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

"Why me?" He said it without thinking. She gave him a level gaze.
"All right, Aunt Pol." He knew there was no point in arguing with her.
"What was that?" Barak asked, holding up his hand for silence.
Somewhere off in the darkness there was the murmur of voices - harsh,
guttural voices.
"Murgos!" Silk whispered sharply, his hand going to his dagger.
"How many?" Barak asked Aunt Pol.
"Five," she replied. "No-six. One's lagging behind."
"Are any of them Grolims?"
She shook her head.
"Let's go, Mandorallen," the big Cherek muttered, grimly drawing his
sword.
The knight nodded, shifting his own broadsword in his hands. "Wait
here," Barak whispered to the rest of them.
"We shouldn't be long." And then he and Mandorallen moved off into the
darkness, their black Murgo robes blending into the shadows.
The others waited, their ears straining to catch any sound. Once again
that strange song began to intrude itself upon Garion's awareness, and
once again his thoughts scattered before its compulsion. Somewhere a long,
hissing slither of dislodged pebbles rattled down a slope, and that sound
raised a confused welter of memory in him. He seemed to hear the ring of
Durnik's hammer on the anvil at Faldor's farm, and then the plodding step
of the horses and the creak of the wagons in which they had carried
turnips to Darine back when this had all begun.
As clearly as if he were there, he heard again the squealing rush of
the boar he had killed in the snowy woods outside Val Alorn, and then the
aching song of the Arendish serfboy's flute that had soared to the sky
from the stump-dotted field where Asharak the Murgo had watched with hate
and fear on his scarred face.
Garion shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but the song drew
him back into that bemused reverie.
Sharply, he heard the awful, hissing crackle of Asharak burning beneath
the vast, ancient trees in the Wood of the Dryads and heard the Grolim's
desperate plea, "Master, have mercy." Then there were the screams in
Salmissra's palace as Barak, transformed into that dreadful bear shape,
clawed and ripped his way toward the throne room with Aunt Pol in her icy
fury striding at his side.
And then the voice that had always been in his mind was there again.
"Stop fighting with it."
"What is it?" Garion demanded, trying to focus his thoughts.
"It's the Orb."
"What's it doing?"
"It wants to know you. This is its way of finding things out."
"Can't it wait? We don't really have time just now "
"You can try to explain that, if you'd like." The voice sounded amused.
"It might listen, but 1 doubt it. It's been waiting for you for a very
long time. "
"Why me?"
"Don't you ever get tired of saying that?"
"Is it doing the same thing to the others?"