The barren coast of the Urga peninsula slid by on their left the following morning as the Murgo scow beat steadily southward with a good following breeze. Cliffs rose sharply out of the crashing surf, and there was only the scantiest of vegetation to break the monotony of the desolation of rust-colored rock. The autumn sky was a deep, chill blue, but the sun stood far to the north, for winter came early to these extreme southern latitudes.
Garion, as he always did when he was at sea, had risen at first light of day and gone up on deck. He stood at the rail amidships, half-bemused by the sparkle of the morning sun on the waves and by the steady creak and roll of the vessel under his feet.
The slanting door that opened onto the short flight of steps leading down to the aft companionway creaked, and Durnik came out on deck, bracing himself against the awkward roll of the ship and squinting in the bright sunlight. The smith wore his usual plain brown tunic, and his face was somber.
Garion crossed the deck to his friend’s side. “Is she all right?” he asked.
“She’s very tired,” Durnik replied wearily. His own nearly exhausted face clearly showed that he had slept very little himself. “She tossed and fretted for a long time before she finally went to sleep last night. That was a terrible thing she had to do.”
“Did she talk to you about it at all?”
“Some. The demon had to be sent back to where he came from. Otherwise he’d have spread horror and death across the whole world. Since Chabat summoned him, he could have used her as a doorway to come into this world any time he wanted to. That’s why Chabat had to go with him—to close that doorway.”
“Exactly where do they come from—demons, I mean?”
“She didn’t say very much about that, but I got the feeling that I wouldn’t really want to know about it.”
“Is she sleeping now?”
Durnik nodded. “I’m going to go talk with the ship’s cook. I want to have something hot for her to eat when she wakes up.”
“You’d better get some sleep yourself.”
“Perhaps. Would you excuse me, Garion? I don’t want to stay away too long—just in case she wakes up and needs me.” He went on forward toward the ship’s galley.
Garion straightened and looked around. The Murgo sailors worked with fearful looks on their faces. What had taken place the previous afternoon had washed away all traces of the stiff arrogance that usually marked a Murgo’s expression, and they all cast frightened, sidelong glances at every one of their passengers, as if expecting them to turn into - ogres or sea monsters without any warning.
Silk and Urgit had emerged from the companionway door while Garion and Durnik had been talking and stood at the rail near the stern, idly watching the bubbly wake tracing its path across the dark green swells and the white-winged gulls screeching and hovering in a greedy cloud behind them. Gar-ion moved a bit closer, but did not actually join them.
“Uninviting sort of place,” Silk observed, looking at the stark cliffs rising from the sea. The little man had discarded the shabby clothing he had worn when they had begun this journey and he now wore a plain, unadorned gray doublet.
Urgit grunted morosely. Idly, he tossed chunks of stale bread into their wake, watching without much interest as the squawking gulls trailing the ship swooped down to fight over them. “Kheldar,” he said, “does she do that all the time?”
“Who’s that?”
“Polgara.” Urgit shuddered. “Does she obliterate everybody who displeases her?”
“No,” Silk replied. “Polgara doesn’t do that—none of them do. It’s not allowed.”
“I’m sorry, Kheldar. Allowed or not, I know what I saw yesterday.”
“I talked to Belgarath about it,” Silk told him, “and he explained it. Chabat and the demon weren’t actually destroyed. They were just sent back to the place where the demon came from. The demon absolutely had to be sent back; unfortunately, Chabat had to go with him.”
“Unfortunately? I didn’t feel all that much sympathy for her.”
“I don’t think you quite understand, Urgit. Killing somebody is one thing, but destroying someone’s soul is quite something else. That’s what made Polgara miserable. She was forced to condemn Chabat to eternal pain and horror. That’s the most terrible thing anybody can be forced to do.”
“Who was that who came up out of the water with her?”
“Aldur.”
“You’re not serious!”
“Oh, yes. I’ve seen him once or twice. It was Aldur, all right.”
“A God? Here? What was he doing?”
