Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress

by David Eddings

  ‘When’s Beldaran due?’ I asked as they started up the stairs.

  ‘A month or so, I suppose,’ Anrak replied. ‘She wants you and her sister to come to the Isle. Ladies like to have family around for the birth of their first child, I guess.’ They reached the top of the stairs, and Anrak looked around. ‘Where’s Lady Polgara?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s visiting the twins,’ I told him. ‘She’ll be back in a bit. Sit down, gentlemen. I’ll bring some ale. I think this calls for a little celebration.’

  We sat and talked for most of the rest of the afternoon, and then Polgara returned. She took the news quite calmly, which rather surprised me. ‘We’ll need to pack a few things,’ was about all she said before she started supper. I strongly suspect that she already knew about her sister’s condition.

  ‘I brought horses,’ Algar said quietly.

  ‘Good,’ Pol replied. ‘It’s a long trip.’

  ‘Have you ridden very often?’ he asked her.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘It’ll take a little getting used to,’ he cautioned.

  ‘I think I can manage, Algar.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  I probably should have paid more attention to the warning note in his voice. I’d never had much experience with horses. They’d been around, of course, but until the breeding program of the Algars, they’d been quite small, and I’d always felt that I could get from place to place almost as fast by walking. We left early the next morning, and by noon I began to wish that I had walked. Algarian saddles are probably the best in the world, but they’re still very hard, and the steady, ground-eating trot which was Algar’s favorite pace tended to make me bounce up and down, and every bounce grew more and more painful. I took my meals standing up for the first couple of days.

  As we rode further north, we began to encounter small herds of cattle. ‘Is it really a good idea to let them wander around loose that way?’ Anrak asked Algar.

  ‘Where are they going to go?’ Algar replied. ‘This is where the grass and water are.’

  ‘Isn’t it a little hard to keep track of them?’

  ‘Not really.’ Algar pointed at a lone horseman on top of a nearby hill.

  ‘That looks to be a very dull job.’

  ‘Only if you’re lucky. When you’re tending cattle, you don’t want the job to be exciting.’

  ‘What do you plan to do with all these cows?’ I asked him.

  ‘Sell them, I suppose. There should be a market for them somewhere.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Anrak said a little dubiously, ‘but how do you plan to get them there?’

  ‘That’s why they have feet, Anrak.’

  The following day we came across an encampment of one of the Algarian clans. Most of their wagons were like farm-wagons everywhere in the world – four wheels and an open bed. A few, however, were enclosed, looking strangely box-like. ‘Is that something new?’ I asked Algar, pointing at one of them.

  He nodded. ‘We move around a lot, so we decided to take our houses with us. It’s more practical that way.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll ever get around to building a city?’ Anrak asked him.

  ‘We already have,’ Algar replied. ‘Nobody really lives there, but we’ve got one. It’s off to the east a ways.’

  ‘Why build a city if you don’t plan to live in it?’

  ‘It’s for the benefit of the Murgos.’

  ‘The Murgos?’

  ‘It gives them a place to visit when they come to call.’ Algar smiled faintly. ‘It’s much more convenient for us that way.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘We’re herdsmen, Anrak. We go where the cows go. The Murgos can’t really comprehend that. Most of their raiding parties are quite small. They come down the ravines in the escarpment to steal horses and then try to get back before we catch them. Every so often, though, a larger party comes down looking for a fight. We built what looks like a city so that they’ll go there instead of wandering all over Algaria. It makes them easier to find.’

  ‘It’s just bait, then?’

  Algar considered that. ‘I suppose you could put it that way, yes.’

  ‘Wasn’t building it a lot of work?’

  Algar shrugged. ‘We didn’t really have much else to do. The cows feed themselves, after all.’

  We spent the night in the Algarian encampment and rode west the following morning.

  The main pass through the mountains was clear of snow by now, and I noticed that Fleet-foot was paying rather close attention to it as we rode up into the foothills. ‘Good grass,’ he noted, ‘and plenty of water.’

  ‘Are you thinking of expanding your kingdom?’ I asked him.

