Eddings, David - Belgariad 03 - Magicians Gambit

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The Belgariad: Magicians GambitMAGICIAN'S GAMBIT

For Dorothy,

who has the enduring grace to put up with Eddings men,

and for Wayne,

for reasons we both understand but could never be put into words.

PROLOGUE

Being an Account of how Gorim sought a God for his People and of how he found UL

upon the sacred Mountain of Prolgu.

-based upon The Book of Ulgo and other fragments

AT THE BEGINNING Of Days, the world was spun out of darkness by the seven Gods,

and they also created beasts and fowls, serpents and fishes, and lastly Man.

Now there dwelt in the heavens a spirit known as UL who did not join in this

creation. And because he withheld his power and wisdom, much that was made was

marred and imperfect. Many creatures were unseemly and strange. These the

younger Gods sought to unmake, so that all upon the world might be fair.

But UL stretched forth his hand and prevented them, saying: "What you have

wrought you may not unmake. You have torn asunder the fabric and peace of the

heavens to bring forth this world as a plaything and an entertainment. Know,

however, that whatsoever you make, be it ever so monstrous, shall abide as a

rebuke for your folly. In the day that one thing which you have made is unmade,

all shall be unmade."

The younger Gods were angered. To each monstrous or unseemly thing they had made

they said: "Go thou unto UL and let him be thy God." Then from the races of men,

each God chose that people which pleased him. And when there were yet peoples

who had no God, the younger Gods drove them forth and said: "Go unto UL, and he

shall be your God." And UL did not speak.

For long and bitter generations, the Godless Ones wandered and cried out unheard

in the wastelands and wilderness of the West.

Then there appeared among their numbers a just and righteous man named Gorim. He

gathered the multitudes before him and spoke to them: "We wither and fall as the

leaves from the rigors of our wanderings. Our children and our old men die.

Better it is that only one shall die. Therefore, stay here and rest upon this

plain. I will search for the God named UL so that we may worship him and have a

place in this world."

For twenty years, Gorim sought UL, but in vain. Yet the years passed, his hair

turned gray, and he wearied of his search. In despair, he went up onto a high

mountain and cried in a great voice to the sky: "No more! I will search no

longer. The Gods are a mockery and deception, and the world is a barren void.

There is no UL, and I am sick of the curse and afliiction of my life."

The Spirit of UL heard and replied: "Why art thou wroth with me, Gorim? Thy

making and thy casting out were none of my doing."

Gorim was afraid and fell upon his face. And UL spoke again, saying:

"Rise, Gorim, for I am not thy God."

Gorim did not rise. "O my God," he cried, "hide not thy face from thy people who

are sorely afflicted because they are outcast and have no God to protect them."

"Rise, Gorim," UL repeated, "and quit this place. Cease thy complaining. Seek

thou a God elsewhere and leave me in peace."

Still Gorim did not rise. "O my God," he said, "I will still abide. Thy people

hunger and thirst. They seek thy blessing and a place where they may dwell."

"Thy speech wearies me," UL said and he departed.

Gorim remained on the mountain, and the beasts of the field and fowls of the air

brought him sustenance. For more than a year he remained. Then the monstrous and

unseemly things which the Gods had made came and sat at his feet, watching him.

The Spirit of UL was troubled. At last he appeared to Gorim. "Abidest thou

still?"

Gorim fell on his face and said: "O my God, thy people cry unto thee in their

affliction."

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The Spirit of UL fled. But Gorim abode there for another year. Dragons brought

him meat, and unicorns gave him water. And again UL came to him, asking:

"Abidest thou still?"

Gorim fell on his face. "O my God," he cried, "thy people perish in the absence

of thy care." And UL fled from the righteous man. Another year passed while

nameless, unseen things brought him food and drink. And the Spirit of UL came to

the high mountain and ordered: "Rise, Gorim."

From his prostrate position, Gorim pleaded: "O my God, have mercy."

"Rise, Gorim," UL replied. He reached down and lifted Gorim up with his hands.

"I am UL - thy God. I command thee to rise and stand before me."

