"L. E. Modesitt - Recluce 01 - The Magi' i of Cyador" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

beyond the wall except for the blistering light that is the Tower.
"One day," says the man, "one day, Lorn'elth... you and your brother will be Magi'i of the
Rational Stars. One day, you will direct the workings of Towers of Light to harness the power of
chaos and to continue to bring peace and prosperity to Cyad and to all of Cyador."
Abruptly, the boy shivers, then stiffens, though his eyes do not leave the chaos light of the
Tower.
"To be of the Magi'i-it is a long and difficult struggle." The man smiles at his son, and even
his sun-golden eyes smile. "But as you grow older, you will see that it is worth the effort, for
nothing compares to the glory that is Cyad, and the peace and the grace of her people."
The magus slowly lowers Lorn'elth to the polished white stone floor and takes his son's hand
once more. They continue along the corridor to the second door, where the father raises his hand.
A flicker of golden energy flashes from a point just beyond his gloves to the door. Then he slides
the door into its recess-to his left. The two enter the second corridor, and the magus closes the
door behind them.
Another window awaits them midway down the second white stone corridor.
At this window, the man again lifts his son, speaking softly as he does. "You will be the ones
who will transfer the pure chaos energy from the towers to the fireships, to the firewagons, and
to the firelances of Cyador. You will ensure that the fair city remains so, and that her people
bless the Emperor and the Magi'i of the Rational Stars."
Serious-eyed, the boy watches through the darkened glass-not so dark as that in the first
corridor-as the six-wheeled firewagon rolls silently into the shimmering enclosure that flanks the
chamber holding the mighty tower. Figures scurry and remove the square cells from the rear of the
vehicle, replacing them with other cells that almost glitter. Then the firewagon rolls out, and
another rolls in and halts.
"This is the heart of Cyad, and Cyador, and it can be yours, Lorn'elth." The father lowers his
son once more. "It will be yours."
The two return as they came, their heavy boots whispering but slightly on the hard stone of the
corridor.


II


file:///F|/rah/L.%20E.%20Modesitt/Modesitt,%20...%20Recluse%2001%20-%20Magi'i%20Of%20Cyador.txt (2 of 230) [5/22/03 12:20:16 AM]
 file:///F|/rah/L.%20E.%20Modesitt/Modesitt,%20L%20E%20-%20Recluse%2001%20-%20Magi'i%20Of%20Cyador.txt


Rising above the bay and the Great Western Ocean to the south are puffy white clouds, clouds not
dark enough to forecast rain at any time soon, nor high enough to block the sun that casts its mid-
day autumn light upon the playing field that had been carved from the hillside generations
earlier. There on the field, with a gentle sea-breeze cooling them, a score of students alternate
jerky bursts of speed with sudden stops, their polished wooden mallets glistening as they jockey
for position on the reddish surface. All wear white trousers and undertunics, but the undertunics
bear green collars and green borders upon the sleeves.
"Lorn!" calls one student as the polished wooden oval skitters from his mallet toward another
youth.
"Thanks!" With his dark-brown hair and wiry frame, Lorn is neither the largest nor the smallest
on the playing field, but he streaks past a defender, his mallet almost lazily precise as it
strikes the oval that is weighted unevenly. Lorn slips one way, and the oval flashes the other
way, yet both Lorn and the oval meet at full speed beyond the defender as Lorn sprints inward and