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

clasped tightly to his little chest. Garion knew that it was the Orb that
filled his mind with song. It had whispered to him as they had mounted the
steps of the turret, and its song had soared as he had entered the room
where it had lain. It was the song of the Orb that obliterated all thought
- more than shock or the thunderous detonation that had destroyed Ctuchik
and tumbled Belgarath across the floor like a rag doll or the deep sullen
boom of the earthquake that had followed.
Garion struggled with it as he ran, trying desperately to pull his wits
into some kind of order, but the song intruded on his every effort,
scattering his mind so that chance impression and random memory fluttered
and scurried this way and that and left him to flee without design or
direction.
The dank reek of the slave pens lying just beneath the disintegrating
city of Rak Cthol came sharply through the shadowy galleries. As if
suddenly awakened by that single stimulus, a flood of memories of other
smells crashed in on Garion's consciousness - the warm smell of freshbaked
bread in Aunt Pol's kitchen back at Faldor's farm, the salt smell of the
sea when they had reached Darine on the north coast of Sendaria on the
first leg of their quest for the Orb, the stink of the swamps and jungles
of Nyissa, the stomach-turning smell of the burning bodies of the
sacrificed slaves in the Temple of Torak which even now shattered and fell
in upon itself among the collapsing walls of Rak Cthol. But, oddly, the
smell that came sharpest to his confused memory was the sun-warmed scent
of Princess Ce'Nedra's hair.
"Garion!" Aunt Pol's voice came sharply to him in the near dark through
which they ran. "Watch where you're going!" And he struggled to pull his
mind back from its wandering even as he stumbled over a pile of broken
rock where a large stretch of ceiling had fallen to the floor.
The terrified wails of the imprisoned slaves locked in clammy cells
rose all around them now, joining in a weird counterharmony with the
rumble and boom of earthquake. Other sounds came from the darkness as
wellconfused shouts in harshly accented Murgo voices, the lurching stagger
of running feet, the clanging of an unlatched iron cell door swinging
wildly as the huge rock pinnacle swayed and shuddered and heaved in the
surging roll. Dust billowed through the dark caves, a thick, choking rock
dust that stung their eyes and made them all cough almost continually as
they clambered over the broken rubble.
Garion carefully lifted the trusting little boy over the pile of
shattered rock, and the child looked into his face, calm and smiling
despite the chaos of noise and stink all around them in the oppressive
dimness. He started to set the child down again, but changed his mind. It
would be easier and safer to carry the boy. He turned to go on along the
passageway, but he recoiled sharply as his foot came down on something
soft. He peered at the floor, then felt his stomach suddenly heave with
revulsion as he saw that he had stepped on a lifeless human hand
protruding from the rockfall.
They ran on through the heaving darkness with the black Murgo robes
which had disguised them flapping around their legs and the dust still
thick in the air about them.
"Stop!" Relg, the Ulgo zealot, raised his hand and stood with his head