There was an abiding peace here, a peace that washed away the turmoil and anxiety that had beset them all on the plains below and somehow erased care and even thought. Each turn and each ridge top brought new vistas, each filled with more splendor than the last until they could only ride in silence and wonder. The works of man shrank into insignificance here. Man would never, could never, touch these eternal mountains.
It was summer, and the days were long and filled with sunlight. Birds sang from the trees beside the winding track, and the smell of sun-warmed evergreens was touched lightly with the delicate odors of the acre upon acre of wildflowers carpeting the steep meadows. Occasionally, the wild, shrill cry of an eagle echoed from the rocks.
‘Have you ever considered moving your capital?’ Garion asked the Emperor of Mallorea, who rode beside him. His tone was hushed. To speak in a louder voice would somehow profane what lay around them.
‘No, not really, Garion,’ Zakath replied. ‘My government wouldn’t function here. The bureaucracy is largely Melcene. Melcenes appear to be prosaic people, but actually they aren’t. I’m afraid my officials would spend about half their time looking at the scenery and the other half writing bad poetry. Nobody would get any work done. Besides, you have no idea what it’s like up here in the winter.’
‘Snow?’
Zakath nodded. ‘People up here don’t bother to measure it in inches. They measure it in feet.’
‘Are there people up here? I haven’t seen any.’
‘There are a few – fur-trappers, gold-hunters, that sort of thing.’ Zakath smiled faintly. ‘I think it’s just an excuse, really. Some people prefer solitude.’
‘This is a good place for it.’
The Emperor of Mallorea had changed since they had left Atesca’s enclave on the banks of the Magan. He was leaner now, and the dead look was gone from his eyes. Like Garion and all the rest, he rode warily, his eyes and ears constantly alert. It was not so much his outward aspect that marked the change in him, however. Zakath had always been a pensive, even melancholy man, given often to periods of black depression, but filled at the same time with a cold ambition. Garion had often felt that the Mallorean’s ambition and his apparent hunger for power was not so much a driving need in him as it had been a kind of continual testing of himself, and, at perhaps a deeper level, deriving from an urge toward self-destruction. It had seemed almost that Zakath had hurled himself and all the resources of his empire into impossible struggles in the secret hope that eventually he would encounter someone strong enough to kill him and thereby relieve him of the burden of a life which was barely tolerable to him.
Such was no longer the case. His meeting with Cyradis on the banks of the Magan had forever changed him. A world which had always been flat and stale now seemed to be all new to him. At times, Garion even thought he detected a faint touch of hope in his friend’s face, and hope had never been a part of Zakath’s make-up.
As they rounded a wide bend in the track, Garion saw the she-wolf he had found in the dead forest back in Darshiva. She sat patiently on her haunches waiting for them. Increasingly, the behavior of the wolf puzzled him. Now that her injured paw was healed, she made sporadic sweeps through the surrounding forests in search of her pack, but always returned, seemingly unconcerned about her failure to locate them. It was as if she were perfectly content to remain with them as a member of their most unusual pack. So long as they were in forests and uninhabited mountains, this peculiarity of hers caused no particular problems, but they would not always be in the wilderness, and the appearance of an untamed and probably nervous wolf on the busy street of a populous city would be likely to attract attention, to say the very least.
‘How is it with you, little sister?’ he asked her politely in the language of wolves.
‘It is well,’ she replied.
‘Did you find any traces of your pack?’
‘There are many other wolves about, but they are not of my kindred. One will remain with you for yet a while longer. Where is the young one?’
Garion glanced back over his shoulder at the little two-wheeled carriage trundling along behind them. ‘He sits beside my mate in the thing with round feet.’
The wolf sighed. ‘If he sits much longer, he will no longer be able to run or hunt,’ she said disapprovingly, ‘and if your mate continues to feed him so much, she will stretch his belly, and he will not survive a lean season when there is little food.’
‘One will speak with her about it.’
‘Will she listen?’
