As they rode west that afternoon, they could see a heavy, dark purple cloudbank building up ahead of them, rising higher and higher and blotting out the blue of the sky. Finally Durnik rode forward. “Toth says that we’d better find shelter,” he told Belgarath. “These spring storms in this part of the world are savage.”
Belgarath shrugged. “I’ve been rained on before.”
“He says that the storm won’t last long,” Durnik said, “but it’s going to be very intense. It should blow through by morning. I really think we should listen to him, Belgarath. It’s not only the rain and wind. He says that there’s usually hail as well, and the hailstones can be as big as apples.”
Belgarath peered toward the blue-black clouds towering up into the western sky with lightning bolts staggering down from their centers. “All right,” he decided. “We wouldn’t be able to go much farther today anyway. Does he know of any shelter nearby?”
“There’s a farm village a league or so ahead,” Durnik told him. “If it’s like the others we’ve passed, there won’t be anybody there. We ought to be able to find a house with enough roof left to keep the hailstones off our heads.”
“Let’s aim for there then. That storm’s moving fast. I’ll call in Beldin and have him take a look.” He lifted his face, and Garion could feel his thought reaching out.
They rode at a gallop into a mounting wind that whipped their cloaks about them and carried with it an unpleasant chill and vagrant spatters of cold rain.
When they crested the hill above the deserted village, they could see the storm front advancing like a wall across the open plain.
“It’s going to be close,” Belgarath shouted above the wind. “Let’s make a run for it.”
They plunged down the hill through wildly tossing grass and then across a broad belt of plowed ground that encircled the village. The place was walled, but the gate was off its binges, and many houses showed signs of recent fires. They clattered along a rubble-littered street with the wind screaming at them. Garion heard a loud pop. Then another. Then several more in a growing staccato. “Here comes the hail!” he shouted.
Velvet suddenly cried out and clutched at her shoulder. Silk, almost without thinking, it seemed, pulled his horse in beside hers and flipped his cloak over her, tenting it protectively with his arm.
Beldin stood in the dooryard of a relatively intact house. “In here!” he called urgently. “The stable doors are open! Get the horses inside!”
They swung out of their saddles and quickly led their mounts into a cavernlike stable. Then they pushed the doors and dashed across the yard to the house. “Did you check the village for people?” Belgarath asked hunchbacked sorcerer as they entered.
“There’s nobody here,” Beldin told him, “unless there’s a bureaucrat hiding in a cellar somewhere.”
The banging sound outside grew louder until it became a steady roar. Garion looked out the door. Great chunks of ice were streaking out of the sky and smashing themselves to bits on the cobblestones. The chill grew more intense moment by moment. “I think we made it just in time,” he said.
“Close the door, Garion,” Polgara told him, “and let’s get a fire going.”
The room into which they had come showed signs of a hasty departure. The table and the chairs had been overturned, and there were broken dishes on the floor. Durnik looked around and picked up a stub of candle from the corner. He righted the table, set the candle on a piece of broken plate, and reached for his flint, steel, and tinder.
Toth went to the window and opened it. Then he reached out, pulled the shutters closed, and latched them.
Durnik’s candle guttered a bit, then its flame grew steady, casting a golden glow through the room. The smith went to the fireplace. Despite the litter on the floor and the disarray of the furniture, the room was pleasant. The walls had been whitewashed, and the overhead beams were dark and had been neatly adzed square. The fireplace was large and it had an arched opening. A number of pothooks jutted from its back wall, and a pile of firewood was neatly stacked beside it. It was a friendly kind of place.
“All right, gentlemen,” Polgara said to them. “Let’s not just stand there. The furniture needs to be put right, and the floor needs to be swept. We’ll need more candles, and I’ll want to check the sleeping quarters.”
The fire Durnik had built was catching hold. He gave it a critical look; satisfied, he rose to his feet. “I’d better see to the horses,” he said. “Do you want the packs in here, Pol?”
“Just the food and the cooking things for now, dear. But don’t you think you should wait until the hail lets up?”
“There’s a sort of covered walkway along the side of the house,” he replied. “I’d guess that the people who built the place knew about this sort of weather.” He went out with Toth and Eriond close behind him.
Garion crossed the room to where Velvet sat on a rude bench with her hand laid protectively over her right shoulder. Her face was pale, and her brow was dewed with sweat.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“It surprised me, that’s all,” she replied. “It’s nice of you to ask, though.”
