PROLOGUE


Excerpts from The Book of Ages, Book One of THE MALLO-REAN GOSPELS:


Now These are the Ages of Man:


In the First Age was man created, and he awoke in puzzlement and 
wonder as he beheid the world about him. And those that had made him 
considered him and selected from his number those that pleased them, 
and the rest were cast out and driven away. And some went in search 
of die Spirit known as UL, and they left us and passed into the west, 
and we saw them no more. And some denied the Gods, and they went into 
the far north to wrestle with demons. And some turned to worldly 
matters, and they went away into the east and built mighty cities 
there.


But we despaired, and we sat us down upon the earth in the shadow of 
the mountains of Korim, and in bitterness we bewailed our fate that 
we had been made and then cast out.


SEERESS OP KELL


And it came to pass that in the midst of our grief a woman of our 
people was seized by a rapture, and it was as if she had been shaken 
by a mighty hand. And she arose from the earth upon which she sat, 
and she bound her eyes with a cloth, signifying that she had seen 
that which no mortal had seen before, for lo, she was the first 
seeress in all the world. And with the touch of her vision still upon 
her, she spake unto us, saying:


"Behold! A feast hath been set before Those who made us, and this 
feast shall ye call the Feast of Life. And Those who made us have 
chosen that which pleased Them, and that which pleased Them not was 
not chosen.


"Now we are the Feast of Life, and ye sorrow that no Guest at the 
feast hath chosen ye. Despair not, however, for one Guest hath not 
yet arrived at the feast. The other Guests have taken their fill, but 
this great Feast of Life awaiteth still the Beloved Guest who cometh 
late, and I say unto all the people that it is He who will choose us. 
Abide therefore against His coming, for it is certain. Put aside thy 
grief and turn thy face to the sky and to the earth that thou mayest 
read the signs written there, for this I say unto all the people. It 
is upon ye that His coming rests. For behold, He may not choose ye 
unless ye choose Him. And this is the Fate for which we were made. 
Rise up, therefore, and sit no more upon the earth in vain and 
foolish lamentation. Take up the task which lies before ye and 
prepare the way for Him who will surely come."


Much we marveled at these words, and we considered them most 
carefully. We questioned the seeress, but her answers were dark and 
obscure. And so it was that we turned our faces to the sky and bent 
our ears to the whispers which came from the earth that we might see 
and hear and learn. And as we learned to read the book of the skies 
and to hear the whispers within the rocks, we found myriad warnings 
that two spirits would come to us and that the one was good and the 
other evil. Long we labored, but still were sorely troubled, for we 
could not determine which spirit was the true one and which the 



false. For truly, evil is disguised as good in the book of the 
heavens and in the speech of the earth, and no man is wise enough to 
choose between them.


Pondering this, we went out from beneath the shadow of the mountains 
of Korim and into the lands beyond, where we abode. And we put aside 
the concerns of man and bent all our efforts to the task that lay 
before us. Our witches and our seers sought the aid of the spirit 
world, our necromancers took counsel with


PROLOGUE 3


the dead, and our diviners sought advice from the earth. But lo, none 
of these knew more than we.


Then gathered we at last upon a fertile plain to bring together all 
that we had learned. And these are the truths that we have learned 
from the stars, from the rocks, from the hearts of men and from the 
minds of the spirits:


Know ye that all adown the endless avenues of time hath division 
marred all that is—for there is division at the very heart of 
creation. And some have said that this is natural and will persist 
until the end of days, but it is not so. Were the division destined 
to be eternal, then the purpose of creation would be to contain it. 
But the stars and the spirits and the voices within the rocks speak 
of the day when the division will end and all will be made one again, 
for creation itself knows that the day will come.


Know ye further that two spirits contend with each other at the very 
center of time, and these spirits are the two sides of that which 
hath divided creation. And in a certain time shall those spirits meet 
upon this world, and then will come the time of the Choice. And if 
the Choice be not made, then shall this world vanish, and the Beloved 
Guest of whom the seeress spoke will never come. For it is this which 
she meant when she said to us: "Behold, He may not choose ye unless 
ye choose Him." And the Choice that we must make is the choice 
between good and evil, and the division between good and evil, and 
the reality that will exist after we have made the choice will be a 
reality of good or a reality of evil, and it will prevail so untU the 
end of


Behold also this truth: the rocks of this world and of all other 
worlds murmur continually of the two stones that lie at the center of 
the division. Once these stones were one, and they stood at the very 
center of all of creation, but, like all else, they were divided, and 
in the instant of division they were rent apart with a force that 
destroyed whole suns. And where these stones come into the presence 
of each other again, there surely will be the fast confrontation 
between the two spirits. Now the day will come when all will be made 
one again, except that the division between the two stones is so 
great that they can never be rejoined. And in the day when the 
division ends shall one of the Atones cease forever to exist, and in 
that day also shall one of Ij&C spirits forever vanish. --"fliese 
then were the truths that we had gathered, and it was


SEERESS OF KELL



our discovery of these truths that marked the end of the First Age.


Now the Second Age of man began hi thunder and earthquake, for lo, 
the earth herself split apart, and the sea rushed in to divide the 
lands of men even as creation itself is divided. And the mountains of 
Korim shuddered and groaned and heaved as the sea swallowed them. And 
we knew that this would come to pass, for our seers had warned us 
that it would be so. We went our way, therefore, and found safety 
before the world was cracked and the sea first rushed away and then 
rushed back and never departed more.


And in the days that followed the rushing in of the sea, the children 
of the Dragon God fled from the waters, and they abode to the north 
of us beyond the mountains. Now our seers told us that the children 
of the Dragon God would one day come among us as conquerors. And we 
took counsel with each other and considered how we might least offend 
the children of the Dragon God when they should come so that they 
would not interrupt our studies. In the end we concluded that our 
warlike neighbors would be least apprehensive about simple tillers of 
the soil living in rude communities on the land, and we so ordered 
our lives. We pulled down our cities and carried away the stones and 
we betook ourselves back to the land so that we might not alarm our 
neighbors nor arouse their envy.


And the years passed and became centuries, and the centuries passed 
and became eons. And as we had known they would, the children of 
Angarak came down amongst us and established their overlordship. And 
they called the lands in which we dwelt Dalasia, and we did what they 
wished us to do and continued our studies.


Now at about this time it came to pass in the far north that a 
disciple of the God Aldur came with certain others to reclaim a thing 
that the Dragon God had stolen from Aldur. And that act was so 
important that when it was done, the Second Age ended, and the Third 
Age began.


Now it was in the Third Age that the priests of Angarak, which men 
call Grolims, came to speak to us of the Dragon God and of His hunger 
for our love, and we considered what they said even as we considered 
all things men told us. And we consulted the book of the heavens and 
confirmed that Tbrak was the incarnate God-aspect of one of the 
spirits which contend at the center of tune. But where was the other? 
How might men choose when but one of the spirits came to them? Then 
it was that we


PROLOGUE 5


perceived our dreadful responsibility. The spirits would come to us, 
each in its own time, and each would proclaim that it was good and 
the other was evil. It was man, however, who would choose. And we 
took counsel among ourselves, and we concluded that we might accept 
the forms of the worship that the Grolims so urgently pressed upon 
us. This would give us the opportunity to examine the nature of the 
Dragon God and make us better prepared to choose when the other God 
appeared.


In time the events of the world intruded upon us. The An-garaks 
allied themselves by marriage with the great city-builders of the 



east, who called themselves Melcene, and between them they built an 
empire that bestrode the continent. Now the An-garaks were doers of 
deeds, but the Melcenes were performers of tasks. A deed once done is 
done forever, but a task returns every day, and the Melcenes came 
among us to seek out those who might aid them in their endless tasks. 
Now as it chanced to happen, one of our kinsmen who aided the 
Melcenes had occasion to journey to the north in performance of one 
of those tasks. And he came to a place called Ashaba and sought 
shelter there from a storm that had overtaken him. And the Master of 
me house at Ashaba was neither Grolim nor Angarak nor any other man. 
Our kinsman had come unaware upon the house of Torak. Now, Torak was 
curious about our people, and He sent for the traveler, and our 
kinsman went in to behold the Dragon God. And in the instant that he 
looked upon die face of Torak, the Third Age ended, and the Fourth 
Age began. For lo, the Dragon God of Angarak was not one of the Gods 
for whom we waited. The signs that were upon Him did not lead beyond 
Him, and our kinsman saw in an instant that Torak was doomed, and 
that which He was would die with Him.


And men we perceived our error, and we marveled at what we had not 
seen—that even a God might be but the tool of destiny. For behold, 
Torak was of one of the two fates, but he was not the entire fate.


Now it happened that on the far side of the world a king was slain, 
and all his family with him—save one. And this king had been die 
keeper of one of th& two stones of power, and when wonl of mis was 
brought to Torak, He exulted, for He believed that an ancient foe was 
no more. Then it was that He began His preparations to do war upon 
the kingdoms of the west. But the signs in the heavens and the 
whispers in the rocks told us that it was not as Torak believed. The 
stone was still guarded, and the


SEERESS OF KELL


line of the guardian remained unbroken. Torak's war would bring Him 
to grief.


