Chapter Nineteen

   "Well it has to come out someplace," King Anheg said, squinting up toward the spot where Garion waited nervously. "All he has to do is follow it."
   "And walk directly into the arms of Asharak the Murgo?" Aunt Pol asked. "He's better off staying where he is."
   "Asharak is fleeing for his life," Anheg said. "He's no-where in the palace."
   "As I recall, he's not even supposed to be in the kingdom," she said pointedly.
   "All right Pol," Mister Wolf said. He called up, "Garion, which way does the passage run?"
   "It seems to go on toward the back of the hall where the thrones are," Garion answered. "I can't tell for sure if it turns off or not. It's pretty dark up here."
   "We'll pass you up a couple of torches," Wolf said. "Set one at the spot where you are now and then go on down the passage with the other. As long as you can see the first one, you'll be going in a straight line."
   "Very clever," Silk said. "I wish I were seven thousand years old so I could solve problems so easily."
   Wolf let that pass.
   "I still think the safest way would be to get some ladders and break a hole in the wall," Barak said.
   King Anheg looked pained. "Couldn't we try Belgarath's suggestion first?" he asked.
   Barak shrugged. "You're the king."
   "Thanks," Anheg said dryly.
   A warrior fetched a long pole and two torches were passed up to Garion.
   "If the line of the passageway holds straight," Anheg said, "he should come out somewhere in the royal apartments."
   "Interesting," King Rhodar said with one raised eyebrow. "It would be most enlightening to know if the passage led to the royal chambers or from them."
   "It's entirely possible that the passageway is just some long-forgotten escape route," Anheg said in an injured tone. "Our history, after all, has not been all that peaceful. There's no need to expect the worst, is there?"
   "Of course not," King Rhodar said blandly, "no need at all."
   Garion set one of the torches beside the slot in the wall and followed the dusty passageway, looking back often to be sure that the torch was still in plain sight. Eventually he came to a narrow door which opened into the back of an empty closet. The closet was attached to a splendid-looking bedchamber, and outside there was a broad, well-lighted corridor.
   Several warriors were coming down the corridor, and Garion recognized Torvik the huntsman among them. "Here I am", he said, stepping out with a surge of relief.
   "You've been busy, haven't you?" Torvik said with a grin.
   "It wasn't my idea," Garion said.
   "Let's get you back to King Anheg," Torvik said. "The lady, your Aunt, seemed concerned about you."
   "She's angry with me, I suppose," Garion said, falling into step beside the broad-shouldered man.
   "More than likely," Torvik said. "Women are almost alwasy angry with us for one reason or another. It's one of the things you'll have to get used to as you get older."
   Aunt Pol was waiting at the door to the throne room. There were no reproaches Ц not yet, at any rate. For one brief moment she clasped him fiercely to her and then looked at him gravely. "We've been waiting for you dear," she said almost calmly; then she led him to where the others waited.
   "In my grandmother's quarters, you say?" Anheg was saying to Torvik. "What an astonishing thing. I remember her as a crotchety old lady who walked with a cane."
   "No one is born old, Anheg," King Rhodar said with a sly look.
   "I'm sure there are many explanations, Anheg," Queen Porenn said. "My husband is just teasing you."
   "One of the men looked into the passage, your Majesty," Torvik said tactfully. "The dust is very thick. It's possible that it hasn't been used in centuries."
   "What an astonishing thing," Anheg said again.
   The matter was then delicately allowed to drop, though King Rhodar's sly expression spoke volumes.
   The Earl of Seline coughed politely. "I think young Garion here may have a story for us," he said.
   "I expect he has," Aunt Pol said, turning toward Garion. "I seem to remember telling you to stay in your room."
   "Asharak was in my room," Garion said, "and he had warriors with him. He tried to make me with him. When I wouldn't, he said he'd had me once and could get me again. I didn't understand wxactly what he meant, but I told him that he'd have to catch me first. Then I ran."
   Brand, the Rivan Warder, chuckled. "I don't see how you can find much fault with that, Polgara," he said. "I think if I found a Grolim priest in my room, I'd probably run away too."
   "You're sure it was Asharak?" Silk asked.
   Garion nodded. "I've known him for a long time," he said. "All my life, I guess. And he knew me. He called me by name."
   "I think I'd like to have a long talk with this Asharak," Anheg said. "I want to ask him some questions about all the mischief he's been stirring up in my kingdom."
   "I doubt if you'll find him, Anheg," Mister Wolf said. "He seems to be more than just a Grolim Priest. I touched his mind once Ц in Muros. It's not an ordinary mind."
   "I'll amuse myself with the search for him," Anheg said with a bleak expression. "Not even a Grolim can walk on water so I believe I'll just seal off all the ports in Cherek and then put my warriors to searching the mountains and forests for him. They get fat and troublesome in the wintertime anyway, and it'll give them something to do."
   "Driving fat, troublesome warriors into the snow in the dead of winter isn't going to make you a popular king, Anheg," Rhodar observed.
   "Offer a reward," Silk suggested. "That way you get the job done and stay popular as well."
   "That's an idea," Anheg said. "What kind of reward would you suggest, Prince Kheldar?"
   "Promise to equal the weight of Asharak's head in gold," Silk said. "That should lure the fattest warrior away from the dice cup and the ale keg."
   Anheg winced.
   "He's a Grolim," Silk said. "They probably won't find him, but they'll take the kingdom apart looking. Your gold is safe, your warriors get a bit of exercise, you get a reputation for generosity, and, with every man in Cherek looking for him with an axe, Asharak's going to be much to busy hiding to stir up any more mischief. A man whose head is more valuable to others than it is to himself has little time for foolishness."
   "Prince Kheldar," Anheg said gravely, "you are a devious man."
   "I try, King Anheg," Silk said with an ironic bow.
   "I don't suppose you'd care to come to work for me?" the King of Cherek offered.
   "Anheg!" Rhodar protested.
   Silk sighed. "Blood, King Anheg," he said. "I'm committed to my uncle by our bonds of kinship. I'd be interested to hear your offer, though. It might help in future negotiations about compensation for my services."
