“Highness,” Silk said deferentially.
“Dear Kheldar,” she said, smiling at him.
“Could you give some information to my uncle for me?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“It seems that Queen Islena’s been a bit indiscreet,” Silk said. “She’s been involved with the Bear-cult here in Cherek.”
“Oh dear,” Porenn said. “Does Anheg know?”
“It’s hard to say,” Silk told her. “I doubt if he’d admit it if he did. Garion and I happened to hear Polgara tell her to stop it.”
“I hope that puts an end to it,” Porenn said. “If it went too far, Anheg would have to take steps. That could be tragic.”
“Polgara was quite firm,” Silk said. “I think Islena will do as she was told, but advise my uncle. He likes to be kept aware of this kind of thing.”
“I’ll tell him about it,” she said.
“You might also suggest that he keep his eyes on the local chapters of the cult in Boktor and Kotu,” Silk suggested. “This kind of thing isn’t usually isolated. It’s been about 50 years since the last time the cult had to be suppressed.”
Queen Porenn nodded gravely. “I’ll see to it that he knows,” she said. “I’ve got some of my own people planted in the Bear-cult. As soon as we get back to Boktor, I’ll talk with them and see what’s afoot.”
“Your people? Have you gone that far already?” Silk asked in a bantering tone. “You’re maturing rapidly, my Queen. It won’t be long until you’re as corrupt as the rest of us.”
“Boktor is full of intrigue, Kheldar,” the queen said primly. “It isn’t just the Bear-cult, you know. Merchants from all over the world gather in our city, and at least half of them are spies. I have to protect myself – and my husband.”
“Does Rhodar know what you’re up to?” Silk asked slyly.
“Of course he does,” she said. “He gave me my first dozen spies himself – as a wedding present.
“How typically Drasnian,” Silk said.
“It’s only practical, after all,” she said. “My husband’s concerned with matters involving other kingdoms. I try to keep an eye on things at home to leave his mind free for that kind of thing. My operations are a bit more modest than his, but I manage to stay aware of things.” She looked at him slyly from beneath her eyelashes. “If you ever decide to come home to Boktor and settle down I might just be able to find work for you.”
Silk laughed. “The whole world seems to be full of opportunities lately,” he said.
The queen looked at him seriously. “When are you coming home, Kheldar?” she asked. “When will you stop being this vagabond, Silk, and come back where you belong? My husband misses you very much, and you could serve Drasnia more by becoming his chief advisor than all this flitting about the world.”
Silk looked away, squinting into the bright wintry sun. “Not just yet, your Highness,” he said. “Belgarath needs me too, and this is a very important thing we’re doing just now. Besides, I’m not ready to settle down yet. The game is still entertaining. Perhaps someday when we’re all much older it won’t be anymore – who knows?”
She sighed. “I miss you too Kheldar,” she said gently.
“Poor, lonely little queen,” Silk said, half-mockingly.
“You’re impossible,” she said, stamping her tiny foot.
“One does one’s best.” He grinned.
Hettar had embraced his father and mother and leaped across to the deck of the small ship King Anheg had provided him. “Belgarath,” he called as the sailors slipped the stout ropes that bound the ship to the quay, “I’ll meet you in two weeks at the ruins of Vo Wacune.”
“We’ll be there,” Mister Wolf replied.
The sailors pushed the ship away from the quay and began to row out into the bay. Hettar stood on the deck, his long scalp lock flowing in the wind. He waved once, then turned to face the sea.
A long plank was run down over the side of Captain Greldik’s ship to the snow covered stones.
“Shall we go on board, Garion?” Silk said. They climbed the precarious plank and stepped out onto the deck.
“Give our daughters my love,” Barak said to his wife.
“I will, my Lord,” Merel said in the same stiffly formal tone she always used with him. “Have you any other instructions?”
“I won’t be back for some time,” Barak said. “Plant the south fields to oats this year, and let the west fields lie fallow. Do whatever you think best with the north fields. And don’t move the cattle up to the high pastures until all the frost is out of the ground.”
