"David Eddings - Belgariad 3 Magicians Gambit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

humiliation in that grim hall while hundreds of bearded Alorns laughed at her.
That had to be avoided at any cost. And so it had been that she had accompanied
them - not willingly, perhaps - but never openly rebellious. The hint of steel
in Lady Polgara's eyes always seemed to carry with it the suggestion of manacles
and clinking chains, and that suggestion cowed the princess into obedience far
more than all the Imperial power her father possessed had ever been able to do.
Ce'Nedra had only the faintest idea of what these people were doing. They seemed
to be following someone or something, and the trail had led them here into the
snake-infested swamps of Nyissa. Murgos seemed to be somehow involved, throwing
frightful obstacles in their path, and Queen Salmissra also seemed to take an
interest, even going so far as to have young Garion abducted.
Ce'Nedra interrupted her musing to look across the cabin at the boy. Why would


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the queen of Nyissa want him? He was so ordinary. He was a peasant, a scullion,
a nobody. He was a nice enough boy, certainly, with rather plain, sandy hair
that kept tumbling down across his forehead, making her fingers itch to push it
back. He had a nice enough face - in a plain sort of way - and he was somebody
she could talk to when she was lonely or frightened, and somebody she could
fight with when she felt peevish, since he was only slightly older than she was.
But he completely refused to treat her with the respect due her - he probably
didn't even know how. Why all this excruciating interest in him? She pondered
that, looking thoughtfully at him.
She was doing it again. Angrily she jerked her eyes from his face. Why was she
always watching him? Each time her thoughts wandered, her eyes automatically
sought out his face, and it wasn't really that exciting a face to look at. She
had even caught herself making up excuses to put herself into places where she
could watch him. It was stupid!
Ce'Nedra nibbled at her hair and thought and nibbled some more, until once again
her eyes went back to their minute study of Garion's features.
"Is he going to be all right?" Barak, the Earl of Trellheim, rumbled, tugging
absently at his great red beard as he watched the Lady Polgara put the finishing
touches on Belgarath's sling.
"It's a simple break," she replied professionally, putting away her bandages.
"And the old fool heals fast."
Belgarath winced as he shifted his newly splinted arm. "You didn't have to be so
rough, Pol." His rust-colored old tunic showed several dark mud smears and a new
rip, evidence of his encounter with a tree.
"It had to be set, father," she told him. "You didn't want it to heal crooked,
did you?"
"I think you actually enjoyed it," he accused.
"Next time you can set it yourself," she suggested coolly, smoothing her gray
dress.
"I need a drink," Belgarath grumbled to the hulking Barak.
The Earl of Trellheim went to the narrow door. "Would you have a tankard of ale
brought for Belgarath?" he asked the sailor outside.
"How is he?" the sailor inquired.