"Then wilt thou be my God?" Gorim asked. "And God unto my people?"

"I am thy God and the God of thy people also," UL said.

Gorim looked down from his high place and beheld the unseemly creatures which

had cared for him in his travail. "What of these, O my God? Wilt thou be God

unto the basilisk and the minotaur, the Dragon and the chimera, the unicorn and

the thing unnamed, the winged serpent and the thing unseen? For these are also

outcast. Yet there is beauty in each. Turn not your face from them, O my God,

for in them is great worthiness. They were sent to thee by the younger Gods. Who

will be their God if you refuse them?"

"It was done in my despite," UL said. "These creatures were sent unto me to

bring shame upon me that I had rebuked the younger Gods. I will in no wise be

God unto monsters."

The creatures at Gorim's feet moaned. Gorim seated himself on the earth and

said: "Yet will I abide, O my God."

"Abide if it please thee," UL said and departed.

It was even as before. Gorim abode, the creatures sustained him, and UL was

troubled. And before the holiness of Gorim, the Great God repented and came

again. "Rise, Gorim, and serve thy God." UL reached down and lifted Gorim.

"Bring unto me the creatures who sit before thee and I will consider them. If

each hath beauty and worthiness, as thou sayest, then I will consent to be their

God also."

Then Gorim brought the creatures before UL. The creatures prostrated themselves

before the God and moaned to beseech his blessing. UL marveled that he had not

seen the beauty of each creature before. He raised up his hands and blessed

them, saying: "I am UL and I find beauty and worthiness in each of you. I will

be your God, and you shall prosper, and peace shall be among you."

Gorim was glad of heart and he named the high place where all had come to pass

Prolgu, which means "Holy Place." Then he departed and returned to the plain to

bring his people unto their God. But they did not know him, for the hands of UL

had touched him, and all color had fled, leaving his body and hair as white as

new snow. The people feared him and drove him away with stones.

Gorim cried unto UL: "O my God, thy touch has changed me, and my people know me

not."

UL raised his hand, and the people were made colorless like Gorim. The Spirit of

UL spoke to them in a great voice: "Hearken unto the words of your God. This is

he whom you call Gorim, and he has prevailed upon me to accept you as my people,

to watch over you, provide for you, and be God over you. Henceforth shall you be

called UL-Go in remembrance of me and in token of his holiness. You shall do as

he commands and go where he leads. Any who fail to obey him or follow him will I

cut off to wither and perish and be no more."

Gorim commanded the people to take up their goods and their cattle and follow

him to the mountains. But the elders of the people did not believe him, nor that

the voice had been the voice of UL. They spoke to Gorim in despite, saying: "If

you are the servant of the God UL, perform a wonder in proof of it."

Gorim answered: "Behold your skin and hair. Is that not wonder enough for you?"

They were troubled and went away. But they came to him again, saying: "The mark

upon us is because of a pestilence which you brought from some unclean place and

no proof of the favor of UL."

Gorim raised his hands, and the creatures which had sustained him came to him

like lambs to a shepherd. The elders were afraid and went away for a time. But

soon they came again, saying: "The creatures are monstrous and unseemly. You are

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a demon sent to lure the people to destruction, not a servant of the Great God

UL. We have still seen no proof of the favor of UL."

Now Gorim grew weary of them. He cried in a great voice: "I say to the people

that they have heard the voice of UL. I have suffered much in your behalf. Now I

return to Prolgu, the holy place. Let him who would follow me do so; let him who

would not remain." He turned and went toward the mountains.

Some few people went with him, but the greater part of the people remained, and

they reviled Gorim and those who followed him: "Where is this wonder which

proves the favor of UL? We do not follow or obey Gorim, yet neither do we wither

and perish."

Then Gorim looked upon them in great sadness and spoke to them for the last

time: "You have besought a wonder from me. Then behold this wonder. Even as the

voice of UL said, you are withered like the limb of a tree that is cut off.

Truly, this day you have perished." And he led the few who followed him into the

mountains and to Prolgu.

