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

 Andawyr scowled in self-reproach. What he had come here for was to do nothing, not continue along
the ruts his mind had been ploughing relentlessly for . . .

How long?

Too long . . .

He rolled on to his stomach and, resting his head in his hands, stared down into a small sheltered pool at
the edge of the stream. An oval, battered face stared up at him unsteadily through the gently wavering
water. A blade of grass floated idly around the image, then drifted back out into the main flow. It was
followed by a scuttling insect that left brief dimpled footprints in the water as it pursued some urgent
errand.

Andawyr’s image looked rueful.

Not the face of a great mage, he thought, tweaking his broken nose, then running a hand through his
bushy grey hair, leaving it quite undisturbed. Such a person should have a conspicuous dignity. He should
be patriarchal and stern, with a looming presence and a gaze to quell men.

Lips pursed, the image weighed this uncertainly.

Or perhaps he should be beatific, saintly; exuding the inner tranquillity that came from years of devoted
study and a deep and profound understanding of the world. The image raised its eyebrows knowingly
and, with a self-conscious cough, Andawyr withdrew from the debate.

If only, if only . . .

If only his years of study had brought him that kind of knowledge.

The image broke and scattered as Andawyr prodded it with a knowing finger. He supposed they had, in
a way. He had learned what was of real value to him and that indeed gave him an ease of mind and a
clearness of vision that many would envy. Nor was he disturbed by the fact that his endless searching for
knowledge had brought with it a measure of the vastness of what he did not know; it was, after all, in the
nature of things that questions bred questions; children soon learned how to destroy their parents with the
simple question, ‘Why?’

It did not even disturb him too much that, at the limits of his understanding of the inner nature of things to
which his searching and his conventional logic had led him, there was apparently paradox – and certainly
bewilderment. That was simply another challenge to be met and wrestled with joyously.

Or would have been.

But now, a darkness was tingeing his discoveries; a darkness that possibly might not allow him the luxury
of a scholar’s leisurely debate; a darkness that could be growing even as he lay here and that might burst
forth all too brutally out of the realms of academic consideration and into the world of ordinary men.

He swore softly and sat up. Just beyond the shoulder of the mountain he knew he would be able to see
the maw of the great cave that was ostensibly the entrance to the Cadwanen – the Caves that were the
home of the Order of the Cadwanol – the Order of which he was the Leader – the Order charged
originally by Ethriss with opposing Sumeral and, on His destruction, with seeking the knowledge that