Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  "Our luck's still holding," I told the Alorns.

  "How's that?" Cherek asked me.

  "That's as far as the Hounds can come. We're home free now."

  That turned out to be premature, because suddenly there was a Hound directly in front of us--a Hound twice the size of the ones howling behind us. It seemed to emanate a reddish glow.

  "Don't bother," I told Riva as his hand dug into the neck of his tunic.

  "The dog's an illusion. It's not really there."

  "You haven't heard the last of this, Belgarath," the monstrous creature growled at me, seeming almost to chew on the words with its long fangs.

  "You would be Urvon," I said calmly, "or possibly Ctuchik."

  "I'll let you worry about that. You and I are going to meet again, old man; you've got my promise on that. You've won this time. Next time you won't be so lucky."

  And then it vanished.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  We reached the coast of Morindland a couple of days later. The sun was rising a little higher and staying up a little longer each day, and the bitter cold seemed to be moderating. Spring was coming to the north.

  We decided not to retrace our steps and cross the arctic wastes of Morindland again. We went south instead. We weren't in any danger now, and we all wanted to find a warmer climate. We followed the shoreline until we reached present-day Gar og Nadrak, which in those days was eastern Aloria. Cherek was king there, but he didn't have very many subjects in that part of his kingdom--unless you count the deer. The Alorns who were there were all members of the Bear-cult anyway, so we avoided them. Bear-cultists have wanted to get their hands on the Orb since their order was founded, and Cherek and the rest of us weren't very eager for any more confrontations.

  Once we were beyond the North Range, we turned west again and proceeded through that vast forest, crossed the mountains, and reached the Drasnian moors. Then we turned southwesterly, passed Lake Atun, and eventually reached the banks of the Aldur River on a fine spring morning.

  There was someone waiting for us there.

  "Well, boy," the humorous old man in the rickety cart said to me, "I see you're still headed west."

  "I guess it's sort of a habit by now," I replied in as casual a way as I could manage.

  "You two know each other, I take it," Cherek noted.

  "We've run across each other a few times," I replied. I assumed that my Master had reasons for wanting to remain anonymous, so I didn't give him away.

  "Have you had breakfast yet?" the old man asked.

  "If you want to call it that," Dras replied.

  "A few chunks of dried beef is hardly what I'd call breakfast."

  "I've got a camp set up a mile or so down-river," the old man told us, "and I've had an ox roasting all night. You're welcome to join me, if you're of a mind. Are you thirsty, too? I've got a barrel of good ale chilling in the river back at camp."

  That settled it, of course. The Alorns followed along behind the cart like a litter of happy puppies as the old man and I led them to breakfast.

  "Let's feed your friends first," the old man told me quietly.

  "Then you and I need to talk."

  "If that's the way you want it," I replied.

  Cherek and his sons fell on the roasted ox like a pack of hungry wolves and plunged into the ale barrel like a school of fish. After an hour or so of eating and drinking, they all became very sleepy and decided to take a little nap. The old man and I strolled down to the riverbank and stood looking out across the water. The spring runoff had begun in the Tolnedran Mountains, and the river ran bank-full and muddy brown.

  "Is there any particular reason for the disguise?" I asked, getting right to the point.

  "Probably not," my Master replied.

  "I use it when I have occasion to leave the Vale. People tend not to notice me when I'm plodding along in the cart. My brothers and I had a meeting in the cave."

  "Oh?"

  "We're going to have to leave, Belgarath."

  "Leave?"

  "We don't have any choice. If we stay, sooner or later we'll have to confront Torak directly, and that would destroy the world. This world's too important for us to let that happen. The Child of Light is going to need it."

  "Who's the Child of Light?"

  "It varies. You were, while you and Zedar were scuffling up in Morindland. The Necessities can't meet directly, so they have to function through agents. I think I've explained this to you before."

  I nodded glumly. I wasn't happy about this particular turn of events.

  "There's going to be an ultimate Child of Light, however," he went on, "and an ultimate Child of Dark. They're the ones who've going to settle everything once and for all. It's your job to prepare for the coming of the Child. Keep an eye on Riva. The Child will descend from him."

  "Won't I ever see you again?"

  He smiled faintly.

  "Of course you will. I've spent too much time raising you to turn you loose. Pay close attention to your dreams, Belgarath. I won't be able to come back directly--at least not very often--so I'll talk with you while you're asleep."

  "That's something, anyway. Is that how you're going to guide us, through our dreams?"

  "You'll be guided by the Necessity. The Second Age that the Dals talk about is over now. This is the Third Age, the Age of Prophecy. The two Necessities are going to inspire certain people to predict the future."

  I saw the flaw in that immediately.

  "Isn't that sort of dangerous?" I asked.

  "That's not the sort of information we'd want just anybody to get his hands on."

  "That's already been taken care of, my son. The rest of mankind won't understand what the predictions mean. They'll be obscure enough so that most people will think that they're just the ravings of assorted madmen. Tell your Alorns to watch for them and to write down what they say if it's at all possible. There'll be hidden messages in them."

  "It's a cumbersome way to do business, Master."

  "I know, but it's part of the rules."

