"All right," Riva said, "now what?"
"Get a firm grip on your sword and split that rock."
"That'll shatter the blade, Belgarath."
"It's not supposed to."
"Why am I supposed to split rocks with my sword? Wouldn't a sledgehammer work better?"
"You could pound on that boulder with a hammer for a year and not even dent it."
"More magic?"
"Sort of. There used to be a river running down the valley. It got dammed up when Torak cracked the world. It's still there, though--under that boulder. Your family's going to repair the world, and this is where you're going to start. Break the rock, Riva. Free the river. You're going to need fresh water in your city anyway."
He shrugged.
"If you say so, Belgarath."
Garion, I want you to notice the absolute trust that boy had. You might want to think about that the next time you feel like arguing with me.
Riva raised up that enormous naming sword and delivered a blow that probably would have broken a lesser rock down into rubble. I'm sure that the sound startled all the deer in Sendaria.
The boulder split evenly down the middle, and the two sides fell ponderously out of the way.
The river came gushing out like a breaking wave.
Riva and I got very wet at that point. We struggled out of the water and stood looking at our river with a certain sense of accomplishment.
"Oops," Riva said after a moment.
"Oops what?"
"Maybe I should have warned the fellows working down below," he replied.
"I don't think they'll be too happy about this."
"They aren't down in the stream-bed, Riva. That's where they've been dumping the excess dirt and rock they're scraping off those terraces."
"I hope you're right. Otherwise, they'll probably get washed out to sea, and they'll probably swear at me for a week after they swim back."
As it turned out, our newly released river saved those Alorns months of work. There were natural terraces under all the accumulated debris they'd been moving, and that first rush of water washed those terraces clean. The Alorns who were washed out to sea were so pleased with that turn of events that they didn't even swear at Riva--at least not very much.
Now that Riva had his sword, I was finished with the things I was supposed to do on the Isle of the Winds. I could finally go home. I spent a day or so giving Riva and his cousin Anrak their instructions. Anrak was a little too fond of good brown ale, but he was a good-natured fellow, popular with the other Alorns. He was the perfect second-in-command.
Some of the orders Riva was going to have to give his people wouldn't go down very well. Anrak, with his boisterous, good-humored laughter, was the perfect one to make them palatable. I sketched in Riva's throne room for him and told him how to fasten his sword to the wall behind the throne. It was a little difficult to keep his attention, since he wanted to talk about the girl in his dream. Then I wished them good luck and went off down the beach until I was out of sight. There was no real point in upsetting Riva's people any more than they already were.
I chose the form of an albatross for my return to the mainland. A seven-foot wingspan is very useful when you fly as badly as I do. After I was a few miles out to sea and had picked up some altitude, I learned the trick of simply locking those great wings out and coasting along on the air.
What a joy that was! No flapping. No floundering. No panic. I even got to the point where I liked it. I think I could have soared like that for a solid month. I actually took a few short naps on my way.
It was almost with regret that I saw the coast of what's now Sendaria on the horizon.
You wouldn't believe how different Sendaria was in those days.
What's now farmland was an untamed forest of huge trees, and just about the only part of it that was inhabited was a stretch along the north bank of the Camaar River that was occupied by the Wacite Arends. Because I was really in a hurry to get back to the Vale, I took the familiar form of the wolf and loped off through the forest.
This time I didn't have to wait periodically for any Alorns to catch up with me, so I made very good time. It was summer by now, so I had good weather. I angled down across Sendaria in a southeasterly direction and soon reached the mountains.
After a bit of consideration, I decided not to waste time with a tiresome detour, but to cut straight across the northern end of Ulgoland.
I didn't really think that the monsters would be a problem. They were interested in men, not wolves; even Algroths and Hrulgin avoided wolves.
I gave some thought to swinging by Prolgu to advise the current Gorim of what had happened in Mallorea, but I decided against it. My Master knew about it, and he'd certainly have advised UL before he and his brothers had departed.
That was something I didn't really want to think about. My Master had been the central fact of my life for four thousand years, and his departure left a very large hole in my concept of the world. I couldn't imagine the Vale without him.
Anyway, I bypassed Prolgu and continued southeasterly toward the Vale. I saw a few Algroths lurking near the edge of the trees, and once a herd of Hrulgin, but they wisely chose not to interfere with me. I was in a hurry, and I wasn't in any mood for interruptions.
I loped across a ridge-line and descended into a river gorge. Since all the rivers on this side of the mountains of Ulgo flowed eastward to empty into the Aldur River, the quickest way to reach the Vale would be simply to follow the river until it reached the plains of Algaria.
Notice that I was already thinking of that vast grassland in those terms.
I can't exactly remember why I chose to resume my own form when I reached the river. Maybe I thought I needed a bath. I'd been on the go for six months now, and I certainly didn't want to offend Poledra by showing up in our tower smelling like a goat. Perhaps it was because I wanted a hot meal. As a wolf, I was quite satisfied with a diet of raw rabbit or uncooked deer or even an occasional field-mouse, but I was not entirely a wolf, and periodically I grew hungry for cooked food. I pulled down a deer, anyway, resumed my own form, and set to work building a fire. I spitted a haunch, set it to roasting over the fire, and bathed in the river while it cooked.