   Queen Porenn's laughter was like a small silver bell, and King Rhodar's face became tragic. "You see," he said. "I'm absolutely surrounded by traitors. What's a poor fat old man to do?"
   A grim-looking warrior entered the hall and marched up to Anheg. "It's done, King," he said. "Do you want to look at his head?"
   "No," Anheg said shortly.
   "Should we put it on a pole near the harbor?" The warrior asked.
   "No," Anheg said. "Jarvik was a brave man once and my kinsman by marriage. Have him delivered to his wife for proper burial."
   The warrior bowed and left the hall.
   "This problem of the Grolim, Asharak, interests me," Queen Islena said to Aunt Pol. "Might we not between us, Lady Polgara, devise a way to locate him?" Her expression had a certain quality of self-importance to it.
   Mister Wolf spoke quickly before Aunt Pol could answer. "Bravely spoken, Islena," he said. "But we couldn't allow the Queen of Cherek to take such a risk. I'm sure your skills are formidable, but such a search opens the mind completely. If Asharak felt you looking for him he'd retaliate instantly. Polgara wouldn't be in any danger, but I'm afraid your mind could be blown out like a candle. It would be a great shame to have the Queen of Cherek live out the rest of her life as a raving lunatic."
   Islena turned suddenly very pale and did not see the sly wink Mister Wolf directed at Anheg.
   "I couldn't permit it.," Anheg said firmly. "My Queen is far too precious for me to allow her to take such a terrible risk."
   "I must accede to the will of my Lord," Islena said in a relieved tone. "By his command I withdraw my suggestion."
   "The courage of my Queen honors me," Anheg said with an absolutely straight face.
   Islena bowed and backed away rather quickly. Aunt Pol looked at Mister Wolf with one raised eyebrow, but let it pass.
   Wolf's expression became more serious as he rose from the chair in which he had been sitting. "I think the time has come to make some decisions," he said. "Things are beginning to move too fast for any more delay." He looked at Anheg. "Is there some place where we can speak without risk of being overheard?"
   "There's a chamber in one of the towers," Anheg said. "I thought about it before our first meeting but-" He paused and looked at Cho-Hag.
   "You shouldn't let it concern you," Cho-Hag said. "I can manage stairs if I have to, and it would have been better for me to have been a little inconvenienced than to have Jarvik's spy overhear us."
   "I'll stay with Garion," Durnik said to Aunt Pol.
   Aunt Pol shook her head firmly. "No," she said. "As long as Asharak is on the loose in Cherek, I don't want him out of my sight."
   "Shall we go then?" Mister Wolf said. "It's getting late, and I want to leave first thing in the morning. The trail I was following is getting colder."
   Queen Islena, still looking shaken stood to one side with Porenn and Silar and made no effort to follow as King Anheg led the way from the throne room.
   I'll let you know what happens, King Rhodar signalled to his queen.
   Of course, Porenn gestured back. Her face was placid, but the snap of her fingers betrayed her irritability.
   Calmly, child, Rhodar's fingers told her. We're guests here and have to obey local customs.
   Whatever my Lord commands, she replied with a tilt of her hands that spoke whole volumes of sarcasm.
   With Hettar's help, King Cho-Hag managed the stairs although his progress was painfully slow. "I apologize for this," he puffed, stopping halfway to catch his breath. "It's as tiresome for me as it is for you."
   King Anheg posted guards at the foot of the stairs, then came up and closed the heavy door behind him. "Light the fire, cousin," he said to Barak. "We might as well be comfortable."
   Barak nodded and put a torch to the wood in the fireplace.
   The chamber was round and not too spacious, but there was adequate room for them all and chairs and benches to sit on.
   Mister Wolf stood at one of the windows, looking down at the twinkling lights of Val Alorn below. "I've always been fond of towers," he said, almost to himself. "My Master lived in one like this, and I enjoyed the time I spent there."
   "I'd give my life to have known Aldur," Cho-Hag said softly. "Was he really surrounded by light as some say?"
   "He seemed quite ordinary to me," Mister Wolf said. "I lived with him for five years before I even knew who he was."
   "Was he really as wise as we're told?" Anheg asked.
   "Probably wiser," Wolf said. "I was a wild and errant boy when he found me dying in a snowstorm outside his tower. He managed to tame me Ц though it took him several hundred years to do it." He turned from the window with a deep sigh. "To work then," he said.
   "Where will you go to take up the search?" King Fulrach asked.
   "Camaar," Wolf said. "I found the trail there, I think it led down into Arendia."
   "We'll send warriors with you," Anheg said. "After what happened here, it looks like the Grolims may try to stop you."
   "No, Wolf said firmly. "Warriors are useless in dealing with the Grolims. I can't move with an army underfoot, and I won't have time to explain to the King of Arendia why I'm invading his kingdom with a horde of troops at my back. It takes even longer to explain things to Arends than it does to Alorns Ц impossible as that sounds."
   "Don't be uncivil, Father," Aunt Pol said. "It's their world too, and they're concerned."
   "you wouldn't necessarily need an army, Belgarath," King Rhodar said, "but wouldn't it be prudent to take along a few good men?"
   There's very little that Polgara and I can't deal with by ourselves," Wolf said, "and Silk, Barak and Durnik are along to deal with the more mundane problems. The smaller our group, the less attention we'll attract." He turned to Cho-Hag. "As long as we're on the subject, though, I'd like to have your son with us. We're likely to need his rather specialized talents."
   "Impossible," Hettar said flatly. "I have to remain with my father."
   "No, Hettar," Cho-Hag said. "I don't intend for you to live out your life as a cripple's legs."
   "I've never felt any restriction in serving you, Father," Hettar said. "There are plenty of others with the same talents I have. Let the Ancient One choose another."
   "How many other Sha-Darim are there among the Algars?" Mister Wolf asked gravely?
   Hettar looked at him sharply as if trying to tell him something with his eyes.
   King Cho-Hag drew his breath sharply. "Hettar," he asked, "is this true?"
