Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress

by David Eddings

  No, I wasn’t trying to drown myself. I was trying to wash off that dreadful smell. When I came out of the water, I reeked of dead fish and the various nasty things that people dump into a harbor – usually when nobody’s watching – but it was a definite improvement.

  I stood on the wharf for a time, shivering violently and dripping like a down-spout, and I made up my mind to leave Camaar that very day. My Master obviously disapproved of my behavior, and the next time I weakened, he’d probably arrange to have me vomit up my shoe-soles. Fear isn’t the best motivation for embarking on a life of sobriety, but it gets your attention. The taverns of Camaar were too close at hand, and I knew most of the tavern-keepers by name, so I decided to go down into Arendia to avoid temptation.

  I stumbled through the streets of the better parts of town, offending the residents mightily, I’m sure, and along about noon I reached the upstream edge of the city. I didn’t have any money to pay a ferryman, so I swam across the Camaar River to the Arendish side. It took me a couple of hours, but I wasn’t really in any hurry. The river was bank-full of fresh, running water, and it washed off a multitude of sins.

  I walked back to the ferry-landing to ask a few questions. There was a rude hut on the riverbank, and the fellow who lived there was sitting on a tree-stump at the water’s edge with a fishing-pole in his hands. ‘An’ would y’ be wantin’ t’ cross over t’ Camaar, friend?’ he asked in that brogue that immediately identified him as a Wacite peasant.

  ‘No, thanks,’ I replied. ‘I just came from there.’

  ‘Yer a wee bit on the damp side. Surely y’ didn’t swim across?’

  ‘No,’ I lied. ‘I had a small boat. It overturned on me while I was trying to beach it. What part of Arendia have I landed in? I lost my bearings while I was crossing the river.’

  ‘Ah, it’s a lucky one y’ are t’ have come ashore here instead of a few miles down-river. Yer in the lands of His Grace, the Duke of Vo Wacune. Off t’ the west be the lands of the Duke of Vo Astur. I shouldn’t say it – them bein’ our allies and all – but the Asturians are a hard an’ treacherous people.’

  ‘Allies?’

  ‘In our war with the murderin’ Mimbrates, don’t y’ know.’

  ‘Is that still going on?’

  ‘Ah, t’ be sure. The Duke of Vo Mimbre fancies himself King of all Arendia, but our Duke an’ th’ Duke of the Asturians ain’t about t’ bend no knees t’ him.’ He squinted at me. ‘If y’ don’t mind me sayin’ it, yer lookin’ a bit seedy.’

  ‘I’ve been sick for a while.’

  He started back from me. ‘It ain’t catchin’, is it?’

  ‘No. I got a bad cut, and it didn’t heal right.’

  ‘That’s a relief. We’ve already got enough trouble on this side o’ the river without some traveler bringin’ in a pestilence, don’t y’ know.’

  ‘Which way do I go to hit the road to Vo Wacune?’

  ‘Back up the river a few miles. There’s another ferry-landin’ right where the road starts. Y’ can’t miss it.’ He squinted at me again. ‘Would y’ be after wantin’ a drop or two of somethin’ t’ brace y’ up fer yer journey? Tis a cruel long way t’ walk, don’t y’ know, and y’ll find me prices t’ be the most reasonable on this side o’ the river.’

  ‘No thanks, friend. My stomach’s a little delicate. The illness, you understand.’

  “Tis a shame. Y’ look t’ be a jolly sort, an’ I wouldn’t mind the company, don’t y’ know.’

  A jolly sort? Me? This fellow really wanted to sell me some beer. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’m not getting any closer to Vo Wacune just standing here. Thanks for the information, friend, and good luck with your fishing.’ I turned and went back up the river.

  By the time I reached Vo Wacune, I’d more or less shaken off the lingering after-effects of my years in Camaar, and I was starting to think coherently again. The first order of business was to find some decent clothing to replace the rags I was wearing and a bit of money to get me by. I suppose I could have stolen what I needed, but my Master might not have cared for that, so I decided to behave myself. The solution to my little problem lay no further away than the nearest temple of Chaldan, Bull-God of the Arends. I was something of a celebrity in those days, after all.

