Belgarath the Sorcerer (77 page)

‘It shall be as you say, Ancient One,' he replied with a
curt bow. At least he had sense enough to know when to back away.

I went directly to Tol Honeth to take up the search. As closely as the twins were able to determine, we were within a couple of years of the birth of the Godslayer, and I vividly remembered Chamdar's audible ruminations back when Gelane had fallen in with the Bear-Cult. Ctuchik had ordered his Grolim underling to
kill
Iron-grip's heir, but Chamdar had come up with an alternative to that. He was looking for the chance to be elevated to Disciple status, and thus to step over Ctuchik to deliver the Godslayer and the Orb directly to Torak. He was ambitious, I'll give him that. I quite literally tore Tolnedra apart, but I couldn't put my hands on him. He'd stolen a page out of my own book and had laid down various hints and false clues that kept me running from one end of Tolnedra to the other. I didn't find out exactly how he'd done it until after the tragedy in Annath.

Lelldorin, the ‘Archer' mentioned in the Mrin, was born in 5352, but I didn't have time to look in on the Wildantor family, since I was too busy ripping up the paving stones in Tol Honeth looking for my elusive Grolim adversary. After a while, I started to get irritable.

Javelin returned to Tol Honeth to help me, and he shrewdly prevailed on the Drasnian ambassador to try to enlist the aid of Ce'Nedra's father in the search. Tolnedran intelligence isn't really a match for what the Drasnians can come up with, but it would have put more eyes out there on the streets. Ran Borune XXIII wasn't having any of that, though. He was involved in some rather delicate trade negotiations with the representatives of Taur Urgas, and he wasn't inclined to do anything at all to disrupt those negotiations, so he withheld the services of his assorted spies and informers. I
liked
Ran Borune, and I adore his daughter, but he was greedy, and the prospect of getting his hands on all that red Murgo gold turned his head,
so Javelin and I got no help whatsoever from Tolnedran intelligence.

Finally, in the late summer of 5354, I gave up entirely. It was obvious by now that the various clues I'd been frantically chasing up and down the length and breadth of Tolnedra were no more than false trails. For once, Chamdar had outsmarted me. I was absolutely certain that he wasn't in Tolnedra anymore, so I gave Javelin the thankless task of chasing down all the fictitious ‘Chamdars' that the Grolims were inventing for our entertainment and took myself off to Arendia.

And the Grolims there were as busy as the ones in Tolnedra had been. I'll give Chamdar credit here. He'd learned all the lessons I'd given him over the centuries very well. I heard stories about ‘Asharak the Murgo' every time I turned around, and the stories got wilder and wilder every day. Grolims are schemers, to be sure, but there's no sense of art in their schemes. They always go to extremes. I think it's a racial flaw.

Then, when I was riding north out of Vo Mimbre, I encountered a handsome young fellow in full armor sitting astride a prancing war-horse. I recognized the crest of the Mandor family on his shield. ‘Well-met, Ancient Belgarath!' Mandorallen greeted me in that booming voice of his. ‘I have been in search of thee!' Mandorallen was only about seventeen at that time, but there was already an impressive muscularity about him.

‘What is it this time, Mandorallen?' I demanded.

‘I have been, as thou doubtless knowest - for certes, all things are known to thee - at Vo Ebor, where my dear friend and guardian, the baron of that fair domain, hath been providing instruction unto me in the knightly arts, and -'

‘Mandorallen, get to the point!'

He looked a little injured by that. ‘In short,' he said - as if a Mimbrate could ever say
anything
in short. ‘Thy brethren, Beltira and Belkira, came but recently to Vo Ebor and
besought me that I should seek thee out. Straightway I went to horse, and, thinking that thou wert still in Tol Honeth, I posted southward that I might bring thee news that thy gentle brethren felt might be of interest unto thee.'

‘Oh? What news is this?'

