David Eddings - Pawn of Prophecy

Hettar thought for a moment. "Two weeks," he said, "if there aren’t any blizzards in the mountains of Sendaria."

"We’ll all leave here in the morning then," Wolf said. "Anheg can give you a ship. Take the horses along the Great North Road to the place a few leagues east of Camaar where another road strikes off to the south. It fords the Great Camaar River and runs down to join the Great West Road at the ruins of Vo Wacune in northern Arendia. We’ll meet you there in two weeks."

Hettar nodded.

"We’ll also be joined at Vo Wacune by an Asturian Arend," Wolf went on, "and somewhat later by a Mimbrate. They might be useful to us in the south."

"And will also fulfill the prophecies," Anheg said cryptically.

Wolf shrugged, his bright blue eyes twinkling suddenly. "I don’t object to fulfilling prophecies," he said, "as long as it doesn’t inconvenience me too much."

"Is there anything we can do to help in the search?" Brand asked.

"You’ll have enough to do," Wold said. "No matter how our search turns out, it’s obvious that the Angaraks are getting ready for some kind of major action. If we’re successful, they might hesitate, but Angaraks don’t think the way we do. Even after what happened at Vo Mimbre, they may decide to risk an all-out attack on the west. It could be that they are responding to prophecies of their own that we don’t know anything about. In any event, I think you should be ready for something fairly major from them. You’ll need to make preparations."

Anheg grinned wolfishly. "We’ve been preparing for them for five thousand years," he said. "This time we’ll purge the whole world of this Angarak infection. When Torak One-eye awakes, he’ll find himself as alone as Mara—and just as powerless."

"Maybe," Mister Wolf said, "but don’t plan the victory celebration until the war’s over. Make your preparations quietly, and don’t sir up the people in your kingdoms any more than you have to. The west is crawling with Grolims, and they’re watching everything we do. The trail I’ll be following could lead me into Cthol Murgos, and I’d rather not have to deal with an army of Murgos massed on the border."

"I can play the watching game too," King Rhodar said with a grim look on his plump face. "Probably even better than the Grolims. It’s time to send a few more caravans to the east. The Angaraks won’t move without help from the east, and the Malloreans will have to cross over into Gar og Nadrak before they deploy south. A bribe or two here and there, a few barrels of strong ale in the right mining camps—who knows what a bit of diligent corruption might turn up? A chance word or two could give us several months’ warning."

If they’re planning anything major, the Thulls will be building supply dumps along the eastern escarpment," Cho-Hag said. "Thulls aren’t bright, and it’s easy to observe them without being seen. I’ll increase my patrols along those mountains. With a little luck, we might be able to anticipate their invasion route. Is there anything else we can do to help you, Belgarath?"

Mister Wolf thought for a moment. Suddenly he grinned. "I’m certain our thief is listening very hard, waiting for one of us to speak his name or the name of the thing he stole. Sooner or later someone’s bound to make a slip; and once he locates us, he’ll be able to hear every word we say. Instead of trying to gag ourselves, I think it might be better if we gave him something to listen to. If you can arrange it, I’d like every minstrel and storyteller in the north start retelling certain old stories—you know the ones. When those names start sounding in every village marketplace north of the Camaar River, it’ll set up a roaring in his ears like a thunderstorm. If nothing else it will give us the freedom to speak. In time he’ll get tired of it and stop listening."

"It’s getting late, Father," Aunt Pol reminded him.

Wolf nodded. "We’re playing a deadly game," he told them all, "but our enemies are playing one just as deadly. Their danger’s as great as ours, and right now, no one can predict what will finally happen. Make your preparations and send out men you can trust to keep watch. Be patient and don’t do anything rash. That could be more dangerous than anything else right now. At the moment, Polgara and I are the only ones who can act. You’re going to have to trust us. I know that sometimes some of the things we’ve done have seemed a bit strange, but there are reasons for what we do. Please don’t interfere again. I’ll get word to you now and then about our progress; if I need you to do anything else, I’ll let you know. All right?"

The kings nodded gravely, and everyone rose to his feet.

Anheg stepped over to Mister Wolf. "Could you come by my study in an hour or so, Belgarath?" he said quietly. "I’d like to have a few words with you and Polgara before your departure."

"If you wish, Anheg," Mister Wolf said.

"Come along, Garion," Aunt Pol said. "We have packing to take care of."

Garion, a little awed at the solemnity of the discussions, rose quietly and followed her to the door.

King Anheg’s study was a large, cluttered room high in a square tower. Books bound in heavy leather lay everywhere, and strange devices with gears and pulleys and tiny brass chains sat on tables and stands. Intricately drawn maps, with beautiful illuminations were pinned up on the walls, and the floor was littered with scraps of parchment covered with tiny writing. King Anheg, his coarse black hair hanging in his eyes, sat at a slanted table in the soft glow of a pair of candles studying a large book written on thin sheets of crackling parchment.

The guard at the door let them enter without a word, and Mister Wolf stepped briskly into the center of the room. "You wanted to see us, Anheg?"

The King of Cherek straightened from his book and laid it aside. "Belgarath," he said with a short nod of greeting. "Polgara." He glanced at Garion who stood uncertainly near the door.

"I meant what I said earlier," Aunt Pol said. "I’m not going to let him out of my sight until I know for certain he’s out of the reach of that Grolim, Asharak."

"Anything you say, Polgara," Anheg said. "Come in, Garion."

"I see that you are continuing your studies," Mister Wolf said approvingly, glancing at the littered room.

"There’s so much to learn," Anheg said with a helpless gesture that included all the welter of books and papers and strange machines. "I have a feeling that I might have been happier if you’d never introduced me to this impossible task."

"You asked me," said Wolf simply.

"You could have said no." Anheg laughed. Then his brutish face turned serious. He glanced once more at Garion and began to speak in an obviously oblique manner. "I don’t want to interfere," he said, "but the behavior of this Asharak concerns me."

Garion moved away from Aunt Pol and began to study one of the strange little machines sitting on a nearby table, being careful not to touch it.

"We’ll take care of Asharak," Aunt Pol said.

But Anheg persisted. There have been rumors for centuries that you and your father have been protecting —" he hesitated, glanced at Garion, and then continued smoothly. "— A certain thing that must be protected at all costs. Several of my books speak of it."

"You read too much, Anheg," Aunt Pol said.

Anheg laughed again. "It passes the time, Polgara," he said. "The alternative is drinking with my earls, and my stomach’s getting a little delicate for that—and my ears as well. Have you any idea of how much noise a hall full of drunk Chereks can make? My books don’t shout or boast and they don’t fall down or slide under the tables and snore. They’re much better company, really."