“He had to be here.” Silk shrugged. “No human, however powerful, can face a demon unaided. When the magicians of the Morindim raise a demon, they always are very careful to set rigid limits on him. Chabat just unleashed hers without any limits at all. Only a God can deal with a demon with that kind of freedom; and since the Gods work through us, Polgara had to be involved as well. It was a very tricky business.”
Urgit shuddered. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to deal with this.”
They stood side by side, leaning on the rail and looking out at the long waves rolling in off the Great Western Sea to crash against the barren cliffs. As Garion looked at the two of them, he wondered how it had been possible for anyone to miss the relationship. Although they were not exactly identical, their features were so much alike that there could be no doubt they were brothers.
“Kheldar,” Urgit said finally, “what was our father really like?”
“He was taller than either of us,” Silk replied, “and very distinguished-looking. His hair was son of iron-gray, and this nose we’ve all got made him look more like an eagle than a rat.”
“We do look a bit like rodents, don’t we?” Urgit agreed with a brief smile. “That’s not what I meant, though. What was he really like?”
“Polished. He had exquisite manners, and he was very civilized and urbane. I never heard him use a harsh word to anyone.” Silk’s face was melancholy.
“But he was deceitful, wasn’t he?”
“What makes you say that?”
“He did cheat, after all. I’m not the product of any sort of lasting fidelity.”
“You don’t exactly understand,” Silk disagreed. He looked thoughtfully out at the green swells topped by an occasional whitecap. “For all his polish, our father was very much an adventurer. He’d accept any challenge—just for the fun involved—and he had an insatiable wanderlust. He was always looking for something new. I think that when you put the two of those traits together, you might begin to understand exactly why he was attracted to your mother. I visited the palace in Rak Goska when Taur Urgas was still alive. His wives were all either closely guarded or kept under lock and key. It was the sort of thing our father would have viewed as a challenge.”
Urgit made a sour face. “You aren’t bolstering my ego very much, Kheldar. I’m here because a Drasnian gentleman liked to pick locks.”
“Not entirely. I didn’t have much chance to talk with your mother about it, but I gather that she and our father were genuinely fond of each other. Taur Urgas was never fond of anyone. At least our father and your mother were having fun.”
“Maybe that explains my sunny disposition.”
Silk sighed. “He didn’t have too much fun after my mother’s illness, though. That put an end to all the wandering and adventures.”
“What kind of illness was it?”
“A pestilence that breaks out in Drasnia from time to time. It disfigures its victims horribly. My mother was blinded by its effects, fortunately.”
“Fortunately?”
“She couldn’t look into a mirror. Our father stayed by her side for the rest of his life and never once gave any hint about what he saw whenever he looked at her.” Silk’s face was bleak, and his jaws were tightly clenched together. “It was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen any man do—and it was all the worse because it went on and on and on until the day he died.” He looked away quickly. “Do you suppose we could talk about something else?”
“I’m sorry, Kheldar,” Urgit said sympathetically. “I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”
“What was it like growing up in Rak Goska?” Silk asked after a moment.
“Grim,” Urgit replied. “Taur Urgas had begun to show signs of his madness much earlier than was usual in the Urga family, and there were all kinds of rituals we had to observe.”
“I’ve seen some of them.”
“Not just the ones in the Temple, Kheldar—although there were plenty of those as well. I’m talking about his personal peculiarities. No one was ever supposed to stand to his right, and it was worth a man’s life to let his shadow fall on the royal person. My brothers and I were taken from our mothers at the age of seven and set to training—military exercises for the most part—involving a great deal of grunting and sweating. Lapses of any kind were punished with flogging—usually at the supper table.”
“That might tend to cool one’s appetite.”
“It does indeed. I don’t even eat supper any more—too many unpleasant memories. My brothers and I all started plotting against each other very early. Taur Urgas had many wives and whole platoons of children. Since the crown falls to the eldest surviving son, we all schemed against our older brothers and tried to protect ourselves against the plots of the younger ones. One charming little fellow ran a knife into one of the others when he was nine.”
