"Roger Taylor - Hawklan 5 - Return of the Sword" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

Like all the others, wiser by far, he supposed. Wiser in their understanding of themselves, and certainly
much wiser in the ways of the Power. First there had been the shock of accepting what had happened,
and the ordeal of their frantic and futile search for Ethriss. Then, while his fellow Cadwanwr had stood on
the battlefield, using their skills to protect the army against the Power used by SumeralтАЩs lieutenants, His
Uhriel, Andawyr himself had accompanied Hawklan and his companions to the very edge of Lake
Kedrieth in the middle of which Derras Ustramel had arisen again. Despite the sunlight, Andawyr
shivered at the memory of SumeralтАЩs presence in that place. For him, it had hung in the air as tangibly as
the mist that shrouded that awful lake.

Such experiences brought insights in a way that nothing else could and subsequently, in quieter times,
many old, intractable problems had been solved with an almost embarrassing ease.

The memory of Hawklan brought the healerтАЩs words back to Andawyr. тАШThere is no healing for this, any
more than there is truly for any hurt. Time will blur and cloud the memory of the pain, but your lives
cannot be as they were. Make of it a learning and you will become whole, and worthy teachers of your
children. Cherish it as a grievance and you will twist and turn through your lives seeing only your own
needs, and burdening all around you.тАЩ Wise words, timely uttered. Words that had proved to be a
healing salve for many.

тАШAlways the healer, Hawklan,тАЩ Andawyr said quietly. тАШAlways the healer.тАЩ

HawklanтАЩs touch perhaps more than any other single thing had ensured that killing hands were stayed
after the battle. Without doubt it had ensured that the three allied nations determined to learn what they
could about the dank land of Narsindal and its wild inhabitants, the Mandrocs, rather than simply
crushing them in a war of mindless vengeance.

Andawyr propped himself on his elbows again. It was a long time since he had thought of Hawklan. He
clicked his tongue. Everywhere he looked, paradoxes. In his studies, in the little rock-formed ripple
where water flowed upwards, even in what he was doing now тАУ ignoring his questions in order to answer
them. And now, Hawklan. Healer, warrior, ancient prince тАУ what was he? How had he come to this
place, this time? Andawyr let the questions go. They might well be intriguing, but they were neither new
nor answerable. What Hawklan knew of himself he had shared freely, and that had raised more questions
than answers. Besides, attempting to analyse a friend thus was somehow distasteful. It had to be sufficient
that he had been there. More than sufficient. For what would have happened without him? He had been
pivotal. He it was who had appeared out of the mountains years before and opened Anderras Darion,
EthrissтАЩs great fortress in Orthlund. And it was the opened Anderras Darion that had disturbed Oklar into
the precipitate and reckless actions that had led ultimately to the exposure and downfall of his Master.
HawklanтАЩs quiet words had affected so many decisions. And, in the end, it was Hawklan that Sumeral
had sought, not to destroy but to turn to His cause.

Pivotal.

The word lodged in AndawyrтАЩs mind.

Why would he perceive Hawklan in this way? It was not something that Hawklan would have claimed
for himself. He was always a reluctant leader. And, logically, Andawyr knew well enough that any one of
the countless actions and decisions made by countless people at that time would have brought about a
different outcome. It was rarely possible to trace a single line of cause and effect to any one happening,
and least of all in the chaos of armed conflict, where chance ran amok. As someone had once said to