Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress

by David Eddings

  ‘It’s not a threat, Salmissra. It’s just a statement of fact. The next time you see me, it will happen.’

  ‘Issa will protect me.’

  ‘If he happens to be awake. I wouldn’t count on that very much, though. You have yearnings for immortality, Salmissra. I can arrange that. You won’t like it very much, but I’ll see to it that you’ll live forever. You probably won’t want to look at your mirror afterward, though. Zedar and Ctuchik – and maybe even Urvon – are going to keep waving Torak in front of you until you’re old and tired, but I wouldn’t believe them, dear. Torak only loves himself. There’s no room in his heart for anybody else – except me, of course. And when you get down to the bottom of it, he doesn’t even love me. All he wants is to dominate me and make me worship him. That’s why he lost at Vo Mimbre.’ I gave Zedar a thin smile. ‘Isn’t that about the way it went, Zedar? Torak absolutely knew he wasn’t supposed to take the field on that third day, didn’t he? But he went ahead and did it anyway. That’s why he’s lying in that cave down in Cthol Murgos growing moldier by the hour. You’ve attached yourself to a defective, Zedar, and eventually, you’ll have to live with the consequences.’

  Then, quite suddenly, I had a horrible premonition, and I knew exactly what the fate of my father’s brother was going to be, and it was too horrible to even contemplate. And in that same moment I knew that it would be Zedar who would ultimately find and deliver the one who would replace Torak to all of mankind. At last I understood the absolute necessity of Zedar’s existence. He would give humanity the greatest gift it would ever receive, and all he’d get in return would be living entombment.

  I think Zedar himself may have caught a hint of that premonition as well, because his face turned very pale.

  I looked back at the serpent queen. ‘Take my advice, Salmissra,’ I told her. ‘Don’t get involved in this diseased game Ctuchik and Zedar are playing with you. No matter how much they promise, neither of them can deliver up Torak’s affection. They don’t control Torak. It’s the other way around, and when you get right down to the bottom of it, Torak doesn’t even particularly like his disciples. Zedar found out about that at Vo Mimbre, didn’t you, Zedar? The possibility that you’d vanish in a puff of smoke if you broke the rules didn’t particularly bother Torak, did it? You gave up the love of one God for the indifference of another. Very poor choice there, old boy.’

  A look of almost overwhelming regret came over his face, accompanied by absolute hopelessness. It was so naked that I was almost ashamed of myself.

  ‘I’m so happy that the three of us had the chance for this little chat,’ I told them. ‘I hope that if s cleared the air. Now you both fully understand what I’m going to do to you if you keep on interfering in something that’s really none of your business. Be guided by me in this, gentles all, for, should ye persist, our next meeting shall be most unpleasant.’

  I just threw that in. I thought it had a nice archaic ring to it. Evidently something of my father’s nature has filtered down to me, because every so often I get this overpowering urge to be melodramatic. Hereditary character defect there, perhaps.

  Then I left Sthiss Tor, but I didn’t immediately return to Annath. I spent several weeks high in the Tolnedran mountains pondering that sudden insight that had come to me in Salmissra’s throne-room. I knew that Zedar would be the one to find Eriond, though I didn’t even know Eriond’s name at that point. The more I thought about it, the more I began to catch a strong odor of ‘tampering’. There was a difference, though. I’d encountered that kind of thing before, and there’s a different feel – ‘odor’, if you will – to mother’s tampering, or UL’s, or that of the Purpose. This time it was quite different. I didn’t recognize it at all, and that made me a little edgy. A new player had evidently taken a seat in the game. I recognize it now, of course. I should, after all, since I raised this new player from a little boy here in this very cottage.

  One of these days I think I’ll have a talk with Eriond about that. I think I’d like to get to the bottom of these little visitations. If there’s a reason for them, I suppose they’re all right, but if they’re just for fun, somebody’s going to get a piece of my mind.