The preparations of the Dragon God were long, and the tasks He laid 
upon his people were the tasks of generations. And even as we, Torak 
watched the heavens to read there the signs that would tell Him when 
to move against the west. But Torak watched only for the signs He 
wished to see and He did not read the entire message written in the 
sky. Reading thus but a small part of the signs, He set His forces in 
motion on the worst possible day.


And, as we had known it must, disaster befell the armies of Tbrak on 
a broad plain lying before the city of Vb Mimbre in the far west. And 
the Dragon God was bound in sleep to await the coming of His enemy.


And then it was that a whisper began to reach us with yet another 
name. The whisper of that name became clearer to us, and upon the day 
of his birth the whisper of his name became a great shout. Belgarion 
the Godslayer had come at last.


And now the pace of events quickened, and the rush toward the awful 
meeting became so swift that the pages of the book of the heavens 
became as a blur. And then upon the day that men celebrate as the day 
the world was made, the stone of power was delivered up to Belgarion; 



and in the instant that his hand closed upon it, the book of the 
heavens filled with a great light, and the sound of Belgarion's name 
rang from the farthest star.


And then we felt Belgarion moving toward Maliorea bearing the stone 
of power, and we could feel Torak stirring as his sleep grew fitful. 
And finally there came that dreadful night. As we watched helplessly, 
the vast pages of the book of the heavens moved so rapidly that we 
could not read them. And then the book stopped, and we read one 
terrible line, "Tbrak is slain," and the book shuddered, and all the 
light in all of creation went out. And in that awful instant of 
darkness and silence, the Fourth Age ended, and the Fifth Age began.


And as the Fifth Age began, we found a mystery in the book of the 
heavens. Before, all had moved toward the meeting between Belgarion 
and Torak, but now events moved toward a different meeting. There 
were signs among the stars which told us that the rates had selected 
yet other aspects for their final encounter, and we could feel the 
movements of those presences, but we knew not who or what they might 
be, for the pages of the great book were dark and obscure. Yet we 
felt a presence shrouded and veiled in darkness, and it moved through 
the af-


PROLOGUE 7


fairs of men, and the moon spoke most clearly, advising us that this 
dark presence was a woman.


One thing we saw in all the vast confusion that now clouded the book 
of the heavens. The Ages of man grew shorter as each one passed, and 
the Events that were the meetings between the two fates were growing 
closer and closer together. The time for leisurely contemplation had 
passed, and now we must hasten lest the last Event come upon us all 
unaware.


We decided that we must goad or deceive the participants in that 
final Event so that they should both come to the appointed place at 
the destined time.


And we sent the similitude of She Who Must Make the Choice to the 
veiled and hooded presence of dark and to Belgarion the Godslayer, 
and she set them upon the path that would lead them at last to the 
place of our choosing.


And then we all turned to our preparations, for much remained to be 
done, and we knew that this Event would be the last. The division of 
creation had endured for too long; and in rtis meeting between the 
two fates the division would end and all would be made one again.


Part One


KELL


CHAPTER ONE


The air was thin and cool and richly scented with the odor of trees 
that shed no leaves but stood dark green and resinous from one end of 
their lives to the other. The sunlight on the snowfields above them 



was dazzling, and the sound of tumbling water seething down and down 
rocky streambeds to feed rivers leagues below on the plains of 
Darshiva and Gandahar was constantly in their ears. That tumble and 
roar of waters rushing to their destined meeting with the great River 
Magan was accompanied by the soft, melancholy sighing of an endless 
wind passing through the deep-green forest of pine and fir and spruce 
which clad hills that reached towaid the sky in a kind of unthinking 
yearning. The caravan route Garion and his friends foBowed rose up 
and up, winding along streambeds and mounting the sides of ridges. 
From atop each ridge they could see yet another, and looming over all 
was the spine of the continent where peaks beyond imagining soared 
upward to touch the very


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SEERESS OF KELL


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13


vault of heaven, peaks pure and pristine in their mantle of eternal 
snow. Garion had spent time in mountains before, but never had he 
seen such enormous peaks. He knew that those colossal spires were 
leagues and leagues away, but the mountain air was so clear that it 
seemed he could almost reach out and touch them.


There was an abiding peace here, a peace that washed away the turmoil 
and anxiety that had beset them all on the plains below and somehow 
erased care and even thought. Each turn and each ridgetop brought new 
vistas, each filled with more splendor than the last until they could 
only ride in silence and wonder. The works of man shrank into 
insignificance here. Man would never, could never, touch these 
eternal mountains.


It was summer, and the days were long and filled with sunlight. Birds 
sang from the trees beside the winding track, and the smell of sun-
warmed evergreens was touched lightly with the delicate odors of the 
acre upon acre of wildflowers carpeting the steep meadows. 
Occasionally the wild, shrill cry of an eagle echoed from the rocks. 
"Have you ever considered moving your capital?'' Garion asked the 
Emperor of Mallorea, who rode beside him. His tone was hushed. To 
speak in a louder voice would somehow profane what lay around them.


"No, not really, Garion," Zakath replied. "My government wouldn't 
function here. The bureaucracy is largely Melcene. Melcenes appear to 
be prosaic people, but actually they aren't. I *m afraid my officials 
would spend about half their time looking at the scenery and the 
other half writing bad poetry. Nobody would get any work done. 
Besides, you have no idea what it's like up here in the winter.''


"Snow?"


Zakath nodded. "People up here don't bother to measure it in inches. 
They measure it in feet."



"Are there people up here? I haven't seen-any."


"There are a few—fur trappers, gold hunters, that sort of thing.' * 
Zakath smiled faintly. "I think it's just an excuse, really. Some 
people prefer solitude."


"This is a good place for it."


The Emperor of Mallorea had changed since they had left Atesca's 
enclave on the banks of the Magan. He was leaner now, and the dead 
look was gone from his eyes. Like Garion and all the rest, he rode 
warily, his eyes and ears constantly alert. It was not so much his 
outward aspect that marked the change in him, however. Zakath had 
always been a pensive, even melancholy man, given often to periods of 
black depression, but filled


at the same time with a cold ambition. Garion had often felt that fee 
Mallorean's ambition and his apparent hunger for power were not so 
much a driving need in him as they had been a kind of continual 
testing of himself, and, at perhaps a deeper level, deriving from an 
urge toward self-destruction. It had seemed almost that Zakath had 
hurled himself and all the resources of his empire into impossible 
struggles in the secret hope that eventually he would encounter 
someone strong enough to kill him and thereby relieve him of the 
burden of a life that was barely tolerable to him.


Such was no longer the case. His meeting with Cyradis on the banks of 
the Magan had forever changed him. A world that had always been flat 
and stale now seemed to be all new to him. At times, Garion even 
thought he detected a faint touch of hope in his friend's face, and 
hope had never been a part of Zakath's makeup.


As they rounded a wide bend in the track, Garion saw the she-wolf he 
had found in the dead forest back in Darshiva. She sat patiently on 
her haunches waiting for them. Increasingly, the behavior of the wolf 
puzzled him. Now that her injured paw was healed, she made sporadic 
sweeps through the surrounding forests in search of her pack, but 
always returned, seemingly unconcerned about her failure to locate 
them. It was as if she were perfectly content to remain with them as 
a member of their most unusual pack. So long as they were in forests 
and uninhabited mountains, this peculiarity of hers caused no 
particular problems, but they would not always be in the wilderness, 
and the appearance of an untamed and probably nervous wolf on the 
busy street of a populous city would be likely to attract attention, 
to say the very least.


"How is it with you, little sister?" he asked her politely in the 
language of wolves.


"It is well," she replied.


"Did you find any traces of your pack?"


"There are many other wolves about, but they are not of my kindred. 
One will remain with you for yet a while longer. Where is the young 
one?"


Garion glanced back over his shoulder at the little two-wheeled 



carriage trundling along behind them. "He sits beside my mate in the 
thing with round feet."


The wolf sighed. "If he sits much longer, he will no longer be able 
to run or hunt,'' she said disapprovingly, ' 'and if your


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SEERESS OF KELL


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15


mate continues to feed him so much, she will stretch his belly, and 
he will not survive a lean season when there is little food."


"One will speak with her about it."


"Will she listen?"


"Probably not, but one will speak with her all the same. She is fond 
of the young one and takes pleasure in having him near her."


"Soon one will need to teach him how to hunt."


"Yes. One knows. One will explain that to one's mate."


"One is grateful." She paused, looking about a bit warily. "Proceed 
with some caution," she warned. "There is a creature who dwells here. 
One has caught his scent several tunes, though one has not seen him. 
He is quite large, however.''


"How large?"


"Larger than the beast upon which you sit." She looked pointedly at 
Chretienne. Familiarity had made the big gray stallion less nervous 
in the presence of the she-wolf, though Garion suspected that he 
would be much happier if she did not come quite so close.


"One will tell the pack-leader of what you have said," Garion 
promised. For some reason, the she-wolf avoided Belgarath. Garion 
surmised that her behavior might reflect some obscure facet of wolfly 
etiquette of which he was not aware.


"One will continue one's search then," she said, rising to her feet. 
"It may happen that one will come upon this beast, and then we will 
know him." She paused. "His scent tells one that he is dangerous, 
however. He feeds on all things—even on things that we would shun.'' 
Then she turned and loped off into the forest, moving swiftly and 
silently.


