"Saga of Recluce 02 - Towers of the Shield" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

TheTowersOftheSunset
The Towers Of the Sunset
аby L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
Recluce Book Two
Copyright й 1992
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, N.Y. 10010
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For Eva, and Susan,
For yet unforgotten memories,
аand the lessons I should have learned,
аand still have not.
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PART I - BLADE-MASTER
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I
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CAN YOU SEE how the pieces fit together? Not just the visible ones, like
the towers of the sunset, but those unseen, like the heart of a man or
the soul of a wizard.
аа Not that you will believe. Patterns work that way, for each individual
is captured by her patterns, even as she must reconcile them.
аа The lady named Megaera, if indeed merely that, sees all the patterns,
yet for all she sees and says, for all the truth in the Legend, logic and
the towers fail. Logic indeed is a frail structure to hold a reality that
must encompass both order and chaos, especially when Black supports order
and White is the sign of chaos.
аа Even logic must fall to understanding, to those who can laugh at their
chains and shatter chaos and upend order, even more so than the so-called
gods and those who call upon them. Or the Furies that followed the fallen
angels of Heaven.
аа Has there been a god in Candar? Did the angels in truth fall upon the
Roof of the World? How true is the Legend? The patterns supply no
answers, but any story must start somewhere, even if its beginning seems
like the ending of another tale, or the middle of a third epic. And
patterns never tell the entire story, the order-masters and the
chaos-masters notwithstanding.
аа As for the towers of the sunset . . .
аа Though the musician has seen them-the towers of the sunset-rearing
above the needle peaks of the west, who has dwelt there?
аа Another look and they are no more, just towering cumuli-nimbi,
strafing the foothills with the lashes of the gods. In the gold light of
morning, the rivulets of ice would verify the anger of . . . ?
аа What does a house tell of its builder? A sword of its owner? Or of
those who stop to admire the lines of each?