  I was also very unhappy about what it was becoming increasingly obvious that I was going to have to do to Salmissra. She and I both knew it was going to happen, but she was evidently going to be persuaded by someone that I wouldn’t really be able to do it. My only solace now lies in the fact that since she’s become adjusted to it, she’s not really too unhappy that it happened, and Nyissa’s much better off with her on the throne in her present form.

  No matter how I twisted and turned it around, there was nothing I could really do to prevent what was already destined to happen. Finally, I gave up and went back to Annath.

  Father scolded me when I returned, of course, but I didn’t really pay too much attention to him, since I already knew most of what he was trying to tell me anyway.

  After the winter had passed, father’s wanderlust bit him again, and he went back out to have a look at the world. I could have told him that it was still there, but he had to see for himself, I guess.

  I went on over into Algaria and made contact with the clan which had already produced Ildera, the girl who was destined to marry Geran. I had a private talk with her father, the clan-chief, and along about midsummer, the clan moved its herds and set up a more or less permanent encampment just across the border from Annath. The word ‘border’ doesn’t mean much around there, though. If you look around and see trees, you’re in Sendaria; if it’s grass, you’re in Algaria. There were visits back and forth across that vague line of demarcation, of course, and eventually, Geran, who was nine, met the seven-year-old Ildera. I wasn’t even there, but I heard that bell nonetheless. Everything was right on schedule.

  When Geran was about twelve, his father started taking him to the stone-quarry to begin his education. He developed the usual aches, pains and blisters right at first, but in time his muscles hardened and he grew more skilled at the family profession.

  Life moved along quietly in Annath. Back in the remote mountain villages of Sendaria if s fairly common for the citizens to be unaware of the current king’s name and for the death of a cow to be the major topic of discussion for a year or so.

  Then in 5345, father and the twins came to Annath. There are some people you need to meet, Pol,’ father told me. ‘Beltira and Belkira can fill in for you here while I take you around to introduce you to some of the people you’ve been reading about in the Mrin for the last three thousand years.’

  I didn’t really object. I’d more or less had enough of rural isolation for a while.

  We crossed the border into Algaria, and I met the grim-faced little boy named Hettar. ‘I think that one’s going to be a problem, father,’ I predicted as we rode away from King Cho-Ram’s encampment.

  ‘It’s possible, Pol,’ he agreed.

  ‘Well probably have to chain him to a post when he grows up. I’m not really all that fond of Murgos myself, but Hettar’s right on the verge of turning it into a religion.’

  The Murgos did kill his parents, Pol.’

  ‘Yes. He told me about that. But he’ll be the King of the Algars one day, and that seething hatred of his is likely to cause us some problems.’

  ‘I can handle him, Pol,’ father said confidently.

  ‘Of course you can,’ I replied. ‘Where do we go next?’

  ‘Boktor. Brace yourself, Pol. Prince Kheldar’s a very slippery young man.’

  ‘He’s only ten years old, father.’

  ‘I know, but he’s already as slippery as an eel.’

  Kheldar turned out to be even slipperier than that. He was charming, exquisitely polite, and totally without scruples. Oddly enough, I rather liked him.

  Then father and I went to Trellheim in Cherek to meet Barak and his cousin, Crown Prince Anheg. I had one of those peculiar feelings that come over us from time to time when I first met them. It seemed
almost that Anrak, Irongrip’s cousin, was coming back to haunt me. Barak and Anheg were both Chereks down to their toenails, and you know what that means. They were both, however, extremely intelligent. They managed to hide it well, though.

  It was late autumn by then, and father took me back to Annath. ‘We can go talk with the others next summer, Pol,’ he said. ‘I wanted you to meet the Alorns first. They’re the ones most likely to cause problems.’

  ‘I thought you liked Alorns, father.’

  ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘You spend a lot of time with them.’

  ‘I have to spend time with them, Pol. Every Alom’s a disaster just waiting to happen. The Master told me to keep an eye on the Alorns about five thousand years ago, and it’s turned into a full-time job. He told me to do it, and I’ll do it. I won’t like it, though.’

  ‘You’re such a good boy, father.’

