"But the two have always been so evenly matched that not even the Gods can predict the outcome. The Child of Dark is using something to offset the apparent advantage of our side. I think these nightmares might be part of it.”
Silk rose and came over to Garion. "Discussions like mis make my head ache," he said quietly. "I'm going up on deck for a while." He left the cabin, and for no apparent reason the gangly young wolf followed him.
“I don't really think a few nightmares would make that much difference, Beldin," Belgarath disagreed.
"But what if the nightmares are only a part of it, Old Wolf?" Poledra asked him. "You and Pol were both at Vo Mimbre, and that was one of these meetings, too. You two have been companions of the Child of Light twice already. What happened at Vo Mimbre?"
"We did have nightmares," Belgarath conceded to Beldin.
"Anything else?" the dwarf asked intently.
"We saw things that weren't there, but that could have come from all the Grolims in the vicinity."
"And?"
“Everybody went sort of crazy. It was all we could do to keep Brand from trying to attack Torak with his teeth, and at Cthol Mishrak I entombed Belzedar in solid rock, and then Pol wanted to dig him up so that she could drink his blood."
"Father! I did notV she objected.
"Oh, really? You were very angry that day, Pol."
"It fits the same pattern, Old Wolf," Poledra said somberly. "Our side fights with normal weapons. Garion's sword might be a little abnormal, but it's still just a sword."
"You wouldn't say that if you'd been at Cthol Mishrak," her husband told her.
"I was there, Belgarath," she replied.
"You were?"
"Of course. I was hiding in the ruins watching. Anyway, the Child of Dark doesn't attack the body; it attacks the mind. That^s how it manages to keep everything so perfectly balanced."
"Nightmares, hallucinations, and ultimately madness," Pol-gara mused. "That's a formidable array of things to throw against us. It might even have worked—if Zandramas hadn't been so clumsy."
"I don't quite follow that, Pol," Durnik said.
"She blundered." Polgara shrugged. "If only one person has a nightmare, he'll probably try to shrug it off and he certainly won't mention it on the morning of the meeting. Zandramas sent nightmares to all of us, though. This conversation probably wouldn't have taken place if she hadn't."
"It's nice to know that she can stumble, too," Belgarath said. "All right then, we know that she's been tampering with us. The best way to defeat that tactic is to put those nightmares out of our minds."
"And to be particularly wary if we start seeing things that shouldn't be there," Polgara added.
Silk and the wolf came back down the stairs to the cabin. "We’ve got absolutely beautiful weather this morning," he reported happily, bending slightly to scratch the pup's ears.
"Wonderful," Sadi murmured dryly. Sadi was carefully anointing his small dagger with a fresh coating of poison. He was wearing a stout leather jerkin and leather boots that reached to midthigh. Back in Sthiss Tor, Sadi had appeared, despite his slender frame, to be soft, even in some peculiar way dabby. Now, however, he looked lean and tough. A year or more without drugs and widi an enforced regimen of hard exercise had changed him a great deal.
"It's perfect," Silk told him. "We have fog this morning, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "a nice, wet, gray fog almost thick enough to walk on. That fog would be a burglar's delight.”
"Trust Silk to think of that." Duraik smiled. The smith wore his usual clothing, but he had given Toth his axe, while he himself carried the dreadful sledge with which he had driven off the demon Nahaz.
"The prophecies are leading us around by the noses again," Beldin said irritably, “but at least it appears that we made the right decision last night. A good thick fog makes sneaking almost inevitable." Beldin looked the same as always, tattered, dirty, and very ugly.
"Maybe they're just trying to help," Velvet suggested. Velvet had shocked them all when she had entered the cabin a half hour earlier. She wore tight-fitting leather clothing not unlike that normally worn by the Nadrak dancer, Vella. It was a peculiarly masculine garb and bleakly businesslike. "They've done a great deal to assist Zandramas. Maybe it's our turn to get a little help.”
"Is she right?" Garion asked the awareness that shared his mind. "Are you and your opposite helping us far a change?"
