David Eddings: Polgara the Sorceress

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work fo the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Voyager An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Previous Voyager paperback edition 1998, reprinted 11 times

First published in Great Britain by Voyager 1997

Copyright © David and Leigh Eddings 1997

The authors assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work

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HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007217106

Ebook Edition © JUNE 2010 ISBN: 9780007375066

Version 2018-11-01

And finally, after fifteen years, this book is dedicated to our readers. It’s been a long journey, hasn’t it? It’s been quite a project for us, and your patience and enthusiasm have helped us more than you can imagine. Thank you for your fortitude, and we hope that what we’ve done pleases you.

Warmly,

David & Leigh Eddings

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Part One: Beldaran

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Part Two: Father

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Part Three: Vo Wacune

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Part Four: Ontrose

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Part Five: Geran

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Part Six: Vo Mimbre

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Part Seven: Annath

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

Keep Reading

About the Author

By David Eddings

About the Publisher

KAIL, THE RIVAN WARDER, objected strenuously when King Belgarion told him that he and his queen planned to make the journey to the northern end of the Vale of Aldur unattended, but Garion uncharacteristically put his foot down. ‘It’s a family gathering, Kail. Ce’Nedra and I don’t need a cluster of servants underfoot. They’d just be in the way.’

‘But it’s dangerous, your Majesty.’

‘I rather doubt that anything’ll turn up that I can’t handle, old friend,’ Garion told him. ‘We’re going alone.’ The Rivan Queen was a bit startled by the firmness in Garion’s voice.

Then there was the argument about fur. Queen Ce’Nedra was Tolnedran by birth and Dryad by heritage. Those backgrounds were both southern, and the notion of wearing animal skins made Ce’Nedra’s flesh creep. Garion, however, was at least partially Alorn, and he’d traveled extensively in the north in the winter-time. ‘You’re going to wear fur, Ce’Nedra,’ he adamantly told his tiny wife, ‘because if you don’t, we aren’t going anywhere until the weather warms up.’ Garion seldom delivered ultimatums to her, and Ce’Nedra was shrewd enough not to argue about the matter any further. She obediently dressed herself in Alorn fur garments, spoke at some length with the nurse who would oversee the royal children during her absence, and then she and her husband left the Isle of the Winds aboard the disreputable Captain Greldik’s dubious ship on the morning tide.

They purchased horses and supplies in Camaar and set out toward the east. The regularly spaced Tolnedran hostels along the highway to Muros provided adequate lodgings each night, but after Muros, they were largely on their own. The Rivan King, however, had spent a great deal of time living out in the open, and his little wife was forced to concede that he was adequate when the time came to set up camp.

The Rivan Queen was realistic enough to know just how ridiculous she looked while gathering firewood in those camps. The bulky fur garments she wore gave her a roly-poly appearance, her flaming red hair streamed down her back, and because of her size she could only carry a few sticks at a time. The unwanted image of a red-haired beaver trudging through the snow came to her quite often.

The snow was deep in the Sendarian mountains, and it seemed to Ce’Nedra that her feet would never be warm again. She could not give her husband the satisfaction of admitting that, however. This trek was her idea, after all, and she’d have sooner died than admit that it might have been a mistake.

Ce’Nedra was like that sometimes.

It was snowing lightly and was bitterly cold when they came down out of the mountains and rode south across the snowy plains of Algaria. Although it definitely went against the grain to confess it, even privately, Ce’Nedra was actually glad that her husband had been so insistent about fur clothing.

And then as a chill evening was settling over southern Algaria and when lowering clouds were spitting tiny pellets of snow, they topped a rise and saw the little valley on the northern edge of the Vale of Aldur where Poledra’s cottage and the surrounding outbuildings lay. The cottage had been there for eons, of course, but the barns and sheds were Durnik’s additions, and they gave the place the appearance of a Sendarian farmstead.

Ce’Nedra wasn’t really interested in comparative architecture at that point, however. All she really wanted to do was to get in out of the cold. ‘Do they know that we’re coming?’ she asked her husband, her breath steaming in the biting cold.

‘Yes,’ Garion replied. ‘I told Aunt Pol that we were on the way a couple of days ago.’

‘Sometimes you’re a very useful fellow to have around, your Majesty,’ Ce’Nedra smiled.

‘Your Majesty is too kind.’ His reply was a bit flippant.

‘Oh, Garion.’ They both laughed as they pushed on down the hill.

The cottage – they’d always called it that, though in actuality it was growing to be a fairly large house – nestled at the side of an ice-bound little stream, and the snow was piled up to the bottom of the windows. There was a kind of golden invitation about the way the soft lamplight spilled out across the snow, and the column of blue smoke from the central chimney rose straight up toward the threatening sky. The Rivan Queen definitely approved of that indication that warmth and comfort were no more than a quarter mile away.