“Nice my foot!” He was suddenly angry. “You’re like a sister to me, Liselle, and if you let yourself get hurt, I’ll take it as a personal insult.”
“Yes, your Majesty,” she said, her smile suddenly lighting up the room.
“Don’t play with me, Velvet. Don’t try to be brave. If you’re hurt, say so.”
“It’s only a little bruise, Belgarion,” she protested. Her large brown eyes conveyed a world of sincerity, mostly feigned.
“I’ll spank you,” he threatened.
“Now, that’s an interesting notion.” She laughed. He didn’t even think about it. He simply leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.
She looked a little surprised. “Why, your majesty,” she said in mock alarm. “What if Ce’Nedra had seen you do that?”
“Ce’Nedra can cope with it. She loves you as much as I do. I’ll have Aunt Pol look at that shoulder.”
“It’s really fine, Belgarion.”
“Do you want to argue about that with Aunt Pol?”
She thought about it. “No,” she said, “I don’t really so. Why don’t you send Kheldar over to hold my hand.”
“Anything else?”
“You could kiss me again, if you’d like.”
With a certain clinical detachment, Polgara opened the top of Velvet’s gray dress and carefully examined the large bruise on the blond girl’s shoulder. Velvet blushed modestly and covered her more salient features.
“I don’t think anything’s broken,” Polgara said, gently rubbing the bruised shoulder. “It’s going to be very painful, though.”
“I noticed that almost immediately,” Velvet said, wincing.
“A1I right, Sadi,” Polgara said briskly, “I need a good analgesic. What would you suggest?”
“I have oret, Lady Polgara,” the eunuch answered.
She thought about it. “No,” she said. “Oret would incapacitate her for the next two days. Do you have any miseth?”
He looked a bit startled. “Lady Polgara,” he protested. “Miseth is an excellent painkiller, but—“ He looked at the suffering Velvet. “There are those side effects, you know.”
“We can control her if necessary.”
“What side effects?” Silk demanded, hovering protectively over the blond girl.
“It tends to rouse a certain—ah, shall we say—ardor,” Sadi replied delicately. “In Nyissa it’s widely used for that purpose.”
“Oh,” Silk said, flushing slightly.
“One drop,” Polgara said. “No. Make that two.”
“Two?” Sadi exclaimed.
“I want it to last until the pain subsides.”
“Two drops will do that, all right,” Sadi said, “but you’ll have to confine her until it wears off.”
“I’ll keep her asleep if I need to.”
Dubiously, Sadi opened his red case and removed a vial of deep purple liquid. “This is against my better judgment, Lady Polgara,” he said.
“Trust me.”
“It always makes me nervous when somebody says that,” Belgarath said to Beldin.
“A lot of things make you nervous. We can’t go anywhere until the girl’s better. Pol knows what she’s doing.”
“Maybe,” Belgarath replied.
Sadi carefully measured two drops of the purple medication into a cup of water and stirred the mixture with his finger. Then he rather carefully dried his hand on a piece of cloth. He handed the cup to Velvet. “Drink it slowly,” he instructed. “You’ll begin to feel very strange almost immediately.”
“Strange?” she asked suspiciously.
“We can talk about it later. All you need to know now is that it’s going to make the pain go away.”
Velvet sipped at the cup. “It doesn’t taste bad,” she observed.
“Of course not,” the eunuch replied, “and you’ll find t it tastes better and better as you get toward the bottom the cup.”
Velvet continued to take small sips of the liquid. Her face flushed. “My,” she said, “isn’t it warm in here all of sudden?”
Silk sat down on the bench beside her. “Is it helping at all?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Did you see my bruise, Kheldar?” She pulled her dress open to show it to him. She showed him—and everyone else in the room—other things as well. “Oops,” she said absently, not bothering to cover herself.
“I think you’d better take those steps you mentioned, Lady Polgara,” Sadi said. “The situation is likely to get out of hand any minute now.”
Polgara nodded and put one hand briefly on Velvet’s brow. Garion felt a light surge.
“Suddenly I feel so very drowsy,” Velvet said. “Is the medicine doing that?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Polgara replied.
Velvet’s head drooped forward, and she laid it on Silk’s shoulder.