  "I'm not so sure that the rules are holding, Master. The other side started cheating when we were in Cthol Mishrak."

  "That was Torak. His Necessity apologized for that. Torak's being punished for it."

  "Good. What am I supposed to do now? I really ought to get back to Poledra, you know."

  He sighed.

  "That's going to have to wait, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Belgarath--more sorry than you could possibly know--but you haven't finished yet. You still have to divide up Aloria."

  "I have to do what?" He explained it to me--at some length.

  It's my story, and I'll tell it the way I want to. If you don't like the way I'm telling it, tell it yourself.

  After he'd given me my instructions, the old man fed his horse and then drove his cart off toward the south, leaving me with only the snoring Alorns for company. I didn't bother to wake them, and they slept straight on through until the following morning.

  "Where's your friend?" Cherek asked when they finally woke up.

  "He had something to attend to," I replied.

  "Well, it's all over then, isn't it?" Dras said.

  "It'll be good to get back to Val Alorn."

  "You aren't going to Val Alorn, Dras," I told him.

  "What?"

  "You're going back up to those moors we just came across."

  "Why would I want to do that?"

  "Because I'm telling you to do it." I was a little blunt about it. I wasn't in a very good humor that morning. I looked at Bear-shoulders.

  "I'm sorry, Cherek," I told him, "but I'm going to have to split up your kingdom. The Angaraks aren't just going to let this slide, so we're going to have to get ready for them. Riva's guarding the Orb, so the rest of you are going to have to guard him. I'm going to spread you out so that Torak's people can't slip up on Riva and steal back the Orb."

  "How long's that likely to take?" Cherek asked me.

  "How long until I can put my
kingdom back together again?"

  "You're not going to be able to do that, I'm afraid. The division of Aloria's going to be permanent."

  "Belgarath!" He said it plaintively, almost like a child protesting the removal of his favorite toy.

  "It's out of my hands, Cherek. You're the one who came up with the idea of stealing the Orb. Now you're going to have to live with the consequences. Dras has to establish his own kingdom on the north moors.

  Algar's going to have his down here on these grasslands. You're going back to Val Alorn. Your kingdom's going to be that peninsula."

  "Kingdom?" he exploded.

  "That's hardly bigger than a clothes closet!"

  "Don't worry about it. Your kingdom's the ocean now. Call your shipbuilders together. Those scows they've been building aren't good enough. I'll draw up some plans for you. The king of the Ocean's going to need war boats, not floating bathtubs."

  His eyes narrowed speculatively.

  "The king of the Ocean," he mused.

  "That's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Can you really make war with boats, though?"

  "Oh, yes," I assured him.

  "And the nice part of it is that you don't have to walk to get to the battlefield."

  "Where do you want me to go, Belgarath?" Riva asked me.

  "I'll show you myself. I'm supposed to go with you to help you get set up."

  "Thanks, but where are we going?"

  "To the Isle of the Winds."

  "That's nothing but a rock out in the middle of the Great Western Sea!," he objected.

  "I know, but it's your rock. You're going to take a sizable number of Alorns and go there. You volunteered to pick up the Orb. Now it's your responsibility. When we get to the Isle, you're going to build a fortress, and you and your people are going to spend the rest of your lives guarding the Orb. Then you're going to turn the responsibility for guarding the Orb over to your children, and then they'll take over."

  "How long's this going to last?"

  "I haven't got the faintest idea--centuries, probably, maybe even eons. Your father's going to build war boats, and he's not going to let anybody near the Isle of the Winds."

  "This isn't what I had in mind when we started, Belgarath," Cherek complained.

  "Life's just filled with these little disappointments, isn't it? Playtime's over, gentlemen. It's time to grow up. We've got work to do."

  I probably didn't really have to run roughshod over them like that, but my Master hadn't been very gentle with me, and the sniveling of Cherek and his boys was making me tired. They'd set off on the most important mission in the history of their race as if it had been some kind of lark. Now that the consequences of their little romp in the snow were coming home to roost, all they could do was stand around and complain about it.

  Alorns are such babies at times.

  I hammered the details of the division into them with that same callousness. I didn't give them time to get all weepy and sentimental. I told Cherek in precise terms just how many warriors he was going to send to each of his sons to help with the founding of the new kingdoms. His expression grew mournful when he realized that I was usurping over half of his subjects. Every time he started to protest, I reminded him pointedly that the retrieval of the Orb had been his idea in the first place. I hadn't wanted to leave my pregnant wife at the time, so I didn't have much sympathy for him now.

  "All right," I concluded that evening, "that's the way we're going to do it. Any questions?"

  "What are we supposed to do when we get set up?" Dras asked sullenly.

  "Just stand around and wait for the Angaraks?"

  "You'll get further instructions from Belar," I told him.

  "The Gods are involved in this, too, you know."

  "Belar doesn't like me," Dras said.

  "I beat him at dice most of the time."

  "Don't play dice with him, then. Try to stay on the good side of him."

  "This is awfully open country around here," Algar said, looking out at the vast grassland.

  "I'm going to have to do a lot of walking."

  "There are wild horses out there. Chase them down and ride."

  "My feet drag on the ground when I try to sit on a horse."