  ‘Not really. A couple of the clans are occupying the area up around Darine, but there are too many trees west of the mountains to make the country good for cows. Doesn’t this road lead to a town someplace on up ahead?’

  I nodded. ‘Muros,’ I told him. ‘The Wacite Arends built it.’

  ‘Maybe after Riva’s son is born, I’ll drop on down to Vo Wacune and have a talk with the duke. It shouldn’t be too hard to drive cows through this pass, and if word got around that we were bringing herds through here, cattle-buyers might start gathering at Muros. I’d hate to have to go looking for them.’

  And that’s what started the yearly cattle-fair at Muros. In time it became one of the great commercial events in all the west.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

  I hired a carriage again in Muros, and I was very happy to get out of the saddle. Pol and I rode inside while Algar and his cousin stayed on horseback. We reached Camaar without incident and boarded the ship Anrak had waiting there. Rivan ships are broader than Cherek war-boats, so the two-day voyage to the Isle of the Winds was actually pleasant.

  You can’t really sneak up on the city Riva had built on the Isle, so he knew we were coming long before we arrived, and he was waiting on the wharf when we reached it.

  ‘Are we in time?’ Polgara called to him as the sailors were throwing ropes to men on the wharf.

  ‘Plenty of time, I think,’ he replied, ‘at least that’s what the midwives tell me. Beldaran wanted to come down to meet you, but I told her no. I’m not sure if climbing all those stairs would be good for her.’

  ‘I see you’ve shaved off your beard,’ I said.

  ‘It was easier than arguing about it. My wife has opinions about beards.’

  ‘You look younger without it,’ Pol noted approvingly.

  The sailors ran out the gangplank, and we all went ashore.

  Polgara embraced her brother-in-law warmly, and we started the long climb up the hill to the citadel.

  ‘How’s the weather been?’ Anrak asked his cousin.

  ‘Unusual,’ Riva replied. ‘It hasn’t rained for almost a week now. The streets are even starting to dry out.’

  Beldaran was waiting for us in the gateway to the Citadel, and she was very pregnant.

  ‘You seem to be putting on a bit of weight, dear,’ Pol teased after they had embraced.

  ‘You noticed,’ Beldaran laughed. ‘I think I’ll be losing most of it before very long, though. At least I hope so.’ She laid one hand on her distended stomach. ‘It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but I suppose it’s worth it.’ Then she waddled over and kissed me. ‘How have you been, father?’ she asked me.

  ‘About the same,’ I replied.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Pol agreed. ‘Nothing changes our father.’

  ‘Why don’t we go inside?’ Riva suggested. ‘We don’t want Beldaran taking a chill.’

  ‘I’m perfectly fine, Riva,’ she told him. ‘You worry too much.’

  Beldaran’s pregnancy raised all sorts of emotions in me. Strangely, the memories of her mother weren’t all that painful. Poledra’s pregnancy had made her very happy, and I remembered that rather than what happened later.

  I’d been a little uneasy about returning Polgara to the scene of her previous triumphs, but sh
e evidently felt that she’d already broken enough hearts there, so she largely ignored the young men who flocked to the citadel when word of her arrival got around. Pol enjoys being the center of attention, but she had other things on her mind this time. The young men sulked, but I don’t think that bothered her much. I know it didn’t bother me.

  She spent most of her time with her sister, of course, but she did have long conferences with the midwives. I think her interest in the healing arts dates from that time. I suppose that birth is a logical place to begin the study of medicine.

  The rest of us were redundant. If there’s ever a time in a man’s life when he’s redundant, it’s when his women-folk are delivering babies. Pol made that abundantly clear to us, and we wisely chose not to argue with her about it. Though young as she was, Polgara had already begun to take charge of things. There have been times – many times – when I’d have been happier if she weren’t quite so forceful, but that’s the way she is.

  Riva had set aside a room high up in one of the towers that served him as a kind of study, not that he was really all that studious. I’m not trying to imply that he was stupid, by any means, but he didn’t have that burning interest in books that characterizes the scholar. I think his major concern at that time had to do with the tax code.

