“How many Grolims would you say she had with her?” Sadi asked.
“Counting our two, I’d say maybe thirty -or forty‑ or it could be as many as fifty. I’ve never been very good at quick guesses like that. I can tell the difference between three and four, but after that I get confused, and‑“
“Could you give us any idea of exactly how long ago all that was?”
“Let’s see.” The carter squinted at the sty, counting on his fingers. “It couldn’t have been yesterday, because yesterday I took that load of barrels over to Toad‑face’s farm. Do you know Toad‑face? Ugliest man I ever saw, but his daughter’s a real beauty. I could tell you stories about her, let me tell you.”
“So it wasn’t yesterday?”
“No. If definitely wasn’t yesterday. I spent most of yesterday under a haystack with Toad‑face’s daughter. And I know it wasn’t the day before, because I got drunk that day and I don’t remember a thing that happened after midmorning.” He took another drink from the flagon.
“How about the day before that?”
“It could have been,” the carter said, “or the day before that.”
“Or even before?”
The carter shook his head. “No, that was the day our pig farrowed, and I know that the woman came by after that. It had to have been the day before the day before yesterday or the day before that.”
“Three or four days ago, then?”
“If that’s the way it works out,” the carter shrugged, drinking again.
“Thanks for the information, friend,” Sadi said. He looked at Silk. “We should be moving on, I suppose,” he said.
“Did you want your jar back?” the carter asked.
“Go ahead and keep it, friend,” Silk said. “I think I’ve had enough anyway.”
“Thanks for the ale ‑and the talk,” the carter called after them as they rode away. Garion glanced back and saw that the fellow had climbed down from his cart and was engaging in an animated conversation with his horse.
“Three days!” Ce’Nedra exlaimed happily.
“Or, at the most, four,” Sadi said.
“We’re gaining on her!” Ce’Nedra said, suddenly leaning over and throwing her arms about the eunuch’s neck.
“So it appears, your Majesty,” Sadi agreed, looking slightly embarrassed.
They camped off the road again that night and started out again early the following morning. The sun was just coming up when the large, blue‑banded hawk came spiraling in, flared, and shimmered into the form of Beldin at the instant its talons touched the road. “You’ve got company waiting for you just ahead,” he told them, pointing at the first line of foothills of the Mountains of Zamad lying perhaps a mile in front of them.
“Oh?” Belgarath said, reining in his horse.
“About a dozen Grolims,” Beldin said. They’re hiding in the bushes on either side of the road.”
Belgarath swore.
“Have you been doing things to annoy the Grolims?” the hunchback asked.
Belgarath shook his head. “Zandramas has been gathering them as she goes along. She’s got quite a few of them with her now. She probably left that group behind to head off pursuit. She knows that we’re right behind her.”
“What are we going to do, Belgarath?” Ce’Nedra asked. “We’re so close. We can’t stop now.”
The old man looked at his brother sorcerer. “Well?” he said.
Beldin scowled at him. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do it, but don’t forget that you owe me, Belgarath.”
“Write it down with all the other things. We’ll settle up when this is all over.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
“Did you find out where Nahaz took Urvon?”
“Would you believe they went back to Mal Yaska?” Beldin sounded disgusted.
“They’ll come out eventually,” Belgarath assured him. “Are you going to need any help with the Grolims? I could send Pol along if you like.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No. I was just asking. Don’t make too much noise.” Beldin made a vulgar sound, changed again, and swooped away.
“Where’s he going?” Silk asked.
“He’s going to draw off the Grolims.”
“Oh? How?”
“I didn’t ask him,” Belgarath shrugged. “We’ll give him a little while and then we should be able to ride straight on through.”
“He’s very good, isn’t he?”
“Beldin? Oh, yes, very, very good. There he goes now.”
Silk looked around. “Where?”
“I didn’t see him ‑I heard him. He’s flying low a mile or so to the north of where the Grolims are hiding, and he’s kicking up just enough noise to make it sound as if the whole group of us are trying to slip around them without being seen.” He glanced at his daughter. “Pol, would you take a look and see if it’s working?”