‘I confess that I have no understanding of the true import of their message, but I am instructed to advise thee that a certain kinswoman of thine is with child, and that thy daughter, whom I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting - though I yearn for the day when I shall be privileged to greet her and respectfully bend my knee unto her -'

‘All right, Mandorallen, I get the message.'

‘This news, I presume, is of some significance?'

‘Moderately so, Sir Knight.'

‘Might I know its import?'

‘No, you might not. You don't need to know what it means. Turn around and go back to Vo Ebor. You have performed your duty, Sir Knight, and I thank you. Now go home.'

 

I'll take this opportunity to apologize for my abruptness to the Knight Protector. All I really wanted him to do was to get out of sight so that I could go into paroxysms of exultation. Ildera was pregnant! The Godslayer dozed beneath her heart!

 

I broke off my fruitless search for Chamdar at that point, since it was fairly obvious that I wasn't going to find him. I went on up to Asturia to have a look at Lelldorin, and I came away with the knowledge that he was indeed the Wildantor we'd been waiting for. Everything was coming together the way it was supposed to, so I crossed Ulgoland to the Vale.

When I got home, the twins advised me that Ildera would be delivered about midwinter.

‘Polgara's going to move the family not long after the child's birth,' Beltira told me.

‘That's probably not a bad idea,' I said. ‘We've all been in and out of Annath quite frequently for about fifteen years now, and Chamdar's on the loose out there somewhere. It'll be safer if Pol moves on. Is Alara improving at all?'

Belkira shook his head sadly. ‘She still refuses to accept the fact that her husband's dead. Polgara's tried everything she can think of to bring her out of it, but nothing's worked yet.'

‘A change of scene might bring her around,' I suggested.

‘It's hard to say.' He didn't sound very hopeful about it.

The twins and I talked about it at some length, and we agreed that I should probably go to Sendaria and let myself be seen in places other than Annath. The Grolim prophecies, and probably the Ashabine Oracles as well, were certainly keeping Ctuchik advised, so I was sure that he knew of the Godslayer's imminent birth
and
the fact that he'd be born in Sendaria. It was time for me to start pulling Chamdar out of position, so I put on my story-teller's costume and went to Sendaria.

I stopped by the city of Sendar to look in on the new king, Fulrach, and his giddy wife, Layla. Don't misunderstand me here. I love Layla. She's probably got the biggest heart in the world, but she was awfully silly as a girl - and almost perpetually pregnant. I sometimes wonder how Fulrach found time to run his kingdom.

Then I went out into the countryside. I tramped the back roads and country lanes of central Sendaria all during the autumn and early winter of that year, and I'm positive that Chamdar's Grolims were watching my every move. I didn't go out of my way to make it difficult for them.

It was almost Erastide by now, and my sense of anticipation was growing stronger. Erastide is a major holiday in Sendaria, since it fits so neatly into the traditional ecumenicism of the Sendars. The date of the holiday - midwinter - is really quite arbitrary. The creation of the world didn't happen on a single day, but I guess the clergy just picked a day at random for the yearly celebration. As the holiday
approached, I moved from Darine to Erat to Winold with a growing conviction that Erastide
this
year was going to be something rather special. It was the kind of thing Garion's friend would do.

I was completely out of touch, of course. We'd had evidence in the past that the Grolims have ways of listening when we communicate with each other in our rather peculiar way, and the upcoming EVENT was so important that we didn't want to inadvertently give Chamdar anything to work with. In retrospect, I can say that our extreme cautiousness was probably a mistake.

Polgara and I have gone over what happened in Annath that winter again and again and again, and we can now see exactly where we both made our mistakes. The death of Darral should have alerted us, for one thing. As Geran had suspected, that rockslide that had killed his father had
not
been a simple accident. In some way that we've never been able to determine, Chamdar
had
located my daughter and the family she'd protected for over thirteen centuries, and Darral's death - murder, I can call it - was just the first step in his elaborate plan.

Alara's insanity was the second step, I'm afraid, and Pol and I both missed it.