“Bring her along, Silk,” Polgara told the little man. “Let’s find a bed for her.”
Silk picked the sleeping girl up and carried her from the room with Polgara close beside him.
“Does that stuff always have that effect?” Ce’Nedra asked
“Miseth? Oh yes. It could arouse a stick.”
“And does it work on men, too?”
“Gender makes no difference, your Majesty.”
“How very interesting.” She gave Garion a sly, sidelong glance. “Don’t lose that little bottle, Sadi,” she said.
“Never mind,” Garion told her.
It took them perhaps a quarter of an hour to tidy up the room. Polgara was smiling when she and Silk returned.
“She’ll sleep now,” she said. “I looked into the other rooms, too. The woman of the house appears to have been a neat sort of person,” she said. “This is the only that was seriously disturbed when the family left.”
She set her candle down and smoothed the front of her gray dress with a satisfied expression. “The house will do very nicely, uncle,” she told Beldin.
“I’m glad you approve,” he replied. He was sprawled on a high-backed bench by the window and was carefully re-tying the thong that held his ragged left sleeve in place.
“How far are we from the river?” Belgarath asked him.
“It’s still a ways—a good day’s hard riding at least. I can’t be much more exact than that. When the wind came up, it almost blew off my feathers.”
“Is the country on up ahead still empty?”
“It’s hard to be sure. I was up fairly high, and if there are any people out there, they’d all have taken cover from this storm.”
“We’ll have to have a look in the morning.” Belgarath leaned back in his chair and stretched his feet out toward the hearth. “That fire was a good idea,” he said. “There’s a definite chill in the air.”
“That happens sometimes when you pile three or four inches of ice on the ground,” Beldin told him. The ugly little man squinted thoughtfully. “If this sort of storm is a regular afternoon occurrence around here, we’ll need to cross the Magan during the morning hours,” he noted. “Getting caught in a hailstorm in an open boat isn’t my idea of fun.”
“Now you stop that!” Sadi said sharply to Zith’s earthenware bottle.
“What’s the trouble?” Ce’Nedra asked.
“She was making a funny little noise,” Sadi replied. “I wanted to see if she was all right, and she hissed at me.”
“She does that every now and then, doesn’t she?”
“This was a bit different. She was actually warning me to stay away from her.”
“Could she be ill?”
“I wouldn’t think so. She’s a fairly young snake, and I’ve been very careful about what I feed her.”
“Perhaps she needs a tonic.” Ce’Nedra looked questioningly at Polgara.
Polgara laughed helplessly. “I’m sorry, Ce’Nedra,” she said, “but I have no experience with the illnesses of reptiles.”
“Do you suppose we could talk about something else?” Silk asked plaintively. “Zith is a nice enough little animal, I suppose, but she’s still a snake.”
Ce’Nedra whirled on him, her eyes suddenly flashing. “How can you say that?” she snapped angrily. “She’s saved our lives twice— once in Rak Urga when she nipped that Grolim, Sorchak, and again at Ashaba when she bit Harfakan. Without her, we wouldn’t be here. You might show at least a little bit of gratitude.”
““Well ...” he said a little uncertainly. “You could be right, I suppose, but hang it all, Ce’Nedra, I can’t abide snakes!”
“I don’t even think of her as a snake.”
“Ce’Nedra,” he said patiently, “she’s long and skinny, she wriggles, she doesn’t have any arms or legs, and she’s poisonous. By definition, she’s a snake.”
“You’re prejudiced,” she accused.
“Well— yes, I suppose you could say that.”
“I’m bitterly disappointed in you, Prince Kheldar. She’s sweet, loving, brave little creature, and you’re insulting her.”
He looked at her for a moment, then rose to his feet and floridly to the earthenware bottle. “I’m dreadfully sorry, dear Zith,” he apologized. “I can’t think what came over me. Can you possibly find it in your cold little green heart to forgive me?”
Zith hissed at him, a hiss ending in a curious grunt. “She says to leave her alone,” Sadi told him.
“Can you really understand what she’s saying?”
“In a general sort of way, yes. Snakes have a very limited vocabulary, so it’s not all that difficult to pick up a few here and there.” The eunuch frowned. “She’s been hissing a great deal lately, though, and that’s not like her. She’s usually a very ladylike little snake.”
