"David Eddings - Belgariad 2 - Queen of Sorcery" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

the folly of men and Gods for seven thousand years. Garion sighed and
trudged on through the fog.

Their very names were unsettling. Garion had never wanted to believe in
sorcery or magic or witchcraft. Such things were unnatural, and they
violated his notion of solid, sensible reality. But too many things had
happened to allow him to hold on to his comfortable skepticism any longer.
In a single, shattering instant the last vestiges of his doubt had been
swept away. As he had watched with stunned disbelief, Aunt Pol had erased
the milky stains from the eyes of Martje the witch with a gesture and a
single word, restoring the madwoman's sight and removing her power to see
into the future with a brutal evenhandedness. Garion shuddered at the
memory of Martje's despairing wail. That cry somehow marked the point at
which the world had become less solid, less sensible, and infinitely less
safe.

Uprooted from the only place he had ever known, unsure of the identities of
the two people closest to him, and with his whole conception of the
difference between the possible and the impossible destroyed, Garion found
himself committed to a strange pilgrimage. He had no idea what they were
doing in this shattered city swallowed up in trees, and not the faintest
idea where they would go when they left. The only certainty that remained
to him was the single grim thought to which he now clung; somewhere in the
world there was a man who had crept through the predawn darkness to a small
house in a forgotten village and had murdered Garion's parents; if it took
him the rest of his life, Garion was going to find that man, and when he
found him, he was going to kill him. There was something strangely
comforting in that one solid fact.

He carefully climbed over the rubble of a house that had fallen outward
into the street and continued his gloomy exploration of the ruined city.
There was really nothing to see. The patient centuries had erased nearly
all of what the war had left behind, and slushy snow and thick fog hid even
those last remaining traces. Garion sighed again and began to retrace his
steps toward the moldering stump of the tower where they had all spent the
previous night.

As he approached, he saw Mister Wolf and Aunt Pol standing together some
distance from the ruined tower, talking quietly. The old man's rust-colored
hood was turned up, and Aunt Pol's blue cloak was drawn about her. There
was a look of timeless regret on her face as she looked out at the foggy
ruins. Her long, dark hair spilled down her back, and the single white lock
at her brow seemed paler than the snow at her feet.

"There he is now," Mister Wolf said to her as Garion approached them.

She nodded and looked gravely at Garion. "Where have you been?" she asked.

"No place," Garion replied. "I was thinking, that's all."