near one of the windows.
“Nice touch, Pol,” I congratulated her.
“Just a little more confusion for your Murgo, father. If he believes
that Darion, Selana, and I all died in the fire, he won’t come looking
for us.”
“I’m sure Ctuchik’ll be delighted to hear the news–at least until he
goes back and rereads his prophecies. Then he’ll probably turn our
Murgo inside out.”
“Wouldn’t that be a shame?”
I put the three of them in the back of the cart and covered them with
some blankets, and then I drove the cart out into the deserted street.
I waited until we’d almost reached the north gate before I set fire to
Darion’s shop. I didn’t start a big fire–just a baby one in a back
corner. The shop had large stacks of seasoned lumber in it and wood
shavings piled up in the corners, so my little fire had plenty to eat.
It took awhile, but eventually it grew up.
The gates of Sulturn were unguarded. Sendars tend to be a little
relaxed about security measures, so we were able to leave town
unnoticed.
We were well out of town on the road toward Lake Medalia before a
sudden column of flame announced that my baby fire had finally reached
adulthood and broken through the roof of Darion’s house.
As I said earlier, it was mid-autumn, and it was a cloudy, blustery
night as I drove the cart north toward Medalia and on beyond that to
Darine, where we’d be able to take a ship for Kotu in Drasnia.
There’s another repetition for you, Garion. Remember the night when we
left Faldor’s farm? Except for the turnips, this trip was almost
identical.
It took us perhaps two weeks to reach Darine, largely because we stayed
off the main roads and because I didn’t particularly hurry. I’d
learned that from my Master. If you want to stay inconspicuous, don’t
make any quick moves. He’d used that disguise many times, and I doubt
that anyone had ever remembered him for more than ten minutes after
he’d passed.
When we reached Darine, Darion sold the horse and cart, and we took
passage on a Sendarian merchantman bound for Kotu.
There weren’t any Murgos in Drasnia, but trade along the North Caravan
Route had resumed–once the Nadraks recovered from their disastrous
adventure on the frontier during the twenty-fifth century–so there
were occasional Nadrak merchants in Kotu. Nadraks didn’t concern me as
much as Murgos did, but I was still rather cautious. Darion objected
when I set him up in business as a woodcarver instead of a cabinetmaker
until I explained it to him.
“If you can make furniture, you can certainly carve wood, Darion,” I
told him.
“That fellow we evaded back in Sulturn is very likely to tell all his
friends everything he found out about you, so a lot of unfriendly eyes
are going to be investigating every cabinet shop in the Western
Kingdoms. For your safety, your wife’s, and your Aunt Pol’s, it’s time
for you to go into another line of work.”
“I suppose you’re right, Ancient One,” he agreed glumly.
“Look on the bright side, Darion,” I told him.
“You can sell good wood carvings for almost as much as furniture, and
you don’t have to buy as much lumber.”
I’d also changed their names and bullied Polgara into putting some dye
on that conspicuous lock in her hair, although it didn’t really work
that well.
Then I decided that it was time for me to leave Kotu. I can’t even
whittle, so my presence in a woodcarver’s shop might have been a little
hard to explain. I said good-bye and sailed back to Darine, then
proceeded to Muros and sat out the winter there before venturing into
Ulgo land. I still wanted to meet the new Gorim, but not so much that
I was willing to break my way through twelve-foot snowdrifts for the
pleasure of his company.
I avoided the assorted monsters in Ulgoland the following spring by the
usual expedient of going wolf. I suppose I could have gone falcon and
flown instead, but there was no particular hurry, and I’m more
comfortable as a wolf.