“I can’t believe I’m actually involved in this conversation,” Silk said, shaking his head and going off down toward the back of the house. Polgara returned with Tom and Eriond. They were carrying packs containing Polgara’s utensils and the food. She looked critically at the fireplace and its facilities.
“We’ve been eating some rather sketchy meals lately,” she noted. “We have a fairly adequate kitchen here, so why don’t we take advantage of it?” She opened the food pack and rummaged through it. “I wish I had something besides travel rations to work with,” she said half to herself.
“There’s a hen roost out back, Pol,” Beldin told her helpfully.
She smiled at him. “Durnik, dear,” she said in an almost dreamy tone of voice.
“I’ll see to it at once, Pol. Three, maybe?”
“Make it four. Then we’ll be able to carry some cold chicken with us when we leave. Ce’Nedra, go with him and gather up all the eggs you can find.”
Ce’Nedra stared at her in astonishment. “I’ve never gathered eggs before, Lady Polgara,” she protested.
“It’s not hard, dear. Just be careful not to break them, that’s all.”
“But—”
“I thought I’d make a cheese omelette for breakfast.”
Ce’Nedra’s eyes brightened. “I’ll get a basket,” she said quickly.
“Splendid idea, dear. Uncle, are there any other interesting things about this place?”
“There’s a brewhouse at the back of the building.” He shrugged. “I didn’t have time to look into it.”
Belgarath rose to his feet. “Why don’t we do that right now?” he suggested.
“People in farm villages don’t make very good beer, Belgarath.”
“Maybe this one’s an exception. We’ll never know until we try it, will we?”
“You’ve got a point there.”
The two old sorcerers went off toward the back of the house while Eriond piled more wood on the fire.
Ce’Nedra returned, frowning and a little angry. “They won’t give me their eggs, Lady Polgara,” she complained. “They’re sitting on them.”
“You have to reach under them and take the eggs, dear.”
“Won’t that make them angry?”
“Are you afraid of a chicken?”
The little queen’s eyes hardened, and she left the room purposefully.
A root cellar behind the house yielded a store of vegetables and Belgarath and Beldin brought a cask of beer in the brewhouse. While the chickens were roasting, Polgara rummaged through the canisters and bins in the kitchen. She found flour and a number of other staples, and she rolled up her sleeves in a businesslike way, mixed up a large batch of dough, and began to knead it on a well-scrubbed cutting board near the fire. “We can have some biscuits tonight, I think,” she said, “and I’ll bake some fresh bread in the morning.”
The supper was the best Garion had eaten in months. There had been banquets and adequate meals in inns and the like, but there was a certain indefinable quality to his Aunt Pol’s cooking that no other cook in the world could hope to match. After he had eaten more perhaps than was normally good for him, he pushed his plate away with a sigh and leaned back in his chair.
“I’m glad you decided to leave some for the rest of us,” Ce’Nedra said in a slightly snippy tone.
“Are you cross with me for some reason?” he asked her.
“No, I suppose not, Garion. I’m just a little irritated, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“A chicken bit me.” She pointed at the remains of a roasted hen lying on a large platter. “That one,” she added. She reached out, wrenched a drumstick off the chicken and bit into it rather savagely with her small white teeth. “There,” she said in a vengeful tone. “How do you like that!”
Garion knew his wife, so he knew better than to laugh. After supper, they all lingered at the table in a kind of contentment as the storm outside abated. Suddenly, there was a light, almost diffident rap on the door. Garion sprang to his feet, reaching over his shoulder for his sword.
“I don’t mean to disturb you,” a querulous old voice from the other side of the door. “I just wanted to be you have everything you need.” Belgarath rose from his chair, went to the door, and opened it.
“Holy Belgarath,” the man outside said with a bow of the profoundest respect. He was very old, with snowy white hair and a thin, lined face.
He was also a Grolim.
Belgarath stared at him warily. “You know me?” he asked.
“Of course. I know you all. I’ve been waiting for you. May I come in?”
Wordlessly, Belgarath stepped aside for him, and the aged Grolim tottered into the room, aided by a twisted cane. He bowed to Polgara. “Lady Polgara,” he murmured. Then he turned to Garion. “Your Majesty,” he said, “may I beg your forgiveness?”
“Why?” Garion replied. “You’ve never done anything to me.”
