"Recluce - 09 - Colors Of Chaos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

from his silent effort. The area under the rampart ledge wasn't that
visible, and if anyone did look, he'd only assume that the stonecutters
had made an error and perhaps filled in with powdered stone that had
leached away over time.
   Kinowin had suggested he use his time to improve his skills ... but
how? And where? He couldn't very well have said that he'd mostly mastered
the light cloak that left him invisible, certainly not in the Tower,
where the walls had both eyes and ears. Nor did he wish to make known his
light lances, and if he used those on guard duty, everyone in the Halls
of the Mages-including Jeslek-would know in days.
   Cerryl had wondered what other skills might be useful... that he could
work on quietly. Somehow, focusing chaos into a tighter focus might help.
At some time he wanted to try the light dagger against cold iron, but he
dared not experiment with that where anyone could see or scree him. Chaos
against iron would alert any mage nearby.
   The sound of wagon wheels on the stones of the highway broke into his
reverie, and he sat up straight, looking at the afternoon coach from
Lydiar. The four passengers all filed out and stood by the guardhouse
while Cerryl studied with his senses the boxes and bags roped to the top.
Outside of one black case that held a set of iron knives, the bags were
all filled with what seemed to be fabric or leather-things with a "soft"
feel.
   "Ser?" called the duty officer.
   "The black bag has knives, but there's no rule against personal
weapons."
   The swarthy black-bearded trader in purple looked up at the thin mage,
standing at the guardhouse upper rampart, back to the duty guard, then
shook his head.
   "... see why you'd best not be smuggling?" asked the rotund Sligan in
his embroidered jacket.
   "... demon-damned mages know what you eat for breakfast..."
   "It makes your efforts more profitable," suggested the third man, a
blond man in a gray tunic and trousers with high black boots, an outfit
Cerryl didn't recognize.
   "Smugglers don't take the White highways."
   "If they don't, they'll not be carrying much."
   "Let's go!" called the coach's driver.
   As the coach pulled through the gates, the duty guard gave a broad
smile to Cerryl. "That be keeping them thinking, ser."
   "Let us hope so." Cerryl still wondered about the blond man in gray
and black. The fellow could have been almost any age and showed neither
order nor chaos. But something about him bothered Cerryl. Or was it that
he just couldn't determine from where the fellow might hail?
   Cerryl sat back down on the stool, fingering his smooth chin.
   So many things were unsettled. Leyladin was off in Hydlen, and while
he was pleased with his progress in using the light dagger, he felt he
needed to come up with something more.
   He'd have to think about it, not only about what other chaos skills he
could hone or develop, but where so that others, Anya and Jeslek,
especially, did not discover, not quickly, in any case.