care of himself if that happened.”
“He didn’t the last time,” I replied bleakly.
“That was probably because Torak took him by surprise. You don’t
normally expect a brother to hit you.”
“Why all this concern, then?”
“Didn’t you feel the Master’s grief? And I’m not just talking about
the loss of the Orb. Torak betrayed him and hit him, and now there’s
going to be a war. I think a couple of us should stay here to comfort
the Master and to care for him.”
“Do you want to stay?”
“Not me, old boy. I’m at least as angry about this as you are. Right
now I’m so angry that I could bite rocks and spit sand.”
I considered it. There were seven of us, and we had to reach only five
Gods, so we could certainly afford to leave a couple behind.
“How about the twins, then?” I suggested.
“Neither one of them could function if we separated them anyway, and
they don’t have the temperament to deal with any confrontations that
might turn up.”
“Excellent suggestion, old boy,” he approved.
“Of course, that means that someone else will have to go north to speak
with Belar.”
“I’ll do that,” I volunteered.
“I think I can probably deal with the Alorns.”
“I’ll go to Nedra, then. I’ve met him before, and I know how to get
his attention. I’ll bribe him if I have to.”
“Bribe? He’s a God, Belmakor.”
“You’ve never met him, I gather. The Tolnedrans come by their
peculiarities honestly.”
“Take Belzedar with you,” I suggested.
“He’s obsessed with the Orb, so I don’t think we should just turn him
loose. He might decide to go after Torak on his own. When you get to
the lands of the Tolnedrans, send him up into Arendland to talk with
Chaldan. If he tries to argue with you, tell him that I ordered him to
do it. I’m the eldest, so that might carry some weight with him. Don’t
let him go south. I don’t want him getting himself killed. Our
Master’s got enough grief to deal with already.”
He nodded gravely.
“I’ll take the others along as well. We’ll split up once we reach the
Tolnedrans. Belsambar can go talk with Mara, and Beldin should be able
to find Issa.”
“That’s probably the best plan. Warn Beldin and Belsambar about
Belzedar. Let’s all keep an eye on him. Sometimes he’s a little
impulsive.”
“Do we want to involve the Dals or the Melcenes?”
I squinted up at the sky. The summer storm had blown off, and only a
few puffy white clouds remained.
“The Master didn’t mention them,” I replied a little dubiously.
“You might want to warn them, though. They probably wouldn’t care to
participate in a religious war–considering the fact that they don’t
have a God–but you should probably suggest that they stay out of the
way.”
He shrugged.
“Whatever you think best. Will you talk with the twins?”
“Why don’t you do that? I’ve got a long way to go, and the Alorns are
spread out all over the north. It might take me quite a little while
to find Belar.”
“Good hunting,” he said with a faint smile.
“Very funny, Belmakor,” I replied dryly.
“One does one’s best, old boy. I’ll go speak with the twins.” And he
sauntered off in the direction of the twins’ tower. Not much ever
ruffled Belmakor–at least not on the surface.
Since speed was important, I decided to change into the form of an
eagle and fly north, which proved to be a mistake. I think I’ve
already mentioned the fact that I don’t fly very well. I’ve never
really been able to get the hang of it. For one thing, I’m not all
that comfortable with feathers, and for another–wings or not–the
sight of all that empty air under me makes me decidedly uncomfortable,
so I flap a great deal more than is really necessary, and that can
become very tiring after a while.
The major problem, however, lay in the fact that the longer I remained
in the form of an eagle, the more the character of the eagle became
interwoven with my own. I began to be distracted by tiny movements on
the ground, and I had fierce urges to swoop down and kill things.
This obviously wasn’t working, so I settled back to earth, resumed my
own form, and sat for a time to catch my breath, rest my arms, and
consider alternatives. The eagle, for all his splendor, is really a
stupid bird, and I didn’t want to be continually distracted from my
search for Belar by every mouse or rabbit on the ground beneath me.
I considered the possibility of the horse. A horse can run very fast
for short periods, but he soon tires, and he’s not very much brighter
than the eagle. I decided against taking the form of a horse and moved
on to other possibilities. An antelope can run for days without
tiring, but the antelope is a silly creature, and too many other
animals on this vast plain looked upon him as a food source. I didn’t
really have the time to stop to persuade every passing predator to go
find something else to eat. I needed a form with speed and stamina and
a sufficiently intimidating reputation to keep other creatures at a
distance.
After a while it occurred to me that all the traits I was looking for
were to be found in the wolf. Of all the creatures of the plain and
forest, the wolf is the most intelligent, the swiftest, and the most
tireless. Not only that, no sane animal crosses a wolf if he can
possibly avoid it.
It took me a while to get it right. Beldin had taught us all to assume
the form of a bird, but I was on my own when it came to putting on fur
and paws.
I’ll admit that I botched it the first few times. Have you ever seen a
wolf with feathers and a beak? You really wouldn’t want to. I finally
managed to put all thoughts of birds out of my mind and came much
closer to my idealized conception of what a wolf ought to look like.
It’s a strange sort of process, this changing of form. First you fill
your mind with the image of the creature you want to become, and then
you direct your will inward and sort of melt yourself into the image. I
wish Beldin were around. He could explain it far better than I can.
The important thing is just to keep trying–and to change back quickly
if you get it wrong. If you’ve left out the heart, you’re in
trouble.
After I’d made the change, I checked myself over rather carefully to
make sure I hadn’t left anything out. I’d imagine that I looked just a
bit ridiculous groping at my head and ears and muzzle with my paws, but
I wanted to be certain that other wolves wouldn’t laugh at me when they
saw me.
Then I started across the grassland. I soon realized that my choice
had been a good one. As soon as I got used to the idea of running on
all fours, I found the shape of the wolf quite satisfactory and the
mind of the wolf most compatible with my own. After an hour or so, I
was pleased to note that I was covering the ground at least as fast as
I had when floundering through the air as an eagle. I quickly
discovered that it’s a fine thing to have a tail. A tail helps you to
keep your balance, and it acts almost like a rudder when you’re making
quick turns. Not only that, when you have a fine, bushy tail, you can
wrap it around yourself at night to ward off the chill. You really
ought to try it sometime.
I ran north for a week or so, but I still hadn’t come across any
Alorns.
Then on one golden afternoon in late summer I encountered a young
she-wolf who was feeling frolicsome. She had, as I recall, fine
haunches and a comely muzzle.
“Why so great a hurry, friend?” she said to me coyly in the way of
wolves. Even in my haste, I was startled to find that I could
understand her quite clearly. I slowed, and then I stopped.
“What a splendid tail you have,” she complimented me, quickly following
up on her advantage, “and what excellent teeth.”
“Thank you,” I replied modestly.
“Your own tail is also quite fine, and your coat is truly magnificent.”
I admired her openly.
“Do you really think so?” she said, preening herself. Then she nipped
playfully at my flank and dashed off a few yards, trying to get me to
chase her.
“I would gladly stay a while so that we might get to know each other
better,” I told her, “but I have a most important errand.”