“Precocious,” Silk murmured.
“Oh, he was indeed. Taur Urgas was delighted, of course. For a time, the little back-stabber was his favorite. That made me and my older brothers quite nervous, since it was entirely possible that our insane sire might have seen fit to have us all strangled to make room for the little monster, so we took steps.”
“Oh?”
“We caught him alone in the upper floors of the palace one day and threw him out a window.” Urgit looked somberly out over the long swells sweeping in off the Great Western Sea. “From the day we were taken from our mothers, we lived a life of constant fear and senseless brutality. We were supposed to be perfect Murgos—strong, brave, insanely loyal, and absolutely dedicated to Torak. Each of us had a Grolim for a tutor, and we had to listen to hours of gibberish about the God of Angarak every day. It wasn’t .what you might call a pleasant childhood.”
“Taur Urgas never showed any kind of affection?”
“Not to me, he didn’t. I was always the smallest, and he had a great deal of contempt for me. Murgos are supposed to be big and muscular. Even after I’d managed to work my way up to the point where I was heir apparent, he never had a civil word for me and he encouraged my younger brothers to try to murder me.”
“How did you manage to survive?”
“By my wits—and by using a key I managed to steal.”
“A key?”
“To the palace strong room. You’d be amazed at how much help a man with unlimited funds at his command can get—even in Cthol Murgos.”
Silk shivered. “It’s getting definitely chilly out here on deck,” he said. “Why don’t we go inside and share a flagon of spiced wine?”
“I don’t drink, Kheldar.”
“You don’t?” Silk sounded amazed.
“I need to keep my wits about me. A man with his head stuck in a wine barrel can’t see someone creeping up behind him with a knife, can he?”
“You’re quite safe with me, brother.”
“I’m not safe with anyone, Kheldar—particularly not with a brother. Nothing personal, you understand—just the result of a very nervous childhood.”
“All right,” Silk said amiably. “Let’s go inside, and you can watch me drink. I’m very good at it.”
“I can imagine. You’re an Alorn, after all.”
“So are you, dear brother.” Silk laughed. “So are you. Come along, and I’ll introduce you to all the fun that goes with your heritage.”
Garion was on the verge of turning to follow them, but at that moment Belgarath came out on deck, stretching and yawning. “Is Pol up yet?” he asked Garion.
Garion shook his head. “I talked with Durnik a little while ago. He said that she’s very tired after what she did yesterday.”
Belgarath frowned slightly. “It really shouldn’t have tired her all that much,” he said. “It was spectacular, I’ll admit, but hardly exhausting.”
“I don’t think it’s that kind of exhaustion, Grandfather. Durnik said she was troubled for about half the night.”
The old man scratched at his beard. “Oh,” he said, “sometimes I lose sight of the fact that Pol’s a woman. She can’t seem to put things behind her, and sometimes her compassion gets the better of her.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad trait, Grandfather.”
“Not for a woman, perhaps.”
“I seem to remember something that happened in the fens once,” Garion told him. “Didn’t you sort of go out of your way to do something for Vordai—more or less out of compassion?”
Belgarath looked around guiltily. “I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to mention that.”
“You know something, Grandfather?” Garion said with a faint smile. “You’re a fraud. You pretend to be as cold as ice and as hard as a rock, but underneath you’ve got the same emotions as all the rest of us.”
“Please, Garion, don’t bandy that about too much.”
“Does it bother you being human?”
“Well, not really, but after all, I do sort of have a reputation to maintain.”
By late afternoon the coast line they had been following had grown even more jagged, and the surf boiled and thundered against the rocks. Silk and Urgit came up out of the aft companion way, and Garion noted that both were a trifle unsteady as they walked.
“Hello there, Belgarion,” Urgit said expansively. “How would you like to join us? Kheldar and I have decided that we’d like to sing for a bit.”
“Uh—thanks ail the same,” Garion replied carefully, “but I don’t sing very well.”