"That's really uncanny, you know," Zakath observed. "IVe heard men 
talk to animals before, but never in their own language."


"It's a family peculiarity." Garion smiled. "At first I didn't 
believe it either. Birds used to come and talk to Aunt Pol all the 
time—usually about their eggs. Birds are awfully fond of talking 



about their eggs, I understand. They can be very silly at times. 
Wolves are much more dignified." He paused a moment. "You don't 
necessarily have to tell Aunt Pol I said that," he added.


"Subterfuge, Garion?" Zakath laughed.
"Prudence," Garion corrected. "I have to go talk with Belgarath. Keep 


your eyes open. The wolf says that there's some kind of animal out 
there somewhere. She says it's bigger than a
horse and very dangerous. She hinted at the fact that it's a man-


eater."
"What does it look like?"
"She hasn't seen it. She's smelled it, though, and seen its tracks."
"I'll watch fork."
"Good idea." Garion turned and rode back to where Belgarath and Aunt 


Pol were deep in a discussion.
"Durnik needs a tower somewhere in the Vale," Belgarath was saying.
"I don't see why, father," Polgara replied.
"All of Aldur's disciples have towers, Pol. It's the custom."
"Old customs persist—even when there's no longer any need for them."
"He's going to need to study, Pol. How can he possibly study with you 


underfoot all the time?"
She gave him a long, chilly stare.
"Maybe I should rephrase that."
"Take as long as you need, father. I'm willing to wait."
"Grandfather," Garion said, reining in. "I was just talking with the 


wolf, and she says there's a very large animal out in the forest."
"A bear maybe?"
"I don't think so. She's caught its scent a few times, and she'd 


probably recognize the smell of a bear, wouldn't she?"
"I'd think so, yes."
"She didn't say it exactly, but I got the impression that it's not 


too selective about what it eats." He paused. "Is it my imagination, 
or is she a very strange wolf?"


' 'How do you mean, exactly?''
"She stretches the language about as far as it will go, and I get the 
feeling that she still has more to say."



"She's intelligent, that's all. It's an uncommon trait in females, 
but it's not unheard of."


"What a fascinating turn this conversation has taken," Polgara 
observed.


"Oh," the old man said blandly, "are you still here, Pol? I thought 
you'd have found something else to do by now."


Her gaze was icy, but Belgarath seemed totally unperturbed. "Iftw'd 
better warn the others," he told Garion. "A wolf would P»8s an 
ordinary animal without comment. Whatever this thing is, it's 
unusual, and unusual usually means dangerous. Tell Cc'Nedra to get up 
here among the rest of us. She's a bit vul-


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SEERESS OF KELL


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17


nerable trailing along behind the way she is." He considered it. 
"Don't say anything to alarm her, but have Liseile ride in the 
carriage with her."


"Liseile?"


"The blond girl. The one with the dimples."


"I know who she is, Grandfather. Wouldn't Durnik—or maybe Toth—be a 
better idea?"


"No. If either of them got in the carriage with Ce'Nedra, she'd know 
something was wrong, and that might frighten her. An animal who's 
hunting can smell fear. Let's not expose her to that kind of danger. 
Liselle's very well trained, and she's probably got two or three 
daggers hidden hi various places." He grinned slyly. "I'd imagine 
Silk could tell you where they are," he added.


"Father!" Polgara gasped.


"You mean you didn't know, Pol? My goodness, how unobservant of you."


"One for your side," Garion noted.


"I'm glad you liked it." Belgarath smirked at Polgara.


Garion turned Chretienne so that his aunt would not see his smile.


They took a bit more care setting up camp that night, choosing a 
small grove of aspens backed by a steep cliff and with a deep 
mountain river at its front. As the sun sank into the eternal 
snowfields above them and twilight filled the ravines and gorges with 
azure shadows, Beldin returned from his wide-ranging vigil. "Isn't it 
a bit early to be stopping?" he rasped after he had shimmered and 
changed.



"The horses are tired," Belgarath replied, casting a sidelong glance 
at Ce'Nedra. "This is a very sleep trail."


"Wait a bit," Beldin told him, limping toward the fire. "It gets 
steeper on up ahead."


"What happened to your foot?"


"I had a little disagreement with an eagle—stupid birds, eagles. He 
couldn't tell the difference between a hawk and a pigeon. I had to 
educate him. He bit me while I was tearing out a sizable number of 
his wing feathers.''


"Uncle," Polgara said reproachfully.


"He started it."


"Are there any soldiers coming up behind us?" Belgarath asked him.


' 'Some Darshivans. They're two or three days behind, though.


Urvon's army is retreating. Now that he and Nahaz are gone, there's 
not much point in their staying."


"That gets at least some of the troops off our backs," Silk said.


"Don't be too quick to start gloating," Beldin told him. "With the 
Guardsmen and the Karands gone, the Darshivans are free to 
concentrate on us."


"That's true, I suppose. Do you think they know we're here?"


"Zandramas does, and I don't think she'd hide the information from 
her soldiers. You'll probably hit snow sometime late tomorrow. You 
might want to be thinking about some way to hide your tracks." He 
looked around. "Where's your wolf?" be asked Garion.


' 'Hunting. She's been looking for signs of her pack.''


"That brings something up," Belgarath said quietly, looking around to 
make sure that Ce'Nedra was out of earshot. ' The wolf told Garion 
that there's a large animal of some kind in this area. Pol's going to 
go out and take a look around tonight, but it might not hurt if you 
nosed around tomorrow, as well. I'm not in the mood for any 
surprises.''


"I'll see what I can find."


Sadi and Velvet sat on the far side of the fire. They had placed the 
little earthenware bottle on its side and were trying to coax Zith 
and her children out with morsels of cheese. "I wish we had some 
milk," Sadi said in his contralto voice. "Milk is very good for young 
snakes. It strengthens their teeth."


"I'll remember that," Velvet said.


"Were you planning a career as a snakeherdess, Margravine?"



"They're nice little creatures," she replied. "They're clean and 
quiet, and they don't eat very much. Besides, they're very useful in 
emergencies.''


He smiled at her affectionately. ' 'We'll make a Nyissan of 
youyrt,Liselle."


"Not if/can help it," Silk muttered darkly to Garion.


They had broiled trout for supper that evening. After Durnik and Tb(h 
had finished setting up their encampment, they had adjourned to the 
riverbank with their poles and lures. Durnik's recent elevation to 
disciplehood had changed him in some ways, but bad not lessened his 
appetite for his favorite pastime. It was no longer necessary for him 
and his mute friend even to discuss Ifcese excursions. Any time they 
camped in the vicinity of a lake or stream, their reaction was 
automatic.


SEERESS OF KELL


KELL


After supper, Polgara flew off into the shadowy forest, but when she 
returned, she reported having seen no sign of the large beast the 
she-wolf had warned them about.


It was cold the following morning, and there was a trace of frost in 
the air. The horses' breath steamed in the mountain air as they set 
out, and Garion and the others rode with their cloaks wrapped tightly 
about them.


As Beldin had predicted, they reached the snow line late that 
afternoon. The first windrows of white in the wagon ruts were thin 
and crusty, but farther on ahead they could see deeper drifts. They 
made camp below the snow and set out again early the following 
morning. Silk had devised a sort of yoke for one of the packhorses, 
and trailing on ropes behind the yoke were a dozen or so head-size 
round rocks. The little man critically examined the tracks the rocks 
made in the snow as they started up the track into the world of 
perpetual white. "Good enough," he said in a self-congratulatory 
tone.


"I don't quite see the purpose of your contrivance, Prince Kheldar," 
Sadi confessed.


"The rocks leave trails that look about the same as wagon tracks," 
Silk explained. "Horse tracks by themselves might make the soldiers 
coming up behind us suspicious. Wagon tracks on a caravan route 
aren't going to look all that remarkable."


' 'Clever,'' the eunuch said, * 'but why not just cut bushes and drag 
them behind us?"


Silk shook his head. "If you brush out all the tracks in the snow, it 
looks even more suspicious. This is a fairly well-traveled route."



"You think of everything, don't you?"


"Sneaking was his major field of study at the academy," Velvet said 
from the little carriage she shared with Ce'Nedra and the wolf pup. 
"Sometimes he sneaks just to keep in practice."


"I don't know if I'd go (hat far, Liselle," the little man objected 
in a pained tone.


"Don't you?"


"Well, yes, I suppose so, but you don't have to come right out and 
say it—and 'sneak' has such an ugly ring to it."


"Can you mink of a better term?"


"Well, 'evasion' sounds a bit nicer, doesn't it?"


"Since it means the same thing, why quibble over terminology?" She 
smiled winsomely at him, her cheeks dimpling.


"It's a question of style, Liselle."


The caravan track grew steeper, and the snow had piled in deeper and 
deeper drifts along the sides. Miles-long plumes of snow blew from 
the mountaintops ahead, and the wind grew stronger with a biting, 
arid chill to it.


About noon, the peaks ahead were suddenly obscured by an ominous-
looking cloudbank rolling in from the west, and the die-wolf came 
loping down the track to meet them. "One advises that you seek 
shelter for the pack and your beasts," she said with a peculiar kind 
of urgency.


