Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress

by David Eddings

  I believe I’ve hinted at some of the peculiarities of the Marag culture before, but I suspect I’ll have to be a little more specific at this point. The God Mara was just a bit overly enthusiastic about physical beauty. For a woman, this presents no particular problem; she either has it or she hasn’t. A man, however, has to work on it. Masculine beauty involves muscle development, so Marag men spent a great deal of time lifting heavy things over their heads. That gets boring after a while, though, and there’s not much point in having bushel-baskets full of muscles if you don’t use them for something. The men of Maragor devised contests of various sorts – running, jumping, throwing things, swimming, and the like. Unfortunately, if you develop enough muscles, they’ll eventually start to squeeze your head and reduce the size of your brain. In time, most of the men of Maragor were all as beautiful as marble statues – and almost as intelligent. They were totally incapable of even taking care of themselves, and so the women had to take over. They owned all the property, and they housed their childlike heroes in dormitories and arranged various athletic competitions that kept those beautiful specimens of manhood happy.

  There were far more women among the Marags than there were men, but that didn’t really cause any problems, since Marag men wouldn’t really have made good husbands anyway. The Marags got along very well without marriage. They were happy, they enjoyed life, and they were kind and generous to each other. They seemed to be incapable of the jealousy and irrational possessiveness that mars other cultures.

  I think that covers everything. For various reasons, Polgara has always had a low opinion of the Marags, and if I take this too much further, it’ll just give her another excuse to scold me.

  Oh, one last thing. The Marags didn’t have a single ruler. They had a ‘Council of Matriarchs’ instead – nine middle-aged and presumably wise women who made all the decisions. It was a little unusual, but it worked out fairly well.

  Maragor lay in a pleasant, fertile basin in the southern part of the Tolnedran mountains. There are extensive mineral deposits in those mountains, and the turbulent streams that run down into the basin where the Marags lived pass through those deposits and carry with them assorted minerals and a fair number of gem-stones. Unless you know what to look for, diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds appear to be no more than common pebbles. Gold, however, is plainly visible on the bottom of every brook in Maragor. The Marags ignored it. They had a barter economy and were largely self-sufficient, so they had no real interest in trade with other nations. Thus, they didn’t need money. Their idea of beauty leaned in the direction of personal physical attractiveness, so they didn’t bother with jewelry. Once you’ve eliminated money and jewelry, gold becomes largely meaningless. It’s too soft and too heavy to have any real practical use.

  It did get my attention, however. I dallied a bit on my journey from the border to the capital and managed to pick up a fairly large pouchful of gold nuggets. It’s hard to walk away when there are lumps of gold lying in plain sight.

  It was autumn when I reached Mar Amon, a beautiful city that lay a few leagues to the west of the large lake in the center of Maragor. I went to the temple of Mara and introduced myself to the High Priestess. There were priests, of course, but as was the case in the rest of Marag society, men played a decidedly minor role in their religion. The High Priestess was a tall, handsome woman in her mid-forties, and her name was Terell. I talked with her for a while, and I soon realized that she had no interest at all in the outside world. That was probably the fatal flaw in the Marag culture. No place is so isolated that you can safely ignore the rest of mankind – particularly when your stream-beds are cluttered with free gold.

  Despite the fact that I don’t have rippling biceps and a neck like a tree-trunk, the women of Mar Amon found me attractive. My celebrity may have played a part in that. The average Marag male’s sole claim to fame was most likely the fact that he’d won a foot race some years back, and his conversation tended to be a little elemental. Women, as you may have noticed, like to talk. You may have also noticed that I do, too.

  I drifted around Mar Amon, and many a conversation that I struck up by saying ‘good morning’ to a Marag lady who might be out sweeping off her doorstep lasted for several weeks. The women of Maragor were generous and friendly, so I always had something to eat and a place to sleep.

  There are all manner of things that a man can do to take his mind off his troubles. I’d tried one of them in Camaar, and that didn’t turn out too well. The one I tried in Mar Amon wasn’t nearly as self-destructive, but the end result was probably the same. Extensive sensuality can erode your mind almost as much as extensive drinking can. It’s not as hard on your liver, though.

