Tiaro: переводы

→“But bold,” said Orik. “Very bold.”

→She released a great amount of air in what seemed to be a sigh. No, not really.…

→“No, but then you aren’t hungry, are you?” The energy from the Eldunarí, though insubstantial, had suppressed her desire to eat.

→<i>Sport does not fill your belly.</i>

→“Yes, but where would the sport be in that?” Eragon asked, loosening the straps around his legs.

→As she folded her wings, Saphira looked after the sheep and said, <i>It would be easy to catch them, since they cannot see me. </i> She licked her chops.

→With a whirl of wind, Saphira landed in the hollow by the base of the hill, startling a flock of nearby sheep, who scurried away while uttering plaintive bleats.

→With a brash, jarring toll, the bells sounded again, filling the chamber with a swarm of angry echoes. Through the doorways marched three novitiates: young men garbed in golden cloth, each carrying a metal frame hung with bells. Behind them followed twenty-four men and women, not one of whom possessed a full set of limbs. Unlike their predecessors, the cripples wore robes of dark leather, tailored to match their individual infirmities. And last of all, six oiled slaves carried in a bier, upon which, propped upright, rested an armless, legless, toothless, seemingly sexless figure: the High Priest of Helgrind. From its head rose a three-foot-high crest, which only made the creature appear even more misshapen.

→Then, when Eragon had begun to wonder if anyone was ever going to come, he heard the clang of iron bells from somewhere in the tunnels and passageways, and the doors on either side of the black altar swung open on silent hinges. Eragon’s muscles tensed in anticipation. He fixed his eyes on the openings, as did Arya.

→<i>If we can’t escape … </i>He shied away from the thought; it did not bear dwelling on. More than anything, he wished he could contact Saphira, if only to be assured that she was still safe and to take comfort in her companionship. Though Arya was with him, he felt incredibly alone, and that unnerved him most of all.

→As he slowly recovered, he saw Arya gazing at him with a concerned expression. <i>She must have tried a spell herself</i>. Then: <i>How could this have happened? </i> The two of them bound and helpless, Wyrden dead, the herbalist captured or slain, and Solembum most likely lying hurt somewhere in the underground maze, if the black-clad warriors had not already killed the werecat. Eragon could not understand it. He, Arya, Wyrden, and Angela had been as capable and dangerous a group as any in Alagaësia. And yet they had failed, and he and Arya were at the mercy of their enemies.

→The pain vanished at once, but it left him devoid of breath, with his heart pounding as heavily as if he had just jumped off a cliff. The experience was similar to the seizures he had suffered before the dragons healed the scar on his back during the Agaetí Blödhren.

→He screamed into his gag as every nerve in his body seared with pain. Unable to maintain his concentration, he lost his grip on the spell, and the enchantment ended.

→Determined to escape, he delved into the flow of energy within his body and, directing the spell at his shackles, he mentally shouted, <i>Kverst malmr du huildrs edtha, mar frëma né thön eka threyja!</i>

→Rage engulfed him. He grabbed the chain above him and yanked on it as hard as he could. The links held, but he refused to give up. In a frenzy of anger, he pulled on it again and again, without regard for the harm he was causing himself.