   Hettar shrugged. "It may be, Father," he said. "I didn't think it was important."
   Cho-Hag looked at Mister Wolf.
   Wolf nodded. "It's true," he said. "I knew it the first time I saw him. He's a Sha-Dar. He had to find out for himself, though."
   Cho-Hag's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. "My son!" he said proudly, pulling Hettar into a rough embrace.
   "It's no great thing, Father," Hettar said quietly, as if suddenly embarrassed.
   "What are they talking about? Garion whispered to Silk.
   "It's something the Algars take very seriously," Silk said softly. "They think that there are some people who can talk to horses with their thoughts alone. They call these people the Sha-Darim Ц Clan-Chiefs of the horses. It's very rare Ц maybe only two or three in a whole generation. It's instant nobility for any Algar who has it. Cho-Hag's going to explode with pride when he gets back to Algaria."
   "Is it that important?" Garion asked.
   Silk shrugged. "The Algars seem to think so," he said. "All the clans gather at the Stronghold when they find a new Sha-Dar. The whole nation celebrates for six weeks. There are all kinds of gifts. Hettar'll be a rich man if he chooses to accept them. He may not. He's a strange man."
   "You must go," Cho-Hag said to Hettar. "The pride of Algaria goes with you, your duty is clear."
   "As my father decides," Hettar said reluctantly.
   "Good," Mister Wolf said. "How long will it take you to go to Algaria, pick up a dozen or so of your best horses and take them to Camaar?"
   Hettar thought for a moment. "Two weeks," he said, "if there aren't any blizzards in the mountains of Sendaria."
   "We'll all leave here in the morning then," Wolf said. "Anheg can give you a ship. Take the horses along the Great North Road to the place a few leagues east of Camaar where another road strikes off to the south. It fords the Great Camaar River and runs down to join the Great West Road at the ruins of Vo Wacune in northern Arendia. We'll meet you there in two weeks."
   Hettar nodded.
   "We'll also be joined at Vo Wacune by an Asturian Arend," Wolf went on, "and somewhat later by a Mimbrate. They might be useful to us in the south."
   "And will also fulfill the prophecies," Anheg said cryptically.
   Wolf shrugged, his bright blue eyes twinkling suddenly. "I don't object to fulfilling prophecies," he said, "as long as it doesn't inconvenience me too much."
   "Is there anything we can do to help in the search?" Brand asked.
   You'llhave enough to do," Wold said. "No matter how our search turns out, it's obvious that the Angaraks are getting ready for some kind of major action. If we're successful, they might hesitate, but Angaraks don't think the way we do. Even after what happened at Vo Mimbre, they may decide to risk an all-out attack on the west. It could be that they are responding to prophecies of their own that we don't know anything about. In any event, I think you should be ready for something fairly major from them. You'll need to make preparations."
   Anheg grinned wolfishly. "We've been preparing for them for five thousand years," he said. "This time we'll purge the whole world of this Angarak infection. When Torak One-eye awakes, he'll find himself as alone as Mara Ц and just as powerless."
   "Maybe," Mister Wolf said, "but don't plan the victory celebration until the war's over. Make your preparations quietly, and don't sir up the people in your kingdoms any more than you have to. The west is crawling with Grolims, and they're watching everything we do. The trail I'll be following could lead me into Cthol Murgos, and I'd rather not have to deal with an army of Murgos massed on the border."
   "I can play the watching game too," King Rhodar said with a grim look on his plump face. "Probably even better than the Grolims. It's time to send a few more caravans to the east. The Angaraks won't move without help from the east, and the Malloreans will have to cross over into Gar og Nadrak before they deploy south. A bribe or two here and there, a few barrels of strong ale in the right mining camps Ц who knows what a bit of diligent corruption might turn up? A chance word or two could give us several months' warning."
   If they're planning anything major, the Thulls will be building supply dumps along the eastern escarpment," Cho-Hag said. "Thulls aren't bright, and it's easy to observe them without being seen. I'll increase my patrols along those mountains. With a little luck, we might be able to anticipate their invasion route. Is there anything else we can do to help you, Belgarath?"
   Mister Wolf thought for a moment. Suddenly he grinned. "I'm certain our theif is listening very hard, waiting for one of us to speak his name or the name of the thing he stole. Sooner or later someone's bound to make a slip; and once he locates us, he'll be able to hear every word we say. Instead of trying to gag ourselves, I think it might be better if we gave him something to listen to. If you can arrange it, I'd like every minstel ans storyteller in the north start retelling certain old stories Ц you know the ones. When those names start sounding in every village marketplace north of the Camaar River, it'll set up a roaring in his ears like a thunderstorm. If nothing else it will give us the freedom to speak. In time he'll get tired of it and stop listening."
   "It's getting late, Father," Aunt Pol reminded him.
   Wolf nodded. "We're playing a deadly game," he told them all, "but our enemies are playing one just as deadly. Their danger's as great as ours, and right now, no one can predict what will finally happen. Make your preparations and send out men you can trust to keep watch. Be patient and don't do anything rash. That could be more dangerous than anything else right now. At the moment, Polgara and I are the only ones who can act. You're going to have to trust us. I know that sometimes some of the things we've done have seemed a bit strange, but there are reasons for what we do. Please don't interfere again. I'll get word to you now and then about our progress; if I need you to do anything else, I'll let you know. All right?"
   The kings nodded gravely, and everyone rose to his feet.
   Anheg stepped over to Mister Wolf. "Could you come by my study in an hour or so, Belgarath?" he said quietly. "I'd like to have a few words with you and Polgara before your departure."
   "If you wish, Anheg," Mister Wolf said.
   "Come along, Garion," Aunt Pol said. "We have packing to take care of."
   Garion, a little awed at the solemnity of the discussions, rose quietly and followed her to the door.