The multitude of the people mocked him and returned to their tents to laugh at

the folly of those who followed him. For a year they laughed and mocked. Then

they laughed no more, for their women were barren and bore no children. The

people withered and in time they perished and were no more.

The people who followed Gorim came with him to Prolgu. There they built a city.

The Spirit of UL was with them, and they dwelt in peace with the creatures who

had sustained Gorim. Gorim lived for many lifetimes; and after him, each High

Priest of UL was named Gorim and lived to a great age. For a thousand years, the

peace of UL was with them, and they believed it would last forever.

But the evil God Torak stole the Orb that was made by the God Aldur, and the war

of men and Gods began. Torak used the Orb to break the earth asunder and let in

the sea, and the Orb burned him horribly. And he fled into Mallorea.

The earth was maddened by her wounding, and the creatures which had dwelt in

peace with the people of Ulgo were also maddened by that wounding. They rose

against the fellowship of UL and cast down the cities and slew the people, until

few remained.

Those who escaped fled to Prolgu, where the creatures dared not follow for fear

of the wrath of UL. Loud were the cries and lamentations of the people. UL was

troubled and he revealed to them the caves that lay under Prolgu. The people

went down into the sacred caves of UL and dwelt there.

In time, Belgarath the Sorcerer led the king of the Alorns and his sons into

Mallorea to steal back the Orb. When Torak sought to pursue, the wrath of the

Orb drove him back. Belgarath gave the Orb to the first Rivan King, saying that

so long as one of his descendants held the Orb, the West would be safe.

Now the Alorns scattered and pushed southward into new lands. And the peoples of

other Gods were troubled by the war of Gods and men and fled to seize other

lands which they called by strange names. But the people of UL held to the

caverns of Prolgu and had no dealings with them. UL protected them and hid them,

and the strangers did not know that the people were there. For century after

century, the people of UL took no note of the outer world, even when that world

was rocked by the assassination of the last Rivan King and his family.

But when Torak came ravening into the West, leading a mighty army through the

lands of the children of UL, the Spirit of UL spoke with the Gorim. And the

Gorim led forth his people in stealth by night. They fell upon the sleeping army

and wreaked mighty havoc. Thus the army of Torak was weakened and fell in defeat

before the armies of the West at a place called Vo Mimbre.

Then the Gorim girded himself and went forth to hold council with the victors.

And he brought back word that Torak had been gravely wounded. Though the evil

God's body was stolen away and hidden by his disciple Belzedar, it was said that

Torak would lie bound in a sleep like death itself until a descendant of the

Rivan line should again sit upon the throne at Riva - which meant never, since

it was known that no descendants of that line lived.

Shocking as the visit of the Gorim to the outer world had been, no harm seemed

to come of it. The children of UL still prospered under the care of their God

and life went on almost as before. It was noticed that the Gorim seemed to spend

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less time studying The Book of Ulgo and more searching through moldy old scrolls

of prophecy. But a certain oddity might be expected of one who had gone forth

from the caverns of UL into the world of other peoples.

Then a strange old man appeared before the entrance to the caverns, demanding to

speak with the Gorim. And such was the power of his voice that the Gorim was

summoned. Then, for the first time since the people had sought safety in the

caverns, one who was not of the people of UL was admitted. The Gorim took the

stranger into his chambers and remained closeted with him for days. And

thereafter, the strange man with the white beard and tattered clothing appeared

at long intervals and was welcomed by the Gorim.

It was even reported once by a young boy that there was a great gray wolf with

the Gorim. But that was probably only some dream brought on by sickness, though

the boy refused to recant.

The people adjusted and accepted the strangeness of their Gorim. And the years

passed, and the people gave thanks to their God, knowing that they were the

chosen people of the Great God UL.

Part One

MARAGOR

Chapter One

HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Princess Ce'Nedra, jewel of the House of Borune and the

loveliest flower of the Tolnedran Empire, sat cross-legged on a sea chest in the

oak-beamed cabin beneath the stern of Captain Greldik's ship, nibbling

thoughtfully on the end of a tendril of her coppery hair as she watched the Lady

Polgara attend to the broken arm of Belgarath the Sorcerer. The princess wore a

short, pale-green Dryad tunic, and there was a smudge of ash on one of her

cheeks. On the deck above she could hear the measured beat of the drum that

paced the oar strokes of Greldik's sailors as they rowed upstream from the

ash-choked city of Sthiss Tor.

