"E.D.Malloreon 01 - Guardians of the West" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

Errand nodded. "Yes," he said, "thank you." The words were coming more easily to him now, though he still spoke but rarely.

Belgarath lounged in his saddle, absently rubbing at his short white beard. His eyes were slightly bleary, and he squinted as if the morning sunlight was painful to him. "I sort of like to start out a journey in the sunshine," he said. "It always seems to bode well for the rest of the trip." Then he grimaced. "I don't know that it needs to bethis bright, however."

"Are we feeling a bit delicate this morning, father?" Polgara asked him archly.

He turned to regard his daughter, his face set. "Why don't you go ahead and say it, Pol? I'm sure you won't be happy until you do."

"Why, father," she said, her glorious eyes wide with feigned innocence, "what makes you think I was going to say anything?"

He grunted.

"I'm sure you realize by now all by yourself that you drank a bit too much ale last night," she continued. "You don't needme to tell you that, do you?"

"I'm not really in the mood for any of this, Polgara," he told her shortly.

"Oh, poor old dear," she said in mock commiseration. "Would you like to have me stir something up to make you feel better?"

"Thank you, but no," he replied. "The aftertaste of your concoctions lingers for days. I think I prefer the headache."

"If a medicine doesn't taste bad, it isn't working," she told him. She pushed back the hood of the cape she wore. Her hair was long, very dark, and touched just over her left brow with a single lock of snowy white. "Idid warn you, father," she said relentlessly.

"Polgara," he said, wincing, "do you suppose we could skip the 'I told you so?' "

"You heard me warn him, didn't you, Durnik?" Polgara asked her husband.

Durnik was obviously trying not to laugh.

The old man sighed, then reached inside his tunic and took out a small flagon. He uncorked it with his teeth and took a long drink. .

"Oh, father," Polgara said disgustedly, "didn't you get enough last night?"

"Not if this conversation is going to linger on this particular subject, no." He held out the flagon to his daughter's husband. "Durnik?" he offered.

"Thanks all the same, Belgarath," Durnik replied, "but it's a bit early for me."

"Pol?" Belgarath said then, offering a drink to his daughter.

"Don't be absurd."

"As you wish." Belgarath shrugged, recorking the bottle and tucking it away again. "Shall we move along then?" he suggested. "It's a very long way to the Vale of Aldur." And he nudged his horse into a walk.

Just before the wagon rolled down on the far side of the hill, Errand looked back toward Camaar and saw a detachment of mounted men coming out through the gate. Glints and flashes of reflected sunlight said quite clearly that at least some of the garments the men wore were made of polished steel. Errand considered mentioning the fact, but decided not to. He settled back again and looked up at the deep blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. Errand liked mornings.

In the morning a day was always full of promise. The disappointments usually did not start until later.

The soldiers who had ridden out of Camaar caught up with them before they had gone another mile. The commander of the detachment was a sober-faced Sendarian officer with only one arm. As his troops fell in behind the wagon, he rode up alongside.

"Your Grace," he greeted Polgara formally with a stiff little bow from his saddle.