Chapter Twenty

   King Anheg's study was a large, cluttered room high in a square tower. Books bound in heavy leather lay everywhere, and strange devices with gears and pulleys and tiny brass chains sat on tables and stands. Intricately drawn maps, with beautiful illuminations were pinned up on the walls, and the floor was littered with scraps of parchment covered with tiny writing. King Anheg, hus coarse black hair hanging in his eyes, sat at a slanted table in the soft glow of a pair of candles studying a large book written on thin sheets of crackling parchment.
   The guard at the door let them enter without a word, and Mister Wolf stepped briskly into the center of the room. "You wanted to see us, Anheg?"
   The King of Cherek straightened from his book and laid it aside. "Belgarath," he said with a short nod of greeting. "Polgara." He glanced at Garion who stood uncertainly near the door.
   "I meant what I said earlier," Aunt Pol said. "I'm not going to let him out of my sight until I know for certain he's out of the reach of that Grolim, Asharak."
   "Anything you say, Polgara," Anheg said. "Come in, Garion."
   "I see that you are continuing your studies," Mister Wolf said approvingly, glancing at the littered room.
   "There's so much to learn," Anheg said with a helpless gesture that included all the welter of books and papers and strange machines. "I have a feeling that I might have been happier if you'd never introduced me to this impossible task."
   "You asked me," said Wolf simply.
   "You could have said no." Anheg laughed. Then his brutish face turned serious. He glanced once more at Garion and began to speak in an obviously oblique manner. "I don't want to interfere," he said, "but the behavior of this Asharak concerns me."
   Garion moved away from Aunt Pol and began to study one of the strange little machines sitting on a nearby table, being careful not to touch it.
   "We'll take care of Asharak," Aunt Pol said.
   But Anheg persisted. There have been rumors for centuries that you and your father have been protecting Ц" he hesitated, glanced at Garion, and then continued smoothly. "Ц A certain thing that must be protected at all costs. Several of my books speak of it."
   "You read too much, Anheg," Aunt Pol said.
   Anheg laughed again. "It passes the time, Polgara," he said. "The alternative is drinking with my earls, and my stomach's getting a little delicate for that Ц and my ears as well. Have you any idea of how much noise a hall full of drunk Chereks can make? My books don't shout or boast and they don't fall down or slide under the tables and snore. They're much better company, really."
   "Foolishness," Aunt Pol said.
   "We're all foolish at one time or another," Anheg said philisophically. "But let's get back to this other matter. If these rumors I mentioned are true, aren't you taking some serious risks? Your search is likely to be very dangerous."
   "No place is really safe," Mister Wolf said.
   "Why take chances you don't have to?" Anheg asked. "Asharak isn't the only Grolim in the world you know."
   "I can see why they call you Anheg the sly," Wolf said with a smile.
   "Wouldn't it be safer to leave this certain thing in my care until you return?" Anheg suggested.
   "We've already found that not even Val Alorn is safe from the Grolims, Anheg," Aunt Pol said firmly. "The mines of Cthol Murgos and Gar og Nadrak are endless, and the Grolims have more gold at their disposal than you could even imagine. How many others like Jarvik have they bought? The Old Wolf and I arevery experienced at protecting this certain thing you mentioned. It will be safe with us."
   "Thank you for your concern, however," Mister Wolf said.
   "The matter concerns us all," Anheg said.
   Garion, despite his youth and occasional recklessness, was not stupid. It was obvious that what they were talking about involved him in some way and quite possibly had to do with the mystery of his parentage as well. To conceal the fact that he was listening as hard as he could, he picked up a small book bound in a strangely textured black leather. He opened it, but there were neither pictures or illuminations, merely a spidery-looking script that seemed strangely repulsive.
   Aunt Pol, who always seemed to know what he was doing, looked over at him. "What are you doing with that?" She said sharply.
   "Just looking," He said. "I can't read."
   "Put it down immediately," she told him.
   King Anheg smiled. "You wouldn't be able to read it anyway, Garion," he said. "It's written in Old Angarak."
   "What are you doing with that filthy thing anyway?" Aunt Pol asked Anheg. "You of all people should know that it's forbidden."
   "It's only a book, Pol," Mister Wolf said. "It doesn't have any power unless it's permitted to."
   "Besides," Anheg said, rubbing thoughtfully at the side of his face, "the book gives us clues to the mind of our enemy. That's always a good thing to know."
   "You can't know Torak's mind," Aunt Pol said, "and it's dangerous to open yourself to him, He can poison you without your even knowing what's happening."
   "I don't think there's any danger of that, Pol," Wolf said. "Anheg's mind is well-trained enough to avoid the traps in Torak's book, They're pretty obvious after all."
   "You're an observant young man, Garion," Anheg said gravely. "You've done me a service today, and you can call on me at any time for service in return. Know that Anheg of Cherek is your friend." He extended hs right hand, and Garion took it into his own without thinking.
   King Anheg's eyes grew suddenly wide, and his face paled slightly. He turned Garion's hand over and looked down at the silvery mark on the boy's palm.
   Then Aunt Pol's hands were also there, firmly closing Garion's fingers and removing him from Anheg's grip.
   "It's true, then," Anheg said softly.
   "Enough," Aunt Pol said. "Don't confuse the boy." Her hands were still firmly holding Garion's. "Come along, dear," she said. "It's time to finish packing." And she turned and led him from the room.
   Garion's mind was racing, What was there about the mark on his hand that had so startled Anheg? The birthmark, he knew, was hereditary. Aunt Pol had once told him that his father's hand had had the same mark, but why would that be of interest to Anheg? It had gone too far, His need to know became almost unbearable. He had to know about his parents, about Aunt Pol Ц about all of it. If the answers hurt, then they'd just have to hurt. At least he would know.
   The next morning was clear, and they left the palace for the harbor quite early. They all gathered in the courtyard where the sleighs waited.
   "There's no need for you to come out in the cold like this, Merel," Barak told his fur-robed wife as she mounted the sleigh beside him.
   "I have a duty to see my Lord safely to his ship," she replied with an arrogant lift of her chin.
   Barak sighed. "Whatever you wish," he said.
   With King Anheg and Queen Islena in the lead, the sleighs whirled out of the courtyard and into the snowy streets.
