border. The merchants have been picking up quite a bit of
information.”
“Anything useful?”
“It’s hard to say. Things have a way of getting garbled after they’ve
passed through six or eight people. From what I understand, the Murgos
have been moving south into the lands of the western Dals. They almost
had to, I guess. The Thulls have started to lose interest in feeding
their former masters, and nothing grows around Rak Goska. The Murgos
either had to move or starve.”
“Maybe they’ll wander off the southern end of the continent,” Algar
said.
“The notion of watching the Murgos marching out to sea sort of appeals
to me.”
“Has there been any word about Ctuchik?” I asked.
“I think he’s left Rak Goska,” Riva replied.
“They say that he’s building a city at a place called Rak Cthol. It’s
supposed to be on top of a mountain somewhere.”
“It’d be consistent,” I said.
“Ctuchik’s a Grolim, and the Grolims have been in mourning ever since
Korim sank into the sea. They adore temples on top of mountains, for
some reason.”
“They wouldn’t get too much worship out of me in a place like that,”
Anrak said.
“I’ll go to church if it’s not too much trouble, but I don’t think I’d
want to climb a mountain to get there.” He looked at me.
“Have you ever met this Ctuchik?”
“I think so,” I replied.
“I think he was the one who was chasing us after we stole the Orb.
Ctuchik more or less ran things at Cthol Mishrak.
Torak was concentrating all his attention on the Orb, so he left the
day-to-day details to Ctuchik. I know that the one leading the pursuit
was either Urvon or Ctuchik, and I hear Urvon didn’t go to Cthol
Mishrak unless Torak summoned him.”
“What does Ctuchik look like?”
“A dog, last time I looked,” Algar murmured.
“A dog?”
“One of the Hounds of Torak,” I explained.
“Certain Grolims took on the form of Hounds so that they could guard
the place.”
“Who’d want to go near a place like Cthol Mishrak?”
“We did,” Algar told him.
“There was something there we wanted.”
He looked at me.
“Has Beldin heard anything about where Zedar might be?” He asked.
“Not that he mentioned.”
“I think maybe we ought to keep an eye out for him. We know that
Urvon’s at Mal Yaska and Ctuchik’s at Rak Cthol. We don’t know where
Zedar is, and that makes him dangerous. Urvon and Ctuchik are
Angaraks. If either one of them comes after the Orb, he’ll come with
an army. Zedar’s not an Angarak, so he might try something
different.”
I could have saved myself–and a large number of other people–a great
deal of trouble if I’d paid closer attention to what Fleet-foot said.
We didn’t have time to pursue the question, though, because it was just
about then that the messenger Pol had sent found us.
“Lord Riva,” he said to my son-in-law,
“Lady Polgara says that you’re supposed to come now.”
Riva stood up quickly.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
The messenger was a bearded Alorn warrior, and he seemed a little
offended by his errand. Polgara tends to ignore rank, and when she
needs something, she’ll send the first person she sees to get it.
“Everything seems normal to me,” the messenger replied, shrugging.
“The women are all running around with pails of hot water, and your
wife’s yelling.”
“Yelling?” Riva’s eyes got wild.
“Women always yell when they’re having babies, my Lord. My wife’s had
nine, and she still yells. You’d think they’d get used to it after a
while, wouldn’t you?”
Riva pushed past him and went down the stairs four at a time.
It was the first time that Pol had officiated at a birth, so she was
probably just a bit premature about summoning Riva. Beldaran’s labor
continued for about another four hours, and Iron-grip was definitely in
the way the whole time. I think my daughter learned a valuable lesson
that day. After that, she always invented something for the expectant
father to do during his wife’s labor–usually something physical and a
long way away from the birthing chamber.
In the normal course of time, Beldaran delivered my grandson, a
red-faced, squirming boy with damp hair that dried to sandy blond.
Polgara emerged from the bedroom with the small, blanket-wrapped bundle
in her arms and a strange, almost wistful look on her face.
“Behold the heir to the Rivan throne,” she said to us, holding out the
baby.
Riva stumbled to his feet.
“Is he all right?” he stammered.
“He has the customary number of arms and legs, if that’s what you
mean,” Pol replied.
“Here.” She thrust the baby at his father.
“Hold him.
I want to help my sister.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s fine, Riva. Take the baby.”
“Isn’t he awfully small?”
“Most babies are. Take him.”
“Maybe I’d better not. I might drop him.”
Her eyes glinted.
“Take the baby, Riva.” She said it slowly, emphasizing each word.
Nobody argues with Polgara when she takes that tone.
Riva’s hands were shaking very badly when he reached out to take his
son.
“Support his head,” she instructed.
Riva placed one of his huge hands behind the baby’s head. His knees
were visibly trembling.
“Maybe you’d better sit down,” she said.
He sank back into his chair, his face very pale.
“Men!” Polgara said, rolling her eyes upward. Then she turned and
went back into the bedroom.
My grandson looked at his father gravely. He had very blue eyes, and
he seemed much calmer than the trembling giant who was holding him.
After a few minutes, Iron-grip began that meticulous examination of his
newborn offspring that all parents seem to feel is necessary. I’m not
sure why people always want to count fingers and toes under those
circumstances.
“Would you look at those tiny little fingernails!” Riva exclaimed.
Why are people always surprised about the size of baby’s fingernails?
Are they expecting claws, perhaps?
“Belgarath!” Riva said then in a choked voice.
“He’s deformed!”
I looked down at the baby.
“He looks all right to me.”
“There’s a mark on the palm of his right hand!” He carefully opened
those tiny fingers to show me.
The mark wasn’t very large, of course, hardly more than a small white
spot.
“Oh, that,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s supposed to be there.”
“What?”
“Look at your own hand, Riva,” I said patiently.
He opened that massive right hand of his.
“But that’s a burn mark. I got it when I picked up the Orb for the
first time–before it got to know me.”
“Did it hurt when it burned you?”
“I don’t remember exactly. I was a little excited at the time. Torak
was right in the next room, and I wasn’t sure he’d stay asleep.”
“It’s not a burn, Riva. The Orb knew who you were, and it wasn’t going
to hurt you. All it did was mark you. Your son’s marked the same way
because he’s going to be the next keeper of the Orb. You might as well
get used to that mark. It’s going to be in your family for a long
time.”
“What an amazing thing. How did you find out about this?”
I shrugged.
“Aldur told me,” I replied. It was the easy thing to say, but it
wasn’t true. I hadn’t known about the mark until I saw it, but as soon
as I did, I knew exactly what it meant. Evidently a great deal of
information had been passed on to me while I had been sharing my head
with that peculiar voice that had guided us to Cthol Mishrak. The
inconvenient part of the whole business lies in the fact that these
insights don’t rise to the surface until certain events come along to
trigger them. Moreover, as soon as I saw that mark on my grandson’s
palm, I knew there was something I had to do.
That had to wait, however, because Polgara came out of the bedroom just
then.
“Give him to me,” she told Riva.
“What for?” Iron-grip’s voice had a possessive tone to it.
“It’s time he had something to eat. I think Beldaran ought to take
care of that–unless you want to do it.”
He actually blushed as he quickly handed the baby over.
I wasn’t able to attend to my little project until the following
morning.
I don’t think the baby got very much sleep that night. Everybody
wanted to hold him. He took it well, though. My grandson was an
uncommonly good-natured baby. He didn’t fuss or cry, but just examined
each new face with that same grave, serious expression. I even got the
chance to hold him once–for a little while. I took him in my hands
and winked at him. He actually smiled. That made me feel very good,
for some reason.
There was a bit of an argument the next morning, however.