"Don't be silly, Garion. Nobody's been helping anybody. That's forbidden at this particular stage of the game.”
"Where did the fog come from then?"
"Where does fog usually come from?"
"How would I know ? "
"I didn't think so. Ask Beldin. He can probably tell you. The fog out there is perfectly natural.”
"Liselle," Garion said, "I just checked with my friend. The fog isn't the result of any playing around. It's a natural result of the storm."
"How disappointing," she said.
Ce'Nedra had risen that morning fully intent on wearing a Dryad tunic. Garion had adamantly rejected that idea, however. She wore instead a simple gray wool dress with no petticoats to hinder her movements. She was quite obviously stripped down for action. Garion was fairly certain that she had at least one knife concealed somewhere in her clothing. "Why don't we get started?" she demanded.
"Because it's still dark, dear," Polgara explained patiently. "We have to wait for at least a little bit of light." Polgara and her mother wore almost identical plain dresses, Polgara's gray and Poledra's brown.
"Garion," Poledra said then, "why don't you step down to the galley and tell them that we'll have breakfast now? We should all eat something, since I doubt that we'll have time or maybe even the need for lunch." Poledra sat at Belgarath's side, and the two of them were almost unconsciously holding hands. Gar-ion was a bit offended at her suggestion. He was a king, after all, not an errand boy. Then he realized just how silly that particular thought was. He started to rise.
"I'll go, Garion," Eriond said. It was almost as if the blond young man had seen into his friend's thoughts. Eriond wore the same simple brown peasant clothes he always wore, and he had nothing even resembling a weapon.
As the young man went out through the cabin door, Garion had an odd thought. Why was he paying so much attention to the appearance of each of his companions? He had seen them all before, and for the most part, he had seen the clothing they wore this morning so many times that the garments should not even have registered on his mind. Then, with dreadful certainty, he knew. One of them was going to die today, and he was fixing mem all in his mind so that he could remember for the rest of his life the one who was to make that sacrifice. He looked at Zakath. His Mallorean friend had shaved off his short beard. His slightly olive skin was no longer pale, but tanned and healthy-looking save for the now-lighter patch on his chin and jaw. He wore simple clothing much like Garion's own, since as soon as they reached the reef, the two of them would be putting on their armor.
Toth, his face impassive, was dressed as always—a loincloth, sandals, and that unbleached wool blanket slung across one shoulder. He did not, however, have his heavy staff. Instead, Durnik's axe lay in his lap.
The was unchanged. Her hooded white robe gleamed, and her blindfold, unwrinkted and unchanged, smoothly covered her eyes. Idly Garion wondered if she removed the cloth when she slept. A chilling thought came to him then. What if the one they would lose today was going to be Cyradis? She had sacrificed everything for her task. Surely the two prophecies could not be so cruel as to require one last, supreme sacrifice from this slender girt.
Belgarath, of course, was unchanged and unchangeable. He still wore the mismatched boots, patched hose, and rust-colored tunic he had worn when he had appeared at Faldor's farm as Mister Wolf the storyteller. The one difference about the old man was the fact that he did not hold a tankard in his free hand. At supper the previous evening, he had almost absently drawn himself one that brimmed with foaming ale. Poledra, just as absently, had fir
mly removed it from his hand and had emptied it out a porthole. Garion strongly suspected that Belgarath's drinking days had come rather abruptly to an end. He decided that it might be refreshing to have a long conversation with his grandfather when the old man was completely sober.
They ate their breakfast with hardly any conversation, since mere was nothing more to say. Ce'Nedra dutifully fed the puppy, then looked rather sadly at Garion. "Take care of him, please," she said.
There was no point in arguing with her on that score. The idea that she would not survive this day was so firmly fixed in her mind that no amount of talking would erase it. "You might want to give him to Geran," she added. "Every boy should have a dog, and caring for him will teach our son responsibility."
"I never had a dog," Garion said.
"That was unkind of you, Aunt Pol," Ce'Nedra said, lapsing unconsciously—or perhaps not—into that form of address.