   The sun was very bright, and the air was crisp. Garion rode silently with Silk and Hettar.
   "Why so quiet, Garion?" Silk asked.
   "A lot of things have happened here that I don't understand," Garion said.
   "No one can understand everything," Hettar said rather sententiously.
   "Chereks are a violent and moody people," Silk said. "They don't even understand themselves."
   "It's not just the Chereks," Garion said, struggling with the words. "It's Aunt Pol and Mister Wolf and Asharak Ц all of it. Things are happening too fast. I can't get it all sorted out."
   "Events are like horses," Hettar told him. "Sometimes they run away. After they've run for a while, though, they'll start to walk again, Then there'll be time to put everything together."
   "I hope so," Garion said dubiously and fell silent again.
   The sleighs came round a corner into the broad square before the temple of Belar. The blind woman was there again and Garion realized that he had been half-expecting her. She stood on the steps of the temple and raised her staff. Unaccountably, the horses which pulled the sleighs stopped, trembling, despite the urgings of the drivers.
   "Hail, Great One," the blind woman said. "I wish thee well on thy journey."
   The sleigh in which Garion was riding had stopped closest to the temple steps, and it seemed that the old woman was speaking to him. Almost without thinking he answered, "Thank you. But why do you call me that?"
   She ignored the question. "Remember me," she commanded, bowing deeply. "Remember Martje when thou comest into thine inheritance."
   It was the second time she'd said that, and Garion felt a sharp pang of curiosity. "What inheritance?" he demanded.
   But Barak was roaring with fury and struggling to throw off the fur robe and draw his sword at the same time. King Anheg was also climbing down from his sleigh, his coarse face livid with rage.
   "No!" Aunt Pol said sharply from nearby. "I'll tend to this." She stood up. "Hear me witch-woman," she said in a clear voice, casting back the hood of her cloak. "I think you see too much with those blind eyes of yours. I'm going to do you a favor so that you'll no longer be troubled by the darkness and these disturbing visions which grow out of it."
   "Strike me down if it please thee, Polgara," the old woman said. "I see what I see."
   "I won't strike you down, Martje," Aunt Pol said. "I'm going to give you a gift instead." She raised her hand in a brief and curious gesture.
   Garion saw it happen quite plainly, so there was no way that he could persuade himself that it had all been some trick of the eye. He was looking directly at Martje's face and saw the white film drain down off her eyes like milk draining down the inside of a glass.
   The old woman stood frozen on the spot as the bright blue of her eyes emerged from the film which had covered them. And then she screamed. She held up her hands and looked at them and screamed again. There was in her scream a wrenching note of indescribable loss.
   "What did you do," Queen Islena demanded.
   "I gave her back her eyes," Aunt Pol said, sitting down again and rearranging the fur robe about her.
   "You can do that?" Islena asked, her face blanching and her voice weak.
   "Can't you? It's a simple thing, really."
   "But," Queen Porenn objected, "with her eyes restored, she'll lose that other vision, won't she?"
   "I imagine so," Aunt Pol said, "but that's a small price to pay, isn't it?"
   "She'll no longer be a witch, then?" Porenn pressed.
   "She wasn't a very good witch anyway," Aunt Pol said. "Her vision was clouded and uncertain. It's better this way, She won't be disturbing herself and others with shadows anymore." She looked at King Anheg who sat frozen in awe beside his half-fainting queen. "Shall we continue?" she asked calmly. "Our ship is waiting."
   The horses, as if released by her words, leaped forward, and the sleighs sped away from the temple, spraying snow from their runners.
   Garion glanced back once. Old Martje stood on the steps of the temple looking at her two outstretched hands and sobbing uncontrollably.
   "We've been been privileged to witness a miracle, my friends," Hettar said.
   "I gather, however, that the beneficiary was not very pleased with it," Silk said dryly. "Remind me not to offend Polgara. Her miracles seem to have two edges to them.

Chapter Twenty-one

   The low-slanting rays of the morning sun glittered on the icy waters of the harbor as their sleighs halted near the stone quays. Greldik's ship rocked and strained at her hawsers, and a smaller ship also waited with seeming impatience.
   Hettar stepped down and went over to speak to Cho-Hag and Queen Silar. The three of them talked together quietly and seriously, drawing a kind of shell of privacy about them.
   Queen Islena had partially regained her composure and sat in her sleigh straight-backed and with a fixed smile on her face. After Anheg had gone to speak with Mister Wolf, Aunt Pol crossed the Icy wharf and stopped near the sleigh of the Queen of Cherek.
   "If I were you, Islena," she said firmly, "I'd find another hobby. Your gifts in the arts of sorcery are limited, and it's a dangerous area for dabbling. Too many things can go wrong if you don't know what you are doing.
   The queen stared at her mutely.
   "Oh," Aunt Pol said, "one other thing. It would be best, I think, if you broke off your connections with the Bear-cult. It's hardly proper for a queen to have dealings with her husband's political enemies."
   Islena's eyes widened. "Does Anheg know?" she asked in a stricken voice.
   "I wouldn't be suprised," Aunt Pol said. "He's much more clever than he looks, you know. You'rewalking very close to the edge of treason. You ought to have a few babies. They'd give you something useful to do with your time and keep you out of trouble. That's only a suggestion, of course, but you might think it over. I've enjoyed our visit, dear. Thank you for your hospitality." And with that she turned and walked away.
   Silk whistled softly. That explains a few things," he said.
   "Explains what?" Garion asked.
   "The High Priest of Belar's been dabbling in Cherek politics lately. He's obviously gone a bit further than I'd thought in penetrating the palace."
   "The queen?" Garion asked, startled.
   "Islena's obsessed with the idea of magic," Silk said. "The Bear-cultists dabble in certain kinds of rituals that might look sort of mystical to someone as gullible as she is." He looked quickly toward where King Rhodar was speaking with the other kings and Mister Wolf. Then he drew a deep breath. "Let's go talk to Porenn," he said and led the way across the wharf to where the tiny blond Queen of Drasnia stood looking out at the icy sea.