‘Probably not, but one will speak with her all the same. She is fond of the young one and takes pleasure in having him near her.’
‘Soon one will need to teach him how to hunt.’
‘Yes. One knows. One will explain that to one’s mate.’
‘One is grateful.’ She paused, looking about a bit warily. ‘Proceed with some caution,’ she warned. ‘There is a creature who dwells here. One has caught his scent several times, though one has not seen him. He is quite large, however.’
‘How large?’
‘Larger than the beast upon which you sit.’ She looked pointedly at Chretienne. Familiarity had made the big gray stallion less nervous in the presence of the she-wolf, though Garion suspected that he would be much happier if she did not come quite so close.
‘One will tell the pack-leader of what you have said,’ Garion promised. For some reason, the she-wolf avoided Belgarath. Garion surmised that her behavior might reflect some obscure facet of wolfly etiquette of which he was not aware.
‘One will continue one’s search then,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘It may happen that one will come upon this beast, and then we will know him.’ She paused. ‘His scent tells one that he is dangerous, however. He feeds on all things – even on things which we would shun.’ Then she turned and loped off into the forest, moving swiftly and silently.
‘That’s really uncanny, you know,’ Zakath observed. ‘I’ve heard men talk to animals before, but never in their own language.’
‘It’s a family peculiarity,’ Garion smiled. ‘At first I didn’t believe it either. Birds used to come and talk to Aunt Pol all the time – usually about their eggs. Birds are awfully fond of talking about their eggs, I understand. They can be very silly at times. Wolves are much more dignified.’ He paused a moment. ‘You don’t necessarily have to tell Aunt Pol I said that,’ he added.
‘Subterfuge, Garion?’ Zakath laughed.
‘Prudence,’ Garion corrected. ‘I have to go talk with Belgarath. Keep your eyes open. The wolf says that there’s some kind of animal out there somewhere. She says it’s bigger than a horse and very dangerous. She hinted at the fact that it’s a man-eater.’
‘What does it look like?’
‘She hasn’t seen it. She’s smelled it, though, and seen its tracks.’
‘I’ll watch for it.’
‘Good idea.’ Garion turned and rode back to where Belgarath and Aunt Pol were deep in a discussion.
‘Durnik needs a tower somewhere in the Vale,’ Belgarath was saying.
‘I don’t see why, father,’ Polgara replied.
‘All of Aldur’s disciples have towers, Pol. It’s the custom.’
‘Old customs persist – even when there’s no longer any need for them.’
‘He’s going to need to study, Pol. How can he possibly study with you underfoot all the time?’
She gave him a long, chilly stare.
‘Maybe I should rephrase that.’
‘Take as long as you need, father. I’m willing to wait.’
‘Grandfather,’ Garion said, reining in. ‘I was just talking with the wolf, and she says there’s a very large animal out in the forest.’
‘A bear maybe?’
‘I don’t think so. She’s caught its scent a few times, and she’d probably recognize the smell of a bear, wouldn’t she?’
‘I’d think so, yes.’
‘She didn’t say it exactly, but I got the
impression that it’s not too selective about what it eats.’ He paused. ‘Is it my imagination, or is she a very strange wolf?’
‘How do you mean, exactly?’
‘She stretches the language about as far as it will go, and I get the feeling that she still has more to say.’
‘She’s intelligent, that’s all. It’s an uncommon trait in females, but it’s not unheard of.’
‘What a fascinating turn this conversation has taken,’ Polgara observed.
‘Oh,’ the old man said blandly, ‘are you still here, Pol? I thought you’d have found something else to do by now.’
Her gaze was icy, but Belgarath seemed totally unperturbed. ‘You’d better warn the others,’ he told Garion. ‘A wolf would pass an ordinary animal without comment. Whatever this thing is, it’s unusual, and unusual usually means dangerous. Tell Ce’Nedra to get up here among the rest of us. She’s a bit vulnerable trailing along behind the way she is.’ He considered it. ‘Don’t say anything to alarm her, but have Liselle ride in the carriage with her.’