It was all absolutely dreadful, she decided. What had begun as merely another

move in the interminable game of authority and rebellion against it that she had

been playing with her father, the Emperor, for as long as she could remember had

suddenly turned deadly serious. She had never really intended for things to go

this far when she and Master Jeebers had crept from the Imperial Palace in Tol

Honeth that night so many weeks ago. Jeebers had soon deserted her - he had been

no more than a temporary convenience, anyway - and now she was caught up with

this strange group of grim-faced people from the north in a quest she could not

even understand. The Lady Polgara, whose very name sent a chill through the

princess, had rather bluntly informed her in the Wood of the Dryads that the

game was over and that no evasion, wheedling, or coaxing would alter the fact

that she, Princess Ce'Nedra, would stand in the Hall of the Rivan King on her

sixteenth birthday - in chains if necessary. Ce'Nedra knew with absolute

certainty that Lady Polgara had meant exactly that, and she had a momentary

vision of being dragged, clanking and rattling in her chains, to stand in total

humiliation in that grim hall while hundreds of bearded Alorns laughed at her.

That had to be avoided at any cost. And so it had been that she had accompanied

them - not willingly, perhaps - but never openly rebellious. The hint of steel

in Lady Polgara's eyes always seemed to carry with it the suggestion of manacles

and clinking chains, and that suggestion cowed the princess into obedience far

more than all the Imperial power her father possessed had ever been able to do.

Ce'Nedra had only the faintest idea of what these people were doing. They seemed

to be following someone or something, and the trail had led them here into the

snake-infested swamps of Nyissa. Murgos seemed to be somehow involved, throwing

frightful obstacles in their path, and Queen Salmissra also seemed to take an

interest, even going so far as to have young Garion abducted.

Ce'Nedra interrupted her musing to look across the cabin at the boy. Why would

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the queen of Nyissa want him? He was so ordinary. He was a peasant, a scullion,

a nobody. He was a nice enough boy, certainly, with rather plain, sandy hair

that kept tumbling down across his forehead, making her fingers itch to push it

back. He had a nice enough face - in a plain sort of way - and he was somebody

she could talk to when she was lonely or frightened, and somebody she could

fight with when she felt peevish, since he was only slightly older than she was.

But he completely refused to treat her with the respect due her - he probably

didn't even know how. Why all this excruciating interest in him? She pondered

that, looking thoughtfully at him.

She was doing it again. Angrily she jerked her eyes from his face. Why was she

always watching him? Each time her thoughts wandered, her eyes automatically

sought out his face, and it wasn't really that exciting a face to look at. She

had even caught herself making up excuses to put herself into places where she

could watch him. It was stupid!

Ce'Nedra nibbled at her hair and thought and nibbled some more, until once again

her eyes went back to their minute study of Garion's features.

"Is he going to be all right?" Barak, the Earl of Trellheim, rumbled, tugging

absently at his great red beard as he watched the Lady Polgara put the finishing

touches on Belgarath's sling.

"It's a simple break," she replied professionally, putting away her bandages.

"And the old fool heals fast."

Belgarath winced as he shifted his newly splinted arm. "You didn't have to be so

rough, Pol." His rust-colored old tunic showed several dark mud smears and a new

rip, evidence of his encounter with a tree.

"It had to be set, father," she told him. "You didn't want it to heal crooked,

did you?"

"I think you actually enjoyed it," he accused.

"Next time you can set it yourself," she suggested coolly, smoothing her gray

dress.

"I need a drink," Belgarath grumbled to the hulking Barak.

The Earl of Trellheim went to the narrow door. "Would you have a tankard of ale

brought for Belgarath?" he asked the sailor outside.

"How is he?" the sailor inquired.