  I can’t say that I really blame the priests of Chaldan for not believing me when I announced my name to them. In their eyes I was probably just another ragged beggar. Their lofty, disdainful attitude irritated me, though, and without even thinking about it, I gave them a small demonstration of the sort of things I was capable of, just to prove that I was really who I’d told them I was. Actually, I was almost as surprised as they were when it really worked, but neither my madness nor the years of concentrated dissipation in Camaar had eroded my talent.

  The priests fell all over themselves apologizing, and they pressed new clothing and a well-filled purse on me by way of recompense for their failure to take me at my word. I accepted their gifts graciously, though I realized that I didn’t really need them now that I knew that my ‘talent’ hadn’t deserted me. I could have spun clothes out of air and turned pebbles into coins if I’d really wanted to. I bathed, trimmed my shaggy beard, and put on my new clothes. I felt much better, actually.

  What I needed more than clothes or money or tidying up was information. I’d been sorely out of touch with things during my stay in Camaar, and I was hungry for news. I was surprised to find that our little adventure in Mallorea was now common knowledge here in Arendia, and the priests of the Bull-God assured me that the story was well-known in Tolnedra, and had even penetrated into Nyissa and Maragor. I probably shouldn’t have been surprised, now that I think about it. My Master had met with his brothers in their cave, and their decision to leave had been largely based on our recovery of the Orb. Since this was undoubtedly the most stupendous event since the cracking of the world, the other Gods would certainly have passed it on to their priests before they departed.

  The story had been greatly embellished, of course. Any time there’s a miracle involved, you can trust a priest to get creative. Since their enhancement of the bare bones of the story elevated me to near-Godhood, I decided not to correct them. A reputation of that kind can be useful now and then. The white robe the priests had given me to replace the dirty rags I’d been wearing gave me a dramatic appearance, and I cut myself a long staff to fill out the characterization. I didn’t plan to stay in Vo Wacune, and if I wanted the cooperation of the priesthood in the various towns I’d pass through, I was going to have to dress the part of a mighty sorcerer. It was pure charlatanism, of course, but it avoided arguments and long explanations.

  I spent a month or so in the temple of Chaldan in Vo Wacune, and then I hiked to Vo Astur to see what the Asturians were up to – no good, as it turned out, but this was Arendia, after all. The Asturians held the balance of power during the long, mournful years of the Arendish civil wars, and they’d change sides at the drop of a hat.

  Frankly, the Arendish civil wars bored me. I wasn’t interested in the spurious grievances the Arends were constantly inventing to justify atrocities they were going to commit anyway. I went to Asturia because Asturia had a sea-coast and Wacune didn’t. The last thing I’d done before I left Cherek and his sons had been to break the Kingdom of Aloria all to pieces, and I was moderately curious about how it was working out.

  Vo Astur was situated on the south bank of the Astur River, and Alorn ships frequently sailed up-river to call there. I stopped by the temple, and the priests directed me to several riverfront taverns where I might reasonably expect to find Alorn sailors. I wasn’t happy about the prospect of testing my will-power in a tavern, but there was no help for it. If you want to talk to an Alorn, you’re going to have to go where the beer is.

  As luck had it, I came across a burly Alorn sea-captain in the second tavern I visited. His name was Haknar, and he’d sailed down to Arendia from Val Alorn. I introduced myself, and the white robe and staff helped to convince him that I
was telling the truth. He offered to buy me a tankard or six of Arendish ale, but I politely declined. I didn’t want to get started on that again. ‘How are the boats working out?’ I asked him.

  ‘Ships,’ he corrected. Sailors always make that distinction. ‘They’re fast,’ he conceded, ‘but you have to pay close attention to what you’re doing when the wind comes up. King Cherek told me that you designed them.’

  ‘I had a little help,’ I replied modestly. ‘Aldur gave me the basic plan. How is Cherek?’

  ‘A little mournful, really. I think he misses his sons.’

  ‘It couldn’t be helped. We had to protect the Orb. How are the boys doing in their new kingdoms?’