  Fleet-foot, Anrak, and I took to joining him in that tower room – largely to stay out from underfoot, I think.

  ‘Have you heard from Beldin?’ Algar asked me one morning after we’d settled in for one of those random daylong discussions.

  ‘Not for several months,’ I replied. ‘I guess things are quiet in Mallorea.’

  ‘Is Torak still at Ashaba?’ Riva asked.

  ‘So far as I know. From what Beldin told me the last time we talked, that ecstasy is still on him.’

  ‘I don’t quite understand that,’ Anrak confessed. ‘Exactly what’s happening to him?’

  ‘Have you heard about the two Destinies?’

  ‘Vaguely. The priest of Belar talks about them in church sometimes. It usually puts me to sleep.’

  ‘Try to stay awake this time,’ I told him. ‘To put it in the simplest terms, the universe came into existence with a Purpose.’

  ‘I understand that part.’

  ‘Good. Anyway, something happened that wasn’t supposed to happen, and it divided that Purpose. Now there are two possibilities where there used to be only one.’

  ‘This is the place where I usually go to sleep,’ he said.

  ‘Fight it this time. Always before, we got our instructions directly from the Gods, but they’ve left now, so we’re supposed to be instructed by one or the other of the two Necessities. Torak follows one, and we follow the other. Certain people get touched by those Necessities, and they start to talk. Most people think they’re just crazy, but they’re not. They’re passing instructions on to us.’

  ‘Isn’t that a cumbersome way to do it?’

  I shrugged. ‘Yes, but it has to be that way.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Anyway, Torak’s been raving for years now, and that piebald Urvon’s got scribes taking down his every word. There are instructions and hints about the future in those ravings. As soon as Torak comes to his senses again, he’ll try to figure out what they mean.’ I suddenly remembered something. ‘Does Dras still have that maniac chained to a post near Boktor?’ I asked Riva.

  ‘So far as I know he does – unless the fellow’s chewed his chain in two and run off into the fens by now. There’s one in Darine as well, you know. He’s not quite as crazy as the one Dras has, but he’s close.’

  I looked at Algar. ‘You’ve got clans near Darine, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you get word to one of your clan-chiefs? I want scribes to start taking down that fellow’s ravings. They’re probably important.’

  ‘I’ve already taken care of that, Belgarath.’

  ‘I think I’ll take the long way around when I go home,’ I mused. ‘I want to have a look at these two prophets – and talk to them. Maybe I can say something that’ll set them off. Has Dras made any contacts with the Nadraks?’

  ‘Not personally,’ Riva replied. ‘Dras has prejudices where Angaraks are concerned. There are merchants in Boktor, though, and there’s a little bit of trade going on along the border. The merchants have been picking up quite a bit of information.’

  ‘Anything useful?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. Things have a way of getting garbled after they’ve passed through six or eight people. From what I understand, the Murgos have been moving south into the lands of the western Dals. They almost had to, I guess. The Thulls have started to lose interest in feeding their former masters, and nothing grows around Rak Goska. The Murgos had to either move or starve.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll wander off the southern end of the continent,’ Algar said. ‘The notion of watching the Murgos marching out to sea sort of appeals to me.’

  ‘Has there been any word about Ctuchik?’ I asked.

  ‘I think he’s left Rak Goska,’ Riva replied. ‘They say that he’s building a city at a place called Rak Cthol. It’s supposed to be on top of a mountain somewhere.’

  ‘It’d be consistent,’ I said. ‘Ctuchik’s a Grolim, and the Grolims have been in mourning ever since Korim sank into the sea. They adore temples on top of mountains, for some reason.’

  ‘They wouldn’t get too much worship out of me in a place like that,’ Anrak said. ‘I’ll go to church if it’s not too much trouble, but I don’t think I’d want to climb a mountain to get there.’ He looked at me. ‘Have you ever met this Ctuchik?’

  ‘I think so,’ I replied. ‘I think he was the one who was chasing us after we stole the Orb. Ctuchik more or less ran things at Cthol Mishrak. Torak was concentrating all his attention on the Orb, so he left the day-to-day details to Ctuchik. I know that the one leading the pursuit was either Urvon or Ctuchik, and I hear Urvon didn’t go to Cthol Mishrak unless Torak summoned him.’