  The following spring, mother’s voice came to me. ‘It’s time for you to go back to school, Pol,’ she announced.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There are a couple of things you’re going to need to know how to do fairly soon.’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘You’re going to need to know how to play with people’s memories.’

  ‘Would you define “play with”, mother?’

  I want you to practice making people forget some things that have happened the way you did when we first started your training, and then you’ll learn how to replace those memories with the image of things that didn’t happen.’

  ‘Can we actually do that?’

  ‘Yes, we can. People do it to themselves all the time. It’s a way of altering reality. The fish that got away always gets bigger as time goes by.’

  ‘You know, I’ve noticed that myself. How do I go about doing it?’

  Her explanation was fairly obscure, dealing as it did with the peculiar nature of human memory. When you get down to the bottom of it, only about half of what we remember really happened. We tend to modify things to make ourselves look better in our own eyes and in the eyes of others. Then, if what we did wasn’t really very admirable, we tend to forget that it ever happened. A normal human being’s grasp on reality is very tenuous at best. Our imaginary lives are usually much nicer.

  To practice, I tampered – marginally – with the memories of some of the people in Annath, and it was actually quite easy.

  ‘Why am I learning how to do this, mother?’ I asked her after a few weeks.

  “There are a couple of people who are mentioned – sort of around the edges – in the Mrin. I think we’d better look in on them to make sure that they’ll really be on our side.’

  ‘Everybody in the western kingdoms will be on our side, mother.’

  “That’s the whole point, Pol. These people aren’t from the west. They’re living over in Gar og Nadrak.’

  Chapter 38

  ‘I can’t wear these clothes in public, mother!’

  ‘You look very nice, Pol. The clothes show off your figure.’

  ‘I can do that by not wearing anything at all! I’m not going out in public wearing something that fits me like a second skin!’

  ‘There does seem to be something missing, though.’

  ‘You noticed. How observant of you.’

  ‘Be nice. Oh, I know. We forgot the daggers.’

  ‘Daggers?’

  ‘Four of them usually – two at your belt and one tucked in the top of each of your boots.’

  ‘Why do I need so many?’

  ‘It’s a Nadrak custom, Pol. It’s a Nadrak woman’s way of telling men that it’s all right to look at her, but touching will get them in trouble.’

  The twins were filling in for me in Annath until father arrived, and mother had taken me a ways back into the forest to instruct me in the peculiarities of Nadrak custom and costume. The clothes in which she’d garbed me consisted of black leather boots, tight-fitting black leather trousers, and an even tighter-fitting black leather vest. A simple inventory might sound masculine, but when I put the clothes on I saw that no one who saw me was likely to be confused about my gender. I immediately saw why Nadrak women might need daggers – lots of daggers. ‘Do Nadrak men understand what the daggers mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Usually – if they’re sober. Every so often they get playful and need to be reminded to keep their hands to themselves. A few nicks and cuts usually gets the point across.’

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

  ‘Would I do that?’

  I willed four Ulgo knives into existence. If you want to intimidate someone, show him an Ulgo knife. The sight of something with a hooked point and saw-toothed edges tends to make people a bit queasy.

  “Those are horrible, Pol!’

  ‘Isn’t that the idea? I want to be sure that nobody gets drunk enough to start taking chances.’

  ‘You do realize that they’ll lower your price, don’t you?’

  ‘Price?’

  ‘Nadrak women are property, Pol. Everybody knows that.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that. Is there anything else you’ve neglected to tell me?’

  ‘You’ll have to wear a collar – tastefully ornamented with jewels if you were expensive. Don’t worry about the chain. Nadrak women don’t attach the chain to the collar except on formal occasions. We’ll stop somewhere on our way to Yar Nadrak so that you can watch a Nadrak woman dance. You’ll need to know how to do that.’

  ‘I already know how to dance, mother.’

  ‘Not the way they do it in Gar og Nadrak. When a Nadrak woman dances, she challenges every man in the room. That’s the main reason she needs the daggers.’

