She walked toward him with a stately, unhurried step, golden eyes a mystery. “Put your sword away, Garion,” she told him. “There’s no need for it now.”
“Yes, Grandmother.” He reached back over his shoulder and inserted the tip of his blade into the sheath and let it slide home of its own weight.
“You heard, I suppose?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“Then you understand?”
“Not entirely, no.”
“I’m sure you will in time. Let’s go inside. I need to talk with my husband and my daughter.”
“All right.” Garion was not entirely sure about the proprieties and he was just a bit unsure of what his reaction might be should he attempt to assist her, only to discover that she had no substance. Good manners, however, dictated that a gentleman help a lady across uneven ground, and so he set his teeth, reached out, and took her elbow.
She was as solid as he was. That made him feel better.
“Thank you, Garion.” She smiled a bit whimsically at him. “Did you really think your hand would pass right through me?”
He flushed. “You knew what I was thinking.”
“Of course.” She laughed a low, warm laugh. “It’s not really all that miraculous, Garion. You’re a wolf in your other form, and wolves are very open about their thoughts. You were speaking them out loud in a hundred little moves and gestures you weren’t even aware you were making.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“There’s a great deal of charm about it. Puppies do it all the time.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly as the two of them passed through the gateway into the yard of the farmstead.
Durnik and Toth were extinguishing the last flickers of flame from the scorched wall of a first-floor shed with buckets full of water carried to them by Silk, Eriond, and Sadi. The dragon had not had enough time to ignite the structures fully with her searing breath, and so none of the fires were very serious.
Polgara crossed the yard gravely with Ce’Nedra and Velvet close behind her. “Mother,” she said simply.
“You’re looking well, Polgara,” the tawny-haired woman replied as if they had spoken together only last week. “Married life agrees with you.”
“I rather like it.” Polgara smiled.
“I rather thought you might. Is he around? I need to talk with him as well as with you.”
“He’s in one of the upstairs rooms. You know how he feels about these meetings.”
“Would you fetch him for me, Garion? I have only so much time, and there are things he has to know. He’s going to have to put his feelings aside this time.”
“Right away, Grandmother.” He turned and went quickly the wooden steps to the second floor gallery and the door Aunt Pol had indicated.
Belgarath sat on a rumpled cot. His elbows were on his knees, and his face was buried in his hands. “Grandfather,” Garion said gently.
“What?”
“She wants to talk with you.”
Belgarath lifted his face. His expression was one of mute suffering.
“I’m sorry, Grandfather, but she says it’s very important.”
Belgarath set his jaw, then sighed in resignation. “All right,” he said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go, then.”
As the two of them started down the steps, they saw Durnik bowing a bit awkwardly to Poledra. “Ma’am,” he was saying. Garion suddenly realized that this was probably the first time the two had been formally introduced.
“So stiff and proper, Durnik?” she replied. She reached and lightly touched his face with one hand. Then she embraced him. “You’ve made my daughter very happy, Durnik,” she told him. “Thank you.” Then she turned and looked directly at Belgarath. “Well?” she said. There was challenge in her voice.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said in a voice thick with emotion.
“Oh, I’ve changed all right,” she replied wryly, “in ways even you could imagine.”
“It doesn’t show.”
“It’s nice of you to say so. Did you hear the little exchange between the witch and me?”
He nodded. “You were taking chances, Poledra. What if she had taken up your challenge?”
“Wolves enjoy taking chances.” She shrugged. “It adds certain zest to their lives. It really wasn’t all that risky, though. Zandramas is the Child of Dark, and the Dark Spirit gradually taking over her body as well as her soul; it’s not going to gamble at this particular time. It takes too long to train replacements, and there’s not that much time left before the final meeting. All right, let’s get down to business. Zandramas has her Angarak king now.”
Belgarath nodded. “We’d heard about that.”
