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

events that must occur in proper sequence and at the proper time. In most
situations, the present is determined by the past. This series of events
is different, however. In this case, what's happening in the present is
determined by the future. If we don't get it exactly the way it's supposed
to be, the ending will be different, and I don't think any of us would
like that at all."
"What do you want me to do?" he asked, placing himself unquestioningly
in her hands.
She smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Garion," she said simply.
"When you rejoin the others, they're going to ask you how father's coming
along, and I want you to put on your best face and tell them that he's
doing fine."
"You want me to lie to them." It was not even a question.
"No place in the world is safe from spies, Garion. You know that as
well as I, and no matter what happens, we can't let any hint that father
might not recover fully get back to the Angaraks. If necessary, you'll lie
until your tongue turns black. The whole fate of the West could depend on
how well you do it."
He stared at her.
"It's possible that all this is totally unnecessary," she reassured
him. "He may be exactly the same as always after he's had a week or two of
rest, but we've got to be ready to move smoothly, just in case he's not."
"Can't we do something?"
"We're doing all we can. Go back to the others now, Garion - and smile.
Smile until your jaws ache if you have to."
There was a faint sound in the corner of the room, and they both turned
sharply. Errand, his blue eyes very serious, stood watching them.
"Take him with you," Aunt Pol said. "See that he eats and keep an eye
on him."
Garion nodded and beckoned to the child. Errand smiled his trusting
smile and crossed the room. He reached out and patted the unconscious
Belgarath's hand, then turned to follow Garion from the room.
The tall, brown-haired girl who had accompanied Queen Silar out through
the gates of the Stronghold was waiting for him in the corndor outside.
Her skin, Garion noticed, was very pale, almost translucent, and her gray
eyes were direct. "Is the Eternal Man really any better?" she asked.
"Much better," Garion replied with all the confidence he could muster.
"He'll be out of bed in no time at all."
"He seems so weak," she said. "So old and frail."
"Frail? Belgarath?" Garion forced a laugh. "He's made out of old iron
and horseshoe nails."
"He is seven thousand years old, after all."
"That doesn't mean anything to him. He stopped paying attention to the
years a long time ago."
"You're Garion, aren't you?" she asked. "Queen Silar told us about you
when she returned from Val Alorn last year. For some reason I thought you
were younger."
"I was then," Garion replied. "I've aged a bit this last year."
"My name is Adara," the tall girl introduced herself. "Queen Silar
asked me to show you the way to the main hall. Supper should be ready