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

I ignored him and speared another slice of duck.
"The Brotherhood does act as our army, and as a navy, too. As part of the dangergeld choice, you could choose to serve as a border guard with the Brotherhood, assuming the masters agreed. The masters themselves maintain a sort of watch against chaos-magic, even in its subtler forms, such as shown in the case of the baker.
"The coasters belong to the Brotherhood, although they fish as well as watch the offshore waters, and each ship that flies the flag of Recluce carries a member of the Brotherhood as well as a junior master."
"How many are there?"
"Enough," answered my father. "Enough."
I could tell that was all I was going to get, just from his tone, and, on my last night, it seemed stupid to refight a battle that would only end up frustrating us all. So I had some more duck, and slathered another slab of the dark bread with the cherry conserve.
"Any new neighbors?"
"There's a young couple building a place on the empty lane, the one that overlooks Lerwin's orchards." My mother was more than glad to lapse into small talk.
My father shrugged and reached for the cherry conserve.
Maybe we were too. dissimilar. Or too much alike.
I had a third helping of the duck, as good as my first slices. I also enjoyed the lime tarts.
And, for the most part, that was dinner before I went off to Nylan.


IV

SUNRISE FOUND ME awake and washing up, not that early rising was ever a problem.
As I splashed the cold water over my face to wash away the soap and scattered whiskers not already carried away by the razor, I could sense someone watching-obviously my father. My mother generally rose later than he did, although neither one would have been considered a night dweller.
I said nothing as I toweled myself dry, and made sure the razor was also dry and packed into my wash bag. Neither did he.
Without looking, I could tell he was smiling, and I refused to acknowledge his presence.
"I hope you have a good journey, Lerris. So does your mother." His voice was calm, as usual, and that irritated me even more. Here he was, seeing me off to dangergeld and all the dangers it entailed, as if I were headed back to Uncle Sardit's on a trivial errand.
"So do I. But I'd settle for survival."
"Don't ever settle for just survival, son. Survival isn't life . . . but I didn't come down to preach. Do you want something to eat before you leave?"
"Rather not leave on an empty stomach," I admitted, following him to the kitchen where he had laid out an assortment of fruits, two heavy rolls, and some cheese and sausage. The square, perfectly-fitted red-oak table was bare except for the woven straw mats and the food.
He nodded toward the tiled counter under the open window, where a brown cloth bag rested. "The bag has some additional provisions for eating along the way."
The cloth sack was already bound, but looked as though it contained at least as much as had been set on the table.
He set down a full mug of freshly-drawn water, knowing I preferred that to tea or wine, especially in the morning.
I ate, and he sat on one of the kitchen stools, saying nothing, for which I was grateful. What was there to say? I was required to undertake the dangergeld, not him, on pain of exile.
Eating what I could didn't take that long.
"Thank you." I gathered the sack under my arm and headed down to pick up my pack and staff.
To make Nylan by midday meant moving out without wasting more time. And what else could I say?
As I stood there on the stones, ready to walk away from my parents, and my mother who hadn't even gotten up to say good-bye, I wondered if this would be a final farewell, or what.
"She's awake, Lerris. But she will not let you see her cry."
Flame! I hadn't asked that. Why not?
"Because she is your mother. You ask us to accept you as you are. Cannot she be what she is?"
There it was again-that gulf that we never seemed to cross.
"Whether we do cross it, Lerris . . . that depends on you. We both wish you well, son. And we hope . . ."
I ignored the break in his voice as I turned away. Why in hell was he upset? Why didn't he understand?
I didn't look back, nor did I wave. My first steps were fast as I marched down the lane, but my legs let me know quickly that I was pushing, and I eased up before my strides took me clear of Wandernaught. I ignored the low hill and the black-columned temple upon it. What had listening to all the talks on order done for me?
For some reason, the staff felt even heavier in my hands than the pack did upon my back. As my thoughts seethed, something occurred to me. My father had responded to my feelings, but had I actually spoken them? Or did he know me that well?
I forced a shrug. Where I was going that didn't exactly matter. Not at all.
The morning was warm, warmer than I would have liked, and I opened my shirt almost to my belt, but the pack weight on my back left my shirt damp. The cloak I would need in the months and years ahead, assuming I lasted that long, was folded and rolled inside.
As early as I had left, there was no one else on the High Road, although in the orchards to the south of Wandernaught the growers were already among their trees, going about their business.
The High Road is just that-a solid, stone road, wide enough for four wagons abreast. It provides the central thoroughfare for Recluce, the one to which all major local roads can link, and all communities are responsible for its upkeep. When I was with Uncle Sardit, I spent a few days helping to replace and reposition several of the granite blocks, but the stones are so solid and massive that they don't need to be replaced often. The biggest problem is keeping the drains clear so that the rains don't erode the roadway on which the capstones are placed. Even that would be hard, because the entire roadbed is solidly constructed and faced with heavy riprap.
The next town toward Nylan from Wandernaught is Enstronn, more of a crossroads than a town, where the East-West Highway, almost as grand as the High Road itself, crosses the High Road.
Outside Enstronn, on the west side, I caught up with a low wagon carrying a load of early melons. The driver was walking beside her horse, singing softly.
". . . as if I cared, as if I dared,
And the stars are ice, while the High
Road's run, and the winter reigns for
the summer's sun."