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

"The smoke's going to delay them, but I think it's time to move on
out," Belgarath said, squinting at the cloudobscured ball of the sun
hanging low over the horizon to the west. "We'll move on up the face of
the escarpment and then make a run for it. We'll want to surprise them a
bit, to give us time to get out of range before they start throwing rocks
down on us."
"Is there any sign of Hettar out there?" Barak asked, peering out at
the grassland.
"We haven't seen any yet," Durnik replied.
"You do know that we're going to lead half of Cthol Murgos out onto the
plain?" Barak pointed out to Belgarath.
"That can't be helped. For right now, we've got to get out of here. If
Taur Urgas is up there, he's going to send people after us, even if he has
to throw them off the cliff personally. Let's go."
They followed the face of the cliff for a mile or more until they found
a spot where the rockfall did not extend so far out onto the plain. "This
will do," Belgarath decided. "As soon as we get to level ground, we ride
hard straight out. An arrow shot off the top of that cliff will carry a
long way. Is everybody ready?" He looked around at them. "Let's move,
then."
They led their horses down the short, steep slope of rock to the grassy
plain below, mounted quickly and set off at a dead run.
"Arrow!" Silk said sharply, looking up and back over his shoulder.
Garion, without thinking, slashed with his will at the tiny speck arching
down toward them. In the same instant he felt a peculiar double surge
coming from either side of him. The arrow broke into several pieces in
midair.
"If you two don't mind!" Belgarath said irritably to Garion and Aunt
Pol, half reining in his horse.
"I just didn't want you to tire yourself, father," Aunt Pol replied
coolly. "I'm sure Garion feels the same way."
"Couldn't we discuss it later?" Silk suggested, looking apprehensively
back at the towering escarpment.
They plunged on, the long, brown grass whipping at the legs of their
horses. Other arrows began to fall, dropping farther and farther behind
them as they rode. By the time they were a half mile out from the sheer
face, the arrows were sheeting down from the top of the cliff in a
whistling black rain.
"Persistent, aren't they?" Silk observed.
"It's a racial trait," Barak replied. "Murgos are stubborn to the point
of idiocy."
"Keep going," Belgarath told them. "It's just a question of time until
they bring up a catapult."
"They're throwing ropes down the face of the cliff," Dumik reported,
peering back at the escarpment. "As soon as a few of them get to the
bottom, they'll pull the fire clear of the ravine and start bringing
horses down."
"At least it slowed them down a bit," Belgarath said.
Twilight, hardly more than a gradual darkening of the cloudy murk that
had obscured the sky for several days, began to creep across the Algarian