Belgarath the Sorcerer

by David Eddings

  ‘Why do you want to take him fishing then?’

  ‘To catch fish, Pol. Isn’t that why people usually go fishing?’

  She rolled her eyes upward. ‘Men!’ she said.

  Geran and I spent a pleasurable afternoon working a mountain stream that tumbled down out of that little lake I mentioned before. We didn’t have much time to talk, because the fish were biting, and that kept us quite busy.

  The next morning, I told them all good-bye and left for Erat. I wanted to look in on Durnik. I knew that he was the ‘Man with Two Lives’, but I didn’t realize at the time exactly what that was going to mean, nor just how important Durnik was going to be in all our lives. Now, of course, he’s my son-in-law and the most recent disciple of my Master.

  Isn’t it strange how these things turn out?

  Durnik was about a year younger than Geran, but he was already very strong. He was apprenticed to a blacksmith named Barl, and working around a forge is one of the fastest ways I know of to develop muscles.

  Durnik was already a very serious young fellow, and he was growing up to be a typical Sendar, sober, industrious, and steadfastly moral. I seriously doubt that Durnik’s had an unclean or salacious thought in his entire life.

  I broke a buckle on my pack - quite deliberately - and I stopped by Barl’s shop to get it fixed. Barl was busy shoeing a horse, so Durnik repaired my buckle. We talked for a little bit, and then I moved on.

  I frankly doubt that my son-in-law even remembers that meeting. I do, though, because that brief conversation told me all I really needed to know about him.

  After I left Barl’s smithy, I turned south and proceeded into Arendia to look in on the Wildantors. The most typical of the family was a young count, Reldegen, who seemed fully intent on going through his life with his rapier half-drawn. Reldegen was sort of what they had in mind when they came up with the term ‘hot-head’. He wasn’t quite as prone to disaster as his nephew, Lelldorin, would become, but he ran him a close second. I liked him, though.

  When I left Arendia, I hurried on back to the Vale. Winter was coming anyway, and I wanted to find out if the twins had discovered anything new. Events were plunging ahead now, and scarcely a day went by that they didn’t crack open another passage in the Mrin.

  It wasn’t until 5344 that the problem in Algaria was resolved. Young Hettar and his parents had been traveling alone near the Eastern Escarpment, and they were attacked by Murgos. The Murgos killed the boy’s parents and then dragged him behind a horse for several miles and left him for dead. Cho-Hag found him a couple of days later, and in time, adopted him. Hettar would be the next Chief of the clan-chiefs, and it wouldn’t take a clan war to get him there. That was a relief.

  In the spring of the following year, the twins strongly suggested that I take Polgara to meet those young Alorns who would become so important to us later. ‘They really ought to get to know her, Belgarath,’ Belkira told me. ‘The time’s going to come when you’ll all be doing important things together, so they should be able to recognize her on sight. Alorns have some peculiar prejudices where women are concerned, so you’d better get them used to the idea that Pol’s no ordinary woman while they’re still young. We’ll go up to Annath with you and keep an eye on things while the two of you are gone.’

  I couldn’t fault their reasoning, since they were Alorns themselves. Besides, Pol was vegetating in Annath, and I thought it might not be a bad idea for her to get away for a while.

  You have no idea of how quickly she agreed with me about that.

  We went on over to Algaria first, since it was right next door - so to speak - and we finally ran Cho-Hag down. Algars do move around a lot. Even at the age of seven, Hettar was a grim-faced little boy who spent almost every waking moment practicing with his weapons and his horses. His eyes went absolutely flat every time anyone even mentioned the word ‘Murgo.’ He obviously already had plans for what would become his life’s work. I don’t like Murgos all that much myself, but Hettar takes it to extremes.

  All Alorns have heard of me and my daughter, of course, so Cho-Hag greeted us royally. I saw to it that Pol got the chance to talk with Hettar at some length, and she was very dubious about him when we left for Drasnia. ‘I think he’s hovering right on the verge of insanity, father,’ she told me. ‘He’ll be an absolute monster when he grows up, and he’ll eventually become King of the Algars.’

  ‘That’s a problem for the Murgos, isn’t it?’ I replied.