  "Chase down a bigger one, then."

  "There aren't any bigger ones."

  "Breed some."

  "The weather on the Isle of the Winds is really miserable," Riva complained.

  "Build houses with thick walls and stout roofs."

  "The wind'll blow thatch roofs right off the houses."

  "Make your roof out of slate, then, and nail it down."

  Cherek finally got as tired of it as I was getting.

  "You've got your instructions," he told his sons.

  "Now go do as you're told. You might be kings now, but you're still my sons. Don't make me ashamed of you."

  That put the starch back in their spines.

  The farewells the following morning were tearful, however. Then we scattered to the winds, leaving Algar standing forlornly on the bank of the Aldur River.

  Riva and I went west until we reached the mountains, and then we swung off slightly northwesterly to avoid the northern reaches of Ulgoland. I'd gotten all the entertainment I wanted out of our skirmishes with the Angaraks. I didn't feel much like playing with Algroths or Eldrakyn.

  We came down out of the mountains and crossed the fertile plains of modern-day Sendaria until we reached the shore of the Great Western Sea. We stopped there to wait for the warriors Cherek had promised to send--and their women, of course. I was establishing new countries, and I needed breeding stock.

  Yes, I know that's a blunt way to put it, and it'll probably offend Polgara, but that's just too bad. If she doesn't have that to be offended about, she'll probably just find something else.

  Got you that time, didn't I, Pol?

  While Riva and I were waiting for his people to arrive from Val Alorn, I amused myself by cheating. There was a sizable forest near the beach, and I utilized my talents to fell trees and saw them into boards. Riva had seen me do all sorts of things with the Will and the Word, but for some reason, the sight of a log spewing out unprovoked sawdust seemed to unnerve him. He finally refused entirely to watch, but sat instead staring out at the sea and muttering the word "unnatural"--usually loud enough for me to hear. I tried to explain to him that we were going to need boats to get to the Isle of the Winds, and that boats implied lumber, but he refused to listen to me. It wasn't until I had stacks of lumber spread out for a quarter of a mile along the beach that he finally came up with what came fairly close to a reasonable objection.

  "If you make boats out of those green boards, they'll sink. They'll have to cure for at least a year."

  "Oh, not that long," I disagreed. Then, just to show him who was in charge, I looked at a nearby stack, concentrated, and said,

  "Hot."

  The stack started to smoke immediately. Riva had irritated me, and I had gone a bit too far. I reduced the heat, and the smoke was replaced by steam as the green boards began to sweat out their moisture.

  "They're warping," he pointed out triumphantly.

  "Of course they are," I replied calmly.

  "I want them to warp."

  "Warped lumber's no good."

  "It depends on what you want to build with it," I disagreed.

  "We want ships, and ships have curved sides. Something with flat sides is called a barge, and it doesn't sail very well."

  "You've got an answer for everything, haven't you, Belgarath? Even for your mistakes."

  "Why are you being so cross with me, Riva?"

  "Because you've torn my life apart. You've separated me from my family, and you're taking me to the most wretched place on earth to spend the rest of my life. Stay away from me, Belgarath. I don't like you very much right now." And he stalked off up the beach.

  I started after him.

  "Leave him alone, Belgarath." It was my friend again.

  "If I'
m going to have his cooperation, I'm going to have to make peace with him."

  "He's a little upset right now. He'll settle down. Don't weaken your position by going to him. Make him come to you."

  "What if he doesn't?"

  "He has to. You're the only one who can tell him what to do, and he knows it. He's got an enormous sense of responsibility. That's why I chose him. Dras is bigger, and Algar's smarter, but Riva sticks to something once he starts it. Go back to baking boards. It'll keep your mind off your troubles."

  Somehow he always knew what the most insulting thing he could say would be. Baking boards! I still get hot around the ears when I remember that particular expression.

  Two days later, Riva came to me apologetically.

  "I'm sorry, Belgarath," he said contritely.

  "What for? You didn't say anything that wasn't true. I have torn your life apart, I have separated you from your family, and I am going to take you to the Isle of the Winds to spend the rest of your life. The only thing you left out was the fact that none of it's been my idea. You're the Keeper of the Orb now, and somebody has to tell you what to do. I'm your teacher. Neither one of us asked for the jobs, but we got them anyway.

  We might as well make the best of it. Now come over here, and I'll show you the plans I've drawn up for your boats."

  "Ships," he corrected absently.

  "Any way you want it, Orb-keeper."

  The Alorns began drifting in the next afternoon. Alorns don't march.

  They don't even stay together when they're traveling, and their direction is pretty indeterminate, since small groups of them periodically break off to go exploring.

  Riva put them to work building ships immediately, and that lonely beach turned into an impromptu shipyard. There were a number of arguments about my design for those ships, and some of the objections raised by various Alorns were even valid. Most of them were silly, however.

  Alorns love to argue, probably because arguments in their culture are usually preludes to fights.

  I drifted up and down the beach, cheating wherever it was necessary, and we finished about ten of those ships in just under six weeks. Then Riva left his cousin Anrak in charge and we took an advance party out into the Sea of the Winds toward the Isle.