Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  They stopped at a small brook trickling out of some mossy stones to allow their horses to drink.

  "You see, Garion," Wolf explained, "the ultimate purpose of the universe is to create things. It will not permit you to come along behind it uncreating all the things it went to so much trouble to create in the first place. When you kill somebody, all you've really done is alter him a bit. You've changed him from being alive to being dead. He's still there. To uncreate him, you have to will him out of existence entirely. When you feel yourself on the verge of telling something to 'vanish' or 'go away' or 'be not,' you're getting very close to the point of self destruction. That's the main reason we have to keep our emotions under control all the time."

  "I didn't know that," Garion admitted.

  "You do now. Don't even try to unmake a single pebble."

  "A pebble?"

  "The universe doesn't make any distinction between a pebble and a man." The old man looked at him somewhat sternly. "Your Aunt's been trying to explain the necessity for keeping yourself under control for several months now, and you've been fighting her every step of the way."

  Garion hung his head. "I didn't know what she was getting at," he apologized.

  "That's because you weren't listening. That's a great failing of yours, Garion."

  Garion flushed. "What happened the first time you found out you could - well - do things?" he asked quickly, wanting to change the subject.

  "It was something silly," Wolf replied. "It usually is, the first time."

  "What was it?"

  Wolf shrugged. "I wanted to move a big rock. My arms and back weren't strong enough, but my mind was. After that I didn't have any choice but to learn to live with it because, once you unlock it, it's unlocked forever. That's the point where your life changes and you have to start learning to control yourself."

  "It always gets back to that, doesn't it?"

  "Always," Wolf said. "It's not as difficult as it sounds, really. Look at Mandorallen." He pointed at the knight, who was riding with Durnik. The two of them were in a deep discussion. "Now, Mandorallen's a nice enough fellow - honest, sincere, toweringly noble - but let's be honest. His mind has never been violated by an original thought - until now. He's learning to control fear, and learning to control it is forcing him to think - probably for the first time in his whole life. It's painful for him, but he's doing it. If Mandorallen can learn to control fear with that limited brain of his, surely you can learn the same kind of control over the other emotions. After all, you're quite a bit brighter than he is."

  Silk, who had been scouting ahead, came riding back to join them. "Belgarath," he said, "there's something about a mile in front of us that I think you'd better take a look at."

  "All right," Wolf replied. "Think about what I've been saying, Garion. We'll talk more about it later." Then he and Silk moved off through the trees at a gallop.

  Garion pondered what the old man had told him. The one thing that bothered him the most was the crushing responsibility his unwanted talent placed upon him.

  The colt frisked along beside him, galloping off into the trees from time to time and then rushing back, his little hooves pattering on the damp ground. Frequently he would stop and stare at Garion, his eyes full of love and trust.

  "Oh, stop that," Garion told him.

  The colt scampered away again.

  Princess Ce'Nedra moved her horse up until she was beside Garion. "What were you and Belgarath talking about?" she asked.

  Garion shrugged. "A lot of things."

  There was immediately a hard little tightening around her eyes. In the months that they had known each other, Garion had learned to catch those minute danger signals. Something warned him that the princess was spoiling for an argument, and with an insight that surprised him he reasoned out the source of her unspoken belligerence. What had happened in the cave had shaken her badly, and Ce'Nedra did not like to be shaken. To make matters even worse, the princess had made a few coaxing overtures to the colt, obviously wanting to turn the little animal into her personal pet. The colt, however, ignored her completely, fixing all his attention on Garion, even to the point of ignoring his own mother unless he was hungry. Ce'Nedra disliked being ignored even more than she disliked being shaken. Glumly, Garion realized how small were his chances of avoiding a squabble with her.

  "I certainly wouldn't want to pry into a private conversation," she said tartly.

  "It wasn't private. We were talking about sorcery and how to keep accidents from happening. I don't want to make any more mistakes."