"Have you found the creature who dwells here?" Garion asked.


"No. This is more dangerous." She looked meaningfully back over her 
shoulder at the approaching cloud.


"One will tell the pack-leader."


"That is proper." She pointed her muzzle at Zakath. "Have this one 
follow me. There are trees a short way ahead. He and I will find a 
suitable place."


"She wants you to go with her," Garion told the Mallorean. "WeVe got 
bad weather coming, and she thinks we should take shelter in some 
trees just ahead. Find a place, and I'll go warn the others."


"A blizzard?" Zakath asked.


"I'd guess so. It takes somediing fairly serious in the way of 
weather to make a wolf nervous." Garion wheeled Chretienne and rode 
back down to alert the others. The steep, slippery track made haste 
difficult, and the chill wind was whipping stinging pellets of snow 



about them by the time they reached the thicket to which the wolf had 
led Zakath. The trees were slender pine saplings, and they grew very 
close together. At some time in the not too distant past an avalanche 
had cut a swath through the thkket and had piled a jumble of limbs 
and broken trunks against the face of a steep rock cliff. Durnik and 
loth went to work immediately even as the wind picked up and the snow 
grew thicker. Garion and the others joined in, and before long they 
had erected a latticed frame for a long lean-to against the cliff 
fece. They covered the frame with tent canvas, tying it securely in 
place and weighting it down with logs. Then they cleared away the 
interior and led the horses into the lower end of the rode shelter 
just as the full force of the storm hit.


The wind shrieked insanely, and the thicket seemed to vanish in: the 
swirling snow.


~'Is Beldin going to be all right?" Durnik asked, looking worried.


SEERESS OF KELL


"You don't have to worry about Beldin," Belgarath said, "He's ridden 
out storms before. He'll either go above it or change back and bury 
himself in a snowdrift until it passes.''


"He'll freeze to death!" Ce'Nedra exclaimed,


"Not under the snow, he won't," Belgarath assured her. "Beldin tends 
to ignore weather." He looked at the she-wolf, who sat on her 
haunches at the opening of the lean-to staring out at the swirling 
snow. "One is grateful for your warning, little sister," he said 
formally.


"One is a member of your pack now, revered leader," she replied with 
equal formality. "The well-being of all is the responsibility of 
all."


"Wisely said, little sister."


She wagged her tail but said nothing else.


The blizzard continued for the rest of the day and then on into the 
night while Garion and the others sat around the fire Durnik had 
built. Then, about midnight, the wind died as quickly as it had come. 
The snow continued to sift down among the trees until morning, and 
then it, too, abated. It had done its work, however. The snow outside 
the lean-to reached above Garion's knees. "We're going to have to 
break a trail, I'm afraid," Durnik said soberly.' 'It's a quarter of 
a mile back up to that caravan track, and there are all sorts of 
things hidden under this fresh snow. This is not a good time—or 
place—to start breaking the


horses' legs."


"What about my carriage?" Ce'Nedra asked him.


"I'm afraid we'll have to leave it behind, Ce'Nedra. The snow's just 
too deep. Even if we could get it back up onto the road, the carriage 
horse wouldn't be able to drag it through the drifts."



She sighed. "It was such a nice carriage, too." Then she looked at 
Silk with a perfectly straight face. "I certainly want to thank you 
for lending it to me, Prince Kheldar," she told him. "IVe finished 
with it now, so you can have it back."


It was Toth who broke the initial trail up the steep slope to the 
caravan track. The others followed behind him, trampling the trail 
wider and searching for hidden logs and branches with their feet. It 
took nearly two hours to plow out the trail back to the caravan 
track, and they were all panting from the exertion at this high 
altitude.


They started back down toward the lean-to where the ladies waited 
with the horses, but about halfway down, the wolf suddenly laid back 
her ears and snarled.


KELL


"What is it?" Garion said.


"The creature," she growled. "He hunts."


"Get ready!" Garion shouted to the others. "That animal is out 
there!" He reached back over his shoulder and drew Iron-grip's sword.


It came out of the thicket on the far side of the avalanche track. 
Its shaggy coat was clotted with snow, and it shuffled along in a 
brutish half crouch. Its face was hideous and chillingly familiar. It 
had piglike eyes sunk beneath heavy brow ridges. Its lower jaw jutted 
out, and two massive yellow tusks curved up over its cheeks. It 
opened its mouth and roared, pounding on its vast chest with its 
fists and rising to its full height. It was almost eight feet tall.


"That's impossible!" Belgarath exclaimed.


"What is it?" Sadi demanded.


"It's an Eldrak," Belgarath said, "and the only place the Bdrakyn 
live is in Ulgoland."


"I think you're wrong, Belgarath," Zakath disagreed. "That's what's 
called an ape-bear. There are a few of them in these mountains."


"Do you gentlemen suppose we could discuss its exact species some 
other time?" Silk suggested. "The main question now is whether we 
fight or run."


"We can't run in this snow," Garion said grimly. "We're going to have 
to fight it.''


"I was afraid you might say that,"


"The main thing is to keep it away from the ladies," Durnik said. He 
looked at the eunuch. "Sadi, would the poison on your dagger kill 
it?"



Sadi looked dubiously at the shaggy beast. "I'm sure it would," he 
said, "but that tiling is awfully large. It would take awhile for the 
poison to work."


"That's it, then," Belgarath decided. "The rest of us will keep its 
attention and give Sadi time to get around behind it. After he stabs 
it, we'll fall back and give the poison time to take effect. Spread 
out, and don't take any chances." He blurred into the form of a wolf.


They moved into a rough half circle, their weapons at the ready as 
the monster continued to roar and pound on its chest at the edge of 
the trees, working itself up into a frenzy. Then it bmbered forward 
with the snow spraying out from its huge feet. Sadi edged his way 
uphill, his small dagger held low even as


SEERESS OF KELL


Belgarath and the she-wolf darted in to tear at the beast with their 
fangs.


Garion's mind was working very clearly as he advanced through the 
deep snow, swinging his sword threateningly. He saw that this 
creature was not as quick as Grul the Eldrak had been. It was not 
able to respond to the sudden darting attacks of the wolves, and the 
snow around it was soon spotted with its blood. It roared in 
frustration and rage and made a desperate rush at Durnik. Toth, 
however, stepped in and drove the tip of his heavy staff squarely 
into the beast's face. It howled in pain and spread its huge arms 
wide to catch the big mute in a crushing embrace, but Garion slashed 
it across one shoulder with his sword even as Zakath ducked under the 
other shaggy arm and gashed it across the chest and belly with 
whiplike sword strokes.


The creature bellowed, and its blood spurted from its wounds.


"Any time now, Sadi," Silk said urgently, ducking and feinting and 
trying to get a clean throw with one of his heavy daggers.


The wolves continued their harrying attacks on the animal's flanks 
and legs as Sadi cautiously advanced on the raging beast's back. 
Desperately the creature flailed about with its huge arms, trying to 
keep its attackers away.


Then, with almost surgical precision, the she-wolf lunged in and 
ripped the heavy muscle at the back of the beast's left knee with her 
fangs.


The agonized shriek was dreadful—all the more so because it was 
strangely human. The shaggy beast toppled backward, clutching at its 
maimed leg.


Garion reversed his great sword, grasping the crosspiece of the hilt, 
bestrode the writhing body and raised the weapon, intending to drive 
the point full into the shaggy chest.



"Please!" it cried, its brutish face twisted in agony and terror. 
"Please don't kill me!"


CHAPTER TWO
It was a Grolim. The huge beast lying in the bloodstained snow 
blurred and changed even as Garion's friends moved m with their 
weapons ready to deliver the last fatal strokes.


"Wait!" Durnik said sharply. "It's a man!" They stopped, staring at 


the dreadfully wounded priest Ivine in the snow J &
Garion bleakly set the point of his sword under the Grolim's chin. He 
was terribly angry. "All right," he said in a cold voice, Ttfk—and I 
think you'd better be very convincing. Who out you up to this?" e F


"It was Naradas," the Grolirn groaned, "archpriest of the 


tenpleatHemil."
"The henchman of Zandramas?" Garion demanded. "The «ne with white 
eyes?"


24
SEERESS OF KELL
KELL
25
"Yes. I was only doing what he commanded. Please don't
kill me."
"Why did he tell you to attack us?"
"I was supposed to kill one of you."
"Which one?"
"He didn't care. He just said to make sure that one of you
died."
"They're still playing that tired old game," Silk noted, sheathing 


his daggers. "Grolims are so unimaginative."


Sadi looked inquiringly at Garion, holding up his slim little knife 
suggestively.
"No!" Eriond said sharply.
Garion hesitated. "He's right, Sadi," he said finally. "We can't just 


kill him in cold blood."
"Alorns." Sadi sighed, rolling his eyes up toward the clearing sky. 
"You do know, of course, that if we leave him here in this condition, 
he'll die anyway. And if we try to take him along, he'll delay us—not 



to mention the fact that he's hardly the sort to be trusted."


"Eriond," Garion said, "why don't you go get Aunt Pol? We'd better 
get those wounds of his tended before he bleeds to death." He looked 
at Belgarath, who had changed form again. "Any objections?" he asked.


"I didn't say anything."


"I appreciate that."