  Let’s not take this any further, shall we?

  I spent nine years in Mar Amon, drifting along in a sort of haze, and after the first few years I was on a first-name basis with every lady in town.

  Then one spring, Beldin came looking for me. I was having breakfast in the kitchen of a lovely young woman when he came stumping through the door with a face that looked like a thundercloud. ‘What do you think you’re doing, Belgarath?’ he demanded.

  ‘Having breakfast at the moment. What does it look like?’

  ‘It looks to me like you’re living in sin.’

  ‘You sound like an Ulgo, Beldin. The definition of sin varies from culture to culture. The Marags don’t consider these informal arrangements sinful. How did you manage to find me?’

  ‘It wasn’t too hard,’ he growled. ‘You left a very wide trail.’ He came over to the table and sat down. Wordlessly, my hostess brought him some breakfast. ‘You’re a legend in Camaar, you know,’ he continued, still scowling at me. ‘They’ve never seen anybody who could get as drunk as you used to.’

  ‘I don’t do that any more.’

  ‘No. I noticed that you’ve found other entertainments instead. You disgust me. The very sight of you sickens me.’

  ‘Don’t look, then.’

  ‘I have to. This wasn’t my idea. For all of me you can drown yourself in cheap beer and roll around with every woman you come across. I came after you because I was sent after you.’

  ‘Give Aldur my apologies. Tell him that I’ve retired.’

  ‘Oh, really? You can’t retire, you clot. You signed on willingly, and you can’t go back on that just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself.’

  ‘Go away, Beldin.’

  ‘Oh no, Belgarath. Our Master sent me to take you back to the Vale, and I’m going to obey him, even if you aren’t. We can do it the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. It’s entirely up to you. You can come along peacefully – all in one piece – or I’ll take you back in chunks.’

  ‘That might take a little doing, brother mine.’

  ‘Not really. If all the childish tricks you played on your way here are any indication, you don’t have enough of your talent left to blow out a candle. Now stop wallowing in self-pity and come back home where you belong.’ He stood up.

  ‘No.’ I also stood up.

  ‘You’re disgusting, Belgarath. Do you really think that this past twelve years of dissipation and debauchery have changed anything? Poledra’s still dead, your daughters are still in the Vale, and you still have responsibilities.’

  ‘I’ll pass them on to you, brother. Enjoy them.’

  ‘I guess we’d better get started, then.’

  ‘Started with what?’

  ‘Fighting.’ And he promptly punched me in the belly.

  Beldin is enormously strong, and his blow knocked me completely across the room. I lay on the floor gasping and trying to get my breath back. He stumped after me and kicked me in the ribs. ‘We can do this all week, if you want,’ he growled. Then he kicked me again.

  My principles had been eroded by the years of what he chose to call dissipation and debauchery, but not so much that I was going to elevate our discussion from a physical one to something more serious, and he knew that. As long as he stuck to kicks a
nd punches, I couldn’t respond with anything except kicks and punches. I finally got to my feet, and we pounded on each other for a while. Peculiarly, it made me feel better, and I rather think Beldin knew that it would.

  Finally, we both collapsed on the floor, half exhausted.

  With a great effort, he rolled his gnarled and twisted body over and hit me. ‘You’ve betrayed our Master!’ he bellowed at me. Then hit me again. ‘You’ve betrayed Poledra!’ He blackened one of my eyes. ‘You’ve betrayed your daughters!’ In a remarkable display of agility for a man lying on the floor, he kicked me in the chest. ‘You’ve betrayed the memories of Belsambar and Belmakor! You’re no better than Zedar!’ He drew back that massive fist again.

  ‘Hold it,’ I told him, weakly raising one hand.

  ‘Have you had enough?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Are you corning back to the Vale with me?’

  ‘All right – if it’s that important to you.’

  He sat up. ‘Somehow I knew you’d see it my way. Have you got anything to drink around here?’