  She turned that over in her mind, looking for something offensive in it. His mild answer seemed to irritate her all the more. "I don't believe in sorcery," she said flatly. In the light of all that had recently happened, her declaration was patently absurd, and she seemed to realize that as soon as she said it. Her eyes hardened even more.

  Garion sighed. "All right," he said with resignation, "was there anything in particular you wanted to fight about, or did you just want to start yowling and sort of make it up as we go along?"

  "Yowling?" Her voice went up several octaves. "Yowling?"

  "Screeching, maybe," he suggested as insultingly as possible. As long as the fight was inevitable anyway, he determined to get in a few digs at her before her voice rose to the point where she could no longer hear him.

  "SCREECHING?" she screeched.

  The fight lasted for about a quarter of an hour before Barak and Aunt Pol moved forward to separate them. On the whole, it was not very satisfactory. Garion was a bit too preoccupied to put his heart into the insults he flung at the tiny girl, and Ce'Nedra's irritation robbed her retorts of their usual fine edge. Toward the end, the whole thing had degenerated into a tedious repetition of "spoiled brat" and "stupid peasant" echoing endlessly back from the surrounding mountains.

  Mister Wolf and Silk rode back to join them. "What was all the yelling?" Wolf asked.

  "The children were playing," Aunt Pol replied with a withering look at Garion.

  "Where's Hettar?" Silk asked.

  "Right behind us," Barak said. He turned to look back toward the packhorses, but the tall Algar was nowhere to be seen. Barak frowned. "He was just there. Maybe he stopped for a moment to rest his horse or something."

  "Without saying anything?" Silk objected. "That's not like him. And it's not like him to leave the packhorses unattended."

  "He must have some good reason," Durnik said.

  "I'll go back and look for him," Barak offered.

  "No," Mister Wolf told him. "Wait a few minutes. Let's not get scattered all over these mountains. If anybody goes back, we'll all go back."

  They waited. The wind stirred the branches of the pines around them, making a mournful, sighing sound.

  After several moments, Aunt Pol let out her breath almost explosively. "He's coming." There was a steely note in her voice. "He's been entertaining himself."

  From far back up the trail, Hettar appeared in his black leather clothing, riding easily at a loping canter with his long scalp lock flowing in the wind. He was leading two saddled but riderless horses. As he drew nearer, they could hear him whistling rather tunelessly to himself.

  "What have you been doing?" Barak demanded.

  "There were a couple of Murgos following us," Hettar replied as if that explained everything.

  "You might have asked me to go along," Barak said, sounding a little injured.

  Hettar shrugged. "There were only two. They were riding Algar horses, so I took it rather personally."

  "It seems that you always find some reason to take it personally where Murgos are concerned," Aunt Pol said crisply.

  "It does seem to work out that way, doesn't it?"

  "Didn't it occur to you to let us know you were going?" she asked.

  "There were only two," Hettar said again. "I didn't expect to be gone for very long."

  She drew in a deep breath, her eyes flashing dangerously.

  "Let it go, Pol," Miste
r Wolf told her.

  "But "

  "You're not going to change him, so why excite yourself about it? Besides, it's just as well to discourage pursuit." The old man turned to Hettar, ignoring the dangerous look Aunt Pol leveled at him. "Were the Murgos some of those who were with Brill?" he asked.

  Hettar shook his head. "No. Brill's Murgos were from the south and they were riding Murgo horses. These two were northern Murgos."

  "Is there a visible difference?" Mandorallen asked curiously.

  "The armor is slightly different, and the southerners have flatter faces and they're not quite so tall."

  "Where did they get Algar horses?" Garion asked.

  "They're herd raiders," Hettar answered bleakly. "Algar horses are valuable in Cthol Murgos, and certain Murgos make a practice of creeping down into Algaria on horse-stealing expeditions. We try to discourage that as much as possible."

  "These horses aren't in very good shape," Durnik observed, looking at the two weary-looking animals Hettar was leading. "They've been ridden hard, and there are whip cuts on them."

  Hettar nodded grimly. "That's another reason to hate Murgos."