I probably ate too much. A wolf on the move doesn't really spend too much time eating--usually no more than a few bites before he's off again --so I'd definitely managed to build up quite an appetite.
Anyway, after I'd eaten, I dozed by my fire. I really don't know how long I slept, but I was awakened quite suddenly by a kind of mindless hooting that sounded almost like laughter. I cursed my in attentiveness
Somehow a pack of rock-wolves had managed to creep up on me.
The term "rock-wolf is really a misnomer. They aren't really wolves but are more closely related to hyenas. They're scavengers, and they'd probably caught scent of my deer. It would have been a simple thing to change back into a wolf and outrun them. I was comfortable, though, and I certainly didn't feel like running on a full stomach. I was also feeling just a little pugnacious. I'd been sleeping very well, and being awakened that way irritated me. I built up my fire and settled my back against a tree to wait for them. If they pushed me too far, there'd be one less pack of rock-wolves in the morning.
I saw a few of the ugly brutes slinking along at the edge of the trees, but they were afraid of my fire, so they didn't come any closer. That went on for the rest of the night. The fact that they neither attacked nor went off to find food somewhere else was a bit puzzling. This was not the way rock-wolves normally behaved.
Dawn was just touching the eastern sky when I found out why.
I'd just piled more wood on my fire when I caught a movement at the edge of the trees out of the corner of my eye. I thought it was another rock-wolf, so I took hold of a stick that was burning quite well, turned, and drew back my arm to throw the burning brand at the beast.
It wasn't a rock-wolf, however. It was an Eldrak.
I'd seen Eldrakyn be
fore, of course, but always from a distance, so I hadn't realized just how big they are. I silently berated myself for not going wolf while I had the chance. Changing form takes a little while, and the huge creature wasn't very far away from me. If he were totally mad, as the Hrulgin and Algroths had been, he wouldn't give me nearly enough time.
He was shaggy and about eight feet tall. He didn't have what you'd really call a nose, and his lower jaw stuck out. He had long yellow tusks like a wild boar, and they jutted upward out of that protruding lower jaw. He had little, pig-like eyes sunk deep under a heavy brow ridge, and those eyes burned red.
"Why man-thing come to Grul's range?" He growled at me.
That was a surprise. I knew that the Eldrakyn were more intelligent than Algroths or Trolls, but I didn't know that they could talk.
I recovered quickly. The fact that he could talk raised the possibility of a peaceful solution here.
"Just passing through, old boy," I replied urbanely.
"I didn't mean to trespass, but I didn't realize that this range belongs to you."
"All know," His voice was hideous.
"All know this is Grul's range."
"Well, not everybody, actually. I'm a stranger here, and you don't have the boundaries of your range clearly marked."
"You eat Grul's deer." He said it accusingly. This wasn't going too well. Being careful to conceal what I was doing, I slipped my long Alorn dagger out of its sheath and hid it in my left sleeve, handle down.
"I didn't eat it all," I told him.
"You're welcome to the rest of it."
"How are you called?"
"The name's Belgarath." Maybe he'd heard of me. The Demon-Lord in Morindland had, after all. If my reputation extended all the way to Hell, maybe it'd penetrated these mountains, as well.
" "Grat?" he said.
"Belgarath," I corrected.
" "Grat." He said it with a certain finality. Evidently the shape of his jaw made it impossible for him to come any closer to the correct pronunciation.
"It is good that Grul know this. Grul keep names of all man-things he eats in here." He banged the side of his head with the heel of his hand. ""Grat want to fight before Grul eat him?" he asked hopefully.
I have had more congenial offers from time to time. I stood up.
"Go away, Grul," I told him.
"I don't have time to play with you."
A hideous grin distorted his shaggy face.
"Take time,
"Grat. First we play. Then Grul eat."
This was really going downhill. I looked at him rather closely. He had huge arms that hung down to his knees. I definitely didn't want him wrapping those arms around me, so I carefully put my back against the tree.
"You're making a mistake, Grul," I told him.
"Take the deer and go away. The deer won't fight. I will." It was sheer bravado, of course. I wouldn't have much chance against this huge monster in a purely physical struggle, and he was so close to me by now that any alternative would have been very chancy. What a silly way this was for a man like me to end his career.
" "Grat too small to fight Grul.
"Grat not too smart if he not see this.
"Grat is brave, though. Grul will remember how brave
"Grat was, after Grul eat him."
"You're too kind," I murmured to him.
"Come along then, Grul.
Since you've got your heart set on this, we may as well get going. I've got better things to do today." I was gambling. The fact that this huge, shaggy monster could speak was an indication that he could also think--minimally.
My bluster was designed to make him a little wary. I didn't want him simply to rush me. If I could make him hesitate, I might have a chance.
My apparent willingness to fight him had the desired effect. Grul wasn't accustomed to having people shrug off his huge size, so he was just a bit cautious as he approached. That was what I'd been hoping for.
When he reached out with both huge hands to grasp me, I ducked under them and stepped forward, smoothly pulling my knife out of my sleeve.
