Polgara the Sorceress. David Eddings. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: David Eddings
Издательство: HarperCollins
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Жанр произведения: Героическая фантастика
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9780007375066
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think that’s one of the symptoms of idiocy, brother,’ Beltira told him. ‘There was an idiot in our village when Belkira and I were just children, and he always seemed confused and frightened when the sun went down and it started to get dark. He couldn’t seem to remember that it happened every day.’

      ‘The Mrin mentions you fairly often though, Belgarath,’ Belkira noted.

      Father grunted sourly. ‘And usually not in a very complimentary way, I’ve noticed. It says nice things about Pol, though.’

      ‘I’m more loveable than you are, father,’ I teased him.

      ‘Not when you talk that way, you aren’t.’

      I’d browsed into various passages in the Mrin myself on occasion. The term the Prophet used most frequently to identify father was ‘ancient and beloved’, and there were references to ‘the daughter of the ancient and beloved’ – me, I surmised, since the daughter mentioned was supposed to do things that Beldaran was clearly incapable of doing. The incoherent time-frame of the Prophecy made it almost impossible to say just exactly when these things were going to happen, but there was a sort of sense that they’d be widely separated in time. I’d always rather taken it for granted that my life-span was going to be abnormally long, but the Mrin brought a more disturbing reality crashing in on me. Evidently I was going to live for thousands of years, and when I looked at the three old men around me, I didn’t like that idea very much. ‘Venerable’ is a term often applied to men of a certain age, and there’s a great deal of respect attached to it. I’ve never heard anyone talking about a venerable woman, however. The term attached to us is ‘crone’, and that didn’t set too well with me. It was a little vain, perhaps, but the notion of cronehood sent me immediately to my mirror. A very close examination of my reflection didn’t reveal any wrinkles, though – at least not yet.

      The four of us spent about ten years – or maybe it was only nine – concentrating our full attention on the Darine Codex, and then the Master sent father to Tolnedra to see to the business of linking the Borune family with the Dryads. Father’s use of chocolate to persuade the Dryad Princess Xoria to go along with the notion has always struck me as more than a little immoral.

      No, I’m not going to pursue that.

      The twins and I remained in the Vale working on the Darine Codex, and a sort of generalized notion of what lay in store for mankind began to emerge. None of us liked what we saw ahead very much. There was a lot of turmoil, frequent wars, and incalculable human suffering yet to come.

      Three more years passed, and then one night mother’s voice came to me with an uncharacteristic note of urgency in it. ‘Polgara!’ she said. ‘Go to Beldaran – now! She’s very ill! She needs you!’

      ‘What is it, mother?’

      ‘I don’t know. Hurry! She’s dying, Polgara!’

      That sent a deathly chill through me, and I ran quickly to the twins’ tower. ‘I have to leave,’ I shouted up the stairs to them.

      ‘What’s wrong, Pol?’ Beltira called to me.

      ‘Beldaran’s ill – very ill. I have to go to her. I’ll keep in touch with you.’ Then I dashed back outside again before they could ask me how I knew that my sister was so sick. Mother’s secret absolutely had to be protected. I chose the form of a falcon for the journey. Speed was essential, and owls don’t fly very fast.

      It was the dead of winter when I left the Vale and sped north along the eastern edge of the mountains of Ulgoland. I chose that route since I knew I’d encounter storms in those mountains, and I didn’t want to be delayed. I flew almost as far north as Aldurford, keeping a continual eye on the range of peaks that separated Algaria from the Sendarian plain. It was obvious that the weather was foul over those mountains. Finally, there wasn’t any help for it. I had to turn west and fly directly into the teeth of that howling storm. It’s sometimes possible to fly above a storm. Summer squalls and spring showers are fairly localized. Winter storms, however, involve great masses of air that tower so high that going over the top of them is virtually impossible. I pressed on with the wind tearing at my feathers and the stinging snow half blinding me. I was soon exhausted and had no choice but to swirl down into a sheltered little valley to rest and regain my strength.

      The next day I tried staying down in those twisting valleys to avoid the full force of the wind, but I soon realized that I was beating my way through miles of snow-dogged air without really accomplishing anything. Grimly I went up into the full force of the wind again.

      I finally passed the crest of the mountains and soared down the west slope toward the Sendarian plain. It was still snowing, but at least the wind had diminished. Then I reached the coast, and the fight started again. The gale blowing across the Sea of the Winds was every bit as savage as the wind in the mountains had been, and there was no place to rest among those towering waves.

      It took me five days altogether to reach the Isle of the Winds and I was shaking with exhaustion when I settled at last on the battlements of the Citadel early on the morning of the sixth day. My body screamed for rest, but there was no time for that. I hurried through the bleak corridors to the royal apartments and went in without bothering to knock.

      The main room of those living quarters was littered with discarded clothing and the table cluttered with the remains of half-eaten meals. Iron-grip, his grey clothes rumpled and his face unshaven, came out of an exhausted half-doze as I entered. ‘Thank the Gods!’ he exclaimed.

      ‘Aunt Pol!’ my nephew, who looked at least as haggard as his father, greeted me. Daran was about twenty now, and I was surprised at how much he had grown.

      ‘Where is she?’ I demanded.

      ‘She’s in bed, Pol,’ Riva told me. ‘She had a bad night, and she’s exhausted. She coughs all the time, and she can’t seem to get her breath.’

      ‘I need to talk with her physicians,’ I told them crisply. ‘Then I’ll want to look at her.’

      ‘Ah–’ Riva floundered. ‘We haven’t actually called in any physicians yet, Pol. I think Elthek, the Rivan Deacons’, been praying over her, though. He says that hiring physicians is just a waste of time and money.’

      ‘He tells us that mother’s getting better, though,’ Daran added.

      ‘How would he know?’

      ‘He’s a priest, Aunt Pol. Priests are very wise.’

      ‘I’ve never known a priest yet who knew his right hand from his left. Take me to your mother immediately.’ I looked around at all the litter. ‘Get this cleaned up,’ I told them.

      Daran opened the bedroom door and glanced in. ‘She’s asleep,’ he whispered.

      ‘Good. At least your priest isn’t inflicting any more of his mumbo-jumbo on her. From now on, keep him away from her.’

      ‘You can make her well, can’t you, Aunt Pol?’

      ‘That’s why I’m here, Daran.’ I tried to make it sound convincing.

      I scarcely recognized my sister when I reached the bed. She’d lost so much weight! The circles under eyes looked like bruises, and her breathing was labored. I touched her drawn face briefly and discovered that she was burning with fever. Then I did something I’d never done before. I sent a probing thought at my sister’s mind and merged my thought with hers.

      ‘Polgara?’ her sleeping thought came to me. ’I don’t feel well.’

      ‘Where is it, Beldaran?’ I asked gently.

      ‘My chest. It feels so tight.’ Then her half-drowsing thought was gone.

      I’d more or less expected that. The accursed climate on the Isle of the Winds was killing my sister.

      I probed further, deeper into her body.