"David Eddings. Castle of wizardry enchanters' end game (The Belgariad, Part two)" - читать интересную книгу автора

"To a lesser degree. You might as well relax. One way or another, it's
going to get what it wants. "
There was a sudden ring of steel against steel somewhere off in the
dark passageways and a startled cry. Then Garion heard the crunch of
blows, and someone groaned. After that, there was silence.
A few moments later they heard the scuff of footsteps, and Barak and
Mandorallen returned. "We couldn't find that one who was coming along
behind the rest of them," Barak reported. "Is Belgarath showing any signs
of coming around yet?"
Polgara shook her head. "He's still completely dazed," she replied.
"I'll carry him then. We'd better go. It's a long way back down, and
these caves are going to be full of Murgos before long."
"In a moment," she said. "Relg, do you know where we are?"
"Roughly."
"Take us back to the place where we left the slave woman," she
instructed in a tone that tolerated no objection.
Relg's face went hard, but he said nothing.
Barak bent and picked up the unconscious Belgarath. Garion held out his
arms, and the little boy obediently came to him, the Orb still held
protectively against his chest. The child seemed peculiarly light, and
Garion carried him with almost no effort. Relg lifted his faintly glowing
wooden bowl to illuminate their path, and they started out again,
twisting, turning, following a zigzag course that went deeper and deeper
into the gloomy caves. The darkness of the peak above them seemed to bear
down on Garion's shoulders with a greater and greater weight the farther
they went. The song in his mind swelled again, and the faint light Relg
carried sent his thoughts roving once more. Now that he understood what
was happening, it seemed to go more easily. The song opened his mind, and
the Orb leeched out every thought and memory, passing through his life
with a light, flickering touch. It had a peculiar kind of curiosity,
lingering often on things Garion did not think were all that important and
barely touching matters that had seemed so dreadfully urgent when they had
occurred. It traced out in detail each step they had taken in their long
journey to Rak Cthol. It passed with them to the crystal chamber in the
mountains above Maragor where Garion had touched the stillborn colt and
given life in that oddly necessary act of atonement that had somehow made
up for the burning of Asharak. It went down with them into the Vale where
Garion had turned over the large white rock in his first conscious attempt
to use the Will and the Word objectively. It scarcely noticed the dreadful
fight with Grul the Eldrak nor the visit to the caves of Ulgo, but seemed
to have a great curiosity about the shield of imagining which Garion and
Aunt Pol had erected to conceal their movements from the searching minds
of the Grolims as they had approached Rak Cthol. It ignored the death of
Brill and the sickening ceremonies in the Temple of Torak, but lingered
instead on the conversation between Belgarath and Ctuchik in the Grolim
High Priest's hanging turret. And then, most peculiarly, it went back to
sift through every one of Garion's memories of Princess Ce'Nedra - of the
way the sun caught her coppery hair, of the lithe grace of her movements,
of her scent, of each unconscious gesture, of the flicker and play of
emotion across her tiny, exquisite face. It lingered on her in a way that