"Bad-tempered," Barak replied. "And he'll probably get worse if he doesn't get a

drink pretty soon."

"I'll go at once," the sailor said.

"Wise decision."

This was yet another confusing thing for Ce'Nedra. The noblemen in their party

all treated this shabby-looking old man with enormous respect; but so far as she

could tell, he didn't even have a title. She could determine with exquisite

precision the exact difference between a baron and a general of the Imperial

Legions, between a grand duke of Tolnedra and a crown prince of Arendia, between

the Rivan Warder and the king of the Chereks; but she had not the faintest idea

where sorcerers fit in. The materially oriented mind of Tolnedra refused even to

admit that sorcerers existed. While it was quite true that Lady Polgara, with

titles from half the kingdoms of the West, was the most respected woman in the

world, Belgarath was a vagabond, a vagrant, frequently a public nuisance. And

Garion, she reminded herself, was his grandson.

"I think it's time you told us what happened, father," Lady Polgara was saying

to her patient.

"I'd really rather not talk about it," he replied shortly.

She turned to Prince Kheldar, the peculiar little Drasnian nobleman with the

sharp face and sardonic wit, who lounged on a bench with an impudent expression

on his face. "Well, Silk?" she asked him.

"I'm sure you can see my position, old friend," the prince apologized to

Belgarath with a great show of regret. "If I try to keep secrets, she'll only

force things out of me - unpleasantly, I imagine."

Belgarath looked at him with a stony face, then snorted with disgust.

"It's not that I want to say anything, you realize."

Belgarath turned away.

"I knew you'd understand."

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"The story, Silk!" Barak insisted impatiently. "It's really very simple,"

Kheldar told him.

"But you're going to complicate it, right?"

"Just tell us what happened, Silk," Polgara said.

The Drasnian sat up on his bench. "It's not really much of a story," he began.

"We located Zedar's trail and followed it down into Nyissa about three weeks

ago. We had a few encounters with some Nyissan border guards - nothing very

serious. Anyway, the trail of the Orb turned east almost as soon as it crossed

the border. That was a surprise. Zedar had been headed for Nyissa with so much

single-mindedness that we'd both assumed that he'd made some kind of arrangement

with Salmissra. Maybe that's what he wanted everybody to think. He's very

clever, and Salmissra's notorious for involving herself in things that don't

really concern her."

"I've attended to that," Lady Polgara said somewhat grimly.

"What happened?" Belgarath asked her.

"I'll tell you about it later, father. Go on, Silk."

Silk shrugged. "There isn't a great deal more to it. We followed Zedar's trail

into one of those ruined cities up near the old Marag border. Belgarath had a

visitor there - at least he said he did. I didn't see anybody. At any rate, he

told me that something had happened to change our plans and that we were going

to have to turn around and come on downriver to Sthiss Tor to rejoin all of you.

He didn't have time to explain much more, because the jungles were suddenly

alive with Murgos - either looking for us or for Zedar, we never found out

which. Since then we've been dodging Murgos and Nyissans both - traveling at

night, hiding - that sort of thing. We sent a messenger once. Did he ever get

through?"

"The day before yesterday," Polgara replied. "He had a fever, though, and it

took a while to get your message from him."

Kheldar nodded. "Anyway, there were Grolims with the Murgos, and they were

trying to find us with their minds. Belgarath was doing something to keep them

from locating us that way. Whatever it was must have taken a great deal of

concentration, because he wasn't paying too much attention to where he was

going. Early this morning we were leading the horses through a patch of swamp.

Belgarath was sort of stumbling along with his mind on other things, and that

was when the tree fell on him."

"I might have guessed," Polgara said. "Did someone make it fall?"

"I don't think so," Silk answered. "It might have been an old deadfall, but I

rather doubt it. It was rotten at the center. I tried to warn him, but he walked

right under it."

"All right," Belgarath said.

"I did try to warn you."

"Don't belabor it, Silk."

"I wouldn't want them to think I didn't try to warn you," Silk protested.

Polgara shook her head and spoke with a profound note of disappointment in her

voice. "Fatherl"

"Just let it lie, Polgara," Belgarath told her.