‘Liselle?’
‘The blond girl. The one with the dimples.’
‘I know who she is, Grandfather. Wouldn’t Durnik – or maybe Toth – be a better idea?’
‘No. If either of them got in the carriage with Ce’Nedra, she’d know something was wrong, and that might frighten her. An animal who’s hunting can smell fear. Let’s not expose her to that kind of danger. Liselle’s very well-trained, and she’s probably got two or three daggers hidden in various places.’ He grinned slyly. ‘I’d imagine Silk could tell you where they are,’ he added.
‘Father!’ Polgara gasped.
‘You mean you didn’t know, Pol? My goodness, how unobservant of you.’
‘One for your side,’ Garion noted.
‘I’m glad you liked it.’ Belgarath smirked at Polgara.
Garion turned Chretienne so that his aunt would not see his smile.
They took a bit more care setting up camp that night, choosing a small grove of aspens backed by a steep cliff and with a deep mountain river at its front. As the sun sank into the eternal snowfields above them and twilight filled the ravines and gorges with azure shadows, Beldin returned from his wide-ranging vigil. ‘Isn’t it a bit early to be stopping?’ he rasped after he had shimmered and changed.
‘The horses are tired,’ Belgarath replied, casting a sidelong glance at Ce’Nedra. ‘This is a very steep trail.’
‘Wait a bit,’ Beldin told him, limping toward the fire. ‘It gets steeper on up ahead.’
‘What happened to your foot?’
‘I had a little disagreement with an eagle – stupid birds, eagles. He couldn’t tell the difference between a hawk and a pigeon. I had to educate him. He bit me while I was tearing out a sizeable number of his wing-feathers.’
‘Uncle,’ Polgara said reproachfully.
‘He started it.’
‘Are there any soldiers coming up behind us?’ Belgarath asked him.
‘Some Darshivans. They’re two or three days behind, though. Urvon’s army is retreating. Now that he and Nahaz are gone, there’s not much point in their staying.’
‘That gets at least some of the troops off our backs,’ Silk said.
‘Don’t be too quick to start gloating,’ Beldin told him. ‘With the Guardsmen and the Karands gone, the Darshivans are free to concentrate on us.’
‘That’s true, I suppose. Do you think they know we’re here?’
‘Zandramas does, and I don’t think she’d hide the information from her soldiers. You’ll probably hit snow sometime late tomorrow. You might want to be thinking about some way to hide your tracks.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s your wolf?’ he asked Garion.
‘Hunting. She’s been looking for signs of her pack.’
‘That brings something up,’ Belgarath said quietly, looking around to make sure that Ce’Nedra was out of earshot. ‘The wolf told Garion that there’s a large animal of some kind in this area. Pol’s going to go out and take a look around tonight, but it might not hurt if you nosed around tomorrow as well. I’m not in the mood for any surprises.’
‘I’ll see what I can find.’
Sadi and Velvet sat on the far side of the fire. They had placed the little earthenware bottle on its side and were trying to coax Zith and her children out with morsels of cheese. ‘I wish we had some milk,’ Sadi said in his contralto voice. ‘Milk is very good for young snakes. It strengthens their teeth.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ Velvet said.
‘Were you planning a career as a snakeherdess, Margravine?’
‘They’re nice little creatures,’ she replied. ‘They’re clean and quiet, and they don’t eat very much. Besides, they’re very useful in emergencies.’
He smiled at her affectionately. ‘We’ll make a Nyissan of you yet, Liselle.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ Silk muttered darkly to Garion.
They had broiled trout for supper that evening. After Durnik and Toth had finished setting up their encampment, they had adjourned to the riverbank with their poles and lures. Durnik’s recent elevation to disciplehood had changed him in some ways, but had not lessened his appetite for his favorite pastime. It was no longer necessary for him and his mute friend even to discuss these excursions. Anytime they camped in the vicinity of a lake or stream, their reaction was automatic.
After supper, Polgara flew off into the shadowy forest, but when she returned, she reported having seen no sign of the large beast the she-wolf had warned them about.
