dear," added my mother, "right now we can't tell you everything, and you want explanations that require experience you don't have."
"That means you aren't going to explain anything."
"Hold it. You asked about defenses. I can answer that." My father practically glared at me.