“Good, bad—what difference does it make?” Zandramas shrugged. “You can go now.”
“Yes, Holy Priestess.” The middle-aged woman genuflected and left the room.
Prince Geran looked at Zandramas with a grave expression on his little face.
“You’re quiet this morning, your Highness,” Zandramas said ironically.
The child’s expression did not change. Though they had been together for over a year, Geran had never shown the slightest sign of affection for her and, perhaps even more disturbing, he had never shown fear either. He held up one of his toys. “Ball,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied, “I suppose so.” Then, perhaps because his penetrating gaze disturbed her, she crossed the room to stand before her mirror. She pushed back her hood and gazed intently at her reflection. It had not touched her face yet. That was something at least. She looked with distaste at the whirling, sparkling lights beneath the skin of her lands. Then, quite deliberately, she opened the front of her robe and gazed at her nude reflection. It was spreading, there could be no question about that. Her breasts and belly also underlaid with those selfsame whirling points of light.
Geran had come silently up to stand beside her. “Stars,” he said, pointing at the mirror.
“Just go play, Geran,” the Child of Dark told him, closing her robe.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As they rode west that afternoon, they could see a heavy, dark purple cloudbank building up ahead of them, rising higher and higher and blotting out the blue of the sky. Finally Durnik rode forward. “Toth says that we’d better find shelter,” he told Belgarath. “These spring storms in this part of the world are savage.”
Belgarath shrugged. “I’ve been rained on before.”
“He says that the storm won’t last long,” Durnik said, “but it’s going to be very intense. It should blow through by morning. I really think we should listen to him, Belgarath. It’s not only the rain and wind. He says that there’s usually hail as well, and the hailstones can be as big as apples.”
Belgarath peered toward the blue-black clouds towering up into the western sky with lightning bolts staggering down from their centers. “All right,” he decided. “We wouldn’t be able to go much farther today anyway. Does he know of any shelter nearby?”
“There’s a farm village a league or so ahead,” Durnik told him. “If it’s like the others we’ve passed, there won’t be anybody there. We ought to be able to find a house with enough roof left to keep the hailstones off our heads.”
“Let’s aim for there then. That storm’s moving fast. I’ll call in Beldin and have him take a look.” He lifted his face, and Garion could feel his thought reaching out.
They rode at a gallop into a mounting wind that whipped their cloaks about them and carried with it an unpleasant chill and vagrant spatters of cold rain.
When they crested the hill above the deserted village, they could see the storm front advancing like a wall across the open plain.
“It’s going to be close,” Belgarath shouted above the wind. “Let’s make a run for it.”
They plunged down the hill through wildly tossing grass and then across a broad belt of plowed ground that encircled the village. The place was walled, but the gate was off its binges, and many houses showed signs of recent fires. They clattered along a rubble-littered street with the wind screaming at them. Garion heard a loud pop. Then another. Then several more in a growing staccato. “Here comes the hail!” he shouted.
Velvet suddenly cried out and clutched at her shoulder. Silk, almost without thinking, it seemed, pulled his horse in beside hers and flipped his cloak over her, tenting it protectively with his arm.
Beldin stood in the dooryard of a relatively intact house. “In here!” he called urgently. “The stable doors are open! Get the horses inside!”
They swung out of their saddles and quickly led their mounts into a cavernlike stable. Then they pushed the doors and dashed across the yard to the house. “Did you check the village for people?” Belgarath asked hunchbacked sorcerer as they entered.
“There’s nobody here,” Beldin told him, “unless there’s a bureaucrat hiding in a cellar somewhere.”
The banging sound outside grew louder until it became a steady roar. Garion looked out the door. Great chunks of ice were streaking out of the sky and smashing themselves to bits on the cobblestones. The chill grew more intense moment by moment. “I think we made it just in time,” he said.
“Close the door, Garion,” Polgara told him, “and let’s get a fire going.”
The room into which they had come showed signs of a hasty departure. The table and the chairs had been overturned, and there were broken dishes on the floor. Durnik looked around and picked up a stub of candle from the corner. He righted the table, set the candle on a piece of broken plate, and reached for his flint, steel, and tinder.
Toth went to the window and opened it. Then he reached out, pulled the shutters closed, and latched them.
Durnik’s candle guttered a bit, then its flame grew steady, casting a golden glow through the room. The smith went to the fireplace. Despite the litter on the floor and the disarray of the furniture, the room was pleasant. The walls had been whitewashed, and the overhead beams were dark and had been neatly adzed square. The fireplace was large and it had an arched opening. A number of pothooks jutted from its back wall, and a pile of firewood was neatly stacked beside it. It was a friendly kind of place.
“All right, gentlemen,” Polgara said to them. “Let’s not just stand there. The furniture needs to be put right, and the floor needs to be swept. We’ll need more candles, and I’ll want to check the sleeping quarters.”
The fire Durnik had built was catching hold. He gave it a critical look; satisfied, he rose to his feet. “I’d better see to the horses,” he said. “Do you want the packs in here, Pol?”
“Just the food and the cooking things for now, dear. But don’t you think you should wait until the hail lets up?”
“There’s a sort of covered walkway along the side of the house,” he replied. “I’d guess that the people who built the place knew about this sort of weather.” He went out with Toth and Eriond close behind him.
Garion crossed the room to where Velvet sat on a rude bench with her hand laid protectively over her right shoulder. Her face was pale, and her brow was dewed with sweat.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“It surprised me, that’s all,” she replied. “It’s nice of you to ask, though.”
“Nice my foot!” He was suddenly angry. “You’re like a sister to me, Liselle, and if you let yourself get hurt, I’ll take it as a personal insult.”
“Yes, your Majesty,” she said, her smile suddenly lighting up the room.
“Don’t play with me, Velvet. Don’t try to be brave. If you’re hurt, say so.”
“It’s only a little bruise, Belgarion,” she protested. Her large brown eyes conveyed a world of sincerity, mostly feigned.
“I’ll spank you,” he threatened.
“Now, that’s an interesting notion.” She laughed. He didn’t even think about it. He simply leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.
She looked a little surprised. “Why, your majesty,” she said in mock alarm. “What if Ce’Nedra had seen you do that?”
“Ce’Nedra can cope with it. She loves you as much as I do. I’ll have Aunt Pol look at that shoulder.”
“It’s really fine, Belgarion.”
“Do you want to argue about that with Aunt Pol?”
She thought about it. “No,” she said, “I don’t really so. Why don’t you send Kheldar over to hold my hand.”
“Anything else?”
“You could kiss me again, if you’d like.”
With a certain clinical detachment, Polgara opened the top of Velvet’s gray dress and carefully examined the large bruise on the blond girl’s shoulder. Velvet blushed modestly and covered her more salient features.
“I don’t think anything’s broken,” Polgara said, gently rubbing the bruised shoulder. “It’s going to be very painful, though.”
“I noticed that almost immediately,” Velvet said, wincing.
“A1I right, Sadi,” Polgara said briskly, “I need a good analgesic. What would you suggest?”
“I have oret, Lady Polgara,” the eunuch answered.
She thought about it. “No,” she said. “Oret would incapacitate her for the next two days. Do you have any miseth?”
He looked a bit startled. “Lady Polgara,” he protested. “Miseth is an excellent painkiller, but—“ He looked at the suffering Velvet. “There are those side effects, you know.”
“We can control her if necessary.”
“What side effects?” Silk demanded, hovering protectively over the blond girl.
“It tends to rouse a certain—ah, shall we say—ardor,” Sadi replied delicately. “In Nyissa it’s widely used for that purpose.”
“Oh,” Silk said, flushing slightly.