"He wouldn't have had time to look after one, Ce'Nedra," Polgara replied. "Our Garion has had a very busy life."
"Let's hope that it gets less so when this is all over," Garion said.
After they had eaten, Captain Kresca entered the cabin carrying a map. "This isn't very precise," he apologized. "As I said last night, I was never able to take very accurate soundings around that peak. We can inch our way to within a few hundred yards of the beach, and then we'll have to take to the longboat. This fog is going to make it even more complicated, I'm afraid."
"Is there a beach along the east side of the peak?" Belgarath asked him.
"A very shallow one," Kresca replied. "The neap tide should expose a bit more of it, though."
"Good. There are a few things we'll need to take ashore with us." Belgarath pointed at the two stout canvas bags holding the armor Garion and Zakath would wear.
"I'll have some men stow them in the boat for you."
"When can we get started?" Ce'Nedra asked impatiently.
"Another twenty minutes or so, little lady."
"So long?"
He nodded. "Unless you can figure out a way to make the sun come up early.”
Ce'Nedra looked quickly at Belgarath.
"Never mind," he told her.
"Captain," Poledra said, "could you have someone look after our pet?" She pointed at the wolf. "He's a bit overenthu-siastic sometimes, and we wouldn't want him to start howling at the wrong time."
"Of course, Lady." Kresca, it appeared, had not spent enough time ashore to recognize a wolf when he saw one.
"Inching" proved to be a very tedious process. The sailors raised the anchors and then manned the oars. After every couple of strokes, they paused while a man in the bow heaved out the lead-weighted sounding line.
"It's slow," Silk observed in a low voice as they all stood on deck, "but at least it's quiet. We don't know who's on that reef, and I'd rather not alert them."
“It's shoaling, Captain," the man with the sounding line reported, his voice no louder than absolutely necessary. The obviously warlike preparations of Garion and his friends had stressed the need for quiet louder than any words. The sailor cast out his line again. There was that interminable-seeming wait while the ship drifted up over the weighted line. "The bottom's coming up fast, Captain," the sounder said then. "I make it two fathoms.”
"Back your oars," Kresca commanded his crew in a low voice. "Drop the hook. This is as close as we can go." He turned to his mate. "After we get away in the longboat, back out about another hundred yards and anchor there. We'll whistle when we come back—the usual signal. Guide us in."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n."
"You've done this before, I see," Silk said to Kresca.
"A few times, yes," Kresca admitted.
"If ali goes well today, you and I might want to have a little talk. I have a business proposition that I think might interest you."
"Is that all you ever think about?" Velvet asked him.
“A missed opportunity is gone forever, my dear Liselle,” he replied with a certain pomposity.
"You're incorrigible."
"I suppose you could say that, yes."
An oil-soaked wad of burlap in the hawsehole muffled the rattling of the anchor chain as the heavy iron hook sank down through the dark water. Garion felt rather than heard the grating of the points of the anchor on the rocks lying beneath the heavy swells.
"Let's board the longboat," Kresca said. "The crew will lower her after we're all on board.” He looked apologetically at them. "I'm afraid you and your friends are going to have to help with the rowing, Garion. The longboat only holds so many people."
"Of course, Captain."
"I'll come along to make sure you get ashore safely."
"Captain," Belgarath said then, "once we're ashore, stand your ship out to sea a ways. We'll signal you when we're ready to be picked up."
"All right."
"If you don't see a signal by tomorrow morning, you might as well go on back to Perivor, because we won't be coming back."
Kresca's face was solemn. "Is whatever it is you're planning to do on that reef really that dangerous?" he asked.
"Probably even more so," Silk told him. "We've all been trying very hard not to think about it.”
It was eerie rowing across the oily-seeming black water with the grayish tendrils of fog rising from the heavy swells. Garion was suddenly reminded of that foggy night in Sthiss Tor when they had crossed the River of the Serpent with only the unerring sense of direction of the one-eyed assassin Issus to guide them.
Idly, as he rowed, Garion wondered whatever had happened to Issus.