  ‘They’re getting by, I guess. I think you rushed them, Belgarath. They were a little young when you sent them off into the wilderness like that. Dras calls his kingdom Drasnia, and he’s starting to build a city at a place he calls Boktor. I think he misses Val Alorn. Algar calls his kingdom Algaria, and he isn’t building cities. He’s got his people rounding up horses and cattle instead.’

  I nodded. Algar probably wouldn’t have been interested in cities. ‘What’s Riva doing?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s definitely building a city. The word “fort” would probably come closer, though. Have you ever been to the Isle of the Winds?’

  ‘Once,’ I said.

  ‘Then you know where the beach is. That valley that runs down out of the mountains sort of stair-steps its way down to the beach. Riva had his people build stone walls across the front of each step. Now he’s got them building their houses up against the backs of those walls. If somebody tried to attack the place, he’d have to fight his way over a dozen of those walls. That could get very expensive. I stopped by the Isle on my way here. They’re making good progress.’

  ‘Has Riva started building his citadel yet?’

  ‘He’s got it laid out, but he wants to get his houses built first. You know how Riva is. He’s awfully young, but he does look out for his people.’

  ‘He’ll make a good king, then.’

  ‘Probably so. His subjects are a little worried, though. They really want him to get married, but he keeps putting them off. He seems to have somebody special in mind.’

  ‘He does. He dreamed about her once.’

  ‘You can’t marry a dream, Belgarath. The Rivan throne has to have an heir, and that’s something a man can’t do all by himself.’

  ‘He’s still young, Haknar. Sooner or later some girl’s going to take his eye. If it starts to look like it’s going to be a problem, I’ll go to the Isle and have a talk with him. Is Cherek still calling what’s left of his kingdom Aloria?’

  ‘No. Aloria’s gone now. That took a lot of the heart out of Bear-shoulders. He hasn’t even gotten around to putting a name to that peninsula you left him. The rest of us just call it “Cherek” and let it go at that. That’s whenever he lets us come home. We spend a lot of time at sea patrolling the Sea of the Winds. Cherek’s very free with titles of nobility, but there’s a large fishhook attached to them. I was about half-drunk when he made me Baron Haknar. It wasn’t until I sobered up that I realized that I’d volunteered to spend three months out of every year for the rest of my life sailing around in circles up in the Sea of the Winds. It’s really unpleasant up there, Belgarath – particularly in the winter. I get ice a half-foot thick on my sails every night. My deck-hands talk about the “Haknar jig”. That’s when the morning breeze shakes the ice off the sails and drops it down on the deck. My sailors have to dance out of the way or get brained. Are you sure I can’t offer you something to drink?’

  ‘Thanks all the same, Haknar, but I think I’d better be moving on. Vo Astur depresses me. You can’t get an Asturian to talk about anything but politics.’

  ‘Politics?’ Haknar laughed. ‘The only thing I’ve ever heard an Asturian talk about is who he’s going to go to war with next week.’

  ‘That’s what passes for politics here in Asturia,’ I told him, rising to my feet. ‘Give my best to Cherek the next time you see him. Tell him that I’m still keeping an eye on things.’

  ‘I’m sure that’ll make him sleep better at night. Are you coming to Val Alorn for the wedding?’

  ‘What wedding?’

  ‘Cherek’s. His wife died while he was off in Mallorea. Since you stole all his sons, he’s going to need a new heir. His bride-to-be is a real beauty – about fifteen or so. She’s pretty, but she’s not really very bright. If you say “good morning” to her, it takes her ten minutes to think up an answer.’

  I felt a sudden wrench. I wasn’t the only one who’d lost a wife. ‘Give him my apologies,’ I told Haknar shortly. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. I’d better be going now. Thanks for the information.’

  ‘Glad to be of help, Belgarath.’ Then he turned and bellowed, ‘Innkeeper! More ale!’

  I went back out into the street and walked slowly back toward the temple of Chaldan, being careful not to think about Cherek’s bereavement. I had my own, and that filled my mind. I didn’t really want to dwell on it, since there was nobody around to chain me to a bed.

