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

Copyright © 1999, Roger Taylor
Roger Taylor has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified
as the Author of this work.
First published by Headline Book Publishing in 1999.
This Edition published in 2003 by Mushroom eBooks, an imprint of Mushroom Publishing, Bath, BA1
4EB, United Kingdom
www.mushroom-ebooks.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without
the prior written permission of the publisher.
ISBN 184319239X




The Return of the Sword

Roger Taylor

Mushroom eBooks


Chapter 1

The water had travelled a long and ancient journey, Andawyr mused as he dipped his hand into the
stream and splashed his flushed face; mountain, sea and cloud, over and over, ever changing, ever the
same. And though it shaped the land, it ran through his fingers unresisting. He gave a grunt of approval at
the coolness it brought, then sat back, closed his eyes, raised his face towards the sun and took a long,
slow breath. As it filled his lungs, the mountain air seemed to carry the sunlight through his entire frame. It
mingled with the bubbling clatter of the stream and he felt the tension brought on by his too-rapid walking
through the hills ease.

‘Simple pleasures,’ he said to the flickering shapes dancing behind his eyelids. ‘Simple pleasures. Being
here is enough.’

It was no new thought, but it had as much meaning for Andawyr now as whenever it had first come to
him. Not that he could remember when that had been, he reflected. It was as though he had always
known the truth of this. But that could not have been so, for such a realization could only be attained after
a great struggle. Or could it? Children often had it – that sureness of touch in their lives. Eyes still closed,
Andawyr’s nose curled. He compromised. Perhaps the realization – the insight of the child – could only
be rediscovered after a great struggle. Yes, that would do. He chuckled softly – he already knew that,
too.

‘You’re rambling, you old fool,’ he said into the warm air. He’d not come here to mull over his own
long-learned ways of dealing with his life . . .

He opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. ‘Being here is enough,’ he said again, testing
the words thoughtfully. They were all that could be said, but necessarily they were only a pale reflection
of a truth that was, perhaps, inexpressible.

Many things were thus, but not all were so easily accepted. Or so benign.