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

Zedar managed to escape, but he had to leave the Orb behind."
"Did you speak with Beltira?"
"With his mind," Belgarath answered.
"Did he say why the Master wants us to go to the Vale?"
"No. It probably never occurred to him to ask. You know how Beltira is."
"It's going to take months, father," Polgara objected with a worried frown.
"It's two hundred and fifty leagues to the Vale."
"Aldur wants us to go there," he answered. "I'm not going to start disobeying
him after all these years."
"And in the meantime, Ctuchik's got the Orb at Rak Cthol."
"It's not going to do him any good, Pol. Torak himself couldn't make the Orb
submit to him, and he tried for over two thousand years. I know where Rak Cthol
is; Ctuchik can't hide it from me. He'll be there with the Orb when I decide to
go take it away from him. I know how to deal with that magician." He said the
word "magician" with a note of profound contempt in his voice.
"What's Zedar going to be doing all that time?'
"Zedar's got problems of his own. Beltira says that he's moved Torak from the
place where he had him hidden. I think we can depend on him to keep Torak's body
as far away from Rak Cthol as he possibly can. Actually, things have worked out
rather well. I was getting a little tired of chasing Zedar anyway."
Ce'Nedra found all this a bit confusing. Why were they all so caught up in the
movements of a strangely named pair of Angarak sorcerers and this mysterious
jewel which everyone seemed to covet? To her, one jewel was much the same as
another. Her childhood had been surrounded by such opulence that she had long
since ceased to attach much importance to ornaments. At the moment, her only
adornment consisted of a pair of tiny gold earrings shaped like little acorns,
and her fondness for them arose not so much from the fact that they were gold
but rather from the tinkling sound the cunningly contrived clappers inside them
made when she moved her head.
All of this sounded like one of the Morn myths she'd heard from a storyteller in
her father's court years before. There had been a magic jewel in that, she
remembered. It was stolen by the God of the Angaraks, Torak, and rescued by a
sorcerer and some Alorn kings who put it on the pommel of a sword kept in the
throne room at Riva. It was somehow supposed to protect the West from some
terrible disaster that would happen if it were lost. Curious - the name of the
sorcerer in the legend was Belgarath, the same as that of this old man.
But that would make him thousands of years old, which was ridiculous! He must
have been named after the ancient myth hero - unless he'd assumed the name to
impress people.
Once again her eyes wandered to Garion's face. The boy sat quietly in one corner
of the cabin, his eyes grave and his expression serious. She thought perhaps
that it was his seriousness that so piqued her curiosity and kept drawing her
eyes to him. Other boys she had known - nobles and the sons of nobles - had
tried to be charming and witty, but Garion never tried to joke or to say clever
things to try to amuse her. She was not entirely certain how to take that. Was
he such a lump that he didn't know how he was supposed to behave? Or perhaps he
knew but didn't care enough to make the effort. He might at least try - even if
only occasionally. How could she possibly deal with him if he was going to
refuse flatly to make a fool of himself for her benefit?
She reminded herself sharply that she was angry with him. He had said that Queen