  I’d received a few tentative invitations to visit the Duke in his palace, but I’d put them off with assorted vague excuses. I hadn’t visited the Duke of Vo Wacune, and I definitely didn’t want to show any favoritism. Given my probably undeserved celebrity, I decided not to have anything to do with any of those three contending Dukes. I had no desire to get involved in the Arendish civil wars – not even by implication.

  That might have been a mistake. I could probably have saved Arendia several eons of suffering if I’d just called those three imbeciles together and rammed a peace-treaty down their throats. Considering the nature of Arends, however, they’d more than likely have violated the treaty before the ink was dry.

  Anyway, I’d found out what I needed to know in Vo Astur, and the invitations from the Ducal Palace were becoming more and more insistent, so I thanked the priests for their hospitality and left town before daybreak the following morning. I’ve been leaving town before daybreak for longer than I care to think about.

  I was almost certain that the Duke of Vo Astur would take my departure as a personal affront, so when I was a mile or so south of town, I went back into the woods a ways and took the form of the wolf.

  Yes, it was painful. I wasn’t even certain that I could bring myself to do it, but it was time to find out. I’d been doing a number of things lately that pushed at the edges of my pain. I was not going to live out my life as an emotional cripple. Poledra wouldn’t have wanted that, and if I went mad, so what? One more mad wolf in the Arendish forest wouldn’t have made that much difference.

  My assessment of the Duke of Vo Astur turned out to be quite accurate. I was ghosting southward along the edge of the woods about an hour later when a group of armed horsemen came pounding along that twisting road. The Asturian Duke really wanted me to pay him a visit. I drifted back in under the trees, dropped to my haunches, and watched the Duke’s men ride by. Arends were a much shorter people in those days than they are now, so they didn’t look too ridiculous on those stunted horses.

  I traveled down through the forest and ultimately reached the plains of Mimbre. Unlike the Wacites and the Asturians, the Mimbrates had cleared away the woods of their domain almost completely. Mimbrate horses were larger than those of their northern cousins, and the nobles of that southern Duchy had already begun to develop the armor that characterizes them today. A mounted knight needs open ground to work on, so the trees had to go. The open farmland that resulted was rather peripheral to Mimbrate thinking.

  When we think of the Arendish civil wars, we normally think of the three contending Duchies, but that wasn’t the full extent of it. Lesser nobles also had their little entertainments, and there was hardly a district in all of Mimbre that didn’t have its own ongoing feuds. I’d resumed my own form, although I’ll admit that I gave some serious consideration to living out the rest of my life as a wo
lf, and I was going south toward Vo Mimbre when I came across one of those feuds in full flower.

  Unfortunately, the dim-witted Arends absolutely loved the idea of siege-engines. Arends have a formal turn of mind, and the prospect of a decades-long stand-off appeals to them enormously. The besiegers could set up camp around the walls of a fortress and mindlessly throw boulders at the walls for years, while the besieged could spend those same years happily piling rocks against the inside of those walls. Stalemates get boring after a while, though, and every so often, somebody felt the need to commit a few atrocities to offend his opponent.

  In this particular case, the besieging baron decided to round up all the local serfs and behead them in plain view of the defender’s castle.

  That’s when I took a hand in the game. As it happened, I was standing on a hilltop, and I posed dramatically there with my staff outstretched. ‘Stop!’ I roared, enhancing my voice to such an extent that they probably heard me in Nyissa. The baron and his knights wheeled to gape; the knight who was preparing to chop off a serf’s head paused momentarily to look at me, and then he raised his sword again.

  He dropped it the next instant, however. It’s a little hard to hold on to a sword when the hilt turns white-hot in your hands. He danced around, howling and blowing on his burned fingers.

  I descended the hill and confronted the murderous Mimbrate baron. ‘You will not perpetrate this outrage!’ I told him.

  ‘What I do is none of thy concern, old man,’ he replied, but he didn’t really sound very sure of himself.

  ‘I’m making it my concern! If you even attempt to harm these people, I’ll tear out your heart!’

  ‘Kill this old fool,’ the baron told one of his knights.

  The knight dutifully reached for his sword, but I gathered my Will, leveled my staff, and said, ‘Swine.’

  The knight immediately turned into a pig.

  ‘Sorcery!’ the baron gasped.