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

Finally Faldor cleared his throat and rose, his bench scraping loudly
on the wooden floor. "You have done us much honor tonight, my old *
Several shorter, less formal versions of the story existed, similar to the
adaptation used here in the Prologue.
Even The Book of Alorn was said to be an abridgment of a much older
document, friend," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "This is an
event we will remember all our lives. You have told us a kingly story, not
usually wasted on ordinary people."
The old man grinned then, his blue eyes twinkling. "I haven't consorted
with many kings of late, Faldor." He laughed. "They all seem to be too
busy to listen to the old tales, and a story must be told from time to
time if it is not to be lost-besides, who knows these days where a king
might be hiding?"
They all laughed at that and began to push back their benches, for it
was growing late and time for those who must be up with the first light of
the sun to seek their beds.
"Will you carry a lantern for me to the place where I sleep, boy?" the
storyteller asked Garion.
"Gladly," Garion said, jumping up and running into the kitchen. He
fetched down a square glass lantern, lighted the candle inside it from one
of the banked kitchen fires, and went back into the dining hall.
Faldor was speaking with the storyteller. As he turned away, Garion saw
a strange look pass between the old man and Aunt Pol, who still stood at
the back of the hall.
"Are we ready then, boy?" the old man asked as Garion came up to him.
"Whenever you are," Garion replied, and the two of them turned and left
the hall.
"Why is the story unfinished?" Garion asked, bursting with curiosity.
"Why did you stop before we found out what happened when Torak met the
Rivan King?"
"That's another story," the old man explained.
"Will you tell it to me sometime?" Garion pressed.
The old man laughed. "Torak and the Rivan King have not as yet met," he
said, "so I can't very well tell it, can I?-at least not until after their
meeting."
"It's only a story," Garion objected. "Isn't it?"
"Is it?" The old man removed a flagon of wine from under his tunic and
took a long drink. "Who is to say what is only a story and what is truth
disguised as a story?"
"It's only a story," Garion said stubbornly, suddenly feeling very
hardheaded and practical like any good Sendar."It can't really be true.
Why, Belgarath the Sorcerer would be - would be I don't know how old - and
people don't live that long."
"Seven thousand years," the old man said.
"What?"

"Belgarath the Sorcerer is seven thousand years old - perhaps a bit
older."
"That's impossible," Garion said.
"Is it? How old are you?"