  "Did you bury them?" Barak asked.

  "No. I left them where any other Murgos who might be following could find them. I thought it might help to educate any who come along later."

  "There are some signs that others have been through here, too," Silk said. "I found the tracks of a dozen or so up ahead."

  "It was to be expected, I suppose," Mister Wolf commented, scratching at his beard. "Ctuchik's got his Grolims out in force, and Taur Urgas is probably having the region patrolled. I'm sure they'd like to stop us if they could. I think we should move on down into the Vale as fast as possible. Once we're there, we won't be bothered any more."

  "Won't they follow us into the Vale?" Durnik asked, looking around nervously.

  "No. Murgos won't go into the Vale - not for any reason. Aldur's Spirit is there, and the Murgos are desperately afraid of him."

  "How many days to the Vale?" Silk asked.

  "Four or five, if we ride hard," Wolf replied.

  "We'd better get started then."

  Chapter Ten

  THE WEATHER, WHICH had seemed on the brink of winter in the higher mountains, softened back into autumn as they rode down from the peaks and ridges. The forests in the hills above Maragor had been thick with fir and spruce and heavy undergrowth. On this side, however, the dominant tree was the pine, and the undergrowth was sparse. The air seemed drier, and the hillsides were covered with high, yellow grass.

  They passed through an area where the leaves on the scattered bushes were bright red; then, as they moved lower, the foliage turned first yellow, then green again. Garion found this reversal of the seasons strange. It seemed to violate all his perceptions of the natural order of things. By the time they reached the foothills above the Vale of Aldur, it was late summer again, golden and slightly dusty. Although they frequently saw evidences of the Murgo patrols which were crisscrossing the region, they had no further encounters. After they crossed a certain undefined line, there were no more tracks of Murgo horses.

  They rode down beside a turbulent stream which plunged over smooth, round rocks, frothing and roaring. The stream was one of several forming the headwaters of the Aldur River, a broad flow running through the vast Algarian plain to empty into the Gulf of Cherek, eight hundred leagues to the northwest.

  The Vale of Aldur was a valley lying in the embrace of the two mountain ranges which formed the central spine of the continent. It was lush and green, covered with high grass and dotted here and there with huge, solitary trees. Deer and wild horses grazed there, as tame as cattle. Skylarks wheeled and dove, filling the air with their song. As the party rode out into the valley, Garion noticed that the birds seemed to gather wherever Aunt Pol moved, and many of the braver ones even settled on her shoulders, warbling and trilling to her in welcome and adoration.

  "I'd forgotten about that," Mister Wolf said to Garion. "It's going to be difficult to get her attention for the next few days."

  "Why?"

  "Every bird in the Vale is going to stop by to visit her. It happens every time we come here. The birds go wild at the sight of her."

  Out of the welter of confused bird sound it seemed to Garion that faintly, almost like a murmuring whisper, he could hear a chorus of chirping voices repeating, "Polgara. Polgara. Polgara."

  "Is it my imagination, or are they actually talking?" he asked.

  "I'm surprised you haven't heard them before," Wolf replied. "Every bird we've passed for the last ten leagues has been babbling her name."

  "Look at me, Polgara, look at me," a swallow seemed to say, hurling himself into a wild series of swooping dives around her head. She smiled gently at him, and he redoubled his efforts.

  "I've never heard them talk before," Garion marveled.

  "They talk to her all the time," Wolf said. "Sometimes they go on for hours. That's why she seems a little abstracted sometimes. She's listening to the birds. Your Aunt moves through a world filled with conversation."

  "I didn't know that."

  "Not many people do."

  The colt, who had been trotting rather sedately along behind Garion as they had come down out of the foothills, went wild with delight when he reached the lush grass of the Vale. With an amazing burst of speed, he ran out over the meadows. He rolled in the grass, his thin legs flailing. He galloped in long, curving sweeps over the low, rolling hilts. He deliberately ran at herds of grazing deer, startling them into flight and then plunging along after them. "Come back here!" Garion shouted at him.