“I’ll be most careful of my husband’s lands and herds,” she said.
“They’re yours too,” Barak said.
“As my husband wishes.”
Barak sighed. “You never let it rest, do you, Merel?” He said sadly.
“My Lord?”
“Forget it.”
“Will my Lord embrace me before he leaves?” she asked.
“What’s the point?” Barak said. He jumped across to the ship and immediately went below.
Aunt Pol stopped on her way to the ship and looked gravely at Barak’s wife. Then, without warning, she suddenly laughed.
“Something amusing, Lady Polgara?” Merel asked.
“Very amusing, Merel,” Aunt Pol said with a mysterious smile.
“Might I be permitted to share it?”
“Oh, you’ll share it, Merel,” Aunt Pol promised, “but I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you by telling you too soon.” She laughed again and stepped onto the plank that led to the ship. Durnik offered his hand to steady her, and the two of them crossed to the deck.
Mister Wolf clasped hands with each of the kings on turn and then nimbly crossed to the ship. He stood for a moment on the deck looking at the ancient, snow-shrouded city of Val Alorn and the towering mountains of Cherek rising behind.
“Farewell, Belgarath,” King Anheg called.
Mister Wolf nodded. “Don’t forget about the minstrels,” he said.
“We won’t,” Anheg promised. “Good luck.”
Mister Wolf grinned and then walked forward toward the prow of Greldik’s ship. Garion, on an impulse, followed him. There were questions which needed answers, and the old man would know if anyone would.
“Mister Wolf,” he said when they had both reached the high prow.
“Yes, Garion?”
He was not sure where to start, so Garion approached the problem obliquely. “How did Aunt Pol do that to old Martje’s eyes?”
“The Will and the Word,” Wolf said, his long cloak whipping about him in the stiff breeze. “It isn’t difficult.”
“I don’t understand,” Garion said.
“You simply will something to happen,” the old man said, “and then speak the word. If your will’s strong enough, it happens.”
“That’s all there is to it?” Garion asked, a little disappointed.
“That’s all,” Wolf said.
“Is the word a magic word?”
Wolf laughed, looking out at the sun glittering sharply on the winter sea. “No,” he said. “There aren’t any magic words. Some people think so, but they’re wrong. Grolims use strange words, but that’s not really necessary. Any word will do the job. It’s the Will that’s important, not the Word. The Word’s just a channel for the Will.”
“Could I do it?” Garion asked hopefully.
Wolf looked at him. “I don’t know, Garion,” he said. “I wasn’t much older than you are the first time I did it, but I’d been living with Aldur for several years. That makes a difference, I suppose.”
“What happened?”
“My Master wanted me to move a rock,” Wolf said. “He seemed to think that it was in his way. I tried to move it, but it was too heavy. After a while I got angry, and I told it to move. It did. I was a little suprised, but my Master didn’t think it so unusual.”
“You just said, ‘move?’ That’s all?” Garion was incredulous.
“That’s all.” Wolf shrugged. “It seemed so simple that I was suprised I hadn’t thought of it before. At the time I imagined that anybody could do it, but men have changed quite a bit since then. Maybe it isn’t possible anymore. It’s hard to say, really.”
“I always thought that sorcery had to be done with long spells and strange signs and things like that,” Garion said.
“Those are just the devices of tricksters and charlatans,” Wolf said. “They make a fine show and impress and frighten simple people, but spells and incantations have nothing to do with the real thing, It’s all in the Will. Focus the Will and speak the Word, and it happens. Sometimes a gesture of sorts helps, but it isn’t really necessary. Your Aunt has always seemed to want to gesture when she makes something happen. I’ve been trying to break her of that habit for hundreds of years now.”
Garion blinked. “Hundreds of years?” he gasped. “How old is she?”
“Older than she looks,” Wolf said. “It isn’t polite to ask questions about a lady’s age, however.”