My daughter tells me that Alara's condition had worsened that fall, and that she'd taken to wandering off into the surrounding mountains in search of her husband. I'm sure that Chamdar had a hand in that too; the Grolims are expert at tampering with the minds of others, after all.

At any rate, it was on the day before Erastide when Ildera went into false labor, and Polgara had gone from Darral's house to the far end of the village to examine her, and Alara - at Chamdar's instigation, I'm sure - had seized the opportunity to go off into the nearby mountains in search of her husband. Pol returned to Darral's house and found that Alara was gone. It'd happened several times before, and Pol, quite naturally, went out to look for her.

And that's how Chamdar got Pol out of the way. She's
blamed herself about that for years, but it wasn't her fault.

I'm convinced now that Ildera's false labor was also Chamdar's doing. You almost have to admire how carefully he orchestrated the events during those dreadful two days. Once Pol had left the village, Ildera's false labor turned into the real thing. There were other women in the village who knew what to do, of course, and Garion was born shortly after midnight on Erastide.

And Polgara, searching for Alara, was miles away!

That was when that familiar voice inside my head alerted me. ‘
Belgarath!
' it almost shouted, ‘
go to Annath immediately! The Child of Light is in danger!
'

It didn't have to tell me twice. I was in Muros at the time, and it took me about a quarter of an hour to get out of town and sprout feathers. I almost tore my wings off trying to make good time, but I still got there too late.

Following Ildera's delivery, the village women had done what women do after the birth of a child, and then they'd gone home. It
was
a holiday, after all, and there was cooking to be done. You see how shrewdly Chamdar'd planned everything?

It was just about dawn, and I was still winging my way in from Muros. Geran, Ildera, and Garion were alone in their little house, and that was when Chamdar made his move.

He set fire to the house.

It was a stone house, but Chamdar was a Grolim, and stone
will
burn if you make the fire hot enough.

To this day, I can't be entirely certain if Chamdar knew what Geran would do once he realized that there was no way he and Ildera could escape. It's entirely possible that he'd given up his wild notion of delivering the Rivan King to Torak and had decided instead to follow Ctuchik's instructions and to simply kill Iron-grip's heir.

The doors and windows of the house were all engulfed in flames, and Geran, probably already in agony, realized that there was no possible way he could save himself or
his wife, but there
was
a faint chance that he could save their son. His tools were in the house, and he was a stone-cutter. As closely as I can determine, he feverishly took up his hammer and chisel and chopped a small hole through the wall down close to the ground. Then, even as he was dying, he seized up the blanket-wrapped baby and pushed that precious bundle out through the hole he'd made.

And that was when I got there, just as dawn was breaking.

Either Chamdar had known what was going to happen, or he simply seized an opportunity when it presented itself. He dashed in, picked up the blanket-protected infant, and fled back out of range of the fire.

Even as I was changing form in that snow-clogged street, I took in everything that was happening. I came very close at that point to doing something that's absolutely forbidden. I was right on the verge of obliterating Chamdar with the sheer force of my Will. I think that the only thing that pulled me back from that fatal mistake was the fact that I wanted to kill that murderous Grolim with my bare hands. I howled in fury as I ran through the snow at him, and that gave him just the moment of warning he needed. I've often wished that I'd kept my mouth shut.

Chamdar spun around, his eyes wide with fright. ‘
You!
' he cried as I bore down on him with murder written all over my face. And then he did the only thing he could think of to save his own life.

He threw the baby at me.

Chamdar's panic-stricken response at that point altered the course of history. In order to save his own life, he threw the infant Garion to safety. Had he been just a little more dedicated, he'd have turned and thrown the baby back into the fire.

My own dedication was a little stronger. I choked back my homicidal rage long enough to snatch the hurtling little bundle out of the air, and that gave Chamdar enough time to escape. I made a desperate leap to catch Garion, rolling in the dirt in the process, and by the time I looked back, Chamdar was gone. My howl of frustration woke everyone in the still sleeping village, I think.

