"David Eddings - Belgarath the Sorcerer (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

steamed in the icy, dead-calm air.

"I can't see that rainbow any more."

"Rainbow?" Belgarath asked, sounding slightly amused.

"You know what I mean. Each of them has a different-colored light.

Aldur's is blue, Issa's is green, Chaldan's is red, and the others all
have different colors. Is there some significance to that?"

"It's probably a reflection of their different personalities,"
Belgarath replied.

"I can't be entirely positive, though. My Master and I never got
around to discussing it." He stamped his feet in the snow.

"Why don't we go back?" he suggested.

"It's cold out here."

They turned and started back down the hill toward the cottage, their
feet crunching in the frozen snow. The farmstead at the foot of the
hill looked warm and comforting. The thatched roof of the cottage was
thick with snow, and the icicles hanging from the eaves glittered in
the moon light. The outbuildings Durnik had constructed were dark, but
the windows of the cottage were all aglow with golden lamplight that
spread softly out over the mounded snow in the yard. A column of
blue-grey wood-smoke rose straight and unwavering from the chimney,
rising, it seemed, to the very stars.

It probably had not really been necessary for the three of them to
accompany their guests to the top of the hill to witness their
departure, but it was Durnik's house, and Durnik was a Sendar. Sendars
are meticulous about proprieties and courtesies.

"Eriond's changed," Garion noted as they neared the bottom of the
hill.

"He seems more certain of himself now."

Belgarath shrugged.

"He's growing up. It happens to everybody--except to Belar, maybe. I
don't think we can ever expect Belar to grow up."

"Belgarath!" Durnik sounded shocked.

"That's no way for a man to speak about his God!"