Belgarath the Sorcerer

by David Eddings

  Her eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Don’t press your luck, uncle,’ she warned.

  ‘I’d pay attention to her, Beldin,’ I advised him. ‘She’s started her education, and she’s a very apt pupil.’

  ‘I sort of thought she might be. What were you two up to? The twins told me you’d gone to the Isle.’

  ‘There’s an heir to the Rivan throne now,’ I told him. ‘His name’s Daran, and he shows quite a bit of promise. The Master’s Orb was very pleased to meet him.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll drift on over there and have a look at him,’ Beldin mused. ‘I might not be related to him the way you are, but Beldaran and I were fairly close when she was growing up. What took you so long coming back?’

  ‘Pol and I took a swing through Darine and then went over to Drasnia on our way back. I wanted to take a look at those two prophets. There’s no question about their authenticity.’

  ‘Good. Torak’s having a little difficulty with his prophecy.’

  ‘What kind of difficulty?’

  ‘He doesn’t like what it says. When he came out of his trance and read what Urvon’s scribes had taken down, he tore down a couple of mountains, I guess. The Ashabine Oracles seem to have offended him.’

  ‘That sounds promising. Is there any way we can get our hands on a copy?’

  ‘Not likely. Torak definitely doesn’t want that document widely circulated. Urvon had a copy, but Torak reached out from Ashaba and set fire to it.’ He scratched at his beard. ‘Zedar’s at Ashaba, and we both know him well enough to be sure that he’ll have a copy. If Torak ever lets him leave, he’ll probably take it with him. It’s my guess that it’s the only copy that isn’t under One-eye’s direct control. Someday, I’ll catch up with Zedar and take it off his carcass.’ He scowled at me. ‘Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?’

  ‘I was told not to. I think you’d better restrain your homicidal impulses as well, if you ever happen to come across him. We’re going to need him later on.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you could be any more specific?’

  I shook my head. ‘That’s all I was told.’

  He grunted sourly. ‘I might be able to get hold of a copy of “The Mallorean Gospels” - if I could figure out a way to get into Kell and back out again all in one piece.’

  ‘What are “The Mallorean Gospels”?’ Pol asked him.

  ‘Another set of prophecies,’ he replied. ‘They’ll be very obscure, though. The Dals wrote them, and the Dals are absolutely neutral. Oh, incidentally, Belgarath, Ctuchik’s moved.’

  ‘Yes, I’d heard about that. He’s at a place called Rak Cthol now.’

  He nodded. ‘I flew over it on my way home. It isn’t very inviting. It’s built on top of a peak that sticks up out of the middle of a desert. I picked up a few rumors. Evidently this epidemic of prophecy’s pretty widespread. Some of Ctuchik’s Grolims have come down with it, too. He’s got them at Rak Cthol with scribes camped on them. I doubt that their prophecies’ll be as precise as Torak’s, but it might be worth our while to try to get hold of a copy. I’ll leave that up to you, though. I think I’d better stay away from that dog Ctuchik. I’ve brushed up against his mind a few times, and he could probably feel me coming from a hundred leagues off. We want information, not fist-fights.’

  ‘The Murgos are on the move, you know,’ Pol told him. ‘They’re moving into the southern half of the continent and enslaving the western Dals in the process.’

  ‘I’ve got a great deal of respect for the Dals’ intellectual gifts,’ he replied, ‘but they don’t have much spirit, do they?’

  ‘I think that’s all subterfuge,’ I told him. ‘They don’t have any trouble keeping Urvon’s Grolims away from Kell.’ I leaned back. ‘I think maybe I’ll visit Rak Cthol and pay a call on Ctuchik,’ I mused. ‘He’s new in this part of the world, so somebody ought to welcome him, or at least see what he looks like when he isn’t a Hound.’

  ‘It’d be the neighborly thing to do,’ Beldin said with an evil grin.

  ‘Are you going back to Mallorea?’

  ‘Not for a while. I want to go look at your grandson first.’

  ‘Do you want to keep an eye on Polgara for me while I’m gone?’

  ‘I don’t need a keeper, father,’ she told me.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, you do,’ I disagreed. ‘You’re at a dangerous stage in your education. You think you know more than you really do. I don’t want you to start experimenting without supervision.’