It was cold the following morning, and there was a trace of frost in the air. The horses’ breath steamed in the mountain air as they set out, and Garion and the others rode with their cloaks wrapped tightly about them.
As Beldin had predicted, they reached the snow line late that afternoon. The first windrows of white in the wagon-ruts were thin and crusty, but farther on ahead they could see deeper drifts. They made camp below the snow and set out again early the following morning. Silk had devised a sort of yoke for one of the pack-horses, and trailing on ropes behind the yoke were a dozen or so head-sized round rocks. The little man critically examined the tracks the rocks made in the snow as they started up the track into the world of perpetual white. ‘Good enough,’ he said in a self-congratulatory tone.
‘I don’t quite see the purpose of your contrivance, Prince Kheldar,’ Sadi confessed.
‘The rocks leave trails that look about the same as wagon tracks,’ Silk explained. ‘Horse tracks by themselves might make the soldiers coming up behind us suspicious. Wagon tracks on a caravan route aren’t going to look all that remarkable.’
‘Clever,’ the eunuch said, ‘but why not just cut bushes and drag them behind us?’
Silk shook his head. ‘If you brush out all the tracks in the snow, it looks even more suspicious. This is a fairly well-traveled route.’
‘You think of everything, don’t you?’
‘Sneaking was his major field of study at the academy,’ Velvet said from the little carriage she shared with Ce’Nedra and the wolf pup. ‘Sometimes he sneaks just to keep in practice.’
‘I don’t know if I’d go that far, Liselle,’ the little man objected in a pained tone.
‘Don’t you?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but you don’t have to come right out and say it – and “sneak” has such an ugly ring to it.’
‘Can you think of a better term?’
‘Well, “evasion” sounds a bit nicer, doesn’t it?’
‘Since it means the same thing, why quibble over terminology?’ She smiled winsomely at him, her cheeks dimpling.
‘It’s a question of style, Liselle.’
The caravan track grew steeper, and the snow had piled in deeper and deeper drifts along the sides. Miles-long plumes of snow blew from the mountaintops ahead, and the wind grew stronger with a biting, arid chill to it.
About noon, the peaks ahead were suddenly obscured by an ominous-looking cloudban
k rolling in from the west, and the she-wolf came loping down the track to meet them. ‘One advises that you seek shelter for the pack and your beasts,’ she said with a peculiar kind of urgency.
‘Have you found the creature who dwells here?’ Garion asked.
‘No. This is more dangerous.’ She looked meaningfully back over her shoulder at the approaching cloud.
‘One will tell the pack leader.’
‘That is proper.’ She pointed her muzzle at Zakath. ‘Have this one follow me. There are trees a short way ahead. He and I will find a suitable place.’
‘She wants you to go with her,’ Garion told the Mallorean. ‘We’ve got bad weather coming, and she thinks we should take shelter in some trees just ahead. Find a place, and I’ll go warn the others.’
‘A blizzard?’ Zakath asked.
‘I’d guess so. It takes something fairly serious in the way of weather to make a wolf nervous.’ Garion wheeled Chretienne and rode back down to alert the others. The steep, slippery track made haste difficult, and the chill wind was whipping stinging pellets of snow about them by the time they reached the thicket to which the wolf had led Zakath. The trees were slender pine saplings, and they grew very close together. At some time in the not too distant past an avalanche had cut a swath through the thicket and had piled a jumble of limbs and broken trunks against the face of a steep rock cliff. Durnik and Toth went to work immediately even as the wind picked up and the snow grew thicker. Garion and the others joined in, and before long they had erected a latticed frame for a long lean-to against the cliff face. They covered the frame with tent canvas, tying it securely in place and weighting it down with logs. Then they cleared away the interior and led the horses into the lower end of the rude shelter just as the full force of the storm hit.
The wind shrieked insanely, and the thicket seemed to vanish in the swirling snow.
The Malloreon: Book 05 - Seeress of Kell Page 2