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

The Sendars who participated in the battle were a part of the force
under the leadership of Brand, the Rivan Warder. That force, consisting of
Rivans, Sendars and Asturian Arends, assaulted the Angarak rear after the
left had been engaged by Algars, Drasnians and Ulgos; the right by
Tolnedrans and Chereks; and the front by the legendary charge of the
Mimbrate Arends. For hours the battle had raged until, in the center of
the field, Brand had met in a single combat with Kal Torak himself. Upon
that duel had hinged the outcome of the battle.
Although twenty generations had passed since that titanic encounter, it
was still as fresh in the memory of the Sendarian farmers who worked on
Faldor's farm as if it had happened only yesterday. Each blow was
described, and each feint and parry. At the final moment, when it seemed
that he must inevitably be overthrown, Brand had removed the covering from
his shield, and Kal Torak, taken aback by some momentary confusion, had
lowered his guard and had been instantly struck down.
For Rundorig, the description of the battle was enough to set his
Arendish blood seething. Garion, however, found that certain questions had
been left unanswered by the stories.
"Why was Brand's shield covered?" he asked Cralto, one of the older
hands.
Cralto shrugged. "It just was," he said. "Everyone I've ever talked
with about it agrees on that."
"Was it a magic shield?" Garion persisted.
"It may have been," Cralto said, "but I've never heard anyone say so.
All I know is that when Brand uncovered his shield, Kal Torak dropped his
own shield, and Brand stabbed his sword into Kal Torak's head through the
eye, or so I am told."
Garion shook his head stubbornly. "I don't understand," he said. "How
would something like that have made Kal Torak afraid?"
"I can't say," Cralto told him. "I've never heard anyone explain it."
Despite his dissatisfaction with the story, Garion quite quickly agreed
to Rundorig's rather simple plan to reenact the duel. After a day or so of
posturing and banging at each other with sticks to simulate swords, Garion
decided that they needed some equipment to make the game more enjoyable.
Two kettles and two large pot lids mysteriously disappeared from Aunt
Pol's kitchen; and Garion and Rundorig, now with helmets and shields,
repaired to a quiet place to do war upon each other.
It was all going quite splendidly until Rundorig, who was older, taller
and stronger, struck Garion a resounding whack on the head with his wooden
sword. The rim of the kettle cut into Garion's eyebrow, and the blood
began to flow. There was a sudden ringing in Garion's ears, and a kind of
boiling exaltation surged up in his veins as he rose to his feet from the
ground.
He never knew afterward quite what happened. He had only sketchy
memories of shouting defiance at Kal Torak in words which sprang to his
lips and which even he did not understand. Rundorig's familiar and
somewhat foolish face was no longer the face before him but rather was
replaced by something hideously maimed and ugly. In a fury Garion struck
at that face again and again with fire seething in his brain.
And then it was over. Poor Rundorig lay at his feet, beaten senseless