however. My companion entertained herself chasing deer and rabbits,
but I spent my time looking for that cave our Master had told us about
on several occasions. I knew it was in these mountains somewhere, so I
took some time to do a little exploring. I didn’t plan to do anything
about it if I found it, but I wanted to see the place where the Gods
had lived while they were creating the world.
To be honest about it, that wasn’t the only time I looked for that
cave.
Every time I passed through those mountains, I’d set aside a week or so
to look around. The original home of the Gods would be something to
see, after all.
I never found it, of course. It took Garion to do that–many, many
years later. Something important was going to happen there, and it
didn’t involve me.
Beldin had returned from Mallorea when the wolf and I got back to the
Vale, but Belzedar wasn’t with him. I’d missed my ugly little brother
during the century or so that he’d been in Mallorea. There were
certain special ties between us, and though it may seem a bit odd, I
enjoyed his company.
I reported my successes to our Master, and then I told him about what
we had encountered in Ulgoland. He seemed to be as baffled as I’d
been.
“Is it possible that the Ulgos did something to offend their God,
Master?” I asked him.
“Something so serious that he decided to wash his hands of the lot of
them and turn the monsters loose again?”
“Nay, my son,” Aldur replied, shaking that silvery head of his.
“He would not–could not–do that.”
“He changed his mind once, Master,” I reminded him.
“He didn’t want any part of mankind when the original Gorim went to
Prolgu, as I recall. Gorim had to badger him for years before he
finally relented. It’s probably uncharitable of me to mention it, but
the current Gorim isn’t very lovable. He offends me with a single
look. The heavens only know how offensive he could be once he started
talking.”
Aldur smiled faintly.
“It is uncharitable of thee, Belgarath,” he told me. Then he actually
laughed.
“I must confess that I find myself in full agreement with thee,
however. But no, Belgarath, is most patient. Not even the one who is
currently Gorim could offend him so much. I will investigate this
troubling matter and advise thee of my findings.”
“I thank thee, Master,” I said, taking my leave. Then I stopped by
Beldin’s place to invite him to come by for a few tankards and a bit of
talk. I prudently borrowed a keg of ale from the twins on my way
home.
Beldin came stumping up the stairs to the room at the top of my tower
and drained off his first tankard without stopping for breath. Then he
belched and wordlessly handed it back to me for a refill.
I dipped more ale from the keg, and we sat down across the table from
each other.
“Well?” I said.
“Well what?” That was Beldin for you.
“What’s happening in Mallorea?”
“Can you be a little more specific? Mallorea’s a big place.” The wolf
had come over and laid her chin in his lap. She’d always seemed fond
of Beldin for some reason. He scratched her ears absently.
“What’s Torak doing?” I asked with some asperity.
“Burning, actually.” Beldin grinned that ugly, crooked grin of his.
“I
think our Master’s brother’s going to burn for a long, long time.”
“Is that still going on?” I was a little surprised.
“I’d have thought the fire would have gone out by now.”
“Not noticeably. You can’t see the flames any more, but Old Burnt-face
is still on fire. The Orb was very discontented with him, and it is a
stone, after all. Stones aren’t noted for their forgiveness. Torak
spends a lot of his time screaming.”
“Isn’t that a shame?” I said with a vast insincerity.
Beldin grinned at me again.
“Anyway,” he went on, “after he broke the world apart, he had his
Angaraks put the Orb in an iron box so that he wouldn’t have to look at
it. Just the sight of it makes the fire hotter, I guess. That ocean
he’d built was chasing the Angaraks just as fast as it was chasing us,
so they ran off to the East with the waves lapping at their heels. All
their holy places got swallowed up when the water came in, and they
either had to sprout gills or find high ground.”
“I find that I can bear their discomfort with enormous fortitude,” I
said smugly.
“Belgarath, you’ve been spending too much time with the Alorns You’re
even starting to sound like one.”
I shrugged.
“Alorns aren’t really all that bad–once you get used to them.”
“I’d rather not. They set my teeth on edge.”
“What happened next?”
“That explosion we saw when the water hit the lava boiling up out of
the crack in the earth’s crust rearranged the geography off to the East
rather significantly. There’s an impressive new swamp between where
Korim used to be and where Kell is.”
“Is Kell still there?”
“Kell’s always been there, Belgarath, and it probably always will be.
There was a city at Kell before the rest of us came down out of the
trees.
This new swamp hasn’t been there long, but the Angaraks managed to slog
through. Torak himself was busy screaming, so his army commanders were
obliged to take charge. It didn’t take them very long to realize that
all that muck wasn’t exactly suitable for human habitation.”
“I’m surprised that it bothered them. Angaraks adore ugliness.”
“Anyway, there was a big argument between the generals and the Grolims,
I understand. The Grolims were hoping that the sea would recede so
that they could all go back to Korim. The altars were there, after
all. The generals were more practical. They knew that the water
wasn’t going to go down. They stopped wasting time arguing and ordered
the army to march off toward the northwest and to take the rest of
Angarak with them. They marched away and left the Grolims standing on
the beach staring longingly off toward Korim.” He belched again and
held out his empty tankard.
“You know where it is,” I told him sourly.
“You’re not much of a host, Belgarath.” He rose, stumped over to the
keg, and scooped his tankard full, slopping beer all over my floor.
Then he stumped back.
“The Grolims weren’t very happy about the generals’ decision. They
wanted to go back, but if they went back all alone, there wouldn’t be
anybody to butcher but each other, and they’re not quite that devout.
They went chasing after the horde, haranguing them to turn around. That
irritated the generals, and there were a number of ugly incidents. I
guess that’s what started the break-up of Angarak society.”
“The what?” I said, startled.
“I speak plainly, Belgarath. Is your hearing starting to fail? I’ve
heard that happens to you old people.”
“What do you mean, “the breakup of Angarak society”?”
“They’re coming apart at the seams. As long as Torak was functioning,
the Grolim priesthood had everything their way. During the war, the
generals got a taste of power, and they liked it. With Torak
incapacitated, the Grolims really don’t have any authority; most
Angaraks feel the same way about Grolims as Belsambar does. Anyway,
the generals led the Angaraks up through the mountains, and they came
down on a plain that was more or less habitable. They built a large
military camp at a place they call Mal Zeth, and they put guards around
it to keep the Grolims out. Eventually the Grolims gave up and took
their followers north and built another encampment. They call it Mal
Yaska. So now you’ve got two different kinds of Angaraks in Mallorea.
The soldiers at Mal Zeth are like soldiers everywhere; religion isn’t
one of their highest priorities. The zealots at Mal Yaska spend so
much time praying to Torak that they haven’t gotten around to building
houses yet.”
“I wouldn’t have believed that could ever happen,” I said, “not to
Angaraks. Religion’s the only thing they’ve ever been able to think
about.” Then I thought of something.
“How did Belsambar react when you told him about this?”
Beldin shrugged.
“He didn’t believe me. He can’t accept the fact that Angarak society
disintegrated. Our brother’s having a lot of trouble right now,
Belgarath. I think he’s feeling some obscure racial guilt. He is an
Angarak, after all, and Torak did drown more than half of mankind.
Maybe you’d better have a talk with him–persuade him that it’s not
really his fault.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised.
“Is that the way things stand in Mallorea right now?”
He laughed.
“Oh, no. It gets better. About twenty years ago, Torak stopped
feeling sorry for himself and came to his senses. Back in the old