  ‘Don’t be so smug, old man. Hettar’s got all the makings of a berserker, and I think there’ll be times when that could put us all in danger. You do know that he’s a Sha-Dar, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I sensed that the first time I saw him. Does he know yet?’

  ‘He might. He knows that he’s a lot closer to horses than other Algars are. He may not have made the connection yet. Are the other two Alorns as wild as this one seems to be?’

  ‘I haven’t seen either of them in a while. Kheldar should be fairly civilized. He’s Drasnian, after all. I can’t make any promises about Barak. He’s Cherek, and that whole country’s full of wild-men.’

  Prince Kheldar, the nephew of Rhodar, Crown Prince of Drasnia, was a small, wiry boy with a long, sharp nose, and he was already too clever by half. Even at ten, he was smarter than most full-grown men. He flattered Pol outrageously and won her over in about ten minutes. She liked him, but she was wise enough not to trust him.

  You should always keep that firmly in mind if you happen to have any dealings with Silk. It’s perfectly all right to like him, but don’t ever make the mistake of trusting him. He’s married now, but his wife’s at least as devious as he is, so I wouldn’t trust her, either.

  After we’d visited with Kheldar’s family for a few days, Pol and I went down to Kotu and took ship for Val Alorn. When we got there, I borrowed some horses at the palace, and we rode to Trellheim. Barak was eight years old or so, and his cousin, Anheg, the Crown Prince of Cherek, was about a year older. Anheg was visiting his cousin, and the two of them were already almost as big as full-grown men. Barak had flaming red hair, but Anheg’s hair was coarse and black. They were a couple of rowdies, but that was to be expected. They were Chereks, after all.

  I introduced Pol to them, and she managed to get them to stay in one place long enough for a talk.

  ‘Well?’ I said to her as we were riding back to Val Alorn, ‘what do you think?’

  ‘They’ll work out just fine,’ she replied. ‘They’re noisy and boastful, but they’re both very intelligent. Anheg’s going to make a very good king, I think, and he already relies on Barak.’

  ‘Did you get any sense of what that “Dreadful Bear” business is all about?’

  ‘Not entirely. It’s got something to do with the Godslayer. It could simply mean that Barak’s going to go berserk if the Godslayer’s in any kind of danger, but it might go even further. Maybe it’ll get clearer by the time Barak’s full-grown.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. I’d like to know about it a little in advance if there’s going to be an actual change.’

  We sailed back to Darine from Val Alorn, and then went on to Annath. The twins went back to the Vale, and I said good bye to Pol and took the Great North Road back to Boktor. I wanted to have a look at Prince Kheldar’s uncle, Rhodar, the Crown Prince of Drasnia. I talked with him for a bit, and I wasn’t disappointed. Even as a young man, Rhodar was decidedly chubby, but what a mind he had! The three of them, Rhodar, Anheg, and Cho-Ram were all going to be outstanding kings, and I was fairly sure we were going to need all their talents when things started to come to a head.

  I was on the go almost continually then, so I seldom got back to the Vale to talk with the twins. We stayed in touch, though.

  Then, in the spring of 5346, they told me that Pol had gone off on another of those mysterious errands of hers and that they were filling in for her at Annath.

  I hurried back there so that I could talk with them face to face. Our means of communicat
ion was convenient, I’ll grant you, but there were Murgos in the west again, and where you’ve got Murgos, you’ve also got Grolims, and Grolims have ways to pick random conversations out of the air. I definitely didn’t want some Grolim locating Polgara and tracking her back to Annath.

  ‘I wish she’d let me know what she’s going to do before she just runs off like this!’ I fumed when I met with the twins. ‘Where’s she gone to this time?’

  ‘Gar og Nadrak,’ Beltira replied.

  ‘She’s gone where?’

  ‘Gar og Nadrak. This time it was the Mrin that told her to go there. You remember those Nadrak “friends” we told you about back in the forty-ninth century? And you went there to have a look?’

  ‘Yes.’ Of course I remembered. That was the time I’d picked up all that gold.

  ‘These “friends” are out and about now, so Pol’s gone to Gar og Nadrak to identify them.’

  ‘I could have done that!’ I shouted in a sudden fury.