'' You should have killed him before he changed form on you,'' a 
familiar harsh voice came from the thicket behind them. Beldin was 
sitting on a log, gnawing at something that was uncooked and still 
had a few feathers clinging to it.


"I suppose it didn't occur to you to give us a hand?" Belgarath asked 
acidly.


*'You were doing all right." The dwarf shrugged. He belched and 
tossed the remains of his breakfast to the she-wolf.


"One is grateful," she said politely as her jaws crunched into the 
half-eaten carcass. Garion could not be sure that Beldin understood, 
though he guessed that the gnarled little man probably did.


"What's an Etdrak doing here in Mallorea?" Belgarath asked.


"It's not exactly an Eldrak, Belgarath," Beldin replied, spitting out 
a few soggy feathers.


"All right, but how did a Mallorean Grolim even know what an Eldrak 
looks like?"


"You weren't listening, old man. There are a few of those


things up here in these mountains. They're distantly related to the 
Eldrakyn, but they're not the same. They're not as big, for one 
thing, and they're not as smart."


"I thought all the monsters lived in Ulgoland."


"Use your head, Belgarath. There are Trolls in Cherek, Al-groths 
range down into Arendia, and the Dryads live in southern Tblnedra. 
Then there's that dragon. Nobody knows for sure where she lives. 
There are monsters scattered all over. They're just a little more 
concentrated in Ulgo, that's all."


"I suppose you're right," Belgarath conceded. He looked at Zakath. 
"What did you call the thing?"


"An ape-bear. It's probably not too accurate, but the people who live 
up here aren't very sophisticated."


"Where's Naradas right now?" Silk asked the injured Grolim.


"I saw him at Balasa," the Grolim replied. "I don't know where he 
went from there."



"Was Zandramas with him?"


"I didn't see her, but that doesn't mean she wasn't there. The Holy 
Sorceress doesn't show herself very often anymore."


"Because of the lights under her skin?" the weasel-faced little man 
asked shrewdly.


The Grolim's face grew even more pale. "We're forbidden to discuss 
that— even among ourselves, ' ' he replied in a frightened tone of 
voice.


"That's all right, friend." Silk smiled at him and drew one of his 
daggers. "You have my permission."


The Grolim swallowed hard and then nodded.


"Stout fellow." Silk patted him on the shoulder. "When did those 
lights start to appear? ' '


"I can't say for sure. Zandramas was off in the west with Naradas for 
a long time. The lights had started to appear when die came back. One 
of the priests at Hemil used to gossip a great deal. He said it was 
some kind of plague."


"Used to?"


"She found out about what he'd said and had his heart cut out."


"That's the Zandramas we've come to know and love, all


Aunt Pol came up along the path trampled through the snow, followed 
by Ce'Nedra and Velvet. She tended the Grolim's wounds without 
comment while Dumik and Torn went back to the lean-to and led out the 
horses. Then they untied the tent


SEERESS OF KELL


canvas and broke down the frame. When they led the horses up to the 
place where the wounded Grolim lay, Sadi went to hi saddle and opened 
the red leather case. "Just to be on the safe side," he muttered to 
Garion, taking out a little vial, Garion raised one eyebrow.


"It won't hurt him," the eunuch assured him. "It'll make him 
tractable, though. Besides, since you're in this humanitarian mood, 
it should also numb the pain of his wounds."


"You don't approve, do you?" Garion said. "That we didn't kill him, I 
mean?"


"I think it's imprudent, Belgarion," Sadi said seriously. "Dead 
enemies are safe enemies. Live ones can come back to haunt you. It's 
your decision, though."


"I'll make a concession," Garion said. "Stay close to him. If he 
starts getting out of hand, do whatever seems appropriate.'' Sadi 



smiled faintly. "Much better," he approved. "We'll teach you the 
rudiments of practical politics yet."


They led the horses up the steep hill to the caravan route and 
mounted. The howling wind that had accompanied the blizzard had 
scoured most of the snow from the track, although there were deep 
drifts in sheltered places where the road curved behind bands of 
trees and rock outcroppings. They made good time when the road was in 
the open, but it was slow going when they came to the drifts. Now 
that the storm had passed, the sunlight on the new snow was dazzling, 
and even though he squinted his eyes nearly shut, Garion found that 
after about an hour he was beginning to develop a splitting headache.


Silk reined in. "I think it's time for a precaution or two," he 
announced. He took a light scarf from inside his cloak and bound it 
across his eyes. Garion was suddenly reminded of Relg and the way the 
cave-born zealot had always covered his eyes when out in the open.


"A blindfold?" Sadi asked. "Have you suddenly become a seer, Prince 
Kheldar?"


"I'm not the sort to have visions, Sadi," Silk replied. "The scarf is 
thin enough so that I can see through it. The idea is to protect the 
eyes from the glare of sunlight on the snow.'' "It is rather bright, 
isn't it?" Sadi agreed. "It is indeed, and if you look at it long 
enough, it can blind you—at least temporarily." Silk adjusted the 
covering on his eyes. "This is a trick the reindeer herders in 
northern Drasnia came up with. It works fairly well."


"Let's not take any chances," Belgarath said, also covering


KELL


his eyes with a piece of cloth. He smiled. "Maybe this is how the 
Dalasian wizards struck the Grolims blind when they tried 
togotoKell."


"I'd be terribly disappointed if it was that simple," Velvet said, 
tying a scarf across her eyes. "I like to have my magic nice and 
inexplicable. Snow blindness would be such a prosaic thing."


They plowed on through the drifts, climbing now toward a high pass 
between two towering peaks. It was midafternoon when they reached the 
pass. The track wound up between massive boulders, but straightened 
out when they reached the summit. They stopped to rest the horses and 
to took out over the vast wilderness that lay beyond the pass.


loth unbound his eyes and gestured to Durnik. The smith pulled down 
his protective scarf, and the big mute pointed. Durnik's face was 
suddenly filled with awe. "Look!" he said in a half-choked whisper.


The rest of them also uncovered their eyes.


"Belar!" Silk gasped. "Nothing can be that big!"


The peaks around them that had seemed so enormous shrank into 



insignificance. Standing quite alone in solitary splendor rose a 
mountain so huge and high that the mind could not comprehend it. It 
was perfectly symmetrical, a steep, white cone with sharply sloping 
sides. Its base was enormous, and its summit soared thousands of feet 
above nearby peaks. An absolute calm seemed to surround it, as if, 
having achieved everything dial any mountain could, it simply 
existed.


' 'It's the highest peak in the world,'' Zakath said very quietly. 
"The scholars at the University of Melcene have calculated its height 
and compared that with the heights of peaks on the western continent. 
It's thousands of feet higher than any other mountain."


"Please, Zakath," Silk said with a pained look, "don't tell me how 
high."


Zakath looked puzzled.


* * As you may have noticed, I 'm not really a very large person. 
Immensity depresses me. I '11 admit that your mountain is bigger flan 
I am. I just don't want to know how much bigger."


Tbth was gesturing to Durnik again.


"He says that Kell lies in the shadow of that mountain," the unith 
said.


"That's a little unspecific, Goodman," Sadi said wryly. "I'd


SEERESS OF KELL
guess that about half the continent lies in the shadow of that
thing."
Beldin came soaring in again.' 'Big, isn't it?" he said, squinting at 


the huge white peak looming into the sky.
"We noticed," Belgarath replied. "What's on up ahead?"
"A fair amount of downhill going—at least until you get to the slopes 


of that monster there."
"I can see that from here."
"Congratulations. I found a place where you can get rid of your 


Grolim. Several places, actually."
"Exactly how do you mean 'get rid of,' uncle?" Polgara
asked suspiciously.
"There are quite a few high cliffs alongside this track on the way 


down," he replied blandly. "Accidents do happen, you know."
"Out of the question. I didn't treat his wounds just to keep him 



going until you found time to throw him off a cliff.''
"Polgara, you're interfering with the practice of my religion."
She raised one eyebrow.
"I thought you knew. It's an article of the faith: 'Kill every Grolim 


you come across.' "
"I might even consider converting to that religion," Zakath
said.
"Are you absolutely certain you're not Arendish?" Garion said to him.
Beldin sighed. "Since you're going to be such a spoilsport for this, 


Pol, I found a group of sheephenders below the snow line."
"Shepherds, uncle," she corrected.
"It means the same thing. If you really look at it, it's even the 


same word,"
"Shepherd sounds nicer."
"Nicer." He snorted. "Sheep are stupid, they smell bad, and they 


taste worse. Anybody who spends his life tending them is either 
defective or degenerate."


"You're in rare form this afternoon," Belgarath congratulated him.
"It's been a great day for flying," Beldin explained with a broad 
grin.' 'Do you have any idea of how much warm aircomes up off new 
snow when the sun hits it? I flew up so high once that I started 
getting spots in front of my eyes.'1


KELL


"That's stupid, uncle," Polgara snapped. "You should never go up 
where the air's that thin."


"We're all entitled to a little stupidity now and men." He shrugged. 
"And the dive from that height is unbelievable. Why don't you join 
me, and I'll show you."


"Will you never grow up?"


"I doubt it, and I certainly hope not." He looked at Belgarath. "I 
think you'd better go down a mile or so and make camp."


