“I’ve warned you about this, Zandramas,” Poledra said a deadly voice. “Each time you try to thwart the purpose of the Destiny which controls us all, I will block you.”
“And I have told thee, Poledra, that I do not fear thee,” the sorceress retorted.
“Fine, then,” Poledra almost purred. “Let us summon the seeress of Kell and let her make the choice here and now and based upon the outcome of this meeting.”
“Thou art not the Child of Light, Poledra. Thou hast no part in the ordained meeting.”
“I can stand in Belgarion’s stead, if need be,” Poledra replied, “for the meeting between you and him is not the meeting upon which the fate of creation hinges. In that last meeting you will no longer be the Child of Dark, and he will no longer be the Child of Light. Others are destined to take up those burdens, so let the meeting between you and me come now and in this place.”
“Thou wilt turn all to chaos, Poledra,” Zandramas screamed.
“Not all, I think. You have far more to lose than I. Belgarion is the Child of Light and he will go from here to the Place Which Is No More. You are the Child of Dark, but if we have our meeting here and now, and if you are the one to fall, who will assume your burden? Urvon, perhaps, or Agachak? Or some other? You, however, will not be the exalted one, and I think that thought might be more than you can bear. Consider it, Zandramas, and then choose.”
The two stood facing each other with the last flickers of lightning from the evening’s storm playing luridly among the clouds to the west, bathing their faces in an eerie light.
“Well, Zandramas?”
“We will surely meet, Poledra, and all shall be decided— but not here. This is not the place of my choosing.” Then the Child of Dark shimmered and vanished, and Garion heard and felt the rushing surge of her translocation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
She walked toward him with a stately, unhurried step, golden eyes a mystery. “Put your sword away, Garion,” she told him. “There’s no need for it now.”
“Yes, Grandmother.” He reached back over his shoulder and inserted the tip of his blade into the sheath and let it slide home of its own weight.
“You heard, I suppose?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“Then you understand?”
“Not entirely, no.”
“I’m sure you will in time. Let’s go inside. I need to talk with my husband and my daughter.”
“All right.” Garion was not entirely sure about the proprieties and he was just a bit unsure of what his reaction might be should he attempt to assist her, only to discover that she had no substance. Good manners, however, dictated that a gentleman help a lady across uneven ground, and so he set his teeth, reached out, and took her elbow.
She was as solid as he was. That made him feel better.
“Thank you, Garion.” She smiled a bit whimsically at him. “Did you really think your hand would pass right through me?”
He flushed. “You knew what I was thinking.”
“Of course.” She laughed a low, warm laugh. “It’s not really all that miraculous, Garion. You’re a wolf in your other form, and wolves are very open about their thoughts. You were speaking them out loud in a hundred little moves and gestures you weren’t even aware you were making.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“There’s a great deal of charm about it. Puppies do it all the time.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly as the two of them passed through the gateway into the yard of the farmstead.
Durnik and Toth were extinguishing the last flickers of flame from the scorched wall of a first-floor shed with buckets full of water carried to them by Silk, Eriond, and Sadi. The dragon had not had enough time to ignite the structures fully with her searing breath, and so none of the fires were very serious.
Polgara crossed the yard gravely with Ce’Nedra and Velvet close behind her. “Mother,” she said simply.
“You’re looking well, Polgara,” the tawny-haired woman replied as if they had spoken together only last week. “Married life agrees with you.”
“I rather like it.” Polgara smiled.
“I rather thought you might. Is he around? I need to talk with him as well as with you.”
“He’s in one of the upstairs rooms. You know how he feels about these meetings.”
“Would you fetch him for me, Garion? I have only so much time, and there are things he has to know. He’s going to have to put his feelings aside this time.”
“Right away, Grandmother.” He turned and went quickly the wooden steps to the second floor gallery and the door Aunt Pol had indicated.
Belgarath sat on a rumpled cot. His elbows were on his knees, and his face was buried in his hands. “Grandfather,” Garion said gently.
“What?”
“She wants to talk with you.”
Belgarath lifted his face. His expression was one of mute suffering.
“I’m sorry, Grandfather, but she says it’s very important.”
Belgarath set his jaw, then sighed in resignation. “All right,” he said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go, then.”
As the two of them started down the steps, they saw Durnik bowing a bit awkwardly to Poledra. “Ma’am,” he was saying. Garion suddenly realized that this was probably the first time the two had been formally introduced.
“So stiff and proper, Durnik?” she replied. She reached and lightly touched his face with one hand. Then she embraced him. “You’ve made my daughter very happy, Durnik,” she told him. “Thank you.” Then she turned and looked directly at Belgarath. “Well?” she said. There was challenge in her voice.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said in a voice thick with emotion.
“Oh, I’ve changed all right,” she replied wryly, “in ways even you could imagine.”
“It doesn’t show.”
“It’s nice of you to say so. Did you hear the little exchange between the witch and me?”
He nodded. “You were taking chances, Poledra. What if she had taken up your challenge?”
“Wolves enjoy taking chances.” She shrugged. “It adds certain zest to their lives. It really wasn’t all that risky, though. Zandramas is the Child of Dark, and the Dark Spirit gradually taking over her body as well as her soul; it’s not going to gamble at this particular time. It takes too long to train replacements, and there’s not that much time left before the final meeting. All right, let’s get down to business. Zandramas has her Angarak king now.”
Belgarath nodded. “We’d heard about that.”
“You always were good at ferreting out secrets. The coronation ceremony was fairly grotesque. Zandramas followed the ancient Angarak ritual. Torak was supposed to be present, but she worked her way around that. It involved a certain amount of fakery, but the image of Him she conjured up was convincing enough to deceive the gullible.” Poledra smiled. “It certainly persuaded Archduke Otrath,” she added. “He fainted on three separate occasions during the ceremony. I think the oaf actually believes that he really is the emperor now—a delusion Kal Zakath’s headsman will relieve him of shortly if Otrath is unlucky enough to fall into his cousin’s hands. At any rate, Zandramas has only one more major task.”
“Oh?” Belgarath said. “What’s that?”
“The same as yours. She has to find out where the meeting’s supposed to take place. Don’t dally on your way to Kell. You’ve still got a long way to go. Time’s getting short, and you have to get across the Magan before Zakath gets here.”
“Zakath?” He sounded startled.
“You mean you didn’t know? He moved his army into place around Maga Renn some weeks back. He sent out advance elements a few days ago, and he left Maga Renn with the bulk of his army just yesterday. He plans to blockade the river from the northern end of the Dalasian Mountains to the jungles of Gandahar. If he gets that blockade in place, you might have some difficulty getting across the river.” Then she looked at Beldin. “You haven’t changed much, my crooked friend,” she noted.
“Did you expect me to, Poledra?” He grinned at her.
“I thought you might at least have changed that disreputable old tunic—or that it might have rotted off your back by now.”
“I patch it from time to time.” He shrugged. “Then I replace the patches when they wear out. It’s a comfortable tunic and it fits me. The original is probably only a memory, though. Is there anything else you think we need to know? Or are we going to stand around discussing my wardrobe?”
She laughed. “I’ve missed you,” she told him. “Oh, one of the hierarchs of Cthol Mirgos has landed at Finda on the west coast of the Dalasian Protectorates.”
“Which one?”
“Agachak.”
“Does he have an Angarak king with him?” Silk asked eagerly.
“Yes.”
“Urgit—the King of the Murgos?”