Sorceress of Darshiva

by David Eddings

  ‘Aunt Pol!’ Garion’s thought flew out. ‘The dragon’s coming!’

  ‘What?’ her answering thought came back.

  ‘Zandramas has changed form! She’s flying toward you!’

  ‘Come back here!’ she commanded crisply. ‘Now!’

  He spun, his claws digging into the damp turf, and ran toward the farmstead as fast as he could. Behind him he could hear the shrill, panicky trumpeting of the elephants, and overhead the shrieking bellow of the vast dragon. He ran on desperately, knowing that Zandramas was immune to whatever countermeasures Polgara and the others might try, and that only the flaming sword of Iron-grip could drive her away.

  It was not far, though the seconds seemed like hours as he bunched and stretched in the running gait of the wolf. Ahead of him he could see the dragon’s fiery breath illuminating the storm clouds rolling overhead, a fire eerily accompanied by pale blue lightning that danced in jerky streaks down from the clouds. Then she folded her huge wings and plummeted down toward the farmstead with billows of fire preceding her.

  Between bounds, Garion changed and ran on toward the gate with the sword of Iron-grip flaming in the air above his head.

  At the last instant, the dragon extended her vast pinions and settled into the farmyard, still belching fire and smoke. She swung her snakelike neck around, sending incandescent billows of flame into the wooden structures surrounding the yard. The seasoned wood began to char and smoke, and here and there small blue flames began to flicker their way up the sides of the door frames.

  Garion rushed into the yard, his burning sword aloft. Grimly, he began to flail at the dragon with it. ‘You may be immune to sorcery, Zandramas!’ he shouted at her, ‘but you’re not immune to this!’

  She shrieked, engulfing him in a sheet of flame, but he ignored it and continued to lash her with the blue flame of the Orb and the sword. Finally, unable to bear his relentless strokes any longer, she hurled herself into the air, flapping her great wings frantically. She clawed at the air and finally managed to clear the second-story roof of the farmstead. Then she settled to earth again and continued to bathe the structure in flame.

  Garion dashed out through the gateway, fully intending to confront her again. But then he stopped. The dragon was not alone. Glowing with her peculiar nimbus, the blue wolf faced the altered form of the Sorceress of Darshiva. Then, even as Polgara had once expanded into immensity in Sthiss Tor to face the God Issa and as Garion himself had done in the City of Endless Night when he had come at last to his fated meeting with Torak, the blue wolf swelled into vastness.

  The meeting of the two was the sort of thing nightmares are made of. The dragon fought with flame, and the wolf with her terrible fangs. Since the wolf was insubstantial—except for her teeth—the dragon’s flame had no effect; and though the teeth of the wolf were very sharp, they could not penetrate the dragon’s scaly hide. Back and forth they raged in titanic but inconclusive struggle. Then Garion thought he detected something. The light was not good. The sky overhead was still obscured by the last tattered clouds of the evening’s storm, and the sullen flickers of lightning seemed to obscure more than they revealed, but it appeared that each time the wolf lunged, the dragon flinched visibly. Then it came to him. Though the wolf’s teeth could not injure the dragon, her blue nimbus could. It seemed in some way to be akin to the glow of the Orb and the fire of Iron-grip’s sword. Somehow the blue glow surrounding Poledra, when she assumed the shape of the wolf, partook of the power of the Orb, and Garion had discovered that even in the form of the invincible dragon, Zandramas feared the Orb and anything connected with it. Her flinching became more visible, and Poledra pressed her advantage with savage, snarling lunges. Then suddenly, they both stopped. A wordless agreement seemed to pass between them and each blurred back into her natural form. Their eyes flashing with implacable hatred, Zandramas and Poledra faced each other as two women.

  ‘I’ve warned you about this, Zandramas,’ Poledra said in a deadly voice. ‘Each time you try to thwart the purpose of the Destiny which controls us all, I will block you.’

  ‘And I have told thee, Poledra, that I do not fear thee,’ the sorceress retorted.

  ‘Fine, then,’ Poledra almost purred. ‘Let us summon the seeress of Kell and let her make the choice here and now and based upon the outcome of this meeting.’

  ‘Thou art not the Child of Light, Poledra. Thou hast no part in the ordained meeting.’

  ‘I can stand in Belgarion’s stead, if need be,’ Poledra replied, ‘for the meeting between you and him is not the meeting upon which the fate of creation hinges. In that last meeting you will no longer be the Child of Dark and he will no longer be the Child of Light. Others are destined to take up those burdens, so let the meeting between you and me come now and in this place.’

  ‘Thou wilt turn all to chaos, Poledra!’ Zandramas screamed.

  ‘Not all, I think. You have far more to lose than I. Belgarion is the Child of Light and he will go from here to the Place Which Is No More. You are the Child of Dark, but if we have our meeting here and now, and if you are the one to fall, who will assume your burden? Urvon, perhaps, or Agachak? Or some other? You, however, will not be the exalted one, and I think that thought might be more than you can bear. Consider it, Zandramas, and then choose.’

  The two stood facing each other with the last flickers of lightning from the evening’s storm playing luridly among the clouds to the west, bathing their faces in an eerie light.

  ‘Well, Zandramas?’

  ‘We will surely meet, Poledra, and all shall be decided—but not here. This is not the place of my choosing.’ Then the Child of Dark shimmered and vanished, and Garion heard and felt the rushing surge of her translocation.

  Chapter Fifteen

  She walked toward him with a stately, unhurried step, her 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 drily 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 up the wooden steps to the second-floor gallery and the door his 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,’ the smith 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 out 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 a 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 not 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’d taken up your challenge?’

  ‘Wolves enjoy taking chances.’ She shrugged. ‘It adds a certain zest to their lives. It really wasn’t all that risky, though. Zandramas is the Child of Dark, and the Dark Spirit is 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 Murgos 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,’ he 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 reached 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 good is that elephant cavalry out of Gandahar?’ he asked Silk.

  ‘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.’