“That doesn’t matter, old boy. It doesn’t matter in the slightest. I might not be very good at it myself. I can’t say for sure, because I’ve never sung a note in my whole life.” He giggled suddenly. “There are a lot of things I’ve never done before, and I think it might be time I tried a few.”
Ce’Nedra and the Murgo girl, Praia, came up on deck. Instead of her customary black, Praia was dressed in a stunning gown of pale rose, and her jet-black hair was caught in an intricate coil at the nape of her neck.
“My ladies,” Urgit greeted them with a formal bow, marred only slightly by an unsteady lurch.
“Careful, old boy,” Silk said, catching him by the elbow. “I don’t want to have to fish you out of the sea.”
“You know something, Kheldar?” Urgit said, blinking owlishly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite this good.” He looked at Ce’Nedra and the dark-haired Praia. “You know something else? Those are a couple of awfully pretty girls there. Do you think they might like to sing with us?”
“We could ask them.”
“Why don’t we?”
The pair of them descended on Ce’Nedra and her Murgo companion, imploring them outrageously to join them in song. Praia laughed as the Murgo King lurched forward and back with the roll of the ship. “I think you two are drunk,” she declared.
“Are we drunk?” Urgit asked Silk, still swaying on his feet.
“I certainly hope so,” Silk replied. “If we aren’t, we’ve wasted a great deal of very good wine.”
“I guess we’re drunk then. Now that’s been settled, what shall we sing?”
“Alorns!” Ce’Nedra sighed, rolling her eyes skyward.
It was raining the following morning when they awoke, a chill drizzle that hissed into the sea and collected to run in heavy droplets down the tarred ropes of the rigging. Polgara joined them for breakfast in the larger cabin at the extreme aft end of the companionway, though she seemed silent and withdrawn.
Velvet looked brightly around the cabin, where stoutly constructed windows instead of portholes stretched across the stern and heavy beams held up a ceiling which was actually the deck above. She looked pointedly at the two conspicuously empty chairs at the breakfast table. “What’s become of Prince Kheldar and his wayward royal brother?” she asked.
“I think they lingered a bit too long over their wine cups yesterday,” Ce’Nedra replied with a slightly malicious smirk. “I’d imagine that they’re feeling just a bit delicate this morning.”
“Would you believe that they were singing?” Praia said.
“Oh?” Velvet said. “Were they doing it well?”
Praia laughed. “They frightened away the seagulls. I’ve never heard such dreadful noise.”
Polgara and Durnik had been talking quietly at the far end of the table. “I’m perfectly fine, Durnik,” she assured him. “You go right ahead.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone, Pol,” he told her.
“I won’t be alone, dear. Ce’Nedra, Praia, and Liselle will all be with me. If you don’t find out for yourself, you’ll wonder about it for the rest of your life and always regret the fact that you passed the opportunity by.”
“Well—if you’re sure, Pol.”
“I’m certain, dear,” she said, laying her hand fondly on his and kissing his cheek.
After breakfast, Garion pulled on a cloak and went out on deck. He stood squinting up into the drizzle for a few minutes, then turned as he heard the companionway door open behind him. Durnik and Toth emerged with fishing poles in their hands. “It only stands to reason, Toth,” Durnik was saying. “With that much water, there almost have to be fish.”
Toth nodded, then made a peculiar gesture, extending both his arms out as if measuring something.
“I don’t quite follow you.”
Toth made the gesture again.
“Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t be all that big,” the smith disagreed. “Fish don’t get that big, do they?”
Toth nodded vigorously.
“I don’t mean to doubt you,” Durnik said seriously, “but I’d have to see that.”
Toth shrugged,
“Quite a beautiful morning, isn’t it, Garion?” Durnik said, smiling up at the dripping sky. Then he went up the three steps to the aft deck, nodded pleasantly to the steersman at the tiller, and then made a long, smooth cast out into the frothy wake. He looked critically at his trailing lure. “I think we’re going to need some weight on the lines to hold them down, don’t you?” he said to Toth.