“Yes I have, your Majesty. When I heard about what had happened in the City of Endless Night, I hated you. Can you forgive that?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. It was only natural for you to feel that way. You’ve had a change of heart, I take it?”
“It was changed for me, King Belgarion. The New God of Angarak will be a kindlier, gentler God than was Torak. I live now only to serve that God and I abide against the day of his coming.”
“Sit down, my friend,” Belgarath told him. “I assume you’ve had a religious experience of some kind?”
The old Grolim sank into a chair with a beatific smile on his lined face. “My heart has been touched, Holy Belgarath,” he said simply. “I had devoted all of my life to the service of Torak in the temple in this village. I grieved more than you can know when I learned of His death, for I served Him without question. Now I have removed His likeness from the Temple wall and I decorate the altar with flowers instead of the blood of sacrificial victims. Bitterly I repent the times when I myself held the knife during the rite of sacrifice.”
“And what was it that so changed you?” Polgara asked him.
“It was a voice that spoke to me in the silences of my soul, Lady Polgara, a voice that filled me with such joy that it seemed that all the world was bathed in light.”
“And what did the voice say to you?”
The old priest reached inside his black robe and withdrew a parchment sheet. “I took great care to inscribe the words exactly as the voice spoke them to me,” he said, “for such was the instruction I received. A man may misconstrue what is told, or change it if it is not to his liking or if he fails to understand.” He smiled gently. “What I have written is for the benefit of others, though, for the words are engraved upon my heart far more indelibly than upon this sheet.” He unrolled the parchment and read from it in a quavering voice. “ ’Behold:’ “ he read, “ ‘In the days which shall follow the meeting of the Child of Light and the Child of Dark in the City of Endless Night shall a great despair fall over the Priests of the Dark God, for He shall have been laid low and shall come no more among His people. But lift up thine heart, for thy despair is but the night which shall be banished by the rising of a new sun. For verily I say to thee, Angarak shall have a new birth with the coming of her true God—He who was purposed to lead her since the Beginning of Days. For lo, the Dark God was born out of nothingness the instant of the EVENT which divided all creation, and was not He who was foreordained to guide and protect Angarak. In the last meeting of the Child of Dark and the Child of Light shall the true God of Angarak be revealed, ye shall render up unto Him your hearts and your decision.’
“And the course which Angarak shall follow shall be determined by the CHOICE, and once the CHOICE is made, not be unmade and shall prevail eternally for good ill. For harken, two shall stand in the Place Which Is More, but only one shall be chosen. And the Child of Light and the Child of Dark shall surrender up the burden spirits which guide them to the two who shall stand in expectation of the CHOICE. And should the CHOICE fall to tone hand, the world shall be drowned in darkness, but it fall to the other hand, shall all be bathed in light, that which was ordained since before the beginning of shall come to pass.
“Abide in hope, therefore, and treat thy fellow creatures and with love, for this is pleasing to the true God, should He prevail and be chosen, He shall bless thee lay but a gentle yoke upon thee.’ “ The old Grolim lowered the sheet and bowed his head prayerfully. “Thus spoke the voice which filled my heart with joy and banished my despair,” he said simply.
“We’re grateful that you shared this with us,” Belgarath told him. “Might we offer you something to eat?”
The Grolim shook his head. “I do not eat meat any more,” he said. “I would not offend my God. I have cast away my dagger and will shed no more blood for all the days of my life.” He rose to his feet. “I will leave you now,” he said. “I came but to reveal to you the words the voice spoke to me, and to assure you that one at least in all of Angarak shall pray for your success.”
“We thank you,” Belgarath said sincerely. He went to the door and held it open for the gentle old man.
“That was fairly specific, wasn’t it?” Beldin said after the Grolim had left. “It’s the first time I heard a prophecy that got straight to the point.”
“You mean to say that he’s really a prophet?” Silk asked.
“Of course he is. It’s an almost classic case. He had all the symptoms—the ecstasy, the radical change of personality, all of it.”
“There’s something wrong here, though,” Belgarath said, frowning. “I’ve spent eons reading prophecies, and what he said didn’t have the same tone as any that I’ve ever come across—either ours or the others.” He looked at Garion. “Can you get in touch with your friend?” he asked. “I need to talk with him.”
“I can try,” Garion replied. “He doesn’t always come when I call, though.”
“See if you can reach him. Tell him that it’s important.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Grandfather.” Garion sat down and closed his eyes. “Are you in there?” he asked.
