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 - 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 - 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 - Clan-Chiefs of the horses. It's very rare - 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'll have 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 - 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 - 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 thief 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 minstrel and storyteller in the north start retelling certain old stories - 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, his 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 -" he hesitated, glanced at Garion, and then continued smoothly. "- 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 - 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 are very 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 - abo
ut 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 - 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?"
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