The giant smiled slightly, then nodded his agreement.
“Have Silk and Urgit managed to get up yet?” Garion called to them.
“Hmm?” Durnik replied, his eyes fixed intently on his brightly colored lure bobbing far back in their wake.
“I said, are Silk and his brother up yet?”
“Oh—yes, I think I heard them stirring around in their cabin. Toth, we’re definitely going to need something to weight down the lines.”
Belgarath came up on deck just then, with his shabby old cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders. He looked sourly out through the drizzle at the half-concealed coast sliding by to port and went forward to stand amidships.
Garion joined him there. “How long do you think it’s going to take us to get to Verkat, Grandfather?” he asked.
“A couple of weeks,” the old man replied, “if this weather doesn’t get any worse. We’re a long way south and we’re coming up on the stormy season.”
“There’s a faster way, though, isn’t there?” Garion suggested.
“I don’t quite follow you.”
“You remember how we got from Jarvikshohn to Riva? Couldn’t you and I do it that way? The others could catch up later.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to. I think the others are supposed to be with us when we catch up with Zandramas.”
Garion suddenly banged his fist on the rail in frustration. “Supposed to!” he burst out. “I don’t care about what we’re supposed to do. I want my son back. I’m tired of creeping around trying to satisfy all the clever little twists and turns of the Prophecy. What’s wrong with just ignoring it and going right straight to the point?”
Belgarath’s face was calm as he looked out at the rust-colored cliffs half-hidden in the gray drizzle. “I’ve tried that a few times myself,” he admitted, “but it never worked— and usually it put me even further behind. I know you’re impatient, Garion, and sometimes it’s hard to accept the idea that following the Prophecy is really the fastest way to get where you want to go, but that’s the way it always seems to work out.” He put his hand on Garion’s shoulder. “It’s sort of like digging a well. The water’s at the bottom, but you have to start at the top. I don’t think anybody’s ever had much luck digging a well from the bottom up.”
“What’s that got to do with it, Grandfather? I don’t see any connection at all.”
“Maybe you will if you think about it for a while.”
Durnik came running forward. His eyes were wide in stunned amazement, and his hands were shaking.
“What’s wrong?” Belgarath asked him.
“That was the biggest fish I’ve ever seen in my life!” the smith exclaimed. “He was as big as a horse!”
“He got away, I take it.”
“Snapped my line on the second jump.” Durnik’s voice had a peculiar pride in it, and his eyes grew very bright. “He was beautiful, Belgarath. He came up out of the water as if he’d just been shot out of a catapult and he actually walked across the waves on his tail. What a tremendous fish!”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to catch him, of course—but I’m going to need a stouter line—maybe even a rope. What a fish! Excuse me.” He hurried toward the bow to talk to the Murgo ship captain about some rope.
Belgarath smiled. “I love that man, Garion,” he said. “I really love him.”
The door to the aft companionway opened again, and Silk and his brother emerged. Although Garion was usually the first one on deck, he had noticed that, sooner or later during the course of any day, everyone came out to take a turn or two in the bracing salt air.
The two weasel-faced men came forward along the rain-slick deck. Neither of them looked particularly well. “Are we making any headway?” Silk asked. His face was pale, and his hands were trembling noticeably.
“Some,” Belgarath grunted. “You two slept late this morning.”
“I think we should have slept longer,” Urgit replied with a mournful look. “I seem to have this small headache—in my left eye.” He was sweating profusely, and there was a faint greenish cast to his skin. “I feel absolutely dreadful,” he declared. “Why didn’t you warn me about this, Kheldar?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Is it always like this the next morning?”
“Usually,” Silk admitted. “Sometimes it’s worse.”
“Worse? How could it possibly get any worse? Excuse me.” Urgit hurried to the rail and leaned over it, retching noisily.
“He’s not handling this too well, is he?” Belgarath noted clinically.
“Inexperience,” Silk explained.