 

I have it on fairly good authority that it was precisely at that moment that Barak underwent his first metamorphosis up there in Cherek. It was momentary, but he
did
change over into ‘the Dreadful Bear' for a while. Garion
was
in danger at that point, and, all unthinking, Barak responded in the way he was supposed to. He was boar-hunting at the time, and he'd spent the night carousing with some friends. He was still fairly drunk, so all that he really remembers is waking up out in the woods standing over the half-eaten carcass of a wild pig.

Several of his hunting companions, however, were a bit more sober. I'm told that most of them took the pledge at that point and lived out the rest of their lives in total and absolute sobriety.

 

‘
Father!
' Polgara's voice came to me.

‘
You'd better get back here, Pol! Right now!
'

Then I knelt on the ground and unwrapped the baby I'd just grabbed out of mid-air. So far as I could tell, Garion was all right. He wasn't even crying. His expression was grave as he looked at me, and when our eyes met for the first time, I felt a powerful jolt at the very center of my being. I was suddenly filled with a kind of wonder; there was no question whatsoever that he was the one we'd all been waiting for.

Then I looked at the burning house, hoping that there still might be a chance to save Geran and Ildera, but it was clearly hopeless. I felt no signs of life in the midst of that fire. I broke down and wept.

Pol found me kneeling in tears beside the baby. ‘What happened, father?' she demanded.

‘It was Chamdar!' I almost shouted at her. ‘Use your eyes, Pol! What were you thinking of? Why did you go off like that?' I've always regretted that outburst.

Pol's eyes grew stricken as my accusation struck her full in the face. She looked at the blazing house. ‘Is there any hope at all?' she asked me.

‘None. They're both dead.'

And that was when Polgara broke down. ‘I've failed, father!' she wailed. ‘I had the most important task in history, and I failed!'

I choked back my own grief. ‘There's no time for that now, Pol!' I told her sharply. ‘We have to get the baby away from here. Chamdar got away from me, and he could be almost anywhere.'

‘Why did you let him escape?'

‘I didn't have any choice. I had to save the baby. There's nothing we can do here. Let's move!'

She bent and picked up Garion with that peculiar tenderness she's always demonstrated in caring for a long series of infants which were not really her own. When she straightened, her eyes were steely. ‘Chamdar's got a lot to answer for.'

‘That he does, Pol, and I'll do my best to make sure that
his answering takes at least a week. What happened to Alara?'

‘She walked off the edge of a cliff. She's dead, father.'

My rage flared up again. ‘I'll add another week to what I'm going to do to Chamdar for that,' I promised.

‘Good! I'll take the baby. You go after Chamdar.'

I shook my head. ‘Not a chance, Pol. I've got to get you two to safety first. Our main responsibility's wrapped up in that blanket. Let's go.'

Pol and I left the village and took to the woods, avoiding all the roads and anything even remotely resembling a path. It wasn't a pleasant trip at that time of year, and I solved the problem of feeding Garion by the simple expedient of stealing a goat from an isolated farmstead.

Eventually we made our way down out of the mountains, and I took Pol back to her house at Erat. Then I went some distance away and summoned the twins, speaking so cryptically that I wasn't entirely positive that they'd understand what I was saying. I could only hope that they'd get the point when I told them that I needed them at ‘the rose garden.'

Then I went back to Pol's thicket-enclosed house. ‘They should be along shortly,' I told her. ‘I'll stay until they get here.'

‘I'll be all right, father. Don't let Chamdar get away.'

‘It's more important not to let him get behind me. I'll stay, don't argue with me about it.' I looked out the window at her winter-browned rose-thicket. ‘I think your house here is too isolated to be entirely safe. Wait out the winter and then go find some remote village or farmstead and submerge yourself among the Sendars. Don't do anything to attract attention until I've dealt with Chamdar.'

