Garion pulled closer to his Aunt and began to listen very hard to the birdsong. At first it was merely noise-pretty, but without sense. Then, gradually, he began to pick up scraps of meaning – a bit here, a bit there. The bird was singing of nests and small, speckled eggs and sunrises and the overwhelming joy of flying. Then, as if his ears had suddenly opened, Garion began to understand. Larks sang of flying and singing. Sparrows chirped of hidden little pockets of seeds. A hawk, soaring overhead, screamed its lonely song of riding the wind alone and the fierce joy of the kill. Garion was awed as the air around him suddenly came alive with words.
Aunt Pol looked at him gravely. “It’s a beginning,” she said without bothering to explain.
Garion was so caught up in the world that had just opened to him that he did not see the two silvery-haired men at first. They stood together beneath a tall tree, waiting as the party rode nearer. They wore identical blue robes, and their white hair was quite long, though they were clean-shaven. When Garion looked at them for the first time, he thought for a moment that his eyes were playing tricks. The two were so absolutely identical that it was impossible to tell them apart.
“Belgarath, our brother,” one of them said, “it’s been such-” “-a terribly long time,” the other finished.
“Beltira,” Belgarath said. “Belkira.” He dismounted and embraced the twins.
“Dearest little Polgara,” one of them said then. “The Vale has been-” the other started.
“-empty without you,” the second completed. He turned to his brother. “That was very poetic,” he said admiringly.
“Thank you,” the first replied modestly.
“These are my brothers, Beltira and Belkira,” Belgarath informed the members of the party who had begun to dismount. “Don’t bother to try to keep them separate. Nobody can tell them apart anyway.”
“We can,” the two said in unison.
“I’m not even sure of that,” Belgarath responded with a gentle smile. “Your minds are so close together that your thoughts start with one and finish with the other.”
“You always complicate it so much, father,” Aunt Pol said. “This is Beltira.” She kissed one of the sweet-faced old men. “And this is Belkira.” She kissed the other. “I’ve been able to tell them apart since I was a child.”
“Polgara knows-”
“-all our secrets.” The twins smiled. “And who are-”
“-your companions?”
“I think you’ll recognize them,” Belgarath answered. “Mandorallen, Baron of Vo Mandor.”
“The Knight Protector,” the twins said in unison, bowing.
“Prince Kheldar of Drasnia.”
“The Guide,” they said.
“Barak, Earl of Trellheim.”
“The Dreadful Bear.” They looked at the big Cherek apprehensively. Barak’s face darkened, but he said nothing.
“Hettar, son of Cho-Hag of Algaria.”
“The Horse Lord.”
“And Durnik of Sendaria.”
“The One with Two Lives,” they murmured with profound respect. Durnik looked baffled at that.
“Ce’Nedra, Imperial Princess of Tolnedra.”
“The Queen of the World,” they replied with another deep bow. Ce’Nedra laughed nervously.
“And this-”
“-can only be Belgarion,” they said, their faces alive with joy, “the Chosen One.” The twins reached out in unison and laid their right hands on Garion’s head. Their voices sounded within his mind. “Hail, Belgarion, Overlord and Champion, hope of the world.”
Garion was too surprised at this strange benediction to do more than awkwardly nod his head.
“If this gets any more cloying, I think I’ll vomit,” a new voice, harsh and rasping, announced. The speaker, who had just stepped out from behind the tree, was a squat, misshapen old man, dirty and profoundly ugly. His legs were bowed and gnarled like oak trunks. His shoulders were huge, and his hands dangled below his knees. There was a large hump in the middle of his back, and his face was twisted into a grotesque caricature of a human countenance. His straggly, iron-gray hair and beard were matted, and twigs and bits of leaves were caught in the tangles. His hideous face wore an expression of perpetual contempt and anger.
“Beldin,” Belgarath said mildly, “we weren’t sure you would come.”
“I shouldn’t have, you bungler,” the ugly man snapped. “You’ve made a mess of things as usual, Belgarath.” He turned to the twins. “Get me something to eat,” he told them peremptorily.
“Yes, Beldin,” they said quickly and started away.
“And don’t be all day,” he shouted after them.