"It's early yet."


"No. Actually it's late. That afternoon sun is quite warm-even up 
here. All this snow's starting to get soft. IVe seen three avalanches 
already. If you make a wrong guess up here, you might get down a lot 
quicker than you want to."



"Interesting point there. We'll get down out of this pass and set up 
for the night.''


"I'll go on ahead." Beldin crouched and spread his arms. "Are you 
sure you don't want to come along, Pol?"


"Don't be silly."


He left a ghostly chuckle behind him as he soared away.


They set up for the night on a ridge line. Although it exposed them 
to the constant wind, it was free from the danger of avalanche. 
Garion slept poorly that night. The wind that raked the exposed ridge 
set the taut canvas of the tent he shared with Ce'Nedra to thrumming, 
and the noise intruded itself upon him as he tried again and again to 
drift off. He shifted restlessly.


"Can't you sleep either?" Ce'Nedra said in the chill darkness.


"It's the wind," he replied.


"Try not to think about it."


"I don't have to think about it. It's like trying to sleep inside a 
big drum."


"You were very brave this morning, Garion. I was terrified when I 
heard about that monster.''


"We've dealt with monsters before. After a while, you get used to 
it." • "My, aren't we getting blase"?"


"It's an occupational trait. All of us mighty heroes have it. ; 
Fighting a monster or two before breakfast helps to sharpen the 
^appetite."


'A*-. "YouVechanged, Garion." •f.V "Not really."


SEERESS OF KELL


"Yes, you have. When I first met you, you'd never have said anything 
like that."


"When you first met me, I took everything very seriously." "Don't you 
take what we're doing seriously?" She said it almost accusingly.


' 'Of course I do. It's the little incidental things along the way I 
sort of shrug off. There's not much point in worrying about something 
after it's already over, is there?"


"Well, as long as neither of us can sleep anyway—" And she drew him 
to her and kissed him rather seriously.


The temperature plunged that night, and when they arose, the snow, 
which had been dangerously soft the previous afternoon, had frozen, 



and they were able to proceed with little danger of avalanche. 
Because this side of the summit had taken the full force of the wind 
during the blizzard, the caravan track had little snow on it, and 
they made good time going down. By midafter-noon they passed the last 
of the snow and rode down into a world of spring. The meadows were 
steep and lush and speckled with wildflowers bending in the mountain 
breeze. Brooks, which came directly out of the faces of glaciers, 
purled and danced over gleaming stones, and soft-eyed deer watched in 
gentle astonishment as Garion and the others rode by.


A few miles below the snow line, they began to see herds of sheep 
grazing with witless concentration, consuming grass and wildflowers 
with indiscriminate appetite. The shepherds who watched them all wore 
simple white smocks, and they sat on hillocks or rocks in dreamy 
contemplation while their dogs did all the work.


The she-wolf trotted sedately beside Chretienne. Her ears twitched 
occasionally, however, and she watched the sheep, her tawny eyes 
intent.


"One advises against it, little sister," Garion said to her in the 
language of wolves.


"One was not really considering it," she replied. "One has 
encountered these beasts before—and the man-things and dog-things 
that guard them. It is not difficult to take one of them, but the 
dog-things grow excited when one does, and their barking disturbs 
one's meal.'' Her tongue lolled out in a wolfish sort of grin. "One 
could make the beasts run, however. All things should know to whom 
the forest belongs."


"The pack-leader would disapprove, one is afraid." "Ah," she agreed. 
"Perhaps the pack-leader takes himself too seriously. One has 
observed that quality in him."


KELL


"What did she say?" Zakath asked curiously.


"She was thinking about chasing the sheep," Garion replied, "not 
necessarily to kill any of them but just to make them run. I mink it 
amuses her."


"Amuses? That's an odd thing to say about a wolf."


"Not really. Wolves play a great deal, and they have a very refined 
sense of humor."


Zakath's face grew thoughtful. "You know something, Gar-ion?" he 
said. "Man thinks he owns the world, but we share it with all sorts 
of creatures who are indifferent to our overlord-ship. They have 
their own societies, and I suppose even their own cultures. They 
don't even pay any attention to us, do they?"


"Only when we inconvenience them."



"That's a crushing blow to the ego of an emperor." Zakath smiled 
wryly. "We're the two most powerful men on earth, and wolves look 
upon us as no more than a minor inconvenience."


"It teaches us humility," Garion agreed. "Humility is good for the 
soul."


"Perhaps."


It was evening when they reached the shepherds' encampment. Since a 
sheep camp is a more or less permanent thing, h is usually more well 
organized than the hasty encampments of travelers. The tents were 
larger, for one thing, and they were stretched over pole frames. The 
tents lined either side of a street made of logs laid tightly side by 
side. The corrals for the shepherds' horses were at the lower end of 
the street, and a log dam had backed up a mountain brook to form a 
sparkling little pond that provided water for the sheep and horses. 
The shadows of evening were settling over the little valley where the 
camp lay, and blue columns of smoke rose straight up from the 
cookfires into the calm and windless air.


A tall, lean fellow with a deeply tanned face, snowy white hair, and 
the simple white smock that seemed to be the common garb of these 
shepherds came out of one of the tents as Garion and Zakath reined in 
just outside the camp. "We have been advised of your coming," he 
said. His voice was very deep and quiet. "Will you share our evening 
meal with us?" Garion looked at him closely, noting his resemblance 
to Yard, the man whom they had met on the Isle of Verkat, half a 
world away. There could be no question now that the Dais and the 
slave race in Cthol Murgos were related.


"We would be honored,'' Zakath responded to the invitation. "We do 
not wish to impose, however."


SEERESS OF KELL


"It is no imposition. I am Burk. I will have some of my men care for 
your mounts."


The others rode up and stopped.


"Welcome all," Burk greeted them. "Will you step down? The evening 
meal is almost ready, and we have set aside a tent for your use." He 
looked gravely at the she-wolf and inclined his head to her. It was 
evident that her presence did not alarm him.


"Your courtesy is most becoming," Polgara said, dismounting, "and 
your hospitality is quite unexpected this far from civilization."


"Man carries his civilization with him, Lady," Burk replied.


"We have an injured man with us," Sadi told him, "a poor traveler we 
came across on our way over the mountain- We gave him what aid we 
could, but our business is pressing, and I'm afraid our pace is 
aggravating his injuries."



"You may leave him with us, and we will care for him." Burk looked 
critically at the drugged priest slumped in his saddle. "AGrolim," 
denoted. "Is your destination perhaps Kell?"


"We have to stop there," Belgarath said cautiously.


"This Grolim would not be able to go with you then."


"We've heard about that," Silk said, swinging down from his horse. ' 
'Do they really go blind when they try to go to Kell? "


"In a manner of speaking, yes. We have such a one here in our camp 
with us now. We found him wandering in the forest when we were 
bringing the sheep up to summer pasture."


Belgarath's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you suppose I might be able 
to talk with him?" he asked. "I've made a study of such things, and 
I'm always eager to get additional information."


"Of course," Burk agreed. "He's in the last tent on the right."


"Garion, Pot, come along," die old man said tersely and started along 
the log street. Oddly, the she-wolf accompanied them.


"Why the sudden curiosity, father?" Polgara asked when they were out 
of earshot.


"I want to find out just how effective this curse the Dais have laid 
around Kell really is. If it's something that can be overcome, we 
might run into Zandramas when we get there after all."


They found the Grolim sitting on the floor in his tent. The harsh 
angularity of his face had softened, and his sightless eyes had lost 
the burning fanaticism common to all Grolims. His face instead was 
filled with a kind of wonder.


KELL


"How is it with you, friend?" Belgarath asked him gently.


"I am content," the Grolim replied. The word seemed peculiar coming 
from the mouth of a priest of Torak.


"Why is it that you tried to approach Kell? Didn't you know about the 
curse?"


"It is not a curse. It is a blessing."


"A blessing?"


"I was ordered by the Sorceress Zandramas to try to reach the holy 
city of the Dais," the Grolim continued. "She told me mat I would be 
exalted should I be successful." He smiled gently. "It was in her 
mind, I think, to test the strength of the enchantment to determine 
if it might be safe for her to attempt the journey."



"I gather that it wouldn't be."


"That is difficult to say. Great benefit might come to her if she 
tried."
"I'd hardly call going blind a benefit."
"But I am not blind."
"I thought that's what die enchantment was all about."
"Oh, no. I cannot see the world around me, but that is because I see 


something else—something that fills my heart with
joy."
"Oh? What's that?"
"I see the face of God, ray friend, and will until the end of my 


days."
CHAPTER THREE
It was always there. Even when they were in deep, cool forests they 


could feel it looming over them, still and white and serene. The 
mountain filled their eyes, their thoughts, and even their dreams. 
Silk grew increasingly irritable as they rode day after day toward 
that gleaming white enormity. "How can anyone possibly get anything 
done in this part of the world with that thing there filling up half 
the sky?" he burst out one sunny afternoon.


"Perhaps they ignore it, Kheldar," Velvet said sweetly.


"How can you ignore something that big?" he retorted. "I wonder if it 
knows how ostentatious—and even vulgar—it is."
"You're being irrational," she said. "The mountain doesn't care how 


we feel about it. It's going to be there long after we're all gone." 
She paused. "Is that what bothers you, Kheldar? Coming across 
something permanent in the middle of a transient life?"