   "Highness," Silk said deferentially.
   "Dear Kheldar," she said, smiling at him.
   "Could you give some information to my uncle for me?" he asked.
   "Of course."
   "It seems that Queen Islena's been a bit indiscreet," Silk said. "She's been involved with the Bear-cult here in Cherek."
   "Oh dear," Porenn said. "Does Anheg know?"
   "It's hard to say," Silk told her. "I doubt if he'd admit it if he did. Garion and I happened to hear Polgara tell her to stop it."
   "I hope that puts an end to it," Porenn said. "If it went too far, Anheg would have to take steps. That could be tragic."
   "Polgara was quite firm," Silk said. "I think Islena will do as she was told, but advise my uncle. He likes to be kept aware of this kind of thing."
   "I'll tell him about it," she said.
   "You might also suggest that he keep his eyes on the local chapters of the cult in Boktor and Kotu," Silk suggested. "This kind of thing isn't usually isolated. It's been about 50 years since the last time the cult had to be suppressed."
   Queen Porenn nodded gravely. "I'll see to it that he knows," she said. "I've got some of my own people planted in the Bear-cult. As soon as we get back to Boktor, I'll talk with them and see what's afoot."
   "Your people? Have you gone that far already?" Silk asked in a bantering tone. "You're maturing rapidly, my Queen. It won't be long until you're as corrupt as the rest of us."
   "Boktor is full of intrigue, Kheldar," the queen said primly. "It isn't just the Bear-cult, you know. Merchants from all over the world gather in our city, and at least half of them are spies. I have to protect myself Ц and my husband."
   "Does Rhodar know what you're up to?" Silk asked slyly.
   "Of course he does," she said. "He gave me my first dozen spies himself Ц as a wedding present.
   "How typically Drasnian," Silk said.
   "It's only practical, after all," she said. "My husband's concerned with matters involving other kingdoms. I try to keep an eye on things at home to leave his mind free for that kind of thing. My operations are a bit more modest than his, but I manage to stay aware of things." She looked at him slyly from beneath her eyelashes. "If you ever decide to come home to Boktor and settle down I might just be able to find work for you."
   Silk laughed. "The whole world seems to be full of opportunities lately," he said.
   The queen looked at him seriously. "When are you coming home, Kheldar?" she asked. "When will you stop being this vagabond, Silk, and come back where you belong? My husband misses you very much, and you could serve Drasnia more by becoming his chief advisor than all this flitting about the world."
   Silk looked away, squinting into the bright wintry sun. "Not just yet, your Highness," he said. "Belgarath needs me too, and this is a very important thing we're doing just now. Besides, I'm not ready to settle down yet. The game is still entertaining. Perhaps someday when we're all much older it won't be anymore Ц who knows?"
   She sighed. "I miss you too Kheldar," she said gently.
   "Poor, lonely little queen," Silk said, half-mockingly.
   "You're impossible," she said, stamping her tiny foot.
   "One does one's best." He grinned.
   Hettar had embraced his father and mother and leaped across to the deck of the small ship King Anheg had provided him. "Belgarath," he called as the sailors slipped the stout ropes that bound the ship to the quay, "I'll meet you in two weeks at the ruins of Vo Wacune."
   "We'll be there," Mister Wolf replied.
   The sailors pushed the ship away from the quay and began to row out into the bay. Hettar stood on the deck, his long scalp lock flowing in the wind. He waved once, then turned to face the sea.
   A long plank was run down over the side of Captain Greldik's ship to the snow covered stones.
   "Shall we go on board, Garion?" Silk said. They climbed the precarious plank and stepped out onto the deck.
   "Give our daughters my love," Barak said to his wife.
   "I will, my Lord," Merel said in the same stiffly formal tone she always used with him. "Have you any other instructions?"
   "I won't be back for some time," Barak said. "Plant the south fields to oats this year, and let the west fields lie fallow. Do whatever you think best with the north fields. And don't move the cattle up to the high pastures until all the frost is out of the ground."
   "I'll be most careful of my husband's lands and herds," she said.
   "They're yours too," Barak said.
   "As my husband wishes."
   Barak sighed. "You never let it rest, do you, Merel?" He said sadly.
   "My Lord?"
   "Forget it."
   "Will my Lord embrace me before he leaves?" she asked.
   "What's the point?" Barak said. He jumped across to the ship and immediately went below.
   Aunt Pol stopped on her way to the ship and looked gravely at Barak's wife. Then, without warning, she suddenly laughed.
   "Something amusing, Lady Polgara?" Merel asked.
   "Very amusing, Merel," Aunt Pol said with a mysterious smile.
   "Might I be permitted to share it?"
   "Oh, you'll share it, Merel," Aunt Pol promised, "but I wouldn't want to spoil it for you by telling you too soon." She laughed again and stepped onto the plank that led to the ship. Durnik offered his hand to steady her, and the two of them crossed to the deck.
   Mister Wolf clasped hands with each of the kings on turn and then nimbly crossed to the ship. He stood for a moment on the deck looking at the ancient, snow-shrouded city of Val Alorn and the towering mountains of Cherek rising behind.
   "Farewell, Belgarath," King Anheg called.
   Mister Wolf nodded. "Don't forget about the minstrels," he said.
   "We won't," Anheg promised. "Good luck."
   Mister Wolf grinned and then walked forward toward the prow of Greldik's ship. Garion, on an impulse, followed him. There were questions which needed answers, and the old man would know if anyone would.
   "Mister Wolf," he said when they had both reached the high prow.
   "Yes, Garion?"
   He was not sure where to start, so Garion approached the problem obliquely. "How did Aunt Pol do that to old Martje's eyes?"
   "The Will and the Word," Wolf said, his long cloak whipping about him in the stiff breeze. "It isn't difficult."
   "I don't understand," Garion said.
   "You simply will something to happen," the old man said, "and then speak the word. If your will's strong enough, it happens."
   "That's all there is to it?" Garion asked, a little disappointed.
   "That's all," Wolf said.
   "Is the word a magic word?"
