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

windows, a wide desk, a wooden armchair with cushions, a full-size bed
with cotton sheets and a red woolen blanket-even a rug by the bed, a
washstand, a white oak wardrobe for his garments, and a bookcase against
the wall beside the desk.
   He closed the door, but Kinowin's advice continued to rattle around in
his head-more skills. But what skills? He walked over to the bookcase and
picked up his well-thumbed Colors of White, turning to the second half.
He read slowly, skipping over the passages he'd read so well he knew them
by heart, trying to find those he'd really not studied and those that had
bored him. Finally, he settled into the chair, his jacket still on.
 
... in all of the substance of the world are chaos and order found, and
oft are they twisted together, so tightly that none, not even the
greatest of mages, can separate them. Yet were they separated, such chaos
would be without end. For the world is of chaos, and all the substance of
this world is nothing more and nothing less than chaos bound into fixed
form by order ...
 
   Cerryl frowned. If he understood what the words said, the writer meant
that anything, even the book itself in which the words were scrived, was
nothing more than chaos bound into its form by order.
   He scratched his head. Yet light was nearly pure chaos-or as pure as
could be stood by living things. An involuntary yawn broke his
concentration. Tomorrow would come early, far too early. He set aside the
book and disrobed, carefully hanging out his clothes.
   For a time, he lay there in the luxury of the wide bed, the words of
Colors of White twisting in his thoughts ... "were they separated, such
chaos would be without end ... were they separated ..."
   While tomorrow would come early, he could look forward to the day
after. That was his, as was every fourth day, and then he wouldn't have
to struggle to rise before the sun with the predawn bells.
 
 
VII
 
Cerryl stood at the edge of the Meal Hall, almost empty and nearly too
late to get anything to eat. Finally, he went to the serving table and
took a large chunk of bread, some cherry conserve so thick it was like
molasses, and a pearapple, slightly soft.
   As he turned, Esaak beckoned from a side table. Cerryl's heart fell.
Was the older mage about to reproach him again for his mathematical
deficiencies? He carried his platter and a mug of water toward the heavy
and mostly bald mage.
   "Young Cerryl..." Esaak shook his head. "You may be the worst mage in
mathematicks in the history of the Guild."
   "I'm still reading the book, ser."
   "And doing the problems?"
   "Only a few," Cerryl confessed.
   Esaak laughed. "Not all mages can be engineers or mathematicians. Just
so long as you design no aqueducts or sewer tunnels." The deep-set eyes