  ‘Not as well as Pol can,’ Belkira disagreed. ‘Don’t yell at us, Belgarath. We just passed on the instructions to her, we didn’t make them up.’

  I got control of myself. ‘Where exactly is she?’

  ‘She and her owner are in Yar Nadrak.’

  ‘Her owner?’

  ‘Didn’t you know? Women are considered property in Gar og Nadrak.’

  Chapter 48

  It was in that same year, 5346, that a recurring pestilence broke out once again in western Drasnia. The disease appears to be endemic in that part of the world, and I rather think that the fens might have something to do with it. It’s a virulent kind of disease that’s usually fatal, and those who survive it are generally grotesquely disfigured.

  Since Pol was off in Yar Nadrak, I was obliged to spend a year or so pinned down in Annath. I kept an eye on Geran, but we seldom had time to do any fishing, since he had other things on his mind. He was in the process of building his own house, and every time Ildera’s clan was near the border, he spent just about every waking moment with her. Ildera was a tall blonde girl and very lovely. Geran seemed quite taken with her, not that he really had any choice in the matter. It appeared that the Necessity could handle those arrangements all by itself even when Pol wasn’t around to guide the young people into those marriages. That made me feel rather smug, for some reason.

  It was about midsummer in the year 5347 when a bone-thin Drasnian named Khendon came to Annath with a message for me. Khendon was a margrave, I think, but he had better things to do than sit around polishing his title. Since spying seems to be Drasnia’s national industry, most members of the Drasnian nobility routinely attend the academy of the intelligence service, and Khendon had been no exception. It’s while they’re at the academy that they pick up those distinctive nicknames, and Khendon had been dubbed ‘Javelin’, probably because he was so thin. Though he wasn’t really very old, Javelin was already one of the best in the service. I’ve always rather liked him. He’s one of the few men in the world who can keep Silk off-balance. That in itself makes him extremely valuable.

  He leaned back in his chair in Darral’s kitchen while Geran’s mother was fixing supper. Darral and Geran were still hard at work in the stone-quarry. ‘I chanced to be in Yar Nadrak, Ancient One,’ Javelin told me, ‘and your daughter looked me up. She gave me a message for you.’ He reached inside his doublet, drew out a folded and sealed sheet of parchment, and held it out to me. ‘She said that you’d understand why she chose to do it this way instead of what she called “the other way”. What did she mean by that?’

  ‘It’s one of those things you don’t need to know about, Javelin,’ I told him.

  ‘I need to know about everything, Ancient One,’ he disagreed.

  ‘Curiosity can get you into a lot of trouble, Javelin. There are two worlds out there that sort of co-exist. You take care of yours, and I’ll take care of mine. We’ll try not to step on each other’s toes too often. Believe me, it’s smoother that way. I’ve been at this for a long time, so I know what I’m doing.’ I broke the wax seal - which I’m sure Javelin had carefully replaced after he’d browsed through the message - and read the note from my daughter.

  ‘Father,’ it began, ‘I’m ready to come home now. Come to Yar Nadrak, and bring plenty of money. My owner will probably expect a sizeable price for me.’

  ‘What’s the going price for a slave-woman in Gar og Nadrak, Khendon?’ I asked the skinny Drasnian.

  ‘That depends on the woman, Holy One,’ he replied, ‘and upon how good a bargainer the buyer is. Bear in mind the fact that there are three parties involved in the bargaining.’

  ‘Would you like to explain that?’

  ‘The woman’s interested in the price too, Belgarath - since she gets half, and since the price is an indication of her value. As a matter of pride, your daughter’s going to insist on a very high price.’

  ‘Even from me?’

  ‘It’s a quaint custom, Holy One. You do want her back, don’t you?’

  ‘That depends on how much it’s going to cost me.’

  ‘Belgarath!’ He actually sounded shocked.

  ‘I’m joking, Khendon. Just give me a round number. I’ve got some ten-ounce gold bars knocking around in my tower somewhere. How many should I take with me?’

  ‘A dozen or so, at least. Anything less would be insulting.’

  ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  ‘You’re the one who asked the question, Belgarath. I’m just trying to give you my best guess.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said in a flat tone of voice. ‘What’s her owner’s name?’