“You always were good at ferreting out secrets. The coronation ceremony was fairly grotesque. Zandramas followed the ancient Angarak ritual. Torak was supposed to be present, but she worked her way around that. It involved a certain amount of fakery, but the image of Him she conjured up was convincing enough to deceive the gullible.” Poledra smiled. “It certainly persuaded Archduke Otrath,” she added. “He fainted on three separate occasions during the ceremony. I think the oaf actually believes that he really is the emperor now—a delusion Kal Zakath’s headsman will relieve him of shortly if Otrath is unlucky enough to fall into his cousin’s hands. At any rate, Zandramas has only one more major task.”
“Oh?” Belgarath said. “What’s that?”
“The same as yours. She has to find out where the meeting’s supposed to take place. Don’t dally on your way to Kell. You’ve still got a long way to go. Time’s getting short, and you have to get across the Magan before Zakath gets here.”
“Zakath?” He sounded startled.
“You mean you didn’t know? He moved his army into place around Maga Renn some weeks back. He sent out advance elements a few days ago, and he left Maga Renn with the bulk of his army just yesterday. He plans to blockade the river from the northern end of the Dalasian Mountains to the jungles of Gandahar. If he gets that blockade in place, you might have some difficulty getting across the river.” Then she looked at Beldin. “You haven’t changed much, my crooked friend,” she noted.
“Did you expect me to, Poledra?” He grinned at her.
“I thought you might at least have changed that disreputable old tunic—or that it might have rotted off your back by now.”
“I patch it from time to time.” He shrugged. “Then I replace the patches when they wear out. It’s a comfortable tunic and it fits me. The original is probably only a memory, though. Is there anything else you think we need to know? Or are we going to stand around discussing my wardrobe?”
She laughed. “I’ve missed you,” she told him. “Oh, one of the hierarchs of Cthol Mirgos has landed at Finda on the west coast of the Dalasian Protectorates.”
“Which one?”
“Agachak.”
“Does he have an Angarak king with him?” Silk asked eagerly.
“Yes.”
“Urgit—the King of the Murgos?”
She shook her head. “No. Apparently Urgit defied Agachak and refused to make the journey.”
“Urgit defied Agachak? Are you sure? Urgit’s afraid of his own shadow.”
“Not any more, it seems. Your brother’s changed quite a bit since you last saw him, Kheldar. His new wife may have had something to do with that. She’s a very determined young woman, and she’s making him over to fit her conception of him.”
“That’s terribly depressing,” Silk mourned.
“Agachak brought the new king of the Thulls instead—a cretin named Nathel.” Poledra looked at her husband. “Be very careful when you get to Dalasia,” she told him. “Zandramas, Urvon, and Agachak will all be converging on you. They hate each other, but they all know that you’re the common enemy. They may decide to put aside their feelings in order to join forces against you.”
“When you add Zakath and the whole Mallorean army to that, the Place Which Is No More might be just a little crowded when we get there,” Silk observed wryly.
“Numbers will mean absolutely nothing in that place, Kheldar. There will only be three who matter there—the Child of Light, the Child of Dark, and the Seeress of Kell, who will make the choice.” She looked at Eriond then. “Do you know what it is you have to do?” she asked him.
“Yes,” be replied simply. “It’s not such a difficult thing, really.”
“Perhaps not,” Poledra told him, “but you’re the only one who can do it.”
“I’ll be ready when the time comes, Poledra.”
Then the tawny-haired woman looked again at Belgarath. “Now I think it’s finally time for you and me to have that little talk you’ve been avoiding since our daughters were born,” she said very firmly.
The old man started.
“In private,” she added. “Come with me.”
“Yes, Poledra,” he replied meekly.
Purposefully she walked toward the gate of the farmstead with Belgarath trailing behind her like a schoolboy anticipating a scolding—or worse.
“At last,” Polgara sighed with relief.
“What’s going on, Lady Polgara?” Ce’Nedra asked in a baffled little voice.
