"Recluce - 10 - Magi'I Of Cyador" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"Tyrsal'elth?"
"I made the goal, and I jumped around. I must have bumped into Dett, ser. We all got tangled in the bruggage. Maybe Dett's hand got kicked by someone's boot." The small redhead looks apologetically at the proctor.
"Ciesrt'elth?"
"No, ser. I wasn't even in the bruggage, ser."
"...never is..." murmurs someone.
"Quiet!" The proctor turns to another. "Shalk'mer?"
"Ser... I got tangled up, but I didn't see anything." The square-faced merchant's son looks directly at the proctor.
"Lorn'elth? You wouldn't know... of course, you wouldn't." The proctor shakes his head. "You never see anything."
"I'm sorry, ser." Lorn looks contritely at the proctor.
"All of you, except Dettaur'alt, get back to your studies." The proctor sighs and motions for the muscular injured student to follow him toward the healer's room.
Before he turns to follow the proctor, Dett's eyes rake over the other students, but each in turn meets his eyes openly, without flinching.
III
Cyador is a paradox, one wrapped in an enigma, and offered as a riddle to the world it dominates by its sheer force of being. No land, no ruler, can contest the might of Cyador, yet its people look no different from other folk, except by their raiment and their deportment.
The Towers of Chaos descended from the Rational Stars, yet they serve those upon the land and water, those who can but observe the distant chaos of those stars, yet who can bring such chaos upon their foes.
For does the White Empire not have the fireships of war that can destroy all other vessels? Yet the trade vessels that dock at Cyad and Fyrad and Summerdock are carried there by sails, and not by the power of chaos. Do not the firewagons roll endlessly across the finest of granite roads that link all of the Empire together, carrying passengers and cargoes smoothly and speedily? Yet even within mighty Cyad, are not the white streets of the great city filled, not with firewagons, but carts and carriages pulled by horses, by men on horseback and women on foot?
Does not the Emperor, Protector of the Steps to Paradise, Ruler of the Towers of Chaos, command the firelances before which quail the barbarians of the north and east? Yet those firelances are borne by lancers who ride the same horses as do the barbarians, and those lancers also bear blades, even if such blades are of white cupridium, against which the poor iron of Candar cannot stand.
Do not the towers of chaos send forth light so bright that it must be shielded by solid stone? Yet the Palace of Eternal Light is lit by the diffuse chaos of the sun and the lesser chaos of oil lamps.
Is not the Emperor himself a figure of might and majesty? Yet all in power fear that an emperor may again arise who is truly mighty, like the one who is seldom mentioned by the high in Cyad.
Maintaining this paradox, this enigma that is Cyad, that is the task of the Magi'i, and the duty of every magus who has ever lived and ever will live, now and forevermore....
Paradox of Empire
Bern'elth, Magus First
Cyad, 157 A.F.
IV
In the blessing and warmth of chaos, in the prosperity which it engenders, and for the preservation of all the best of our heritage, whether of elthage, altage, or merage, let us give thanks for what we receive." The silver-haired man at the north end of the table lifts his head and smiles.
The family is seated around the dining table on the covered upper balcony, from where they can look downhill and south directly at the harbor-and to the west and slightly uphill at the Palace of Eternal Light. Although the sun has set, the sky remains the purple that precedes night, and the white stone piers of the harbor glitter above the darkness of the Great Western Ocean. The Palace gleams a shimmering white-both from the white sunstone from which it was constructed all too many years before and from the innumerable lamps which bathe its endless corridors and vaulting halls in continuous light.
The dining table around which the family sits is lit but dimly by two lamps set in gleaming cupridium brackets, each affixed to a pillar, the two closest to each end of the table. None of those seated appear to be affected by the dimness. The mahogany-haired Nyryah, who sits at the end of the table opposite the silver-haired Kien'elth, lifts a silver tray that holds both dark bread and sun-nut bread and tenders it to the sandy-haired young man on her left. "Go ahead, Vernt."
"Ah... thank you."
"And don't take all the sun-nut bread," suggests Myryan from where she sits across from the still-lanky Vernt. "We like it, too."
"There's plenty there, children," suggests Nyryah, "and there's another loaf in the kitchen."
Vernt grins and takes one slice of each bread, then passes the tray to Lorn, who takes only a single slice of dark bread before passing the tray to his father. Kien'elth, like his younger son, takes one slice of each, and hands the tray to Jerial, dark-haired, and the eldest child. She, like Lorn, takes but a slice of dark bread, and smiles across at Lorn as she hands the tray to Myryan, also black-haired, and the youngest of the four siblings. Myryan takes a single slice of sun-nut bread and returns the tray to her mother.
The fowl casserole that had been set before Kien'elth makes a circuit of the table, but all helpings are so similar in size that they would have to have been weighed for an outsider to determine which is the largest-or the smallest. After the casserole comes the dish of buttered and nutted beans.
When Myryan sets down the serving spoon for the beans, all six begin to eat, silently for a moment, until each has had at least one mouthful of something.
"You were a little late, dear," suggests Nyryah.
"We had to chaos-charge a second complement of firewagons," replies Kien'elth. "The two new companies of Mirror Lancers are being sent along the Great Eastern Highway tomorrow. The barbarians of the northeast have tried to attack the cuprite mines. While they were thrown back across the Hills of Endless Grass, the Emperor has determined that the lancers of the northeast shall be more greatly reinforced to carry the message to the barbarians that they may be reminded of the futility of such attacks."
Myryan smiles.
"You find that amusing?" asks Vernt.
"The name's amusing," she admits. "Nothing's endless, not even the Rational Stars. So how can grass be endless?"
"The barbarians are endless," says Vernt. "Every year there are more of them."
"More doesn't mean endless."
"And they're just as stupid every year. Tens of scores of them try to cross the border, and most of them die." Vernt looks at his father. "There must have been more than usual if you had to do more chaos-charging."
"I was told that the lancers have it well in hand," answers his sire.
"And they will push the barbarians back across the not-so-endless Grass Hills," Myryan says, "no matter what the barbarians call the grass."
"I do believe we've heard this before," suggests Kien'elth politely. "We decided the name was a barbarian affectation." He clears his throat, then takes another mouthful of the fowl casserole, nodding as he tastes it.
"We just ought to take over all of Candar-the western half, anyway," says Vernt. "That way, we wouldn't have to worry about the smelly barbarians."
"The chaos-towers can't be moved," Lorn points out. "That's why Emperor-"
"Lorn," interjects Kien'elth quickly. "Not at dinner."
"Yes, ser."
"We don't need to move the towers," continues Vernt, seemingly oblivious to his father's warning to Lorn. "The barbarians' iron blades are so soft that a cupridium blade cuts through any of their weapons." The younger son snorts. "We don't need firewagons and highways to conquer them."
"No-but would you want to live in a mud-brick hut or a tent?" Kien'elth laughs. "You wouldn't get cooking like this, or cities like Cyad or Fyrad or Summerdock."
"We've heard this discussion before, too," interjects Jerial. "Cyador already has more land than we'll ever need, and so do the barbarians. They don't attack from need, but from perversity. They want to take what we've built, because they're too lazy and too stupid to make things for themselves."