David Eddings: Queen of Sorcery

“Won’t they stray?” Durnik wanted to know.

“No,” Hettar answered. “I asked them not to.”

Durnik looked puzzled, but he let it pass.

They all went into the tower and sat near the fireplace. Aunt Pol cut dark bread and pale, yellow cheese for them while Durnik put more wood on the fire.

“Cho-Hag sent word to the Clan-Chiefs,” Hettar reported, pulling off his cape. He wore a black, long-sleeved horsehide jacket with steel discs riveted to it to form a kind of flexible armor. “They’re gathering at the Stronghold for council.” He unbelted the curved sabre he wore, laid it to one side and sat near the fire to eat.

Wolf nodded. “Is anyone trying to get through to Prolgu?”

“I sent a troop of my own men to the Gorim before I left,” Hettar responded. “They’ll get through if anyone can.”

“I hope so,” Wolf stated. “The Gorim’s an old friend of mine, and I’ll need his help before all this is finished.”

“Aren’t your people afraid of the Land of the Ulgos?” Lelldorin inquired politely. “I’ve heard that there are monsters there that feed on the flesh of men.”

Hettar shrugged. “They stay in their lairs in the wintertime. Besides, they’re seldom brave enough to attack a full troop of mounted men.” He looked over at Mister Wolf. “Southern Sendaria’s crawling with Murgos. Or did you know that?”

“I could have guessed,” Wolf replied. “Did they seem to be looking for anything in particular?”

“I don’t talk with Murgos,” Hettar said shortly. His hooked nose and fierce eyes made him look at that moment like a hawk about to swoop down to the kill.

“I’m surprised you weren’t delayed even more,” Silk bantered. “The whole world knows how you feel about Murgos.”

“I indulged myself once,” Hettar admitted. “I met two of them alone on the highway. It didn’t take very long.”

“Two less to worry about, then,” Barak grunted with approval.

“I think it’s time for some plain talk,” Mister Wolf said, brushing crumbs off the front of his tunic. “Most of you have some notion of what we’re doing, but I don’t want anybody blundering into something by accident. We’re after a man named Zedar. He used to be one of my Master’s disciples—then he went over to Torak. Early last fall he somehow slipped into the throne room at Riva and stole the Orb of Aldur. We’re going to chase him down and get it back.”

“Isn’t he a sorcerer too?” Barak asked, tugging absently at a thick red braid.

“That’s not the term we use,” Wolf replied, “but yes, he does have a certain amount of that kind of power. We all did—me, Beltira and Belkira, Belzedar—all the rest of us. That’s one of the things I wanted to warn you about.”

“You all seem to have the same sort of names,” Silk noticed.

“Our Master changed our names when he took us as disciples. It was a simple change, but it meant a great deal to us.”

“Wouldn’t that mean that your original name was Garath?” Silk asked, his ferret eyes narrowing shrewdly.

Mister Wolf looked startled and then laughed. “I haven’t heard that name for thousands of years. I’ve been Belgarath for so long that I’d almost completely forgotten Garath. It’s probably just as well. Garath was a troublesome boy—a thief and a liar among other things.”

“Some things never change,” Aunt Pol observed.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Wolf admitted blandly.

“Why did Zedar steal the Orb?” Hettar asked, setting aside his plate.

“He’s always wanted it for himself,” the old man replied. “That could be it—but more likely he’s trying to take it to Torak. The one who delivers the Orb to One-Eye is going to be his favorite.”

“But Torak’s dead,” Lelldorin objected. “The Rivan Warder killed him at Vo Mimbre.”

“No,” Wolf said. “Torak isn’t dead; only asleep. Brand’s sword wasn’t the one destined to kill him. Zedar carried him off after the battle and hid him someplace. Someday he’ll awaken—probably someday fairly soon, if I’m reading the signs right. We’ve got to get the Orb back before that happens.”

“This Zedar’s caused a lot of trouble,” Barak rumbled. “You should have dealt with him a long time ago.”

“Possibly,” Wolf admitted.

“Why don’t you just wave your hand and make him disappear?” Barak suggested, making a sort of gesture with his thick fingers.

Wolf shook his head. “I can’t. Not even the Gods can do that.”

“We’ve got some big problems, then,” Silk said with a frown. “Every Murgo from here to Rak Goska’s going to try to stop us from catching Zedar.”

“Not necessarily,” Wolf disagreed. “Zedar’s got the Orb, but Ctuchik commands the Grolims.”

“Ctuchik?” Lelldorin asked.

“The Grolim High Priest. He and Zedar hate each other. I think we can count on him to try to keep Zedar from getting to Torak with the Orb.”

Barak shrugged. “What difference does it make? You and Polgara can use magic if we run into anything difficult, can’t you?”

“There are limitations on that sort of thing,” Wolf said a bit evasively.

“I don’t understand,” Barak said, frowning.

Mister Wolf took a deep breath. “All right. As long as it’s come up, let’s go into that too. Sorcery—if that’s what you want to call it—is a disruption of the natural order of things. Sometimes it has certain unexpected effects, so you have to be very careful about what you do with it. Not only that, it makes—” He frowned. “—Let’s call it a sort of noise. That’s not exactly what it is, but it serves well enough to explain. Others with the same abilities can hear that noise. Once Polgara and I start changing things, every Grolim in the West is going to know exactly where we are and what we’re doing. They’ll keep piling things in front of us until we’re exhausted.”

“It takes almost as much energy to do things that way as it does to do them with your arms and back,” Aunt Pol explained. “It’s very tiring.”

She sat beside the fire, carefully mending a small tear in one of Garion’s tunics.

“I didn’t know that,” Barak admitted. “Not many people do.”

“If we have to, Pol and I can take certain steps,” Wolf went on, “but we can’t keep it up forever and we can’t simply make things vanish. I’m sure you can see why.”

“Oh, of course,” Silk professed, though his tone indicated that he did not.

“Everything that exists depends on everything else,” Aunt Pol explained quietly. “If you were to unmake one thing, it’s altogether possible that everything would vanish.”

The fire popped, and Garion jumped slightly. The vaulted chamber seemed suddenly dark, and shadows lurked in the corners.

“That can’t happen, of course,” Wolf told them. “When you try to unmake something, your will simply recoils on you. If you say, `Be not,’ then you are the one who vanishes. That’s why we’re very careful about what we say.”

“I can understand why,” Silk said, his eyes widening slightly.

“Most of the things we’ll encounter can be dealt with by ordinary means,” Wolf continued. “That’s the reason we’ve brought you together—at least that’s one of the reasons. Among you, you’ll be able to handle most of the things that get in our way. The important thing to remember is that Polgara and I have to get to Zedar before he can reach Torak with the Orb. Zedar’s found some way to touch the Orb—I don’t know how. If he can show Torak how it’s done, no power on earth will be able to stop One-Eye from becoming King and God over the whole world.”

They all sat in the ruddy, flickering light of the fire, their faces serious as they considered that possibility.