34
KELL
35
"The stars are permanent," he pointed out- "So's dirt, for that 


matter, but they don't intrude the way that beast does." He looked at 
Zakath. "Has anybody ever climbed to the top of it?" he asked.


"Why would anybody want to?"
"To beat it. To reduce it." Silk laughed. "That's even more 
irrational, isn't it?"


Zakath, however, was looking speculatively at the looming presence 
that filled die southern sky. "I don't know, Kheldar," he said. "I've 



never considered the possibility of fighting a mountain before. It's 
easy to beat men. To beat a mountain, though—now that's something 
else.''


"Would it care?" Eriond asked. The young man so seldom spoke that he 
seemed at times to be as mute as Toth. He had of late, however, 
seemed even more withdrawn. "The mountain might even welcome you." He 
smiled gently. "I'd imagine it gets lonesome. It could even want to 
share what it sees with anyone brave enough to go up there and look."


Zakath and Silk exchanged a long, almost hungry look. "You'd need 
ropes," Silk said in a neutral sort of tone.


"And probably certain kinds of tools, as well," Zakath added. "Things 
that would dig into the ice and hoid you while you climbed up 
higher.''


"Durnik could figure those out for us."


' 'Will you two stop that?'' Polgara said tartly.' 'We have other 
things to think about right now."


"Just speculation, Polgara," Silk said lightly. "This business of 
ours won't last forever, and when it's over—well, who knows?"


They were all subtly changed by the mountain. Speech seemed less and 
less necessary, and they all thought long thoughts, which, during 
quiet times around the campfire at night, they tried to share with 
each other. It became somehow a time of cleansing and healing, and 
they ah" grew closer together as they approached that solitary 
immensity.


One night Garion awoke with a light as bright as day in his eyes. He 
slipped out from under the blankets and turned back the flap of the 
tent. A full moon had arisen, and it filled the world with a pale 
luminescence. The mountain stood stark and white against the starry 
blackness of the night sky, glowing with a cool incandescence that 
seemed almost alive.


A movement caught his eye. Aunt Pol emerged from the tent she shared 
with Durnik. She wore a white robe that seemed


36


SEERESS OF KELL


KELL


37


almost a reflection of the moon-washed mountain. She stood for a 
moment in silent contemplation, then turned slightly. "Dur-nik," she 
murmured softly, "come and look."


Durnik emerged from the tent. He was bare-chested, and his silver 
amulet glittered in the moonlight. He put his arm about Polgara's 
shoulders, and the two of them stood drinking in the beauty of this 
most perfect of nights.



Garion was about to call out to them, but something stayed his 
tongue. The moment they were sharing was too private to be intruded 
upon. After quite some time, Aunt Pol whispered something to her 
husband, and, smiling, the two of them turned and went hand in hand 
back into their tent.


Quiedy Garion let the tent flap drop and went back to his blankets.


Slowly, as they continued in a generally southwesterly direction, the 
forest changed. When they were still in the mountains, the trees had 
been evergreens interspersed here and there with aspens. As they 
approached the lowlands at the base of the huge mountain, they 
increasingly came across groves of beech and elm. And then at last 
they entered a forest of ancient oaks.


As they rode beneath the spreading branches in sun-dappled shade, 
Garion was sharply reminded of the Wood of the Dryads in southern 
Tolnedra. One glance at his little wife's face revealed that the 
similarity was not lost on her either. A kind of dreamy contentment 
came over her, and she seemed to be listening to voices that only she 
could hear.


It was about noon on a splendid summer day that they overtook another 
traveler, a white-bearded man dressed hi clothing made from deerskin. 
The handles of the tools protruding from the lumpy bundle on the back 
of his pack mule proclaimed him to be a gold hunter, one of those 
vagrant hermits who haunt wildernesses the world over. He was riding 
a shaggy mountain pony so stumpy that its rider's feet nearly touched 
the ground on either side. "I thought I heard somebody coming up from 
behind," the gold hunter said as Garion and Zakath, both in their 
mail shirts and helmets, drew alongside him. "Don't see many in these 
woods—what with the curse and all."


"I thought the curse only worked on Grolims," Garion said.


"Most believe it doesn't pay to take chances. Where are you bound?"


"To Kell," Garion replied. There was no real point in making a secret 
of it.


"I hope youVe been invited. The folk at Kell don't welcome strangers 
who just take it upon themselves to go there."


"They know we're coming."


"Oh. It's all right then. Strange place, Kell, and strange people. Of 
course living right under that mountain the way they do would make 
anybody strange after a while. If it's all right, I'll ride along 
with you as far as the tumoff to Balasa a couple miles on up ahead."


"Feel free," Zakath told him. "Aren't you missing a good time to be 
looking for gold, though?"


' 'Got myself caught up in the mountains last winter," the old fellow 
replied. "Supplies ran out on me. Besides, I get hungry for talk now 
and then. The pony and the mule listen pretty good, but they don't 
answer very well, and the wolves up there move around so much that 



you can't hardly get a conversation started with them." He looked at 
the she-wolf and then astonishingly spoke to her in her own language. 
"How is it with you, mother?" he asked. His accent was abominable, 
and he spoke haltingly, but his speech was undeniably that of a wolf.


"How remarkable," she said with some surprise. Then she responded to 


the ritual greeting. "One is content."
"One is pleased to hear that. How is it that you go with the man-
things?"


"One has joined their pack for a certain time."
"Ah."
"How did you manage to learn the language of wolves?" Garion asked in 


some amazement.
"You recognized it, then." The old fellow sounded pleased about that 
for some reason. He leaned back in his saddle. "Spent most of my life 
up there where the wolves are," he explained. "It's only polite to 
learn the language of your neighbors." He grinned. *"Ib be honest 
about it, though, at first I couldn't make much out of it, but if you 


listen hard enough, it starts to come to you. Spent a winter in a den 
with a pack of them about five years back. That helped quite a bit."
"They actually let you live with diem?" Zakath asked.
"It took them awhile to get used tome," the old man admitted, "but I 


made myself useful, so they sort of accepted me."
"Useful?"
"The den was a little crowded, and I got them there tools."
He jerked his thumb at his pack mule. "I dug the den out some
larger, and they seemed to appreciate it. Then, after a while, I
; took to watching over the pups while the rest was out hunting.
38
SEERESS OF KELL
KELL
39
Good pups they was, too. Playful as kittens. Some time later I tried 


to make up to a bear. Never had much luck with that. Bears arc a 
standoffish bunch. They keep to theirselves most of the time, and 
deer are just too skittish to try to make friends with. Give me 
wolves every time."


The old gold hunter's pony did not move very fast, so the others soon 
caught up with them.



"Any luck?" Silk asked the old gold hunter, his nose twitching with 
interest.


"Some," the white-bearded man answered evasively.


"Sorry," Silk apologized. "I didn't mean to pry."


"That's all right, friend. I can see that you're an honest man."


Velvet muffled a slightly derisive chuckle.


"It's just a habit I picked up," the fellow continued. "It's not 
really too smart to go around telling everybody how much gold you've 
managed to pick up."


"I can certainly understand that."


"I don't usually carry that much with me when I come down into the 
low country, though—only to pay for what I need. I leave the rest of 
it hid back up there in the mountains."


"Why do you do it then?" Dumik asked. "Spend all your time looking 
for gold, I mean? You don't spend it, so why bother?"


"It's something to do." The fellow shrugged. "And it gives me an 
excuse to be up there in the mountains. A man feels sort of frivolous 
if he does that without no reason." He grinned again. "Then, too, 
there's a certain kind of excitement that comes with finding a pocket 
of gold in a streambed. Like some say, finding is more fun than 
spending, and gold's sort of pretty to look at."


"Oh, it is indeed," Silk agreed fervently.


The old gold hunter glanced at the she-wolf and then looked at 
Belgarath. "I can see by the way she's acting that you're the leader 
of this group," he noted.


Belgarath looked a bit startled at that.


"He's learned the language," Garion explained.


"How remarkable," Belgarath said, unconsciously echoing the comment 
of the wolf.


"I was going to pass on some advice to these two young fellows, but 
you're the one who probably ought to hear it."


"I'll certainly listen."


"The Dais are a peculiar sort, friend, and they've got some peculiar 
superstitions. I won't go so far as to say they think of


these woods as sacred, but they do feel pretty strongly about them. I 
wouldn't advise cutting any trees—and don't, whatever you do, kill 
anything or anybody here.'' He pointed at the wolf. "She knows about 
that already. YouVe probably noticed that she won't hunt here. The 
Dais don't want this forest profaned with blood. I'd respect that, if 
I were you. The Dais can be helpful, but if you offend their beliefs, 



they can make things mighty difficult for you."


"I appreciate the information," Belgarath told him.


"It never hurts a man to pass on things he's picked up," the old 
fellow said. He looked up the track. "Well," he said. "This is as far 
as I go. That's the road to Balasa just on up ahead. It's been nice 
talking with you." He doffed his shabby hat politely toPolgara, then 
looked at the wolf. "Be well, mother," he said, then he thumped his 
heels against his pony's flanks. The pony broke into an ambling sort 
of trot and jolted around a bend in the road to Balasa and out of 
sight.