  ‘I’ll watch her,’ Beldin promised. He looked at her then. ‘Have we forgotten about breakfast altogether, Pol?’ he asked. ‘Just because you’ve decided to watch your weight doesn’t mean that the rest of us have to start fasting.’

  I went northeasterly out of the Vale that same morning and changed my form as soon as I reached the Algarian plain. I don’t like to pass through the Vale as a wolf. The deer and rabbits there might be alarmed. They’re all more or less tame, and it’s not polite to frighten the neighbors.

  I swam across the Aldur river and reached the Eastern Escarpment the following morning. I followed it for quite some distance until I came to one of those ravines Algar had told us about at Riva’s Isle. The Eastern Escarpment’s one of the results of what the Master and Belar were obliged to do to contain the ocean Torak created when he cracked the world. The mountain range that came pushing up out of the earth fractured along its western edge, and the result was that imposing, mile-high cliff that forms the natural boundary between Algaria and Mishrak ac Thull.

  I considered it as I stood at the mouth of the ravine and decided to wait until nightfall before climbing it. Fleet-foot had told us that Murgos sometimes came down those ravines on horse-stealing expeditions, and I didn’t want to meet a chance group of them in tight quarters. Besides, I didn’t particularly want Ctuchik to know that I was coming. Zedar knew that my favorite alternative to my own form was that of the wolf, and I couldn’t be sure whether or not he’d shared that knowledge with his fellow disciples. I went a mile or so on along the cliff and bedded down in the tall grass.

  As it turned out, my decision was a wise one. About noon, I heard riders picking their way around the rubble at the foot of the cliff. I pricked up my ears and stayed hidden in the tall grass.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Rashag,’ I heard one of them saying. ‘I’ve heard about what the horse-people do to those who try to steal their animals.’

  ‘They’ll have to catch us before they can do anything to us, Agga,’ another voice replied.

  I very slowly raised my head. The breeze was a bit erratic, but I was fairly sure it wouldn’t carry my scent to their horses. I peered intently in the direction from which their voices had been coming. Then I saw them. There were only the two of them. They were wearing chain-mail shirts and conical helmets, and they both had swords belted at their waists. Murgos are not an attractive race to begin with, and the fact that they gash their faces during the ceremony that marks their entry into adulthood doesn’t add very much to their appearance. The pair I was watching were fairly typical representatives of their race. They had broad shoulders, of course; you don’t spend most of your life practicing swordsmanship without developing a few muscles. Aside from those bulky shoulders though, they were fairly lean. They had swarthy skin, prominent cheekbones, and narrow, angular eyes.

  I saw immediately why Murgos risked coming down the steep ravines that cut the escarpment. The horses they were riding weren’t very good.

  ‘I saw a large herd from the top of the cliff,’ the one called Rashag told his companion.

  ‘Horses or cows?’ Agga asked him.

  ‘It’s hard to say for sure. The cliff’s very high and the animals were in deep grass.’

  ‘I didn’t come down that ravine to steal cows, Rashag. If I want a cow, I’ll take one from the Thulls. They don’t get excited the way the horse-people do. What did that Grolim you were talking with want?’

  ‘What else? He was lo
oking for somebody to butcher. His altar’s drying out, and it needs fresh blood.’

  ‘He didn’t look all that much like a Thullish Grolim.’

  ‘He wasn’t. He’s a southern Grolim from Rak Cthol. Ctuchik’s got them spread out along the top of the cliff. He doesn’t want any surprises, and the horse-people do know about the ravines.’

  ‘Alorns,’ Agga spat. ‘I hate Alorns.’

  ‘I don’t imagine they’re very fond of us, either. The Grolim told me to pass the word that we’re all supposed to stay out of the Wasteland of Murgos.’

  ‘Who’d want to go there anyway? All that’s there is black sand and that stinking lake.’

  ‘I’m sure Ctuchik has his reasons. He doesn’t confide in me though. Actually, I’ve never even seen the man.’

  ‘I have,’ Agga said, shuddering. ‘I had to take a message to Rak Cthol from my general, and Ctuchik questioned me about it. He looks like a man who’s been dead for a week.’