“My mother and father are going to be reconciled,” Polgara replied happily. “My mother died—or perhaps didn’t— when my sister Beldaran and I were born. My father always blamed himself because he wasn’t there to help her. He and Bear-shoulders and the others had gone to Cthol Mishrak to steal the Orb back from Torak. Mother never blamed him because she knew how important what they were doing was. Father doesn’t forgive himself that easily, however, and he’s been punishing himself about it for all these centuries. Mother’s finally gotten tired of it, so she’s going to take steps to correct the situation.”
“Oh,” Ce’Nedra said with that odd little catch in her voice. “That’s just beautiful.” Her eyes filled with sudden tears.
Wordlessly, Velvet drew a flimsy little bit of a handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed at her own eyes, then passed it to Ce’Nedra.
It was perhaps an hour later when Belgarath returned. He was alone, but there was a gentle smile on his face and a youthful twinkle in his eye. No one saw fit to ask him any questions. “What time of night would you say it is?” he asked Durnik.
The smith squinted up at the sky where the last remnants of cloud were being swept off to the east by the prevailing wind to reveal the stars. “I’d guess about two hours until first light, Belgarath,” he replied. “The breeze has come up, and it sort of smells like morning.”
“I don’t think we’ll get any more sleep tonight,” the old man said. “Why don’t we load the packs and saddle the horses while Pol fixes some of those eggs for breakfast?”
Polgara looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.
“You weren’t planning to let us leave without feeding us first, were you, Pol?” he asked her roguishly.
“No, father,” she said, “as a matter of fact, I wasn’t.”
“I didn’t think so.” Then he laughed and threw his arms about her. “Oh, my Pol,” he said exuberantly. Ce’Nedra’s eyes filled with tears again, and Velvet leached for her handkerchief once more.
“Between them, they’re going to wear that little thing out,” Silk noted clinically.
“That’s all right,” Garion replied. “I’ve got a couple of spares in my pack.” Then he remembered something.
“Grandfather,” he said, “in all the excitement, I almost forgot something. Before she changed into the dragon, I heard Zandramas talking with Naradas.”
“Oh?”
“He’s been in Gandahar and he’s taking a regiment of elephant cavalry to the battlefield.”
“That won’t matter very much to the demons.”
“The demons aren’t there any more. Zandramas raised another Demon Lord—Mordja, his name is—and he’s managed to lure Nahaz away from the battlefield. They’ve gone off someplace else to fight.”
Belgarath scratched at one bearded cheek. “Just how is that elephant cavalry out of Gandahar?” he asked
“Pretty close to invincible,” Silk replied. “They drape them in chain mail, and they trample wide paths through opposing armies. If the demons have left the field, Urvon’s army hasn’t got a chance.”
“There are too many people involved in this race anyway,” Belgarath grunted. “Let’s get across the Magan and leave all these armies to their own devices.”
They ate breakfast and rode out from the farmstead as the first light of dawn began to creep slowly up out of the eastern horizon. Oddly, Garion felt no particular weariness despite a night significantly short on sleep. A great deal had happened since the sun had gone down, and he had much to think about.
The sun had risen when they reached the great River Magan. Then, following Toth’s gestured directions, they rode slowly southward, looking for a village where they might find a boat large enough to carry them across to Darshiva. The day was warm, and the grass and trees had all been washed clean by the previous night’s storm.
They came to a small settlement of mud-smeared shacks standing on stilts, with rickety docks thrusting out into the river. A lone fisherman sat at the end of one of the docks negligently holding a long cane pole.
“Talk to him, Durnik,” Belgarath said. “See if he knows where we can hire a boat.”
The smith nodded and reined his horse around. On an impulse, Garion followed him. They dismounted at the landward end of the dock and walked out toward the fisherman.
He was a stumpy-looking little fellow, dressed in a homespun tunic and with muddy, baglike shoes on his feet. His bare legs were laced with knotty, purple veins, and they were not very clean. His face was tanned, and he was not so much bearded as unshaven.
“Any luck?” Durnik asked him.
“See fer yerself,” the fisherman said, pointing at the wooden tub at his side. He did not turn, but rather kept his eyes intently on the floating red stick to which his line was attached and which dangled his baited hook down into the murky water of the river. The tub was half-full of water, and several foot-long trout swam in circles in it. The fish had angry-looking eyes and jutting lower jaws.
