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

let down and joined to form a spacious, low-ceilinged dining hall.
Braziers provided warmth, and candles illuminated the interior of the
quickly assembled hall, supplementing the bright winter sunlight streaming
in through the windows.
They dined on roasted meat and mellow ale. Garion soon found that he
was wearing far too many clothes. It seemed that he had not been warm in
months, and the glowing braziers shimmered out a welcome heat.
Although he was tired and very dirty, he felt warm and safe, and he
soon found himself nodding over his plate, almost drowsing as Belgarath
recounted the story of their escape to the Algar king.
Gradually, however, as the old man spoke, something alerted Garion.
There was, it seemed, a trace too much vivacity in his grandfather's
voice, and Belgarath's words sometimes seemed almost to tumble over each
other.
His blue eyes were very bright, but seemed occasionally a bit unfocused.
"So Zedar got away," Cho-Hag was saying. "That's the only thing that
mars the whole affair."
"Zedar's no problem," Belgarath replied, smiling in a slightly dazed
way.
His voice seemed strange, uncertain, and King Cho-Hag looked at the old
man curiously. "You've had a busy year, Belgarath," he said.
"A good one, though." The sorcerer smiled again and lifted his ale cup.
His hand was trembling violently, and he stared at it in astonishment.
"Aunt Pol!" Garion called urgently.
"Are you all right, father?"
"Fine, Pol, perfectly fine." He smiled vaguely at her, his unfocused
eyes blinking owlishly. He rose suddenly to his feet and began to move
toward her, but his steps were lurching, almost staggering. And then his
eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the floor like a pole-axed cow.
"Father!" Aunt Pol exclaimed, leaping to his side.
Garion, moving almost as fast as his Aunt, knelt on the other side of
the unconscious old man. "What's wrong with him?" he demanded. But Aunt
Pol did not answer. Her hands were at Belgarath's wrist and brow, feeling
for his pulse. She peeled back one of his eyelids and stared intently into
his blank, unseeing eyes. "Durnik!" she snapped. "Get my herb-bag-quickly!"
The smith bolted for the door.
King Cho-Hag had half risen, his face deathly pale. "He isn't-"
"No," she answered tensely. "He's alive, but only barely."
"Is something attacking him?" Silk was on his feet, looking around
wildly, his hand unconsciously on his dagger.
"No. It's nothing like that." Aunt Pol's hands had moved to the old
man's chest. "I should have known," she berated herself. "The stubborn,
proud old fool! I should have been watching him."
"Please, Aunt Pol," Garion begged desperately, "what's wrong with him?"
"He never really recovered from his fight with Ctuchik," she replied.
"He's been forcing himself, drawing on his will. Then those rocks in the
ravine - but he wouldn't quit. Now he's burned up all his vital energy and
will. He barely has enough strength left to keep breathing."
Garion had lifted his grandfather's head and cradled it on his lap.
"Help me, Garion!"