  ‘What’s Rak Cthol like?’

  ‘It’s not the sort of place you’d want to visit.’

  They were almost out of earshot by now, and I decided not to follow them. They were obviously of fairly low rank, so it wasn’t likely that their conversation would provide any useful information. I lowered my chin onto my paws and went back to sleep.

  I did see them one more time, though. It was starting to get dark, and I rose, arched my back, stretched, and yawned.

  Then I heard horses galloping toward me. I sank back down in the grass to watch. Rashag and Agga were coming back, and they didn’t have any Algar horses. The only Algar horses I saw had Algars on their backs, and they were in hot pursuit of the two fleeing Murgos. Algar horses were - still are - much better than Murgo horses, so the outcome was fairly predictable. Rashag and Agga didn’t make it back to Cthol Murgos.

  I waited until the Algars returned to their herd, then loped back to the mouth of the ravine. I started up. The going would have been difficult for a horse, but wolves have toenails, so I made it to the top before daylight. I sniffed at the air to make sure that no one was in the vicinity, and then I went off toward the southeast and Ctuchik’s fortress in the middle of the Wasteland of Murgos.

  The mountains of southern Mishrak ac Thull and northern Cthol Murgos are arid and rocky with hardly any vegetation to provide much in the way of concealment, so I traveled mostly at night. Wolves see well in the dark, but I relied primarily on my nose and my ears to warn me whenever I came near people. Those desiccated wastes held very little in the way of game, so a wolf might have seemed out of place there, and would probably have attracted attention. But I wasn’t particularly worried about the Thulls. They were an inattentive people, in the first place, and they built large fires at night - not because it was particularly cold at that time of year. Mainly they built fires because Thulls are afraid of the dark. When you get right down to it, there’s not really very much in the world that a Thull isn’t afraid of.

  Once I crossed the border into Cthol Murgos, though, I began to be more careful. Murgos are just the opposite of Thulls. They make some show of not being afraid of anything - even the things they should be afraid of.

  There were very few people in those mountains, however - either Thulls or Murgos. Every so often I’d see a Murgo outpost, but I didn’t have any trouble skirting those places.

  It took me a little longer to reach the Wasteland of Murgos than it might have if I’d been traveling through friendly territory, since I spent quite a bit of time hiding or slinking around to stay out of sight. I was certain that no ordinary Murgo would pay very much attention to me, because Murgos are interested in people, not animals. But wolves weren’t common in the region; a Murgo who happened to see me might mention it to the next Grolim he came across. Sometimes the most casual remark will alert a Grolim. I didn’t want anybody to spoil the surprise I had planned for Ctuchik.

  I finally came down out of the mountains into the area colorfully known as the Wasteland of Murgos. There was some evidence that it had been a large lake or even an inland sea at some time in the past. I seem to remember that there had been a sizeable body of water lying to the west of the Angarak city of Karnath before Torak cracked the world, and this black-sand-floored desert had obviously been drained all at one time. The skeletons of large aquatic creatures dotted the sand, but the only remnant of that ancient sea was the rancid Tarn of Cthok, some distance to the north of Rak Cthol. I was a little concerned about the fact that I was leaving tracks in that black sand, but the wind out there blew most of the time, so I quit worrying about it.

  I finally got within sight of the steep mountain peak that Ctuchik had topped with his city, and I dropped to my haunches to think things over a little bit. Wolves were not unheard of in the mountains of Cthol Murgos and the wasteland, but a wolf padding through the streets of Rak Cthol would definitely attract attention. I was going to need some other disguise, and since the narrow path angling up around the peak was certain to be patrolled and since the city gates would be guarded, I couldn’t see any alternative but feathers.

  It was late afternoon, and the heated air rising up off that black sand would help, so I went behind a pile of rocks and slipped back into my own form. Then, after giving some consideration to the surrounding terrain, I formed the image of a vulture in my mind and flowed into that particular shape. I’ll grant you that there are nicer birds in the world than vultures, but there were whole flocks of the ugly brutes circling in the air over Ctuchik’s mountain, so at least I wouldn’t be conspicuous.