After every ten stokes or so, Captain Kresca, who stood in the stern at the tiller, signaled for them to stop, and he cocked his head, listening to the sound of the surf. "Another couple hundred yards now," he said in a low voice. "You there," he said to the sailor in the bow who held another sounding line, "keep busy with that lead. I don't want to hit any rocks. Sing out if it starts shoaling."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n."
The longboat crept on through dark and fog toward the unseen beach where the long wash and slither of the waves on graveled shingle made that peculiar grating sound as each wave lifted pebbles from the beach to carry them up to the very verge of land and then, with melancholy and regretful note, to draw them back again as if the ever-hungry sea mourned its inability to engulf the land and rum all the world into one endless ocean where huge waves, unimpeded, could roll thrice around the globe.
The heavy fog bank lying to the east began to turn lighter and lighter as dawn broke over the dark, mist-obscured waves.
"Another hundred yards," Kresca said tensely.
"When we get there, Captain," Belgarath said to him, "keep your men in the boat. They won't be permitted to land anyway, and they'd better not try. We'll push you back out as soon as we get ashore."
Kresca swallowed hard and nodded.
Garion could hear the surf more clearly now and catch the seaweed-rank smell of the meeting of sea and land. Then, just before he was able to make out the dark line of the beach through the obscuring fog, the heavy, dangerous swells flattened, and the sea around the longboat became as flat and slick as a pane of glass.
"That was accommodating of them," Silk observed.
"Shh," Velvet told him, laying one finger to her lips. "I'm trying to listen."
The bow of the longboat grated on the gravel strand, and Durnik stepped out of the boat and drew it farther up onto the pebbles. Garion and his friends also stepped out into the ankle-deep water and waded ashore. "We'll see you tomorrow mom-Big, Captain," Garion said quietly as Toth prepared to push the boat back out. "I hope," he added.
"Good luck, Garion," Kresca said. "After we're all back on board, you'll have to tell me what this was all about."
"I may want to forget about it by then," Garion said ruefully.
"Not if you win," Kresca's voice came back out of the fog.
"I like that man," Silk said. "He's got a nice optimistic attitude."
"Let's get o
ff this open beach," Belgarath said. "In spite of what Garion's friend told him, I sense a certain tenuousness about this fog. I'll feel a lot better if weVe got some rocks to hide behind."
Durnik and Toth picked up the two canvas bags containing the armor, and Garion and Zakath drew their swords and led the way up from the gravel strand. The mountain they approached seemed composed of speckled granite, fractured into unnatural blocks. Garion had seen enough granite injhe mountains here and there around the world to know that the stone usually crumbled and weathered into rounded shapes. "Strange," Durnik murmured, kicking with one still-wet boot at the perfectly squared-off edge of one of the blocks. He lowered the canvas bag and drew his knife. He dug for a moment at the rock with his knife point. "It's not granite," he said quietly. "It looks like granite, but it's much too hard. It's something else."
"We can identify it later," Beldin told him. "Let's find some cover just in case Belgarath*s suspicion turns out to be accurate. As soon as we get settled, I' 11 drift around the peak a few times.”
"You won't be able to see anything," Silk predicted.
"I'll be able to hear, though."
"Over mere," Durnik said, pointing with his sledge. "It looks as if one of these blocks got dislodged and rolled down to the beach. There's a fairly large niche there."
"Good enough for now," Belgarath said. "Beldin, when you make the change, do it very slowly. I'm sure Zandramas landed at almost the exact same time we did, and she'll hear you."
"I know how it's done, Belgarath."
The niche in the side of the strange, stair-stepped peak was more than large enough to conceal them, and they moved down into it cautiously.
"Neat," Silk said. "Why don't you all wait here and catch your bream? Beldin can turn into a seagull and go have a look around the island. I'll go on ahead and pick out a trail for us."
"Be careful," Belgarath told him.
"Someday you're going to forget to say that, Belgarath, and
it'll probably wither every tree on earth.” The little man climbed back up out of the niche and disappeared into the fog.
"You do say that to him a lot, you know," Beldin said to Belgarath.
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