"I dug him out from under the tree and patched him up as best I could," Silk

went on. "Then I stole that little boat and we started downriver. We were doing

fine until all this dust started falling."

"What did you do with the horses?" Hettar asked. Ce'Nedra was a little afraid to

this tall, silent Algar lord with his shaved head, his black leather clothing,

and his flowing black scalp lock. He never seemed to smile, and the expression

on his hawklike face at even the mention of the word "Murgo" was as bleak as

stone. The only thing that even slightly humanized him was his overwhelming

concern for horses.

"They're all right," Silk assured him. "I left them picketed where the Nyissans

won't find them. They'll be fine where they are until we pick them up."

"You said when you came aboard that Ctuchik has the Orb now," Polgara said to

Belgarath. "How did that happen?"

The old man shrugged. "Beltira didn't go into any of the details. All he told me

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was that Ctuchik was waiting when Zedar crossed the border into Cthol Murgos.

Zedar managed to escape, but he had to leave the Orb behind."

"Did you speak with Beltira?"

"With his mind," Belgarath answered.

"Did he say why the Master wants us to go to the Vale?"

"No. It probably never occurred to him to ask. You know how Beltira is."

"It's going to take months, father," Polgara objected with a worried frown.

"It's two hundred and fifty leagues to the Vale."

"Aldur wants us to go there," he answered. "I'm not going to start disobeying

him after all these years."

"And in the meantime, Ctuchik's got the Orb at Rak Cthol."

"It's not going to do him any good, Pol. Torak himself couldn't make the Orb

submit to him, and he tried for over two thousand years. I know where Rak Cthol

is; Ctuchik can't hide it from me. He'll be there with the Orb when I decide to

go take it away from him. I know how to deal with that magician." He said the

word "magician" with a note of profound contempt in his voice.

"What's Zedar going to be doing all that time?'

"Zedar's got problems of his own. Beltira says that he's moved Torak from the

place where he had him hidden. I think we can depend on him to keep Torak's body

as far away from Rak Cthol as he possibly can. Actually, things have worked out

rather well. I was getting a little tired of chasing Zedar anyway."

Ce'Nedra found all this a bit confusing. Why were they all so caught up in the

movements of a strangely named pair of Angarak sorcerers and this mysterious

jewel which everyone seemed to covet? To her, one jewel was much the same as

another. Her childhood had been surrounded by such opulence that she had long

since ceased to attach much importance to ornaments. At the moment, her only

adornment consisted of a pair of tiny gold earrings shaped like little acorns,

and her fondness for them arose not so much from the fact that they were gold

but rather from the tinkling sound the cunningly contrived clappers inside them

made when she moved her head.

All of this sounded like one of the Morn myths she'd heard from a storyteller in

her father's court years before. There had been a magic jewel in that, she

remembered. It was stolen by the God of the Angaraks, Torak, and rescued by a

sorcerer and some Alorn kings who put it on the pommel of a sword kept in the

throne room at Riva. It was somehow supposed to protect the West from some

terrible disaster that would happen if it were lost. Curious - the name of the

sorcerer in the legend was Belgarath, the same as that of this old man.

But that would make him thousands of years old, which was ridiculous! He must

have been named after the ancient myth hero - unless he'd assumed the name to

impress people.

Once again her eyes wandered to Garion's face. The boy sat quietly in one corner

of the cabin, his eyes grave and his expression serious. She thought perhaps

that it was his seriousness that so piqued her curiosity and kept drawing her

eyes to him. Other boys she had known - nobles and the sons of nobles - had

tried to be charming and witty, but Garion never tried to joke or to say clever

things to try to amuse her. She was not entirely certain how to take that. Was

he such a lump that he didn't know how he was supposed to behave? Or perhaps he

knew but didn't care enough to make the effort. He might at least try - even if

only occasionally. How could she possibly deal with him if he was going to

refuse flatly to make a fool of himself for her benefit?