Durnik squatted down beside the fisherman, his hands on his knees. “Nice-looking fish,” he observed.
“A fish is a fish.” The stumpy fellow shrugged. “They look better on the plate than they do in the tub.”
“That’s why we catch them,” Durnik agreed. “What are you using for bait?”
“Tried angleworms earlier,” the fellow replied laconically. “Didn’t seem to interest ‘em, so I switched over to fish roe.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever tried that,” Durnik admitted. “How does it work?”
“Caught them five in the last half hour. Sometimes it makes ‘em so excited, you got to go behind a tree to bait 'ur hook to keep ‘em from chasin’ you right up onto the bank.”
“I’ll have to try it,” Durnik said, eyeing the water wistfully. “Have you got any idea of where we might be able to hire a boat? We’ve got to go across the river.”
The fisherman turned and stared at the smith incredulously. “To the Darshiva side?” he exclaimed. “Man, are out of your mind?”
“Is there some trouble over there?”
“Trouble? That don’t even begin to describe what’s happened over there. You ever hear tell of what they call a demon?”
A few times.”
“You ever seen one?”
“Once, I think.”
There’s no think about it, friend. If you seen one, you’d know.” The fellow shuddered. “They’re just plain awful. ‘tell, sir, the whole of Darshiva’s just crawlin’ with ‘em. ire’s this Grolim, he come down from the north with a pack of ‘em snappin’ an’ growlin’ at his heels. Then ire’s this other Grolim—a woman, if you can believe that— idramas, her name is, an’ she stepped back an’ cast a ‘ill an’ hauled some of her own out of wherever it is they is from, an’ them demons is fightin’ each other over in Darshiva.”
“We’d heard that there was fighting to the north of here at Peldane.”
“Those are just ordinary troops, and what they’re fightin’ is an ordinary war with swords an’ axes an’ burnin’ pitch ‘n all. The demons, they all went across the river lookin’ fer fresh ground to tear up an* fresh people to eat. They do it, y’ know—demons, I mean. They eat folks—alive, most the time.”
“I’m afraid we still have to go over there,” Durnik told him.
“I hope yer a good swimmer then. Yer gonna have no luck at all findin’ a boat. Ever’body from here jumped on lythin’ as would float an’ headed downriver t’ward Ganlar. Guess they figgered them wild elephants down there a whole lot preferable to demons.”
“I think you’re getting a bite,” Durnik said politely, pointing at the floating stick on the stumpy man’s line. The stick was submerging and popping back to the surface again.
The fisherman jerked his pole straight up into the air and then swore. “Missed ‘im,” he said.
“You can’t catch them all,” Durnik said philosophically.
“You can sure try, though.” The fellow laughed, pulling in his line and rebaiting his hook with a dripping gobbet of fish roe he took from an earthenware bowl at his side.
“I’d try under the dock, myself,” Durnik advised. “Trout always seem to like shade.”
“That’s the good thing about usin’ fish roe fer bait,” the fisherman said sagely. “They kin smell it, an’ they’ll go fer it even if they gotta climb a fence to get there.” He cast his line out again and absently wiped his hand on the front of his tunic.
“How is it that you stayed behind?” Durnik asked. “I mean, if there’s so much trouble around here, why didn’t you go to Gandahar with the other people who left here?”
“I never lost nothin’ in Gandahar. Them folks is all crazy down there. They spend all their time chasin’ elephants. I mean, what y’ gonna do with a elephant once y’ catch ‘im? An’ the fish down there aren’t worth the bait. Besides, this is the first time I’ve had this dock all to myself in the last five years. Most of the time I can’t even get my line in the water, there’s so many out here.”
“Well,” Durnik said, rising to his feet a little regretfully, “I suppose we’d better push on. We’re going to have to find a boat somewhere.”
