"Books - David Eddings - Belgarath the Sorcerer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

it."

Belmakor's eyes filled with sudden tears. He always was the most
emotional of us.

"Oh, stop that!" Beldin told him.

"Sometimes you're so gushy you make me want to spew. I want grace. I
want proportion, I want something that soars. I'm tired of living in
the mud."

"Can you manage that?" I asked our brother.

Belmakor went to his writing desk, gathered his papers, and inserted
them in the book he'd been studying. Then he put the book up on a top
shelf, spun a large sheet of paper and one of those inexhaustible quill
pens he was so fond of out of air itself, and sat down.

"How big?" he asked Beldin.

"I think we'd better keep it a little lower than the Master's, don't
you?"

"Wise move. Let's not get above ourselves." Belmakor quickly sketched
in a fairy castle that took my breath away--all light and delicacy with
flying buttresses that soared out like wings and towers as slender as
toothpicks.

"Are you trying to be funny?" Beldin accused.

"You couldn't house butterflies in that piece of gingerbread."

"Just a start, brother mine," Belmakor said gaily.

"We'll modify it down to reality as we go along. You have to do that
with dreams."

And that started an argument that lasted for about six months and
ultimately drew us all into it. Our own towers were, for the most
part, strictly utilitarian. Although it pains me to admit it, Beldin's
description of my tower was probably fairly accurate. It did look
somewhat like a petrified tree stump when I stepped back to look at it.
It kept me out of the weather, though, and it got me up high enough so
that I could see the horizon and look at the stars. What else is a
tower supposed to do?

It was at that point that we discovered that Belsambar had the soul of
an artist. The last place in the world you would look for beauty would
be in the mind of an Angarak. With surprising heat, given his retiring
nature, he argued with Belmakor long and loud, insisting on his