I found that he looked very much as his father had as a baby–another
indication of those forces I just mentioned.
I’m sure you noticed that in my own mind I’d long since discarded all
those tedious “great-great’s.” To me, that long string of sandy-haired
little boys were simply grandsons. I loved them all in just about the
same way.
Polgara, however, loved each of them a bit differently, some more, some
less. For any number of reasons, she was particularly close to Gelane,
and she was absolutely devastated when he died in the year 4902,
exactly nine hundred years after the murder of King Gorek. The twins
felt the date to be highly significant, and they tore the Mrin apart
trying to find something hinting at what it meant. Garion’s silent
friend, however, had remained just that–silent.
I don’t think any of us fully realized just how much Polgara had
suffered during those seemingly endless centuries and losses. My
primary concern had been with the line, not the individuals. My
relationship with those heirs had been sketchy at best, and their
passings hadn’t really touched me all that much. I could be fairly
philosophical about it. I’d grown used to the fact that people are
born, they grow up, and then they die. Everybody loses a few family
members if he lives long enough, but Pol’s situation was unique. She’d
been intimately involved with all those little boys, and she’d lost
them by the score in the course of those nine centuries; griefs not
something you’re ever going to get used to.
I went back to Cherek after Gelane died and took a long, hard look at
his son. Then I sighed and went away. He wasn’t the one we’d been
waiting for.
The years continued their stately, ordered procession, and things were
quiet in the West for a change. That disastrous defeat at Vo Mimbre
had subdued the Angaraks, and they largely left us alone. Chamdar was
still lurking around somewhere, but he wasn’t making enough noise to
attract my attention, and I was fairly certain that he wouldn’t appear
in Cherek to give Polgara any problems. Chereks are, almost by
definition, the most primitive, archetypical Alorns. Drasnians have
established a somewhat wary relationship with the Nadraks, and Algars
can tolerate the Thulls, but Chereks steadfastly maintain a
stiff-necked racial prejudice against all Angaraks. Occasionally I’ve
tried to explain to any number of Chereks why prejudice isn’t
particularly commendable, but I don’t believe I’ve ever gotten through
to any of them, largely because I think that Belar got to them first.
Don’t get me wrong here, I liked Belar, but, ye Gods, he was stubborn!
I sometimes think that the Cherek hatred of all Angaraks is divinely
inspired. It suited our purposes during those years, however, since it
most definitely kept Chamdar away from Polgara.
The Third Borune Dynasty went on and on; that, all by itself, strongly
hinted that something important was in the wind. The Mrin was fairly
specific about the fact that the Godslayer’s wife was going to be a
Borune princess.
Things had begun to deteriorate in Arendia. The peace we’d imposed on
Asturia and Mimbre by marrying Mayaserana to Korodullin began to come
apart at the seams, largely, I think, because the Mimbrates refused to
recognize the titles of the Asturian nobility. That offended the
hotheaded Asturians, and there were any number of ugly incidents during
the fiftieth century.
Prosperity returned to Sendaria when the yearly Algar cattle drives to
Muros resumed. The limited trade on the Isle of the Winds was
reestablished, but foreign merchants still were not allowed inside the
city of Riva. The Ulgos didn’t change at all, but Ulgos never do. The
Tolnedran merchant princes in Tol Honeth had looked upon the Ulgo
participation in the war against Kal Torak as a good sign, hoping that
the Ulgos might loosen some of their restrictions on trade. The Ulgos,
however, went back to Prolgu, descended into their caves, and slammed
the door behind them.
The Nyissans grew increasingly sulky, since their economy was largely
based on the slave trade, and when there are no battles, there aren’t
any new slaves. Nyissans always pout during an extended period of
peace.
Korzeth had completed the reunification of Mallorea–sort of. He
delivered a nominally unified empire to his son, but the actual
business of welding Mallorea together was accomplished by the Melcene
bureaucracy and its policy of including all the subject people in the
government.
Kell, like Ulgoland, didn’t change.
Since nothing was really going on, I had the chance to return to my
studies, and I rediscovered something that’s always aggravated me. It
takes a considerable amount of time to reactivate your brain after
you’ve been away from your studies for a while. Study is a very
intensive activity, and if you lay it aside for a bit, you have to
learn how all over again. I know that it’s going to happen every time,
and that’s why I get irritable when something comes up that drags me
away from what is, after all, my primary occupation. The long period
of relative peace and tranquility gave me about three hundred and fifty
years of uninterrupted study time, and I accomplished quite a bit.
Did you really want me to break off at this point to give you an
extended lecture on number theory or the principles of literary
criticism?
I didn’t really think you would, so why don’t we just lay those things
aside and press on with this great work that we are in?
I think it was sometime in the middle of the fifty-third century–5249
or 5250–when I completed something I’d been working on for twenty
years or so and decided that it might not be a bad idea for me to go
out and have a look around. I slipped down into Cthol Murgos and
looked in on Ctuchik.
That’s all I did–just look. He appeared to be busy with his assorted
amusements–some obscene and some merely disgusting–so I didn’t bother
him.
Then I went on south from Rak Cthol to see if I could locate the cave
where Zedar was keeping his comatose Master. I didn’t have much
trouble finding it, because Beldin was sitting on top of a ridge just
across the rocky gorge from it. It didn’t look as if he’d moved for
several decades.
“Did you kill Ctuchik yet?” he asked me after I’d shed my feathers.
“Beldin,” I said in a pained tone of voice, “why is that always your
first answer to any problem?”
“I’m a simple man, Belgarath,” he replied, reaching out his gnarled
hand with surprising swiftness, snatching up an unwary lizard, and
eating it alive.
“Killing things is always the simplest answer to problems.”
“Just because it’s simple doesn’t mean that it’s the best way,” I told
him.
“No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t kill Ctuchik. The twins have been
getting some hints out of the Mrin that we’ll need him later, and I’m
not going to do anything to get in the way of things that have to
happen.” I looked across the gorge.
“Is Zedar still in that cave with One-eye?”
“No. He left a few years back.”
“Why are you setting down roots here, then?”
“Because it’s altogether possible that Torak’ll be the first to know
when the Godslayer arrives. That might be all the warning we’ll get
when things start coming to a head. I’ll let you know when the side of
that mountain over there blows out.”
“Have you any idea of where Zedar went?”
“I can’t do everything, Belgarath. I’ll watch Torak; Zedar’s your
problem.
What have you been up to lately?”
“I proved that three and three make six,” I replied proudly.
“That took you three centuries? I could have proved that with a
handful of dried beans.”
“But not mathematically, Beldin. Empirical evidence doesn’t really
prove anything, because the investigator might be crazy. Certainty
exists only in pure mathematics.”
“And if you accidentally turn your equation upside down, will that make
all of us suddenly fly off the face of the earth?”
“Probably not.”
“Forgive me, brother, but I’d much rather trust empirical evidence. I
might be a little crazy now and then, but I’ve seen some of the answers
you come up with when you try to add up a column of figures.”
I shrugged.
“Nobody’s perfect.” I moved around to the upwind side of him.
“How long’s it been since you’ve had a bath?”
“I couldn’t say. When’s the last time it rained around here?”
“This is a desert, Beldin. It can go for years without raining
here.”
“So? I’ve always felt that too much bathing weakens you. Go on home,
Belgarath. I’m trying to work something out.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I’m trying to distinguish the difference between “right” and “good.” ”
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“I’m interested, that’s all. It keeps my mind occupied while I’m
waiting for my next bath. Go find Zedar, Belgarath, and quit pestering