  ‘Gallak, Holy One. He’s a merchant who’s involved in the fur trade. The fact that he owns your daughter gives him a certain amount of prestige, so he probably won’t sell her cheaply. Take my advice and bring plenty of money to the bargaining table.’

  I stood up. ‘Keep an eye on things here, Khendon. I’ll send the twins up to relieve you as soon as I get back to the Vale.’

  ‘It shall be as you say, Holy Belgarath.’

  I walked on out of Annath, went falcon, and flew directly to the Vale. I spoke briefly with the twins, then I hunted through my tower and finally located my stack of gold bars - behind a bookshelf, if you can imagine that. I tucked about twenty of them - twelve and a half pounds or so - into a saddle-bag, and then I went north in search of an Algar clan to provide me with a horse. I’ve imposed on the Algars that way any number of times over the years.

  I skirted the Sendarian border, and I reached Aldurford in a couple of days. Then I followed the Great North Road up along the causeway that crosses the fens to Boktor. I stopped there only long enough to purchase a suit of Drasnian clothes. Then I crossed the moors to the Nadrak border.

  ‘What’s your business in Gar og Nadrak?’ one of the border guards demanded suspiciously after he’d stopped me.

  ‘My business is just that, friend,’ I told him bluntly, ‘my business. I’m going to Yar Nadrak to buy something. Then I’m going to take it back to Boktor and sell it. I’ve got all the necessary documents, if you want to see them.’

  ‘A certain gratuity’s customary,’ he suggested hopefully.

  ‘I try not to be a slave to custom,’ I told him. ‘I should probably tell you that King Drosta’s a personal friend of mine.’ Actually I’d never even met Drosta, but dropping names can be useful.

  The guard’s face grew slightly apprehensive.

  ‘I wonder how your king’s going to react when I tell him that his border guards are accepting bribes,’ I added.

  ‘You wouldn’t actually tell him, would you?’

  ‘Not if you let me go across the border without any more of this nonsense.’

  He sullenly raised the gate and let me pass. I suppose I could have paid him, but Rablek and I had worked very hard digging up that gold, so I didn’t feel like squandering any of it.

  I followed the North Caravan Route eastward, and it took me about a week to reach Yar Nadrak
, the capital. Yar Nadrak’s a particularly ugly town. It lies at the juncture of the east and west forks of the River Cordu, and the land around it is marshy and dotted with charred snags, since Nadraks habitually clear forests by setting fire to them. I think the thing that makes the capital so unappealing is the fact that just about everything inside the walls is smeared with tar. It keeps wood from decaying, I guess, but it doesn’t add much in the way of beauty - or fragrance.

  I rode directly to the fur market and asked around for the fur merchant, Gallak. I was directed to a nearby tavern, which is probably the last place I’d have expected to find Polgara. It was a rowdy sort of place with a low ceiling held up by tar-smeared beams, and as soon as I entered I saw something that really surprised me.

  Polgara was dancing.

  She might not have been quite as good as Vella, but she came very close. She was wearing soft leather boots of a Nadrak design, and the hilt of a dagger protruded from the top of each one. Two more daggers were tucked into her belt. She was wearing a rather flimsy dress made of Mallorean silk - blue naturally - and all sorts of interesting things were going on under that dress as she spun on flickering feet through the intricate steps of the dance.

  The patrons of the tavern were cheering her on, and I started feeling belligerent. Sometimes it feels as if I’ve spent eons feeling belligerent when men have started paying too much attention to Polgara. But aren’t fathers supposed to feel that way?

  Anyway, she concluded her dance with that challenging strut that’s the traditional finale of the dance of the Nadrak woman, and the patrons cheered, whistled, and stamped their feet in approval. Then she returned to the table where the man I guessed to be her owner sat basking in reflected glory. He was a lean-faced Nadrak of middle years, and the cut and quality of his garments proclaimed him to be a man of some substance. I noticed that he very carefully kept his hands to himself when Pol sat down. It was fairly clear that she knew how to use those daggers.

  I pushed my way through the crowd to his table. ‘That’s quite a woman you’ve got there, friend,’ I said to him. ‘Would you care to sell her?’ It was a little blunt, but Nadraks tend to get right to the point in these matters.