  I caught an updraft and spiraled aloft on the west side of Ctuchik’s mountain. The sun was just going down, and its ruddy light stained that basalt peak, making it look peculiarly as if it had been dipped in blood. Considering what was going on at the top of it, that was fairly appropriate, I suppose.

  I’ve made quite an issue of the fact that I don’t fly very well, but I’m not a complete incompetent, and riding an updraft is a fairly simple process. All you really have to do is lock your wings and let it carry you. Hawks and eagles and vultures do it all the time.

  I circled up and up until I was above the city, and then I swooped down and perched on the wall to look things over. At that particular time Rak Cthol was still under construction, and it was not nearly as cluttered as it came to be later on. It was already ugly, though. I think that was a reflection of Ctuchik’s mind. Although it really wasn’t necessary, he appeared to be consciously trying to duplicate the layout of Cthol Mishrak. The actual work of construction was being performed by slaves, of course, since Murgos and Grolims feel they’re above that sort of thing. I watched from my perch atop the wall as the slaves were herded into their cells in those tunnels beneath the city and locked in for the night. Then I patiently waited for it to get dark.

  Quite obviously, I was going to need a disguise, but I was fairly sure I could find something that’d get me by. As it turned out, it was even easier than I’d expected. There were Murgo sentries patrolling the top of the wall. There was no need for that, really, since there was a sheer drop of almost a mile to the desert floor, but Murgos tend to be traditionalists. They’d patrolled the top of the wall at Cthol Mishrak, so they patrolled the top of the wall here. I slipped very slowly back into my own form to avoid alerting Ctuchik to the fact that I’d come to pay him a visit, and then I concealed myself in a narrow embrasure to wait for a Murgo.

  There were a number of ways I could have done it, I suppose, but I chose the simplest. I waited until the sentry had passed, and then I bashed him on the head with a rock. It was quieter than any of the more exotic things I might have done, and it sufficed. I dragged the Murgo back into the embrasure and peeled off his black robe. I didn’t bother with his mail shirt. Chain mail is uncomfortable, and it tends to rattle when you’re moving around. I considered dropping my Murgo over the wall, but decided against it. I didn’t have anything against him personally, and I wasn’t entirely sure how much noise he’d make when he hit the ground a mile
below.

  Yes, I know all about my reputation, but I don’t really like to kill people unless it’s necessary. I’ve always felt that random murders tend to coarsen one’s nature. You might want to think about that when you consider murder as a solution to a problem.

  I pulled up the hood of the Murgo robe and went looking for Ctuchik. The simplest way would have been to ask, but I might have had trouble imitating the rasping Murgo dialect, so I listened to a number of random conversations and quite gently probed the thoughts of various sentries and passers-by instead. Polgara’s much better at that than I am, but I know how it’s done. I was fairly careful about it, since everybody in Rak Cthol, Grolim and Murgo, wore those black robes, and that made it hard to tell them apart. It’s entirely possible, I suppose, that Murgos think of themselves as a form of minor clergy - or it might just be that Grolims are descendants of the original Murgo tribe. I didn’t want to probe the thoughts of a Grolim, since some of them at least are talented enough to recognize that when it happens.

  My eavesdropping - both with my ears and with my mind - eventually gave me enough clues to narrow down the search. Ctuchik was somewhere in the Temple of Torak. I’d more or less expected that, but a little verification never hurts.

  The Temple was deserted. Even Grolims have to sleep sometime, and it was getting fairly close to midnight. Ctuchik, however, was not asleep. I could sense his mind at work as soon as I entered the Temple. That made finding him much easier. I went along the back wall on that balcony that seems to be a standard feature in every major Grolim temple and eventually located the right door. And, naturally, it was locked. A single thought would have unlocked it, but it would probably have also alerted Ctuchik to my presence. Murgo locks aren’t very sophisticated, though, so I did it the other way. I might not be as good a burglar as Silk is, but I have had some experience in that line of work.

  There was a flight of stairs leading downward behind that door, and I followed them, being very careful not to make any noise. There was a black painted door at the bottom of the stairs, and, oddly, no guards. I think it was this particular visit of mine that persuaded Ctuchik that leaving that door unguarded might be a bad idea. I picked the lock and went inside.