‘Whatever you say, father.'

It always makes me nervous when Pol takes that submissive attitude.

The twins had deciphered my message, and they arrived the next morning. I spoke with them briefly, and then I left
Erat and went north to Boktor to speak with Hunter. The position, if you can call it that, was held at that time by an obscure filing clerk in the intelligence headquarters, a nondescript fellow named Khonar. ‘I need Prince Kheldar,' I told him abruptly. ‘Where is he?'

Khonar carefully laid down the sheaf of documents he'd been reading. ‘May I ask why, Ancient One?'

‘No, you may not. Where's Silk?'

‘In Tol Honeth, Holy One. He's working for Javelin at the moment.' He pursed his lips. ‘This is Kheldar's first assignment in the field, you know. He's not very experienced.'

‘Is he any good?'

‘We have rather high hopes for him - as soon as he settles down. If it's important,
I
could go with you. I'm the best, after all.'

‘No. I think I'll need you here. Silk's the one I need. There are reasons.'

‘Oh,' he said. ‘One of
those
things.'

‘Exactly. Have you heard anything at all about Asharak the Murgo lately?'

‘He was in Arendia no more than a week ago, Ancient One. An agent of ours saw him at the Great Fair.'

I heaved a very large sigh of relief. At least Chamdar wasn't poking around in Sendaria. ‘Which way did he go from the fair?'

‘Southeast - toward the Tolnedran Mountains. Our agent reports that he seemed a little nervous about something.'

‘I can imagine,' I said grimly. ‘He's done something that offended me. I want to talk with him about it, and he'd rather avoid that conversation - since it's very likely to involve my hanging his entrails on a fence someplace.'

‘That's fairly graphic.' Nothing startles Hunter. ‘If any of my people come across him, do you want them to kill him?'

‘No. I'll do that myself. Just locate him for me, if you can. Your people are good, but they're no match for Asharak.'

His look grew shrewd. ‘You're being inconsistent,
Ancient One. First you ask specifically for a man of twenty or so - no more than a year out of the academy - and then you say that my most experienced agents are no match for the man you're after.'

‘Consistency's the defense of small minds, Khonar. Get word to your people in Arendia and Tolnedra. I'll be there long before your messages arrive, and I'll have a look around first. Then I'll want every scrap of information about Asharak that they can lay their hands on.'

He shrugged. ‘If that's the way you want it, Ancient One.'

‘It is. I'll be leaving now - and don't waste time trying to have me followed.'

He counterfeited an innocent look. ‘Would I do that, Holy Belgarath?'

‘You wouldn't be doing your job if you didn't.'

I left Boktor that same afternoon, rather ostentatiously going southwest along the Great North Road, and I'm positive that at least one of Hunter's spies was following me. As soon as it grew dark, however, he lost my trail - unless he knew how to fly.

Although it was midwinter, the weather had cleared over the snow-choked mountains, and I flew over the southeastern edge of Sendaria and went on to Prolgu to advise the Gorim that the Godslayer had come. Then I flew on to the Great Fair on the plains of Mimbre to confer with Hunter's chief agent there, a lean Drasnian named Talvar.

Just by way of clarification here, Hunter's always been the most secret of Drasnian intelligence agents, and he - or she - frequently has a little private agency - a kind of secret service within a secret service. Drasnians are like that. They absolutely
love
secrets.

‘We think this Asharak fellow might have doubled back, Ancient One,' Talvar advised me. ‘When he left here, he was going southeasterly toward the Tolnedran Mountains, but there are some things going on in Vo Mimbre that seem to have his distinctive footprints all over them.'

‘Oh?'

‘There's a Murgo trade delegation there, and they're spending a lot of money bribing assorted Mimbrate knights. Mimbrates aren't very bright, and they usually go into debt in order to make an impression on their fellows. Asharak's always been very free with his gold. When you start seeing blood-red coins, you know where they're coming from. It may be something he set in motion in the past, but I personally don't think so. The sudden influx of Murgo gold suggests a new ploy. Track the money, Ancient One. You'll get more information from that than from anything else.'