“All right, father.” She concentrated, and Garion could feel her mind reaching out, probing. “They’ve taken the bait,” she reported. “They all ran off after Beldin.”
“That was accommodating of them, wasn’t it? Let’s move on.”
They pushed their horses into a gallop and covered the distance to the first foothills of the Mountains of Zamad in a short period of time. They followed the road up a steep slope and through a shallow notch. Beyond that the terrain grew more rugged, and the dark green forest rose steeply up the flanks of the peaks.
Garion began to sense conflicting signals from the Orb as he rode. At first he had only felt its eagerness to follow the trail of Zandramas and Geran, but now he began to feel a sullen undertone, a sound of ageless, implacable hatred, and at his back where the sword was sheathed, he began to feel an increasing heat.
“Why is it burning red?” Ce’Nedra asked from behind him.
“What’s burning red?”
“The Orb, I think. I can see it glowing right through the leather covering you have over it.”
“Let’s stop awhile,” Belgarath told them, reining in his horse.
“What is it, Grandfather?”
“I’m not sure. Take the sword out and slip off the sleeve. Let’s see what’s happening.”
Garion drew the sword from its sheath. It seemed heavier than usual for some reason, and when he peeled off the soft leather covering, they were all able to see that instead of its usual azure blue, the Orb of Aldur was glowing a dark, sooty red.
“What is it, father?” Polgara asked.
“It feels the Sardion,” Eriond said in a calm voice.
“Are we that close?” Garion demanded. “Is this the Place Which Is No More?”
“I don’t think so, Belgarion,” the young man replied. “It’s something else.”
“What is it, then?”
“I’m not sure, but the Orb is responding to the other stone in some way. They talk to each other in a fashion I can’t understand.”
They rode on, and some time later the blue‑banded hawk came swirling in, blurred into Beldin’s shape, and stood in front of them. The gnarled dwarf had a slightly self‑satisfied look on his face. “
“You look like a cat that just got into the cream, Belgarath said.
“Naturally. I just sent a dozen or so Grolims off in the general direction of the polar icecap. They’ll have a wonderful time when the pan ice starts to break up and they get to float around up there for the rest of the summer.”
“Are you going to scout on ahead?” Belgarath asked him.
“I suppose so,” Beldin replied. He held out his arms, blurred into feathers, and drove himself into the air.
They rode more cautiously now, climbing deeper and deeper into the Mountains of Zamad. The surrounding country grew more broken. The reddish‑hued peaks were jagged, and their lower flanks were covered with dark firs and pines. Rushing streams boiled over rocks and dropped in frothy waterfalls over steep cliffs. The road, which had been straight and flat on the plains of Ganesia, began to twist and turn as it crawled up the steep slopes.
It was nearly noon when Beldin returned again. “The main party of Grolims turned south,” he reported. “There are about forty of them.”
“Was Zandramas with them?” Garion asked quickly.
“No. I don’t think so ‑at least I didn’t pick up the sense of anyone unusual in the group.”
“We haven’t lost her, have we?” Ce’Nedra asked in alarm.
“No,” Garion replied. “The Orb still has her trail.” He glanced over his shoulder. The stone on the hilt of his sword was still burning a sullen red.
“About all we can do is follow her,” Belgarath said. “It’s Zandramas we’re interested in, not a party of stray Grolims. Can you pinpoint exactly where we are?” he asked Beldin.
“Mallorea.”
“Very funny.”
“We’ve crossed into Zamad. This road goes on down into Voresebo, though. Where’s my mule?”
“Back with the packhorses,” Durnik told him.
As they moved on, Garion could feel Polgara probing on ahead with her mind.
“Are you getting anything, Pol?” Belgarath asked her.
“Nothing specific, father,” she replied. “I can sense the fact that Zandramas is close, but she’s shielding, so I can’t pinpoint her.”