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

plain did not have that bitter, arid chill that had cut at them in the
uplands of Cthol Murgos and Mishrak ac Thull, it was still very cold.
Garion shivered, drew his cloak in tight about him, and kept walking,
trailing his weary horse behind him.
There was another brief rumble, and the little boy, perched in the
saddle of Aunt Pol's horse laughed. "Errand,"
he announced.
"I wish he'd stop that," Silk said irritably.
They glanced from time to time over the crest of the long hill as they
walked. Below, in the broad valley of the Aldur River, the Murgos of Taur
Urgas were fording in larger and larger groups. It appeared that fully
half his army had reached the west bank by now, and the red and black
standard of the king of the Murgos stood planted defiantly on Algarian
soil.
"If he brings too many more men down the escarpment, it's going to take
something pretty significant to dislodge him," Barak rumbled, scowling
down at the Murgos.
"I know," Belgarath replied, "and that's the one thing I've wanted to
avoid. We aren't ready for a war just yet."
The sun, huge and red, ponderously moved up from behind the eastern
escarpment, turning the sky around it rosy. In the still-shadowed valley
below them, the Murgos continued to splash across the river in the steely
morning light.
"Methinks he will await the sun before he begins the search for us,"
Mandorallen observed.
"And that's not very far off," Barak agreed, glancing at the slowly
moving band of sunlight just touching the hill along which they moved.
"We've probably got half an hour at the most. I think it's getting to the
point where we're going to have to gamble on the horses. Maybe if we
switch mounts every mile or so, we can get some more distance out of them."
The rumble that came then could not possibly have been thunder. The
ground shook with it, and it rolled on and on endlessly from both the
north and south.
And then, pouring over the crests of the hills surrounding the valley
of the Aldur like some vast tide suddenly released by the bursting of a
mighty dam, came the clans of the Algars. Down they plunged upon the
startled Murgos thickly clustered along the banks of the river, and their
great war cry shook the very heavens as they fell like wolves upon the
divided army of Taur Urgas.
A lone horseman veered out of the great charge of the clans and came
pounding up the hillside toward Garion and his friends. As the warrior
drew closer, Garion could see his long scalp lock flowing behind him and
his drawn sabre catching the first rays of the morning sun. It was Hettar.
A vast surge of relief swept over Garion.
They were safe.
"Where have you been?" Barak demanded in a great voice as the
hawk-faced Algar rode closer.
"Watching," Hettar replied calmly as he reined in. "We wanted to let
the Murgos get out a ways from the escarpment so we could cut them off. My
father sent me to see how you all are."