  ‘Why dance that way if it causes that kind of problem?’

  ‘Probably for the fun of it, Pol. It drives Nadrak men absolutely crazy.’

  I realized that Nadrak women took the sport of ‘breaking hearts’ all the way out to the extreme edge. This little trip might just be more interesting than I’d expected.

  Then mother and I merged into the form of a falcon and winged our way northeasterly to the land of the Nadraks. The two men we were looking for were in the capital at Yar Nadrak, but mother suggested that we stop at a nameless hamlet in the endless forests of Gar og Nadrak to witness the performance of a Nadrak dancer named Ayalla.

  The hamlet had that slap-dash, ‘Oh, that’s good enough’ quality about it that seems to be endemic in Gar og Nadrak. The buildings were made of logs and canvas, and none of them even approached being square or plumb. They sagged and leaned off in all directions, but that didn’t seem to bother the fur trappers and gold hunters who came out of the forest from time to time when they grew hungry for civilization. Mother and I flew in over the town and perched on the sill of an unglazed window high up in the back wall of the local tavern.

  ‘Ayalla’s owner’s named Kablek, Pol,’ mother told me. ‘He owns this tavern, and Ayalla’s something in the nature of a business asset. She dances here every night, and that’s what brings in all the customers. Kablek’s getting rich here because of her. He waters down his beer to the point that it doesn’t even foam any more, and he charges outrageous prices for it.’

  ‘He sounds like a Tolnedran.’

  ‘Yes, he does rather – but without the polish.’

  The crowd in Kablek’s tavern was rowdy, but there were a number of burly fellows with stout cudgels roaming around to keep order. They broke up the knife-fights, but largely ignored the fist-fights – unless the participants started splintering the furniture.

  Kablek and his serving-men sold beer at a furious rate until about mid-evening, and then the patrons began to chant, ‘Ayalla, Ayalla, Ayalla!’ stamping their feet and pounding on the rough tables with their fists. Kablek let that go on for several minutes, still pouring beer for all he was worth, and then he climbed up on the long counter along the back wall of his establishment and bellowed, ‘Last call, gentlemen! Get your beer now. We don’t sell none while Ayalla’s dan
cing!’

  That precipitated a rush to the counter. Then, when he saw that everybody’s tankard was full, Kablek held up his hand for silence. ‘This is the beat!’ he announced, and he began to clap his callused hands together – three measured beats followed by four staccato ones. ‘Don’t lose that beat, men. Ayalla don’t like that, and she’s real quick with her knives.’

  Their answering laughter was a little nervous. A performer always wants to hold her audience – but with a knife?

  Then, with a professionally dramatic flair, Ayalla appeared in a well-lighted doorway. I was forced to admit that she was stunningly beautiful, with blue-black hair, sparkling black eyes, and a sensual mouth. Technically, she was a slave, a piece of property, but no Tolnedran emperor could ever have matched her imperial bearing. Slave or not, Ayalla literally owned everything – and everyone – she laid her eyes on. Her dress, if you could call something that flimsy a dress, was of pale, gauzy, Mallorean silk, and it whispered as she moved. It left her arms bare to the shoulders and stopped just above her soft leather boots where her jeweled dagger-hilts peeped coyly at the onlookers.

  The audience cheered, but Ayalla looked slightly bored. Her expression changed, however, when the onlookers began that compelling beat. Her face became intent and the sheer force of her overwhelming presence struck her audience and captured them. Her dance began slowly, almost indolently, and then her pace quickened. Her feet seemed almost to flicker as she whirled about the room to that compelling beat.

  ‘Breathe, Pol!’ mother’s voice cracked. ‘I’m starting to see spots in front of our eyes.’

  I explosively let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding. Ayalla’s performance had even captured me. ‘Gifted, isn’t she?’ I suggested mildly.

  Ayalla slowed her dance and concluded with an outrageously sensual strut that challenged every man in the room. The placement of her hands on her dagger hilts as she seemed to be offering herself announced quite clearly what she’d do to anyone foolish enough to accept her offer.