She reminded herself sharply that she was angry with him. He had said that Queen

Salmissra had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and it was far,

far too early to forgive him for such an outrageous statement. She was

definitely going to have to make him suffer extensively for that insulting

lapse. Her fingers toyed absently with one of the curls cascading down the side

of her face, her eyes boring into Garion's face.

The following morning ashfall that was the result of a massive volcanic eruption

somewhere in Cthol Murgos had diminished sufficiently to make the deck of the

ship habitable again. The jungle along the riverbank was still partially

obscured in the dusty haze, but the air was clear enough to breathe, and

Ce'Nedra escaped from the sweltering cabin below decks with relief.

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Garion was sitting in the sheltered spot near the bow of the ship where he

usually sat and he was deep in conversation with Belgarath. Ce'Nedra noted with

a certain detachment that he had neglected to comb his hair that morning. She

resisted her immediate impulse to go fetch comb and brush to rectify the

situation. She drifted instead with artful dissimulation to a place along the

rail where, without seeming to, she could conveniently eavesdrop.

"-It's always been there," Garion was saying to his grandfather. "It used to

just talk to me - tell me when I was being childish or stupid - that sort of

thing. It seemed to be off in one corner of my mind all by itself."

Belgarath nodded, scratching absently at his beard with his good hand. "It seems

to be completely separate from you," he observed. "Has this voice in your head

ever actually done anything? Besides talk to you, I mean."

Garion's face grew thoughtful. "I don't think so. It tells me how to do things,

but I think that I'm the one who has to do them. When we were at Salmissra's

palace, I think it took me out of my body to go look for Aunt Pol." He frowned.

"No," he corrected. "When I stop and think about it, it told me how to do it,

but I was the one who actually did it. Once we were out, I could feel it beside

me - it's the first time we've ever been separate. I couldn't actually see it,

though. It did take over for a few minutes, I think. It talked to Salmissra to

smooth things over and to hide what we'd been doing."

"You've been busy since Silk and I left, haven't you?"

Garion nodded glumly. "Most of it was pretty awful. I burned Asharak. Did you

know that?"

"Your Aunt told me about it."

"He slapped her in the face," Garion told him. "I was going to go after him with

my knife for that, but the voice told me to do it a different way. I hit him

with my hand and said 'burn.' That's all, just 'burn'and he caught on fire. I

was going to put it out until Aunt Pol told me he was the one who killed my

mother and father. Then I made the fire hotter. He begged me to put it out, but

I didn't do it." He shuddered.

"I tried to warn you about that," Belgarath reminded him gently. "I told you

that you weren't going to like it very much after it was over."

Garion sighed. "I should have listened. Aunt Pol says that once you've used

this-" He floundered, looking for a word.

"Power?" Belgarath suggested.

"All right," Garion assented. "She says that once you've used it, you never

forget how, and you'll keep doing it again and again. I wish I had used my knife

instead. Then this thing in me never would have gotten loose."

"You're wrong, you know," Belgarath told him quite calmly. "You've been bursting

at the seams with it for several months now. You've used it without knowing it

at least a half dozen times that I know about."

Garion stared at him incredulously.

"Remember that crazy monk just after we crossed into Tolnedra? When you touched

him, you made so much noise that I thought for a moment you'd killed him."

"You said Aunt Pol did that."

"I lied," the old man admitted casually. "I do that fairly often. The whole

point, though, is that you've always had this ability. It was bound to come out

sooner or later. I wouldn't feel too unhappy about what you did to Chamdar. It

was a little exotic perhaps - not exactly the way I might have done it - but

there was a certain justice to it, after all."

"It's always going to be there, then?"

"Always. That's the way it is, I'm afraid."

The Princess Ce'Nedra felt rather smug about that. Belgarath had just confirmed

something she herself had told Garion. If the boy would just stop being so

stubborn, his Aunt and his grandfather and of course she herself - all of whom

knew much better than he what was right and proper and good for him - could

shape his life to their satisfaction with little or no difficulty.

"Let's get back to this other voice of yours," Belgarath suggested. "I need to

know more about it. I don't want you carrying an enemy around in your mind."

"It's not an enemy," Garion insisted. "It's on our side."

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