  "He won't hear you," Hettar said, smiling at the little horse's antics. "At least, he'll pretend that he doesn't. He's having too much fun."

  "Get back here right now!" Garion projected the thought a bit more firmly than he'd intended. The colt's forelegs stiffened, and he slid to a stop. Then he turned and trotted obediently back to Garion, his eyes apologetic. "Bad horse!" Garion chided.

  The colt hung his head.

  "Don't scold him," Wolf said. "You were very young once yourself."

  Garion immediately regretted what he had said and reached down to pat the little animal's shoulder. "It's all right," he apologized. The colt looked at him gratefully and began to frisk through the grass again, although staying close.

  Princess Ce'Nedra had been watching him. She always seemed to be watching him for some reason. She would look at him, her eyes speculative and a tendril of her coppery hair coiled about one finger and raised absently to her teeth. It seemed to Garion that every time he turned around she was watching and nibbling. For some reason he could not quite put his finger on, it made him very nervous. "If he were mine, I wouldn't be so cruel to him," she accused, taking the tip of the curl from between her teeth.

  Garion chose not to answer that.

  As they rode down the valley, they passed three ruined towers, standing some distance apart and all showing signs of great antiquity. Each of them appeared to have originally been about sixty feet high, though weather and the passage of years had eroded them down considerably. The last of the three looked as if it had been blackened by some intensely hot fire.

  "Was there some kind of war here, Grandfather?" Garion asked.

  "No," Wolf replied rather sadly. "The towers belonged to my brothers. That one over there was Belsambar's, and the one near it was Belmakor's. They died a long time ago."

  "I didn't think sorcerers ever died."

  "They grew tired - or maybe they lost hope. They caused themselves no longer to exist."

  "They killed themselves?"

  "In a manner of speaking. It was a little more complete than that, though."

  Garion didn't press it, since the old man appeared to prefer not to go into details. "What about the other one - the one that's been burned? Whose tower was that?"

  "Belzedar's."

  "Did you and the other sorcerers burn it after he went over to Torak?"


  "No. He burned it himself. I suppose he thought that was a way to show us that he was no longer a member of our' brotherhood. Belzedar always liked dramatic gestures."

  "Where's your tower?"

  "Farther on down the Vale."

  "Will you show it to me?"

  "If you like."

  "Does Aunt Pol have her own tower?"

  "No. She stayed with me while she was growing up, and then we went out into the world. We never got around to building her one of her own."

  They rode until late afternoon and stopped for the day beneath an enormous tree which stood alone in the center of a broad meadow. The tree quite literally shaded whole acres. Ce'Nedra sprang out of her saddle and ran toward the tree, her deep red hair flying behind her. "He's beautiful!" she exclaimed, placing her hands with reverent affection on the rough bark.

  Mister Wolf shook his head. "Dryads. They grow giddy at the sight of trees."

  "I don't recognize it," Durnik said with a slight frown. "It's not an oak."

  "Maybe it's some southern species," Barak suggested. "I've never seen one exactly like it myself."

  "He's very old," Ce'Nedra said, putting her cheek fondly against the tree trunk, "and he speaks strangely - but he likes me."

  "What kind of tree is it?" Durnik asked. He was still frowning, his need to classify and categorize frustrated by the huge tree.

  "It's the only one of its kind in the world," Mister Wolf told him. "I don't think we ever named it. It was always just the tree. We used to meet here sometimes."

  "It doesn't seem to drop any berries or fruit or seeds of any kind," Durnik observed, examining the ground beneath the spreading branches.

  "It doesn't need them," Wolf replied. "As I told you, it's the only one of its kind. It's always been here - and always will be. It feels no urge to propagate itself."

  Durnik seemed worried about it. "I've never heard of a tree with no seeds."

  "It's a rather special tree, Durnik," Aunt Pol said. "It sprouted on the day the world was made, and it will probably stand here for as long as the world exists. It has a purpose other than reproducing itself."