   Wolf laughed, looking out at the sun glittering sharply on the winter sea. "No," he said. "There aren't any magic words. Some people think so, but they're wrong. Grolims use strange words, but that's not really necessary. Any word will do the job. It's the Will that's important, not the Word. The Word's just a channel for the Will."
   "Could I do it?" Garion asked hopefully.
   Wolf looked at him. "I don't know, Garion," he said. "I wasn't much older than you are the first time I did it, but I'd been living with Aldur for several years. That makes a difference, I suppose."
   "What happened?"
   "My Master wanted me to move a rock," Wolf said. "He seemed to think that it was in his way. I tried to move it, but it was too heavy. After a while I got angry, and I told it to move. It did. I was a little suprised, but my Master didn't think it so unusual."
   "You just said, 'move?' That's all?" Garion was incredulous.
   "That's all." Wolf shrugged. "It seemed so simple that I was suprised I hadn't thought of it before. At the time I imagined that anybody could do it, but men have changed quite a bit since then. Maybe it isn't possible anymore. It's hard to say, really."
   "I always thought that sorcery had to be done with long spells and strange signs and things like that," Garion said.
   "Those are just the devices of tricksters and charlatans," Wolf said. "They make a fine show and impress and frighten simple people, but spells and incantations have nothing to do with the real thing, It's all in the Will. Focus the Will and speak the Word, and it happens. Sometimes a gesture of sorts helps, but it isn't really necessary. Your Aunt has always seemed to want to gesture when she makes something happen. I've been trying to break her of that habit for hundreds of years now."
   Garion blinked. "Hundreds of years?" he gasped. "How old is she?"
   "Older than she looks," Wolf said. "It isn't polite to ask questions about a lady's age, however."
   Garion felt a sudden, shocking emptiness. The worst of his fears had been confirmed. "Then she isn't really my Aunt, is she?" he asked sickly.
   "What makes you say that?" Wolf asked.
   She couldn't be, could she? I always thought that she was my father's sister, but if she's hundreds and thousands of years old, it would be impossible."
   "You're much to fond of that word, Garion," Wolf said. "When you get right down to it, nothing Ц or at least very little Ц is actually impossible."
   "How could she be? My Aunt I mean?"
   "All right," Wolf said. "Polgara was not strictly speaking your father's sister. Her relationship to him is quite more complex. She was the sister of his grandmother Ц his ultimate grandmother, it there is such a term Ц and of yours as well, of course."
   "Then she'd be my great-aunt," Garion said with a faint in spark of hope. It was something, at least.
   "I don't know that I'd use that precise term around her." Wolf grinned. "She might take offense. Why are you so concerned about all of this?"
   "I was afraid that maybe she'd just said that she was my Aunt, and that there wasn't really any connection between us at all," Garion said. "I've been afraid of that for quite a while now."
   "Why were you afraid?"
   "It's kind of hard to explain," Garion said. "You see, I don't really know who or what I am. Silk says I'm not a Sendar, and Barak says I look sort of like a Rivan Ц but not exactly. I always thought I was a Sendar Ц like Durnik Ц but I guess I'm not. I don't know anything about my parents or where they come from or anything like that. If Aunt Pol isn't related to me, then I don't have anybody in the world at all. I'm all alone, and that's a very bad thing."
   "But now it's alright, isn't it?" Wolf said, your Aunt really is your Aunt Ц at least your blood and hers are the same."
   "I'm glad you told me," Garion said. "I've been worried about it."
   Greldik's sailors untied the hawsers and began to push the ship away from the quay.
   "Mister Wolf," Garion said as a strange thought occurred to him.
   "Yes, Garion?"
   "Aunt Pol really is my Aunt Ц or my Great-Aunt?"
   "Yes."
   "And she's your daughter."
   "I have to admit that she is," Wolf said wryly. "I try to forget that sometimes, but I can't really deny it."
   Garion took a deep breath and plunged directly into it. "If she's my Aunt, and you're her father," he said, "wouldn't that sort of make you my Grandfather?"
   Wolf looked at him with a startled expression. "Why yes," he said, laughing suddenly, "I suppose that in a way it does. I'd never thought of it exactly like that before."
   Garion's eyes suddenly filled with tears, and he impulsively embraced the old man. "Grandfather," he said, trying the word out.
   ""Well, well," Wolf said, his own voice strangely thick. "What a remarkable discovery." Awkwardly he patted Garion's shoulder.
   "They were both a little embarrassed by Garion's sudden display of affection, and they stood silently, watching as Greldik's sailors rowed the ship out into the harbor.
   "Grandfather," Garion said after a little while.
   "Yes?"
   "What really happened to my mother and father? I mean, how did they die?"
   Wolf's face became very bleak. "There was a fire," he said shortly.
   "A fire?" Garion said weakly, his imagination lurching back from that awful thought Ц of the unspeakable pain. "How did it happen?"
   "It's not very pleasant," Wolf said grimly. "Aew you really sure you want to know?"
   "I have to, Grandfather," Garion said quietly. "I have to know everything I can about them. I don't know why, but it's very important."
   Mister Wolf sighed. "Yes, Garion," he said, "I guess it would be at that. All right, then. If you're old enough to ask the questions, you're old enough to hear the answers." He sat down on a sheltered bench out of the chilly wind. "Come over here and sit down." He patted the bench beside him.
   Garion sat down and pulled his cloak around him.
   "Let's see," Wolf said, scratching thoughtfully at his beard, "where do we start?" He pondered for a moment. "Your family's very old, Garion," he said finally, "and like so many old families, it has a certain number of enemies."
   "Enemies?" Garion was startled. That particular idea hadn't occurred to him before.
   "It's not uncommon," Wolf said. "When we do something someone else doesn't like, they tend to hate us. The hatred builds up over the years until it turns into something almost like a religion. They hate not only us, but everything connected with us. Anyway, a long time ago your family's enemies became so dangerous that your Aunt and I decided that the only way we could protect the family was to hide it."
   "You aren't telling me everything," Garion said.
