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intuitively. "He pulls in all the force, but then he can't let it go, and it
just " He spread his hands and jerked them suddenly apart.
Belgarath looked narrowly at him. "You've got a strange sort of mind, boy. You
understand the difficult things quite easily, but you can't seem to get hold of
the simple ones. There's the rock." He shook his head. "That will never do. Put
it back where it belongs, and try not to make so much noise this time. That
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racket you raised yesterday echoed all over the Vale."
"What do I do?" Garion asked.
"Gather in the force," Belgarath told him. "Take it from everything around."
Garion tried that.
"Not from me!" the old man exclaimed sharply.
Garion excluded his grandfather from his field of reaching out and pulling in.
After a moment or two, he felt as if he were tingling all over and that his hair
was standing on end. "Now what?" he asked, clenching his teeth to hold it in.
"Push out behind you and push at the rock at the same time.''
"What do I push at behind me?"
"Everything - and at the rock as well. It has to be simultaneous."
"Won't I get - sort of squeezed in between?"
"Tense yourself up."
"We'd better hurry, Grandfather," Garion said. "I feel like I'm going to fly
apart."
"Hold it in. Now put your will on the rock, and say the word." Garion put his
hands out in front of him and straightened his arms. "Push," he commanded. He
felt the surge and the roaring.
With a resounding thud, the rock teetered and then rolled back smoothly to where
it had been the morning before. Garion suddenly felt bruised all over, and he
sank to his knees in exhaustion.
"Push?" Belgarath said incredulously.
"You said to say push."
"I said to push. I didn't say to say push."
"It went over. What difference does it make what word I used?"
"It's a question of style," the old man said with a pained look. "Push sounds so
- so babyish."
Weakly, Garion began to laugh.
"After all, Garion, we do have a certain dignity to maintain," the old man said
loftily. "If we go around saying 'push' or 'flop' or things like that, no one's
ever going to take us seriously."
Garion wanted to stop laughing, but he simply couldn't. Belgarath stalked away
indignantly, muttering to himself.
When they returned to the others, they found that the tents had been struck and
the packhorses loaded.
"There's no point in staying here," Aunt Pol told them, "and the others are
waiting for us. Did you manage to make him understand anything, father?"
Belgarath grunted, his face set in an expression of profound disapproval.
"Things didn't go well, I take it."
"I'll explain later," he said shortly.
During Garion's absence, Ce'Nedra, with much coaxing and a lapful of apples from
their stores, had seduced the little colt into a kind of ecstatic subservience.
He followed her about shamelessly, and the rather distant look he gave Garion
showed not the slightest trace of guilt.
"You're going to make him sick," Garion accused her.
"Apples are good for horses," she replied airily.
"Tell her, Hettar," Garion said.
"They won't hurt him," the hook-nosed man answered. "It's a customary way to
gain the trust of a young horse."
Garion tried to think of another suitable objection, but without success. For
some reason the sight of the little animal nuzzling at Ce'Nedra offended him,
though he couldn't exactly put his finger on why.
"Who are these others, Belgarath?" Silk asked as they rode. "The ones Polgara
mentioned."
"My brothers," the old sorcerer replied. "Our Master's advised them that we're
coming."
"I've heard stories about the Brotherhood of Sorcerers all my life. Are they as
remarkable as everyone says?"
"I think you're in for a bit of a disappointment," Aunt Pol told him rather
primly. "For the most part, sorcerers tend to be crotchety old men with a wide
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assortment of bad habits. I grew up amongst them, so I know them all rather
well." She turned her face to the thrush perched on her shoulder, singing
adoringly. "Yes," she said to the bird, "I know."
Garion pulled closer to his Aunt and began to listen very hard to the birdsong.
At first it was merely noise-pretty, but without sense. Then, gradually, he
began to pick up scraps of meaning - a bit here, a bit there. The bird was
singing of nests and small, speckled eggs and sunrises and the overwhelming joy
of flying. Then, as if his ears had suddenly opened, Garion began to understand.
Larks sang of flying and singing. Sparrows chirped of hidden little pockets of
seeds. A hawk, soaring overhead, screamed its lonely song of riding the wind
alone and the fierce joy of the kill. Garion was awed as the air around him
suddenly came alive with words.
Aunt Pol looked at him gravely. "It's a beginning," she said without bothering
to explain.
Garion was so caught up in the world that had just opened to him that he did not
see the two silvery-haired men at first. They stood together beneath a tall
tree, waiting as the party rode nearer. They wore identical blue robes, and
their white hair was quite long, though they were clean-shaven. When Garion
looked at them for the first time, he thought for a moment that his eyes were
playing tricks. The two were so absolutely identical that it was impossible to
tell them apart.
"Belgarath, our brother," one of them said, "it's been such-" "-a terribly long
time," the other finished.
"Beltira," Belgarath said. "Belkira." He dismounted and embraced the twins.
"Dearest little Polgara," one of them said then. "The Vale has been-" the other
started.
"-empty without you," the second completed. He turned to his brother. "That was
very poetic," he said admiringly.
"Thank you," the first replied modestly.
"These are my brothers, Beltira and Belkira," Belgarath informed the members of
the party who had begun to dismount. "Don't bother to try to keep them separate.
Nobody can tell them apart anyway."
"We can," the two said in unison.
"I'm not even sure of that," Belgarath responded with a gentle smile. "Your
minds are so close together that your thoughts start with one and finish with
the other."
"You always complicate it so much, father," Aunt Pol said. "This is Beltira."
She kissed one of the sweet-faced old men. "And this is Belkira." She kissed the
other. "I've been able to tell them apart since I was a child."
"Polgara knows-"
"-all our secrets." The twins smiled. "And who are-"
"-your companions?"
"I think you'll recognize them," Belgarath answered. "Mandorallen, Baron of Vo
Mandor."
"The Knight Protector," the twins said in unison, bowing.
"Prince Kheldar of Drasnia."
"The Guide," they said.
"Barak, Earl of Trellheim."
"The Dreadful Bear." They looked at the big Cherek apprehensively. Barak's face
darkened, but he said nothing.
"Hettar, son of Cho-Hag of Algaria."
"The Horse Lord."
"And Durnik of Sendaria."
"The One with Two Lives," they murmured with profound respect. Durnik looked
baffled at that.
"Ce'Nedra, Imperial Princess of Tolnedra."
"The Queen of the World," they replied with another deep bow. Ce'Nedra laughed [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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