When I reached the ruins of Prolgu–although Prolgu isn’t really
ruined, only abandoned–I went to one particular house, announced my
presence, and the Ulgos took me down into their dimly lighted caves and
to the house of their new Gorim. The traditional home of the Gorim of
Ulgo lies in a gloomy cavern. It’s an oddly truncated, pyramid-shaped
house on a small eyot in the center of a shallow lake where small
trickles of water fall down from above, echoing through that great
cavern with the melancholy sound of eternal regret. I think the regret
may be that of UL Himself. The Ulgos have lived in the dark for so
long that daylight fright ens them and the sun is an agony to their
eyes. That island with its marble columns and pale, sunless shore
seems more appropriate for a gathering of ghosts than for humans. Add
to that the fact that the perpetual echoes in those caves makes it
necessary for Ulgos to speak very softly. It makes a visit to Ulgoland
much like a vacation in a mausoleum.
I liked the new Gorim, though. He was a gentle, saintly man, and he
and I got on well together. As it turned out, however, I wasn’t the
only visitor in Prolgu just then. A fellow named Horban, a member of
the Tolnedran diplomatic corps, had arrived a bit earlier. The Second
Horbite Dynasty was in power in Tol Honeth, and the persistent rumors
that Ulgo land actually had people living in it as well as the monsters
had piqued the curiosity of Ran Horb XVI. He’d sent his cousin Horban
to investigate and to explore the possible opportunities for trade. You
know how Tolnedrans are.
“He’s woefully uneducated, Belgarath,” Gorim told me.
“He has absolutely no sense of what’s really happening in the world.
Would you believe that he didn’t even know of the existence of UL when
he got here?”
“The Tolnedrans are a worldly people, Holy Gorim,” I explained.
“Their Nedra’s the most secular of all the Gods.”
The Gorim sighed.
“Truly,” he agreed.
“What should we do with this man, Belgarath? All he can talk about is
exchanging useless trinkets. He calls it “trade,” and it seems to be a
part of his religion.”
I laughed.
“I suppose you might as well humor him, Gorim. You’ll never get any
peace if you don’t. Let the Tolnedrans come to that valley at the foot
of your mountain, and then have your people go down there once in a
while and exchange a few trinkets with them. If I’m reading the
prophecies right, the time’s going to come when we’ll all be fighting
Angaraks. The Tolnedran legions are going to be involved, so we’d
better let them get used to the idea that you’re here. The discovery
of an untapped market might distract them.”
“Oh,” he said then, “before I forget, I have a message for you.”
“A message?”
“From the Seers of Kell.” He smiled a bit wryly.
“We’d thought that all connection with our Dallish cousins had been
severed long ago, but the Dals aren’t like other people. Eons have
passed since our last contacts, but they reminded us that we’re still
kinsmen.”
“Are you saying that one of the Seers actually came here to Prolgu?
Kell’s half a world away.”
He shook his head.
“It was an illusion. Ancient One. The Seers have abilities we cannot
even comprehend. I woke up one morning to find a blindfolded man
sitting at my table with a huge mute hovering behind him. The
blindfolded man told me to advise you that the unification of
Mallorea’s nearly complete. The emperors are Angaraks, and their
throne’s in Mal Zeth, but the continent’s largely ruled by the
bureaucracy in Melcene. Even the Dals are being gathered into the
affairs of the Mallorean Empire. The Seer told me to warn you that the
time’s coming closer when Torak will come out of his seclusion to
resume his old authority.”
I nodded.
“We’d more or less worked that out for ourselves. It’s good to have
some confirmation, though. We were baffled when Torak didn’t invade
right after the assassination of the Rivan King, but the One-eyed God
evidently thinks long range. He’s been biding his time at Ashaba,
letting the Angarak emperors consolidate their hold on Mallorea. As
soon as that’s complete, he’ll take command and mount an invasion.”
“Are you making preparations?”
“My friend, I’ve been making preparations for Torak since the day he
cracked the world. I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve for him.”
“The Seer also told me to warn you that Ctuchik’s left Rak Cthol.
What can he possibly be up to?”
“He’s looking for Polgara. He’s had his Murgos out scouring the West
in search of her for centuries. Apparently the old Hound’s going to