   "No," said Wolf blandly, "I'm not. I'm telling you as much as it's safe for you to know right now. If you knew certain things, you'd act differently, and people would notice that. It's safer if you remain ordinary for a while longer."
   "You mean ignorant," Garion accused.
   "All right, ignorant then. Do you want to hear the story, or do you want to argue?"
   "I'm sorry," Garion said.
   "It's all right," Wolf said, patting Garion's shoulder. "Since your Aunt and I are related to your family in rather a special way, we were naturally interested in your safety. That's why we hid your people."
   "Can you actually hide a whole family?" Garion asked.
   "It's never been that big a family," Wolf said. "It seems, for one reason or another, to be a single, unbroken line Ц no cousins or uncles or that kind of thing. It's not all that hard to hide a man and wife with a single child. We've been doing it for hundreds of years now. We've hidden them in Tolnedra, Riva, Cherek, Drasnia Ц all kinds of places. They've lived simple lives Ц artisans mostly, sometimes ordinary peasants Ц the kind of people nobody would ever look at twice. Anyway, everything had gone well until about twenty years ago. We moved your father, Geran, from a place in Arendia to a little village in eastern Sendaria, about sixty leagues southeast of Darine, up in the mountains. Geran was a stonecutter Ц didn't I tell you that once before?"
   Garion nodded. "A long time ago," he said. "You said you liked him and used to visit him once in a while. Was my mother a Sendar then?"
   "No," Wolf said. "Ildera as an Algar, actually Ц the second daughter of a Clan Chief. Your Aunt and I introduced her to Geran whenthey were about the right age. The usual sort of thing happened, and they got married. You were born a year or so afterward."
   "When was the fire?" Garion asked.
   "I'm getting to that," Wolf said. One of the enemies of your family had been looking for your people for a long time."
   "How long?"
   "Hundreds of years, actually."
   "That means he was a sorcerer, too, doesn't it?" Garion asked. "I mean, only sorcerers live for that long, don't they?"
   "He has certain capabilities along those linesm" Wolf admitted. "Sorcerer is a misleading term, though. It's not the sort of thing we actually call ourselves. Other people do, but we don't exactly think of it that way. It's a convenient term for people who don't really understand what it's all about. Anyway, your Aunt and I happened to be away when this enemy finally tracked down Geran and Ildera. He came to their house very early one morning while they were still sleeping and he sealed up the doors and windows. And then he set it on fire."
   "I thought you said the house was made of stone."
   "It was," Wolf said, "but you can make stone burn if you really want to. The fire just has to be hotter, that's all. Geran and Ildera knew there was no way they could get out of the burning building, but Geran managed to knock one of the stones out of the wall, and Ildera pushed you out through the hole. The one who started the fire was waiting for that. He picked you up and started out of the village. We could never be sure exactly what he had in mind Ц either he was going to kill you, or maybe he was going to keep you for some reason of his own. At any rate, that's when I got there. I put out the fire, but Geran and Ildera were already dead. Then I went after the one who'd stolen you."
   "Did you kill him?" Garion demanded fiercely.
   "I try not to do that more than I have to," Wolf said. "It disrupts the natural course of events too much. I had some other ideas at the time Ц much more unpleasant than killing." His eyes were icy. "As it turned out though, I never got the chance. He threw you at me Ц you were only a baby Ц and I had to try to catch you. It gave him time to get away. I left you with Polgara and then I went looking for your enemy. I haven't been able to find him yet, though."
   "I'm glad you haven't," Garion said.
   Wolf looked a little suprised at that.
   "When I get older, I'm going to find him," Garion said, "I think I ought to be the one who pays him back for what he did, don't you?"
   Wolf looked at him gravely. "It could be dangerous," he said.
   "I don't care. What's his name?"
   "I think that maybe I better wait a while before I tell you that," Wolf said. "I don't want you jumping into something before you're ready."
   "But you will tell me?"
   "When the time comes."
   "It's very important, Grandfather"
   "Yes," Wolf said. "I can see that."
   "Do you promise?"
   "If you insist. And if I don't, I'm sure your Aunt will. She feels the same way you do."
   "Don't you?"
   "I'm much older," Wolf said. "I see things a little differently."
   "I'm not that old yet," Garion said. "I won't be able to do the kind of things you'd do, so I'll have to settle for just killing him." He stood up and began to pace back and forth, a rage boiling in him.
   "I don't suppose I'll be able to talk you out of this," Wolf said, "but I really think you're going to feel differently about it after it's over."
   "Not likely," Garion said, still pacing.
   "We'll see," Wolf said.
   "Thank you for telling me, Grandfather," Garion said.
   "You'd have found out sooner or later anyway," the old man said, "and it's better that I tell you than for you to get a distorted account from someone else."
   "You mean Aunt Pol?"
   "Polgara wouldn't deliberately lie to you," Wolf said, "but she sees things in a much more personal way than I do. Sometimes that colors her perceptions. I try to take the long view of things. I could take Ц under the circumstances."
   Garion looked at the old man whose white hair and beard seemed somehow luminous in the morning sun. "What's it like to live forever, Grandfather?" He asked.
   "I don't know," Wolf said. "I haven't lived forever."
   "You know what I mean."
   "The quality of life isn't much different," Wolf said. "We all live as long as we need to. It just happened that that I have something to do that's taken a very long time." He stood up abruptly. "This conversation's taken a gloomy turn," he said.
   "This thing that we're doing is very important, isn't it, Grandfather?" Garion asked.
   "It's the most important thing in the world right now," Wolf said.
   "I'm afraid I'm not going to be very much help," Garion said.
   Wolf looked at him gravely for a moment and then put one arm round his shoulders. "I think you may be suprised about that before it's all over, Garion," he said.
   And then they turned and looked out over the prow of the ship at the snowy coast of Cherek sliding by on their right as the sailors rowed the ship south towards Camaar and whatever lay beyond.

***
   Here ends Book One of the Belgariad. Book Two, Queen of Sorcery will reveal Garion's own dangerous powers of sorcery and more on his heritage, which underlies their quest.