‘You're a Drasnian to the bone, Talvar,' I told him.

‘That's why Hunter put me here, Ancient One. Anyway, the whole thrust of all of this is to subvert the Crown Prince, who's probably deeper in debt than anybody else in all of Arendia.' He made a face. ‘If I weren't working for my government, I could make a fortune down here. Some of these Mimbrate idiots would pay exorbitant interest just to clear their debts.'

‘Keep your eyes on what we're doing, Talvar,' I told him. ‘Don't get side-tracked. Make money on your own time; not on mine. Does Asharak have his hands around the Crown Prince's heart yet?'

‘Probably not. Young Prince Korodullin still has a sense of honor, despite all his debts. He's resisting the Murgo blandishments, but I think he's starting to waver. He needs somebody to stiffen his backbone.'

‘I think I know just the man. Get me some names, Talvar. I need to know just who these bought-and-paid-for Mimbrate knights are. I'll send the man I've got in mind to Vo Mimbre to deal with the matter.'

‘Now I know why they call you “Holy Belgarath”,' he said.

‘Don't mix “Holy” and “money”, Talvar. You'll get in trouble if you do.'

Then I went on to Vo Ebor, where Mandorallen was in
training under the tutelage of the Baron. The Baron of Vo Ebor had recently married a young noblewoman, Nerina by name. The Baron's duties were such that he had very little time for his new wife, but there was a handsome and honorable young knight handy who sort of filled in for him - nothing improper, you understand, but it did create an interesting situation.

I got straight to the point when I arrived. ‘Just how good is your pupil, my Lord Baron?' I asked the older man.

‘He doth far exceed our expectations, Ancient One,' the Baron replied. ‘I doubt that any knight in all Arendia is his match.'

‘Good.' I looked at Mandorallen. ‘I want you to go to Vo Mimbre,' I said. ‘There are some people there who need chastisement. They've been taking money from the Murgos to lead Prince Korodullin astray. Make them stop. The Drasnian ambassador to the old king's court will know who they are. Issue a few challenges and break a few bones. Try not to kill too many of them in the process, though. There are things you have to do later on, and I don't want you embroiled in any blood feuds when the time comes for you to do them.'

‘I shall strive to mine utmost to do as thou hast commanded me, Holy Belgarath,' the young man replied. ‘My lance, my sword, and my good right arm stand ever at thy service, and, forasmuch as I am - as all the world doth know - the mightiest knight on life, I doubt not that the overthrow of these miscreant knights shall be but a light task, which I gladly undertake, and my skill and my prowess are such that, barring accident, I may confidently assure thee that their overthrow shall not do them permanent injury.'

 

Lord, Mandorallen can be windy once he dives headlong into a sentence!

 

As I recall, though, the face of the Baroness Nerina positively glowed at his modest announcement of his invincibility. Arendish ladies are like that.

I never did get the full details of the scheme Chamdar had set in motion at Vo Mimbre. I suppose it might have been nothing more than a delaying tactic to keep me from snapping at his tail-feathers. Chamdar'd seen my face at Annath, and I'm sure that he'd have done almost anything to avoid seeing it at close range again.

A report from the Drasnian ambassador at Vo Mimbre caught up with me a couple of months later, and I gather that Mandorallen had more than fulfilled his promise. Windy or not, Mandorallen - once he'd shut his mouth and got started - was something in the order of a natural disaster. A fair number of the knights he met in the lists that day actually had to be cut out of their armor before their injuries could be tended.

By the time Mandorallen had finished talking and got down to business, however, I was already at the Drasnian embassy in Tol Honeth.

‘How good is he?' I asked Javelin, pointing at Silk. It probably wasn't very polite to ask the question right there in front of the rat-faced little spy, but recent events had noticeably eroded my good manners.