“I’d sure advise stayin’ away from the Darshiva side, friend,” the fisherman said seriously. “You’d be better off t’ cut yerself a pole an’ sit right here with me until all the trouble blows over.”
“I certainly wish I could,” Durnik sighed. “Good luck, friend.”
“Just bein’ here with my line in the water is the best luck in the world.” The fellow shrugged, turning his eyes back to the floating stick on his line. “If you go over to the Darshiva side, try not t’ get et by demons.”
“I’ll make a special point of it,” Durnik promised. As Garion and his friend walked back along the rickety dock to where their horses were tethered, Durnik smiled. “They talk differently in this part of the world, don’t they?”
“Yes,” Ganon agreed, remembering the gabby old man and his pig in the wayside tavern above the plains of Voresebo.
“I sort of like it, though,” Durnik admitted. “It’s kind free and relaxed and easy, somehow.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily try to imitate it, though, if I were you,” Garion advised. “Aunt Pol might wash your mouth with soap if you did.”
“Oh,” Durnik smiled, “I don’t think she’d really do that, Garion.”
Garion shrugged. “She’s your wife—and it’s your mouth.”
Belgarath was waiting for them atop the grassy hill rising the village on the riverbank. “Well?” he asked.
“The fish are biting,” Durnik told him seriously.
Belgarath stared at him for a moment, then rolled his eyes heavenward and groaned. “I meant in Darshiva,” he said between clenched teeth.
“I couldn’t really say for sure about that, Belgarath, but they’re biting on this side, it only stands to reason that they’d be biting over there, too, doesn’t it?” Durnik’s face was very sincere, and his tone was earnest. Belgarath turned and stamped away, muttering to himself.
When they rejoined the others, Garion briefly repeated the information he and Durnik had gleaned from the solitary man at the end of the dock.
“That puts a whole new complexion on things, doesn’t it,” Silk said. “Now what?”
“If you don’t mind a suggestion, Ancient One,” Sadi said to Belgarath. “I think we might be wise to follow the people of the villagers Belgarion mentioned and go on river to Gandahar and find a boat there. It might take little longer, but we’ll avoid the demons.”
Toth shook his head. The huge mute’s usually impassive face had a worried frown on it. He made a quick series of those obscure gestures to Durnik.
“He says we don’t have time,” the smith translated.
“Is there some kind of special time when we have to get to Kell?” Silk asked.
Tom gestured again, his big hands moving rapidly.
“He says that Kell has been sealed off from the rest of Dalasia,” Durnik told them. “Cyradis has made arrangements for us to get through, but once she leaves, the other seers will seal it off again.”
“Leaves?” Belgarath said with some surprise. “Where’s she going?”
Durnik looked inquiringly at Toth, and the mute gestured some more.
“Oh,” Durnik said, “I see.” He turned back to Belgarath. “She needs to go to the place of the meeting soon. She has to be there when it happens so that she can make the choice.”
“Couldn’t she just travel with us?” Velvet asked.
Toth shook his head again, and his gestures became more emphatic.
“I’m not sure I got all that,” Durnik confessed. “Tell me if I make any mistakes.” He turned once more. “He says that something’s supposed to happen before we get to Kell, but if it doesn’t, she’ll have to travel alone.”
“Did he say what this something is going to be?” Polgara asked her husband.
“The way I understand it, he doesn’t know, Pol.”
“Does he know where it’s going to happen?” Belgarath asked intently.
Toth spread his hands.
“That young lady’s really beginning to irritate me.” The old man looked at Beldin. “What do you think?”
“I don’t see that we have much choice, Belgarath. If this event’s supposed to happen in Darshiva and we avoid the place, it might not happen at all, and the whole business could hinge on that.”
“All right,” Belgarath said. “We go to Darshiva then. We’ve dodged demons before. The main thing right now is to get across the river before Zakath gets here.”
“We’re going to need a boat,” Durnik said.
“I’ll go see if I can find one,” Beldin said, crouching and spreading his arms.
“You don’t have to be too selective,” Belgarath said. “Anything that floats should do it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Beldin replied and soared away.