“I honestly believe I’m going to die,” Urgit said weakly, wiping at his mouth with a shaking hand. “Why did you let me drink so much?”
“That’s a decision a man has to make for himself,” Silk told him.
“You seemed to be having a good time,” Garion added.
“I really wouldn’t know. I’ve lost track of several hours. What did I do?”
“You were singing.”
“Singing? Me?” Urgit sank onto a bench and dropped his face into his trembling hands. “Oh dear,” he moaned. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
Praia came out of the aft door wearing a black coat and a smug little smile. She carried a pair of tankards forward through the drizzle to the two suffering men. “Good morning, my Lords,” she said brightly with a little curtsey. “Lady Polgara says that you’re to drink this.”
“What’s in it?” Urgit asked suspiciously.
“I’m not sure, your Majesty. She and the Nyissan mixed it up.”
“Maybe it’s poison,” he said hopefully. “I would sort of like to die quickly and get it over with.” He seized a tankard and gulped it down noisily. Then he shuddered, and his face went deathly pale. His expression was one of sheer horror, and he began to shake violently. “That’s terrible!” he gasped.
Silk watched him closely for a moment, then took the other tankard and carefully dumped it out over the side.
“Aren’t you going to drink yours?” Urgit asked accusingly.
“I don’t think so. Polgara has a peculiar sense of humor sometimes. I’d rather not take any chances—until I see how many fish come floating to the top.”
“How are you feeling this morning, your Majesty?” Praia asked the suffering Urgit with a feigned look of sympathy on her face.
“I’m sick.”
“It’s your own fault, you know.”
“Please don’t.”
She smiled sweetly at him.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he accused.
“Why, yes, your Majesty,” she replied with a little toss of her head, “As a matter of fact, I am.” Then she took the two tankards and went back along the rail toward the stern.
“Are they all like that?” Urgit asked miserably. “So cruel?”
“Women?” Belgarath shrugged. “Of course. It’s in their blood.”
Somewhat later that gloomy morning, after Silk and Belgarath had returned aft to seek refuge from the weather in one of the cabins and also, Garion suspected, for a touch of something to ward off the chill, Urgit sat miserably on a rain-wet bench with his head in his hands while Garion moodily paced the deck not far away. “Belgarion,” the Murgo King said plaintively, “do you have to stamp your feet so hard?”
Garion gave him a quick, amused smile. “Silk really should have warned you about this,” he said.
“Why do people call him Silk?”
“It’s a nickname he picked up from his colleagues in Drasnian Intelligence.”
“Why would a member of the Drasnian royal family want to be a spy?”
“It’s their national industry.”
“Is he really any good at it?”
“He’s just about the best there is.”
Urgit’s face had definitely grown green. “This is dreadful,” he groaned. “I can’t be sure if it’s the drink or seasickness. I wonder if I’d feel better if I stuck my head in a bucket of water.”
“Only if you held it down long enough.”
“That’s a thought.” Urgit laid his head back on the rail to let the rain drizzle into his face. “Belgarion,” he said finally, “what am I doing wrong?”
“You drank a little too much.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Where am I making my mistakes—as a king, I mean?”
Garion looked at him. The little man was obviously sincere, and the sympathy for him which had welled up back in Rak Urga rose again. Garion finally admitted to himself that he liked this man. He drew in a deep breath and sat down beside the suffering Urgit. “You know part of it already,” he said. “You let people bully you.”
“It’s because I’m afraid, Belgarion. When I was a boy, I let them bully me because it kept them from killing me. I guess it just got to be a habit.”
“Everybody’s afraid.”
“You aren’t. You faced Torak at Cthol Mishrak, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t altogether my idea—and believe me, you can’t even begin to guess how frightened I was when I was on my way there for that meeting.”
“You?”
“Oh, yes. You’re beginning to get some control over that problem, though. You handled that general—Kradak, wasn’t it?—fairly well back at the Drojim. Just keep remembering that you’re the king, and that you’re the one who gives the orders.”
