"David Eddings. Pawn of prophecy queen of sorcery magician's gambit (The Belgariad, Part one)" - читать интересную книгу автора

The oldest boy was named Rundorig. He was a year or two older than
Garion and quite a bit taller. Ordinarily, since he was the eldest of the
children, Rundorig would have been their leader; but because he was an
Arend, his sense was a bit limited and he cheerfully deferred to the
younger ones. The kingdom of Sendaria, unlike other kingdoms, was
inhabited by a broad variety of racial stocks. Chereks, Algars, Drasnians,
Arends, and even a substantial number of Tolnedrans had merged to form the
elemental Sendar. Arends, of course, were very brave, but were also
notoriously thick-wined.
Garion's second playmate was Doroon, a small, quick boy whose
background was so mixed that he could only be called a Sendar. The most
notable thing about Doroon was the fact that he was always running; he
never walked if he could run. Like his feet, his mind seemed to tumble
over itself, and his tongue as well. He talked continually and very fast
and he was always excited.
The undisputed leader of the little foursome was the girl Zubrette, a
golden-haired charmer who invented their games, made up stories to tell
them, and set them to stealing apples and plums from Faldor's orchard for
her.
She ruled them as a little queen, playing one against the other and
inciting them into fights. She was quite heartless, and each of the three
boys at times hated her even while remaining helpless thralls to her
tiniest whim.
In the winter they slid on wide boards down the snowy hillside behind
the farmhouse and returned home, wet and snow-covered, with chapped hands
and glowing cheeks as evening's purple shadows crept across the snow.
Or, after Durnik the smith had proclaimed the ice safe, they would
slide endlessly across the frozen pond that lay glittering frostily in a
little dale just to the east of the farm buildings along the road to Upper
Gralt. And, if the weather was too cold or on toward spring when rains and
warm winds had made the snow slushy and the pond unsafe, they would gather
in the hay barn and leap by the hour from the loft into the soft hay
beneath, filling their hair with chaff and their noses with dust that
smelled of summer.
In the spring they caught polliwogs along the marshy edges of the pond
and climbed trees to stare in wonder at the tiny blue eggs the birds had
laid in twiggy nests in the high branches.
It was Doroon, naturally, who fell from a tree and broke his arm one
fine spring morning when Zubrette urged him into the highest branches of a
tree near the edge of the pond. Since Rundorig stood helplessly gaping at
his injured friend and Zubrette had run away almost before he hit the
ground, it fell to Garion to make certain necessary decisions. Gravely he
considered the situation for a few moments, his young face seriously
intent beneath his shock of sandy hair. The arm was obviously broken, and
Doroon, pale and frightened, bit his lip to keep from crying.
A movement caught Garion's eye, and he glanced up quickly. A man in a
dark cloak sat astride a large black horse not far away, watching
intently. When their eyes met, Garion felt a momentary chill, and he knew
that he had seen the man before-that indeed that dark figure had hovered
on the edge of his vision for as long as he could remember, never