“Please don’t shout, Garion, “ the voice responded in a pained tone. “It hurts my ears. “
“Sorry,” Garion apologized. “I didn’t realize I was talking so loud. Grandfather wants to talk with you.”
“All right. Open your eyes, Garion. I can’t see when they’re closed. “
As had happened occasionally in the past, Garion felt himself shunted off into some quiet corner of his mind, and dry voice took over. “All right, Belgarath,” it said with Garion’s lips. “What is it this time?”
“I’ve got a couple of questions, “ the old man replied.
“There‘s nothing new about that. You’ve always got questions. “
“Did you hear what the Grolim said?”
“Naturally.”
“Was it you? I mean, were you the voice that came to him?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I wasn’t. “
“Then it was the other spirit?”
“No. It wasn’t him either. “
“Then who was it?”
“Sometimes I can’t believe that Aldur chose you as his first disciple. Are your brains packed in wool?”
“You don’t have to be insulting. “ Belgarath sounded a bit injured, but Beldin laughed an ugly, cackling kind of laugh.
“All right,” the voice sighed, “I’ll go through it carefully. Try not to miss too much. My counterpart and I came into existence when Destiny was divided. Have you got that much?”
“I knew that already. “
“And you even managed to remember it? Amazing.”
“Thanks, “ Belgarath said in a flat tone.
“I’m working with Garion’s vocabulary. He’s a peasant, he can be a little blunt sometimes. Now, doesn’t it seem that when Destiny is reunited, there should be a new My counterpart and I will have served our purpose, there won’t be any further need for us. Millions of years between us have warped our perceptions a bit.” Belgarath looked startled at that.
“Think, old man,” the voice told him. “I’m not suited to deal with a united universe. I’ve got too many old prejudices. The new voice can start out fresh without any preconceptions. It’s better that way, believe me.”
“I think I’m going to miss you.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me, Belgarath. I don’t think I bear that.”
“Wait a minute. This new voice will come into existence the meeting, right?”
“At the instant of the meeting, actually. “
“Then how did it speak to the old Grolim, if it’s not in existence yet?”
“Time doesn’t really mean that much to us, Belgarath. We can move backward and forward in it without any particular difficulty.”
“You mean the voice was speaking to him from the future?”
“Obviously. “ Garion felt a faint, ironic smile cross his lips. “How do you know I’m not speaking to you from the past?”
Belgarath blinked.
“Now we’ve got you,” Beldin said triumphantly. “We’re going to win, aren’t we?”
“We can hope so, but there’s no guarantee.”
“The voice that spoke to the Grolim represents a kindlier God, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. “
“If the Child of Dark wins, the New God isn’t going to be very kindly, is he?”
“No.”
“Then the simple fact that the voice came to him from out of the future—after the choice—indicates that the Child of Light is going to win, doesn’t it?”
The voice sighed. “Why do you always have to complicate things, Beldin? The voice that spoke to the Grolim is the possibility of the new spirit. It’s simply reaching back in time to make certain preparations so that things will be ready in the eventuality that it comes out on top. The Choice still hasn’t been made yet, you know.”
“Even the possibility of existence has that kind of power?”
“Possibility has enormous power, Beldin—sometimes even more than actuality.”
“And the possibility of the other spirit could be making its own preparations as well, couldn’t it?”
“I wouldn't be at all surprised. You have an enormous grasp of the obvious.”
“Then we’re right back where we started from. We ‘re still going to have two spirits wrestling across time and the universe for dominance.”
“No. The Choice will eliminate one of the possibilities once and for all.”
“I don’t understand,” Beldin confessed.
“I didn’t think you would.”
“What preparations was this new voice making?” Polgara asked suddenly.
“The Grolim who came to you here will be the prophet and the first Disciple of the New God—assuming that the Child of Light is chosen, of course. “
“A Grolim?”
“The decision wasn’t mine to make. The new God will be a God of Angarak, though, so it does make sense, I suppose.”
“That might take a bit of getting adjusted to. “
“You have as many prejudices as I do, Polgara,” the voice laughed, “but I think in the long run, you’re more adaptable—and certainly more so than these two stubborn old men are. You’ll come to accept it in time. Now, if there aren’t any more questions, I still have some things to attend to—in another part of time.”
And then the voice was gone.