David Eddings: Queen of Sorcery

“We’re not going to be able to get through that mob, Polgara,” Barak said. “Stay here a moment.” He sheathed his sword, jumped up and caught the edge of a low roof. He pulled himself up and stood outlined dimly above them. “Ho, Greldik!” he roared in a huge voice that carried even over the noise of the crowd.

“Barak!” Greldik’s voice came back. “Where are you?”

“At the foot of the pier,” Barak shouted. “We can’t get through the crowd.”

“Stay there,” Greldik yelled back. “We’ll come and get you.”

After a few moments there was the tramp of heavy feet on the wharf and the occasional sound of blows. A few cries of pain mingled with the sounds of panic from the crowd. Then Greldik, Mandorallen and a half dozen burly sailors armed with clubs strode out of the ashfall, clearing a path with brutal efficiency.

“Did you get lost?” Greldik yelled up to Barak.

Barak jumped down from the roof. “We had to stop by the palace,” he answered shortly.

“We were growing concerned for thy safety, my Lady,” Mandorallen told Aunt Pol, pushing a gibbering Nyissan out of his way. “Good Durnik returned some hours ago.”

“We were delayed,” she said. “Captain, can you get us on board your ship?”

Greldik gave her an evil grin.

“Let’s go then,” she urged. “As soon as we get on board, it might be a good idea to anchor out in the river a little way. This ash will settle after a while, but these people are going to be hysterical until it does. Has there been any word from Silk or my father yet?”

“Nothing, my Lady,” Greldik said.

“What is he doing?” she demanded irritably of no one in particular. Mandorallen drew his broadsword and marched directly into the face of the crowd, neither slowing nor altering his course. The Nyissans melted out of his path.

The crowd pressing at the edge of the wharf beside Greldik’s ship was even thicker, and Durnik, Hettar and the rest of the sailors lined the rail with long boat-hooks, pushing the terror-stricken people away.

“Run out the plank,” Greldik shouted as they reached the edge of the wharf.

“Noble captain,” a bald Nyissan blubbered, clinging to Greldik’s fur vest. “I’ll give you a hundred gold pieces if you’ll let me aboard your ship.”

Disgusted, Greldik pushed him away.

“A thousand gold pieces,” the Nyissan promised, clutching Greldik’s arm and waving a purse.

“Get this baboon off me,” Greldik ordered.

One of the sailors rather casually clubbed the Nyissan into insensibility, then bent and yanked the purse from his grip. He opened the purse and poured the coins out into one hand. “Three pieces of silver,” he said with disgust. “All the rest is copper.” He turned back and kicked the unconscious man in the stomach.

They crossed to the ship one by one while Barak and Mandorallen held the crowd back with the threat of massive violence.

“Cut the hawsers,” Greldik shouted when they were all aboard. The sailors chopped the thick hawsers loose to a great cry of dismay from the Nyissans crowding the edge of the wharf. The sluggish current pulled the ship slowly away, and wails and despairing moans followed them as they drifted.

“Garion,” Aunt Pol said, “why don’t you go below and put on some decent clothes? And wash that disgusting rouge off your face. Then come back up here. I want to talk to you.”

Garion had forgotten how scantily he was dressed and he flushed slightly and went quickly below deck.

It had grown noticeably lighter when he came back up, dressed again in tunic and hose, but the gray ash still sifted down through the motionless air, making the world around them hazy and coating everything with a heavy layer of fine grit. They had drifted some distance out into the river, and Greldik’s sailors had dropped the anchor. The ship swung slowly in the sluggish current.

“Over here, Garion,” Aunt Pol called. She was standing near the prow, looking out into the dusty haze. Garion went to her a little hesitantly, the memory of what had happened at the palace still strong in his mind.

“Sit down, dear,” she suggested. “There’s something I have to talk with you about.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, sitting on the bench there.

“Garion.” She turned to look at him. “Did anything happen while you were in Salmissra’s palace?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” she said rather crisply. “You’re not going to embarrass us both by making me ask certain questions, are you?”

“Oh.” Garion blushed. “That! No, nothing like that happened.” He remembered the lush overripeness of the queen with a certain regret.

“Good. That was the one thing I was afraid of. You can’t afford to get involved in any of that sort of thing just yet. It has some peculiar effects on one in your rather special circumstances.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” he said.

“You have certain abilities,” she told him. “And if you start experimenting with that other thing before they’re fully matured, the results can sometimes be a bit unpredictable. It’s better not to confuse things at this point.”

“Maybe it’d be better if something had happened, then,” Garion blurted. “Maybe it would have fixed it so I couldn’t hurt people anymore.”

“I doubt it,” she said. “Your power’s too great to be neutralized so easily. Do you remember what we talked about that day when we left Tolnedra—about instruction?”

“I don’t need any instruction,” he protested, his tone growing sullen.

“Yes, you do,” she said, “and you need it now. Your power is enormous—more power than I’ve ever seen before, and some of it so complex that I can’t even begin to understand it. You must begin your instruction before something disastrous happens. You’re totally out of control, Garion. If you’re really serious about not wanting to hurt people, you should be more than willing to start learning how to keep any accidents from happening.”

“I don’t want to be a sorcerer,” he objected. “All I want to do is get rid of it. Can’t you help me do that?”

She shook her head. “No. And I wouldn’t even if I could. You can’t renounce it, my Garion. It’s part of you.”

“Then I’m going to be a monster?” Garion demanded bitterly. “I’m going to go around burning people alive or turning them into toads or snakes? And maybe after a while I’ll get so used to it that it won’t even bother me anymore. I’ll live forever—like you and grandfather—but I won’t be human anymore. Aunt Pol, I think I’d rather be dead.

“Can’t you reason with him?” Her voice inside his head spoke directly to that other awareness.

“Not at the moment, Polgara,” the dry voice replied. “He’s too busy wallowing in self pity. ”

“He must learn to control the power he has,” she said.

“I’ll keep him out of mischief,” the voice promised. “I don’t think there’s much else we can do until Belgarath gets back. He’s going through a moral crisis, and we can’t really tamper with him until he works out his own solutions to it. ”

“I don’t like to see him suffering this way. ”

“You’re too tender-hearted, Polgara. He’s a sturdy boy, and a bit of suffering won’t damage him. ”

“Will the two of you stop treating me as if I’m not even here?” Garion demanded angrily.

“Mistress Pol,” Durnik said, coming across the deck to them, “I think you’d better come quickly. Barak’s going to kill himself.”

“He’s what?” she asked.

“It’s something about some curse,” Durnik explained. “He says he’s going to fall on his sword.”

“That idiot! Where is he?”