  ‘Probably. I couldn’t vouch for it though. I haven’t had a drink since I left Camaar.’

  ‘You’ve probably worked up quite a thirst, then.’

  ‘I don’t think I should, Beldin.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’re not like other drunks. You were drinking in Camaar for a specific reason. That part of it’s past now. Just don’t let it get ahead of you again.’

  The Marag lady whose kitchen we’d just wrecked brought us each a tankard of ale. It tasted awful to me, but Beldin seemed to like it. He liked it enough to have three more, at any rate. I didn’t even finish the first one. I didn’t want to go down that road again. Just in passing, I’d like to let you know that over the centuries I’ve spent far more time holding tankards than I have drinking from them. People can believe what they want to, but I’ve slept in enough gutters for one lifetime, thanks all the same.

  The next morning we apologized to my hostess for all the damage we’d done and left for the Vale. The weather was fine, so we decided to walk rather than assume other forms. There was no particular urgency about getting home. ‘What’s been going on?’ I asked Beldin when we were about a mile out of Mar Amon.

  ‘The Angaraks have been coming across the land-bridge,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes, so I understand. Salmissra told me about those scouting parties.’

  ‘It’s gone a little further than that. As closely as I’ve been able to tell, the entire population of Cthol Mishrak has been coming across. The soldiers came over to this side first, and they moved down the coast. They’ve been building a fortress at the mouth of one of those rivers that runs down to the Sea of the East. They call their fort Rak Goska, and they refer to themselves as Murgos. They’re still Angaraks, but they seem to feel a need to distinguish themselves from the people who stayed in Mallorea.’

  ‘Not exactly. Have you ever gotten around to learning Old Angarak?’

  ‘I don’t waste my time on dead languages, Belgarath.’

  ‘It’s not entirely dead. The people at Cthol Mishrak spoke a corrupted version of it. Anyway, the word “Murgo” meant nobleman or warrior in Old Angarak. Evidently these Murgos are the people who were the aristocrats in Cthol Mishrak.’

  ‘What does “Thull” mean?’

  ‘Serf – or maybe peasant. The distinction’s a little vague in Angarak society. You should know that, Beldin. You’ve spent more time in Mallorea than I have.’

  ‘I wasn’t there to socialize. The second wave of Angaraks settled to the north of the Murgos. They call themselves Thulls, and they’re supplying the Murgos with food. The third wave’s moving into what used to be eastern Aloria – that big forest up there. They’ve been calling themselves Nadraks.’

  ‘Townsmen,’ I translated for him, ‘the merchant class. Are the Alorns doing anything about this?’

  ‘Not really. You spread them a little thin. Bull-neck talks about expeditions in the east, but he doesn’t have the manpower. Algar probably couldn’t do very much about it, because the eastern escarpment blocks his access to that part of the continent.’

  ‘We’d better see if we can make contact with the Master when we get back to the Vale. This migration’s got a very specific reason behind it. As long as the Angaraks stayed in Mallorea, they weren’t any problem. They’re establishing a presence on this side of the Sea of the East so that they can bring in the Grolims. We might want to chase those Murgos, Nadraks, and Thulls back to where they came from.’

  ‘Another war?’

  ‘If we have to. I don’t think we want Grolims on this continent if we can prevent it.’

  ‘Astonishing,’ he said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Your mind still works. I thought that maybe you’d broken it during the course of the last dozen years.’

  ‘I came close. Another few years in Camaar probably would have turned the trick. I was drinking everything in sight.’

  ‘So I heard. What finally persuaded you to dry out?’

  ‘The Master paid me a call. I sobered up in a hurry after that and left Camaar. I went down through Arendia and Tolnedra – you know about all that if you’ve been trailing me. Did the Dryads cause you any problems when you went through their woods?’

  ‘I didn’t see a one of them.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the wrong time of year. They definitely interrupted my trip.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It was during their breeding season.’

  ‘That must have been exciting.’

  ‘Did you talk with Salmissra at all when you went through Sthiss Tor?’

