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

"When we get a bit of time, we're going to have to give him some
lessons in controlling the noise," she observed. "He sounds like a
thunderclap."
"That's not all he has to learn to control." For some reason the old
man was behaving as if he'd just been dreadfully insulted.
"What now?" Barak asked. "Do you want to light signal fires and wait
here for Hettar and Cho-Hag?"
"This isn't a good place, Barak," Silk pointed out. "Half of Murgodom's
going to come pouring down that ravine very shortly."
"The passage is not wide, Prince Kheldar," Mandorallen observed.
"My Lord Barak and I can hold it for a week or more if need be."
"You're backsliding again, Mandorallen," Barak told him.
"Besides, they'd just roll rocks down on you," Silk said. "And they're
going to be dropping boulders off the edge up there before long. We're
probably going to have to get out on the plain a ways to avoid that sort
of thing."
Durnik was staring thoughtfully at the mouth of the ravine. "We need to
send something up there to slow them down, though," he mused. "I don't
think we want them right behind us."
"It's a little hard to make rocks roll uphill," Barak said.
"I wasn't thinking of rocks," Durnik replied. "We'll need something
much lighter."
"Like what?" Silk asked the smith.
"Smoke would be good," Durnik answered. "The ravine should draw just
like a chimney. If we build a fire and fill the whole thing with smoke,
nobody's going to come down until the fire goes out."
Silk grinned broadly. "Durnik," he said, "you're a treasure."

Chapter Five
THERE WERE BUSHES, scrub and bramble for the most part, growing here
and there along the base of the cliff, and they quickly fanned out with
their swords to gather enough to build a large, smoky fire. "You'd better
hurry," Belgarath called to them as they worked. "There are a dozen Murgos
or more already halfway down the ravine."
Durnik, who had been gathering dry sticks and splintered bits of log,
ran back to the mouth of the ravine, knelt and began striking sparks from
his flint into the tinder he always carried. In a few moments he had a
small fire going, the orange flames licking up around the weathered gray
sticks. Carefully he added larger pieces until his fire was a respectable
blaze. Then he began piling thornbushes and brambles atop it, critically
watching the direction of the smoke. The bushes hissed and smoldered
fitfully at first, and a great cloud of smoke wafted this way and that for
a moment, then began to pour steadily up the ravine. Durnik nodded with
satisfaction. "Just like a chimney," he observed. From far up the cut came
shouts of alarm and a great deal of coughing and choking.
"How long can a man breathe smoke before he chokes to death?" Silk
asked.
"Not very long," Durnik replied.
"I didn't think so." The little man looked happily at the smoking
blaze. "Good fire," he said, holding his hands out to the warmth.