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

plain. They rode on.
Garion glanced back several times as he rode and noticed moving
pinpoints of light along the base of the cliff.
"Some of them have reached the bottom, grandfather," he called to the
old man, who was pounding along in the lead. "I can see their torches."
"It was bound to happen," the sorcerer replied.
It was nearly midnight by the time they reached the Aldur River, lying
black and oily-looking between its frosty banks.
"Does anybody have any idea how we're going to find that ford in the
dark?" Durnik asked.
"I'll find it," Relg told him. "It isn't all that dark for me. Wait
here."
"That could give us a certain advantage," Silk noted. "We'll be able to
ford the river, but the Murgos will flounder around on this side in the
dark for half the night. We'll be leagues ahead of them before they get
across."
"That was one of the things I was sort of counting on," Belgarath
replied smugly.
It was a half an hour before Relg returned. "It isn't far," he told
them.
They remounted and rode through the chill darkness, following the curve
of the river bank until they heard the unmistakable gurgle and wash of
water running over stones. "That's it just ahead," Relg said.
"It's still going to be dangerous fording in the dark," Barak pointed
out.
"It isn't that dark," Relg said. "Just follow me." He rode confidently
a hundred yards farther upriver, then turned and nudged his horse into the
shallow rippling water.
Garion felt his horse flinch from the icy chill as he rode out into the
river, following closely behind Belgarath.
Behind him he heard Durnik coaxing the now-unburdened pack animals into
the water.
The river was not deep, but it was very wide - almost a half mileand in
the process of fording, they were all soaked to the knees.
"The rest of the night promises to be moderately unpleasant," Silk
observed, shaking one sodden foot.

"At least you've got the river between you and Taur Urgas," Barak
reminded him.
"That does brighten things up a bit," Silk admitted.
They had not gone a half mile, however, before Mandorallen's charger
went down with a squeal of agony. The knight, with a great clatter,
tumbled in the grass as he was pitched out of the saddle. His great horse
floundered with threshing legs, trying futilely to rise.
"What's the matter with him?" Barak demanded sharply.
Behind them, with another squeal, one of the packhorses collapsed.
"What is it?" Garion asked Durnik, his voice shrill.
"It's the cold," Durnik answered, swinging down from his saddle. "We've
ridden them to exhaustion, and then we made them wade across the river.
The chill's settled into their muscles."