“You seem to be in a good humor today, Beldin,” Belgarath said with no trace of sarcasm. “What’s made you so cheerful?”
The ugly dwarf scowled at him, then laughed, a short, barking sound. “I saw Belzedar. He looked like an unmade bed. Something had gone terribly wrong for him, and I enjoy that sort of thing.”
“Dear Uncle Beldin,” Aunt Pol said fondly, putting her arms around the filthy little man. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Don’t try to charm me, Polgara,” he told her, though his eyes seemed to soften slightly. “This is as much your fault as it is your father’s. I thought you were going to keep an eye on him. How did Belzedar get his hands on our Master’s Orb?”
“We think he used a child,” Belgarath answered seriously. “The Orb won’t strike an innocent.”
The dwarf snorted. “There’s no such thing as an innocent. All men are born corrupt.” He turned his eyes back to Aunt Pol and looked appraisingly at her. “You’re getting fat,” he said bluntly. “Your hips are as wide as an ox cart.”
Durnik immediately clenched his fists and went for the hideous little man.
The dwarf laughed, and one of his big hands caught the front of the smith’s tunic. Without any seeming effort, he lifted the surprised Durnik and threw him several yards away. “You can start your second life right now if you want,” he growled threateningly.
“Let me handle this, Durnik,” Aunt Pol told the smith. “Beldin,” she said coolly, “how long has it been since you’ve had a bath?”
The dwarf shrugged. “It rained on me a couple months ago.”
“Not hard enough, though. You smell like an uncleaned pigsty.”
Beldin grinned at her. “That’s my girl.” He chortled. “I was afraid the years had taken off your edge.”
The two of them then began to trade the most hair-raising insults Garion had ever heard in his life. Graphic, ugly words passed back and forth between them, almost sizzling in the air. Barak’s eyes widened in astonishment, and Mandorallen’s face blanched often. Ce’Nedra, her face flaming, bolted out of earshot.
The worse the insults, however, the more the hideous Beldin smiled. Finally Aunt Pol delivered an epithet so vile that Garion actually cringed, and the ugly little man collapsed on the ground, roaring with laughter and hammering at the dirt with his great fists. “By the Gods, I’ve missed you, Pol!” he gasped. “Come here and give us a kiss.”
She smiled, kissing his dirty face affectionately. “Mangy dog.”
“Big cow.” He grinned, catching her in a crushing embrace.
“I’ll need my ribs more or less in one piece, uncle,” she told him.
“I haven’t cracked any of your ribs in years, my girl.”
“I’d like to keep it that way.”
The twins hurried across to the dwarf Beldin, carrying a large plate of steaming stew and a huge tankard. The ugly man looked curiously at the plate, then casually dumped the stew on the ground and tossed the plate away. “Doesn’t smell too bad.” He squatted and began to stuff the food into his mouth with both hands, pausing only now and then to spit out some of the larger pebbles that clung to the chunks of meat. When he had finished, he swilled down the contents of the tankard, belched thunderously, and sat back, scratching at his matted hair with gravy-smeared fingers. “Let’s get down to business,” he said.
“Where have you been?” Belgarath asked him.
“Central Cthol Murgos. I’ve been sitting on a hilltop since the Battle of Vo Mimbre, watching the cave where Belzedar took Torak.”
“Five hundred years?” Silk gasped.
Beldin shrugged. “More or less,” he replied indifferently. “Somebody had to keep an eye on Burnt-Face, and I wasn’t doing anything that couldn’t be interrupted.”
“You said you saw Belzedar,” Aunt Pol said.
“About a month ago. He came to the cave as if he had a demon on his tail and pulled Torak out. Then he changed himself into a vulture and flew off with the body.”
“That must have been right after Ctuchik caught him at the Nyissan border and took the Orb away from him,” Belgarath mused.
“I wouldn’t know about that. That was part of your responsibility, not mine. All I was supposed to do was keep watch over Torak. Did any of the ashes fall on you?”
“Which ashes?” one of the twins asked.
“When Belzedar took Torak out of the cave, the mountain exploded -blew its guts out. I imagine it had something to do with the force surrounding One-Eye’s body. It was still blowing when I left.”