Then, with one quick swipe, I sliced him across the belly. I wasn't certain enough of his anatomy to try stabbing him in the heart. As big as he was, his ribs were probably as thick as my wrist.
He stared at me in utter amazement. Then he looked down at the entrails that came boiling out of the gaping wound that ran from hip to hip across his lower belly.
"I think you dropped something there, Grul," I suggested.
He clutched at his spilling entrails with both hands, a look of consternation on his brutish face." "Grat cut Grul's belly," he said.
"Make Grul's insides fall out."
"Yes, I noticed that. Did you want to fight some more, Grul? I think you could spend your time better by sewing yourself back together.
You're not going to be able to move very fast with your guts tangled around your feet."
" "Grat is not nice," he accused mournfully, sitting down and holding his entrails in his lap.
For some reason, that struck me as enormously funny. I laughed for a bit, but when two great tears began to run down his shaggy face, I felt a little ashamed of myself. I held out my hand, willed a large, curved needle into existence, and threaded it with deer sinew. I tossed it to him.
"Here,"
I told him.
"Sew your belly back together, and remember this if we ever run across each other again. Find something else to eat, Grul. I'm old and tough and stringy, so I really wouldn't taste too good--and I think you've already discovered that I'm very expensive."
The dawn had progressed far enough along to give me sufficient light to travel, so I left him sitting by my fire trying to figure out how to use the needle I had given him.
Oddly, the incident brightened my disposition enormously. I'd actually pulled it off. What an amazing thing that was! I savored that last comment of his. By now, half the world agreed with him.
"Grat is definitely not nice.
I reached the western edge of the Vale two days later. It was early summer, one of the loveliest times of year. The spring rains have passed, and the dusty heat that comes later hasn't yet arrived. Even though our Master was gone, I don't think I've ever seen the Vale more beautiful.
The grass was bright green, and many of the fruit trees that grew wild there were in bloom. The berries were out, although they weren't really ripe yet. I rather like the tart taste of half-ripe berries anyway. The sky was very blue, and the puffy white clouds seemed almost to dance aloft.
The roiling grey clouds and stiff winds of early spring are dramatic, but early summer is lush and warm and filled with the scent of urgent growth.
I was home, and I don't know that I've ever been any happier.
I was in a peculiar sort of mood. I was eager to get back to Poledra, but for some reason I was enjoying the sense of anticipation. I discarded my traveling form and almost sauntered across the gentle hills and valleys of the Vale. I knew that Poledra would sense my approach, and, as she always did, she'd probably be fixing supper. I didn't want to rush her.
It was just evening when I reached my tower, and I was a little surprised not to see lights in the windows. I went around to the far side, opened the door and went on in.
"Poledra," I called up the stairs to her.
Strangely, she didn't answer.
I went on up the stairs.
It was dark in my tower. Poledra's curtains may not have kept out the breeze, but they definitely kept out the light. I twirled a tongue of flame off my index finger and lit a candle.
There wasn't anybody there, and the place had that dusty, unused look. What was going on here?
Then I saw a square of parchment in the precise center of my worktable, and I recognized Beldin's crabbed handwriting immediately.
"Come to my tower." That was all it said.
I raised my candle and saw that the cradles were gone. Evidently Beldin had transferred my wife and offspring to hi
s tower. That was odd.
poledra had a very strong attachment to this tower. Why would Beldin have moved her? As I remembered, she didn't particularly like his tower.
It was a little too fanciful for her taste. Puzzled, I went back downstairs.
It was only about a five minute-walk to Beldin's tower, and I didn't really hurry. But my sense of anticipation was fading toward puzzlement.
"Beldin!" I shouted up to him.
"It's me. Open your door."
There was quite a long pause, and then the rock that formed his door slid open.
I started on up the stairs. Now I did hurry.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I looked around. Beltira, Belkira, and Beldin were there, but Poledra wasn't.
"Where's my wife?" I asked.
"Don't you want to meet your daughters?" Beltira asked me.
"Daughters? More than one?"
"That's why we made two cradles, brother," Belkira said.
"You're the father of twins."
Beldin reached into one of the cradles and gently lifted out a baby.
"This is Polgara," he introduced her.
"She's your eldest." He handed me the blanket-wrapped baby. I turned back the corner of the blanket and looked into Pol's eyes for the very first time. Pol and I didn't get off to a very good start. Those of you who know her know that my daughter's eyes change color, depending on her mood. They were steel grey when I first looked into them and as hard as agates. I got the distinct impression that she didn't care much for me. Her hair was very dark, and she seemed not to have the characteristic chubbiness babies are supposed to have. Her face was expressionless, but those steely eyes of hers spoke volumes.
Then I did something that had been a custom back in the village of Gara.
Pol was my firstborn, whether she liked me or not, so I laid my hand on her head in benediction.
I felt a sudden jolt in that hand, and I jerked it back with a startled oath. It's a bit unfortunate that the first word Polgara heard coming from my mouth was a curse. I stared at this grim-faced baby girl. A single lock at her brow had turned snowy white at my touch.
Rivan Codex Series Page 27