  ‘Briefly. There was a lot of turmoil in Sthiss Tor when I passed through there. Somebody’d just butchered all the high-level palace eunuchs.’

  I laughed delightedly. ‘Good girl!’ I said.

  ‘What are you talking about, Belgarath?’

  ‘This particular Salmissra’s actually got a mind. She made the mistake of letting the palace eunuchs find out about it, though. They were planning to assassinate her, and I suggested a way for her to remove that particular danger. Did she get them all?’

  ‘From what I heard, she did.’

  ‘That’s probably why it took her so long. She’s a very thorough young lady, now. What’s Torak doing at Ashaba? Salmissra told me that he’d gone there.’

  ‘From what I hear, he’s having religious experiences. He’s been caught up in a kind of ecstasy for the past ten years or so. He’s babbling all sorts of obscure pronouncements. Urvon’s got a team of Grolims at Ashaba taking down every word. They’re calling those ravings “the Ashabine Oracles”. In fact, there’s been an outbreak of lunacy lately. Bull-neck’s got a crazy man chained to a post a few miles to the west of Boktor, with scribes copying down the poor fellow’s every word.’

  ‘Good. I told him to do that. Just before the Master left, he told me that we were going to be getting our instructions from prophecy now instead of receiving them directly. This is the Age of Prophecy.’

  ‘You sound like a Dal when you talk about ages that way.’

  ‘Evidently the Dals know something we don’t. I think we’ll need a copy of that transcription Dras is having set down, and we’d better pass the word to the other kingdoms to start paying attention to crazy people.’ I paused. ‘How are the girls?’ I asked, trying to make it sound casual.

  ‘Older. You’ve been gone for quite a while.’

  ‘They must be about ten years old by now.’

  ‘Thirteen, actually. Their birthday was just this past winter.’

  ‘It’ll be good to see them again.’

  ‘Don’t get your heart set on a warm reunion, Belgarath. Beldaran might be happy to see you, but you’re not one of Polgara’s favorite people.’

  That turned out to be a gross understatement.

  Beldin and I traveled out of Maragor and crossed the Tolnedran mountains to the Vale. We didn’t particularly hurry. My grotesque little br
other’s observations about Polgara had made me slightly apprehensive about meeting her – fully justified, as it turned out.

  I’d missed the serenity of the Vale during those vagabond years, and a profound sense of peace came over me as we came down out of the mountains and looked once more upon our home. The painful memories were still there, of course, but the passage of time had muted and softened them, although every so often I’d see something that twisted inside me like a knife.

  My daughters had moved in with the twins during Beldin’s absence. The promise Beldaran had exhibited when she was a baby had been more than fulfilled. Though she was only thirteen, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair was the color of flax, and it was full and very long. Her face could quite literally stop your heart, and she was as graceful as a gazelle.

  ‘Father!’ she exclaimed when I reached the top of the stairs. Her voice was rich and vibrant, the kind of voice that makes you hold your breath to listen. She flew across the floor and threw herself into my arms. I cursed that wasted twelve years when she did that, and all of my love for her came back, almost overwhelming me. We stood locked in an embrace with tears streaming down our faces.

  ‘Well, old wolf,’ another voice said acidly, ‘I see you’ve finally decided to come back to the scene of the crime.’

  I winced. Then I sighed, took my arms from around Beldaran’s slender shoulders, and turned to face Polgara.

  Chapter 21

  Beldaran was probably the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, but Polgara, to put it kindly, was no prize. Her dark hair was a tangled wreck with twigs and leaves snarled in it. She was tall and skinny and quite nearly as dirty as Beldin. She had knobby knees – usually skinned up – and her dirty fingernails were ragged and chewed off close. It took her years to train herself not to bite her nails. The white lock at her brow was scarcely visible, since her hair was absolutely filthy. I got the strong impression that it was all quite deliberate. Polgara’s got very good eyes, and I’m certain that she could see that she was no match for her sister when it came to sheer physical beauty. For some obscure reason, she seemed to be going out of her way to make herself as ugly as she possibly could. She was succeeding admirably.