  ‘What does Ctuchik look like?’

  ‘A dog, last time I looked,’ Algar murmured.

  ‘A dog?’

  ‘One of the Hounds of Torak,’ I explained. ‘Certain Grolims took on the form of Hounds so that they could guard the place.’

  ‘Who’d want to go near a place like Cthol Mishrak?’

  ‘We did,’ Algar told him. ‘There was something there we wanted.’ He looked at me. ‘Has Beldin heard anything about where Zedar might be?’ he asked.

  ‘Not that he mentioned.’

  ‘I think maybe we ought to keep an eye out for him. We know that Urvon’s at Mal Yaska and Ctuchik’s at Rak Cthol. We don’t know where Zedar is, and that makes him dangerous. Urvon and Ctuchik are Angaraks. If either one of them comes after the Orb, he’ll come with an army. Zedar’s not an Angarak, so he might try something different.’

  I could have saved myself – and a large number of other people – a great deal of trouble if I’d paid closer attention to what Fleet-foot said. We didn’t have time to pursue the question, though, because it was just about then that the messenger Pol had sent found us.

  ‘Lord Riva,’ he said to my son-in-law, ‘Lady Polgara says that you’re supposed to come now.’

  Riva stood up quickly. ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

  The messenger was a bearded Alorn warrior, and he seemed a little offended by his errand. Polgara tends to ignore rank, and when she needs something, she’ll send the first person she sees to get it. ‘Everything seems normal to me,’ the messenger replied, shrugging. ‘The women are all running around with pails of hot water, and your wife’s yelling.’

  ‘Yelling?’ Riva’s eyes got wild.

  ‘Women always yell when they’re having babies, my Lord. My wife’s had nine, and she still yells. You’d think they’d get used to it after a while, wouldn’t you?’

  Riva pushed past him and went down the stairs four at a time.

  It was the first time that P
ol had officiated at a birth, so she was probably just a bit premature about summoning Riva. Beldaran’s labor continued for about another four hours, and Iron-grip was definitely in the way the whole time. I think my daughter learned a valuable lesson that day. After that, she always invented something for the expectant father to do during his wife’s labor – usually something physical and a long way away from the birthing chamber.

  In the normal course of time, Beldaran delivered my grandson, a red-faced, squirming boy with damp hair that dried to sandy blond. Polgara emerged from the bedroom with the small, blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms and a strange, almost wistful look on her face. ‘Behold the heir to the Rivan throne,’ she said to us, holding out the baby.

  Riva stumbled to his feet. ‘Is he all right?’ he stammered.

  ‘He has the customary number of arms and legs, if that’s what you mean,’ Pol replied. ‘Here,’ she thrust the baby at his father. ‘Hold him. I want to help my sister.’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s fine, Riva. Take the baby.’

  ‘Isn’t he awfully small?’

  ‘Most babies are. Take him.’

  ‘Maybe I’d better not. I might drop him.’

  Her eyes glinted. ‘Take the baby, Riva.’ She said it slowly, emphasizing each word. Nobody argues with Polgara when she takes that tone.

  Riva’s hands were shaking very badly when he reached out to take his son.

  ‘Support his head,’ she instructed.

  Riva placed one of his huge hands behind the baby’s head. His knees were visibly trembling.

  ‘Maybe you’d better sit down,’ she said.

  He sank back into his chair, his face very pale.

  ‘Men!’ Polgara said, rolling her eyes upward. Then she turned and went back into the bedroom.

  My grandson looked at his father gravely. He had very blue eyes, and he seemed much calmer than the trembling giant who was holding him. After a few minutes, Iron-grip began that meticulous examination of his new-born off-spring that all parents seem to feel is necessary. I’m not sure why people always want to count fingers and toes under those circumstances. ‘Would you look at those tiny little fingernails!’ Riva exclaimed. Why are people always surprised about the size of babies’ fingernails? Are they expecting claws, perhaps?