“I can try, I guess. What else am I doing wrong?”
Garion thought about it. “You’re trying to do it all yourself,” he replied finally. “Nobody can do that. There are just too many details for one man to keep up with. You need help—good, honest help.”
“Where am I going to find good help in Cthol Murgos? Whom can I trust?”
“You trust Oskatat, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“That’s a start, then. You see, Urgit, what’s happening is that you’ve got people in Rak Urga who are making decisions that you should, be making. They’re taking it upon themselves to do that because you’ve been too afraid or too busy with other things to assert your authority.”
“You’re being inconsistent, Belgarion. First you say that I should get some people to help me, then you turn around and tell me that I shouldn’t let other people make my decisions.”
“You weren’t listening. The people who are making your decisions for you aren’t the people you might have chosen.
They’ve just stepped in on their own. In a lot of cases, you probably don’t even know who they are. That simply won’t work. You have to choose your people rather carefully. Their first qualification has to be ability. Right behind that comes personal loyalty to you—and to your mother.”
“Nobody’s loyal to me, Belgarion. My subjects despise me.”
“You might be surprised. I don’t think there’s any question about Oskatat’s loyalty—or his ability. That’s probably a good place to start. Let him pick your administrators. They’ll start out by being loyal to him, but in time they’ll come to respect you as well.”
“I hadn’t even considered that. Do you think it might work?”
“It won’t hurt to try. To be perfectly honest with you, my friend, you’ve made a mess of things. It’s going to take you a while to straighten them out, but you’ve got to start somewhere.”
“You’ve given me quite a bit to think about, Belgarion.” Urgit shivered and looked around. “It’s really miserable out here,” he said. “Where did Kheldar go?”
“Back inside. I think he’s trying to get well.”
“You mean that there’s actually something that will cure this?”
“Some Alorns recommend some more of what made you sick in the first place.”
Urgit’s face went pale. “More?” he said in a horrified voice. “How can they?”
“Alorns are notoriously brave people.”
Urgit’s eyes grew suspicious. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Wouldn’t that just make me feel exactly the same way tomorrow morning?”
“Probably, yes. That could explain why Alorns are usually so foul-tempered when they first get up.”
“That’s stupid, Belgarion.”
“I know. Murgos don’t have an absolute monopoly on stupidity.” Garion looked at the shivering man. “I think you’d better go inside, Urgit,” he advised. “You don’t want a chill, on top of all your other problems.”
The rain let up by late afternoon. The Murgo captain looked up at the still-threatening sky and then at the cliffs and the jagged reefs jutting out of the turbulent water and prudently ordered his crew to lower the sails and drop the anchor.
Durnik and Toth rather regretfully rolled up their stout fishing lines and stood looking proudly at the dozen or so gleaming silver fish lying on the deck at their feet.
Garion drifted back to where they stood and looked admiringly at their catch. “Not bad,” he said.
Durnik carefully measured the biggest fish with his hands. “About three feet,” he said, “but they’re minnows compared to the big one that got away.”
“It always seems to work out that way,” Garion said. “Oh,” he added, “one thing, Durnik. I’d clean them before I showed them to Aunt Pol. You know how she feels about that.”
Durnik sighed. “You’re probably right,” he agreed.
That evening, after they had all dined on some of the catch, they sat around the table in the aft cabin conversing idly.
“Do you think Agachak’s caught up with Harakan yet?” Durnik asked Belgarath.
“I sort of doubt it,” the old man replied. “Harakan’s tricky. If Beldin couldn’t catch him, I don’t think Agachak’s going to have much luck either.”
“Lady Polgara,” Sadi suddenly protested in a tone of outrage, “make her stop that.”
“What’s that, Sadi?”
“The Margravine Liselle. She’s subverting my snake.”
Velvet, with a mysterious little smile on her face, was delicately feeding Zith fish eggs taken from one of the large fish Durnik and Toth had caught. The little green snake was purring contentedly and was half-raised in anticipation of the next morsel.