"L. E. Modesitt - Recluce 07 - The magic Engineer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

where his mother's light steps have trod as she has inspected her own garden and trees.


V

THE MAN IN black looks up, preoccupied, almost as if he does not see the youth on the covered
terrace as he walks slowly up the stone walk.
Looking out beyond his father, Dorrin can see the Black Holding, where the Council on which his
father serves meets. No one has lived there in the three centuries since the deaths of the
Founders. Slightly to the left of the Black Holding begins the High Road, which stretches to the
southeastern tip of Recluce. Much of the southern part of the isle remains forested and
uninhabited, except for the few crafthalls and the rich Feyn River plains, where most of the
isle's grains are grown.
As his eyes flick back to the black buildings on the highest point of the cliffs, Dorrin
frowns, absently wondering how true the tales are about Creslin and Megaera. How could they have
died at the same exact instant-just as the sun rose? Or is that just another bit of superstition
he is supposed to swallow? At least his models do not rely on belief. He frowns. Or do they?
"Dorrin ..." calls the thin-faced man. "We need to talk. Get your brother. The kitchen is
fine."
"Yes, ser." He turns and walks down the rear steps from the terrace. Kyl is weeding his own
private herb garden, as result of their mother's threat to withhold sweets until both youths'
gardens are presentable and orderly. Dorrin smiles. The order of Dorrin's garden has never been a
problem. On the other hand, Kyl-his dark-haired younger brother-prefers fishing or crabbing or
just staring at the Eastern Ocean to any sort of gardening.
The stocky boy is not weeding. Instead, he sits disconsolately beside a small pile of wilted
weeds. "I hate gardening. Why can't I go off with Brice, like I wanted?"
"I suppose," begins Dorrin, kneeling down beside Kyl and immediately removing small unwanted
sprouts as he talks, "because father is a black wizard of the air and mother is a healer. If they
were fisherfolk, like Brice's parents, then they wouldn't want us to be wizards or healers ..."
"I hate gardening."
Dorrin continues to weed, his hands quick and precise among the plants. As he weeds, his
fingers stroke the herbs, infusing them with order. "I know."
"You don't like learning about the air, do you?"
Dorrin shrugs. "I don't mind learning anything. I like to know about things. I want to make
things-not like Hegl, but machines that do things and help people. I'll never shift the winds or
control the storms."
"Father can only do little things with the winds. He said so himself."
Dorrin shakes his head. "He only does little things, because he fears the effect on the
Balance. What good is it to have a power you can't use? I'd rather do something useful."
"Fishing is useful," Kyl observes. His eyes stray to Dorrin's hands. "You make weeding look so
easy."
Dorrin shakes dirt off his fingers and stands, brushing off his gray trousers before
straightening up. "Father sent me after you. He has some news."
"About what?"
Dorrin shrugs again before he turns back toward the house. "I don't think it's good. He was
walking slowly and thinking about something."
"Like the time when you ruined Hegl's iron?"
Dorrin flushes, but does not turn to let his younger brother see the reaction. "Come on."
"I didn't mean that..."