"What a delightful old man," Ce'Nedra said.


"Useful, too," Polgara added. "You'd better get in touch with Uncle 
Beldin, father," she said to Belgarath. "Tell him to leave the 
rabbits and pigeons alone while we're in this forest."


"I'd forgotten about that," he said. "I'll take care of it right 
now." He lifted his face and closed his eyes.


"Can that old fellow really talk with wolves?" Silk asked Garion.


"He knows the language," Garion replied.' 'He doesn't speak it very 
well, but he knows it."


"One is sure he understands better than he speaks," the she-wolf 
said.


Garion stared at her, slightly startled that she had understood the 
conversation.


. "The language of the man-things is not difficult to learn," - she 
said. "As the man-thing with the white fur on his face said, one can 
learn rapidly if one takes the trouble to listen. One would not care 
to speak your language, however," she added critically. "The speech 
of the man-things would place one's tongue in much danger of being 
bitten.''


A sudden thought came to Garion then, accompanied by an absolute 
certainty that the thought was entirely accurate. "Grandfather," he 
said.


"Not now, Garion. I'm busy."


"I'll wait."


"Is it important?"


SEERESS OF KELL


"I think so, yes."


Belgarath opened his eyes curiously. "What is it?" he asked.



"Do you remember that conversation we had in Tol Honeth— the morning 
it was snowing?"


"I think so."


"We were talking'about the way everything that happened seemed to 
have happened before.''


"Yes, now I remember."


"You said that when the two prophecies got separated, things sort of 
stopped—that the future can't happen until they get back together 
again. Then you said that until they do, we'd all have to keep going 
through the same series of events over and over again."


"Did I really say that?" The old man looked a bit pleased. "That's 
sort of profound, isn't it? What's the point of this, though? Why are 
you bringing it up now?**


"Because I think it just happened again." Garion looked at Silk. "Do 
you remember that old gold hunter we met in Gar og Nadrak when the 
three of us were on our way to Cthol Mish-rak?"


Silk nodded a bit dubiously.


"Wasn't the old fellow we just talked with almost exactly the same?"


"Now that you mention it. . ." Silk's eyes narrowed. "All right, 
Belgarath, what does it mean?"


Belgarath squinted up at the leafy branches overhead. "Let me think 
about it for a minute," he said. "There are some similarities, all 
right," he admitted. "The two of them are the same kind of people, 
and they both warned us about something. I think I'd better get 
Beldin back here. This might be very important.''


It was no more than a quarter of an hour later when the blue-banded 
hawk settled out of the sky and blurred into the misshapen sorcerer. 
"What's got you so excited?" he demanded crossly.


"We just met somebody," Belgarath replied.


* 'Congratulations. *'
"I think this is serious, Beldin." Belgarath quickly explained his 
theory of recurring events.


"It's a little rudimentary," Beldin growled, "but there's nothing 
remarkable about that. Your hypotheses usually are." He squinted. 
"It's probably fairly accurate though—as far as it goes."


KELL


"Thanks," Belgarath said dryly. Then he went on to describe the two 
meetings, the one in Gar og Nadrak and the other here. "The 
similarities are a little striking, aren't they?"



"Coincidence?"


"Shrugging things off as coincidence is the best way I know of to get 
in trouble.' *


, "All right. For the sake of argument, let's say it wasn't 
coincidence." The dwarf squatted in the dirt at the roadside, his 
face twisted in thought. ' 'Why don't we take this theory of yours a 
step farther?" he mused. "Let's look at the notion that these 
repetitions crop up at significant points in the course of events."


"Sort of like signposts?" Durnik suggested.


"Exactly. I couldn't have found a better term myself. Let's suppose 
that these signposts point at really important things that are right 
on the verge of happening—that they're sort of like warnings.''


"I'm hearing a lot of 'notions' and 'supposes,' " Silk said 
skeptically. "I think you're off into the realm of pure speculation."


"You're a brave man, Kheldar," Beldin said sardonically. "Something 
could be trying to warn you about a potential catastrophe, and you 
choose to ignore the warning. That's either very brave or very 
stupid. Of course I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt by using 
the word 'brave' instead of the other one."


"One for his side," Velvet murmured.


Silk flushed slightly. "But how do we know what it is that's going to 
happen?" he objected.


' 'We don't,'' Belgarath said. * 'The circumstances just call for 
some extra alertness, is all. We've been warned. The rest is up to 
us."


They took some special precautions when they set up their encampment 
that evening. Polgara prepared supper quickly, and the fire was 
extinguished as soon as they had finished eating. Garion and Silk 
took the first watch. They stood atop a knoll behind the camp, 
peering into the darkness.


"I hate this," Silk whispered.


"Hate what?"


"Knowing that something is going to happen without knowing what it 
is. I wish those two old men would keep their speculations to 
themselves."


"Do you really like surprises?"


' 'A surprise is better than living with this sense of dread. My 
nerves aren't what they used to be."


SEERESS OF KELL



"You're too high-strung sometimes. Look at all the entertainment 
you're getting out of anticipation."


"I'm terribly disappointed in you, Garion. I thought you were a nice, 
sensible boy.''


"What did I say?"


"Anticipation. In this situation, that's just another word for 
'worry,' and worry isn't good for anybody."


"It's just a way to get us ready in case something happens."


"I'm always ready, Garion. That's how IVe managed to live so long, 
but right now I feel almost as tightly wound as a lute string."


"Try not to think about it."


, "Of course," Silk retorted sarcastically. "But doesn't that defeat 
the purpose of the warning? Aren't we supposed to think about it?"


The sun had not come up yet when Sadi came back "to their camp, 
moving very quiedy and going from tent to tent with a whispering 
warning. "There's somebody out there," he warned after he had 
scratched on the flap of Garion's tent.


Garion rolled out from under his blankets, his hand automatically 
reaching for his sword. He paused (hen. The old gold hunter had 
warned them against the shedding of blood. Was this the event for 
which they had been waiting? But were they supposed to obey the 
prohibition, or to step over it in response to some higher need? 
There was not time now to stand locked in indecision, however. Sword 
in hand, Garion rushed from the tent.


The light had that peculiar steely tint mat comes from a colorless 
sky before the sun rises. It cast no shadows and what lay beneath the 
broad-spread oaks was not so much darkness as it was a fainter light. 
Garion moved quickly, his feet avoiding almost on their own the 
windrows of years-old dead leaves and the fallen twigs and branches 
that littered the floor of this ancient forest.


Zakath stood atop the knoll, holding his sword. ' 'Where are they?*' 
Garion's voice was not so much a whisper as a breath.


"They were coming up from the south," Zakath whispered back.


"How many?"


"It's hard to say."


"Are they trying to sneak up on us?"


"It didn't really look that way. The ones we saw could have


KELL



hidden back there among the trees, but they just came walking through 
the forest.''


Garion peered out into the growing light. And then he saw them. They 
were dressed all in white—robes or long smocks— and they made no 
attempts at concealment. Their movements were deliberate and seemed 
to have a placid, unhurried calm about them. They came in single 
file, each following the one in front at a distance of about ten 
yards. There was something hauntingly familiar about the way they 
moved through the forest.


"All they need are the torches," Silk said from directly behind 
Garion. The little man made no attempt to keep his voice down.


"Be still!" Zakath hissed.


"Why? They know we're here." Silk laughed a caustic little laugh. 
"Remember that time on the Isle of Verkat?" he said to Garion. "You 
and I spent a half hour or so crawling through me wet grass following 
Yard and his people, and I'm absolutely sure now that they knew we 
were there all the time. We could have just walked along behind them 
and saved ourselves all the discomfort."


"What are you talking about, Kheldar?" Zakath demanded in a hoarse 
whisper.


"This is another of Belgarath's repetitions." Silk shrugged. * 
'Garion and I have been through it before.'' He sighed ruefully. 
"Life is going to get terribly boring if nothing new ever happens." 
Then he raised his voice to a shout. "We're over here," he called to 
the white-robed figures out in the forest.


"Are you mad?" Zakatii exclaimed.


"Probably not, but then crazy people never really know, do they? 
Those people are Dais, and I seriously doubt that any Dal has ever 
hurt anybody since the beginning of time."


The leader of the strange column halted at the foot of the knoll and 
pushed back the cowl of his white robe. "We have been awaiting you," 
he announced. "The Holy Seeress has sent us to see you safely to 
Kell."


CHAPTER FOUR


King Kheva of Drasnia was irritable that morning He had overheard a 
conversation the previous evening between his mother and an emmisary 
of King Anheg of Cherek, and his irritation grew out of a sort of 
moral dilemma. To reveal to his mother that he had been eavesdropping 
would of course be quite out of the question, and so he could not 
discuss with her what he had heard until she broached the subject 
herself. It seemed quite unlikely that she would do so, and so Kheva 
was at an impasse.


It should be stated here that King Kheva was not really the sort of 
boy who would normally intrude on his mother's privacy He was 
basically a decent lad. But he was also a Drasnian. There is a 



national trait among prasnians which, for want of a better term, 
might be called curiosity. All people are curious to a certain 
degree, but in Drasnians the trait was quite nearly compulsive. Some 
contended that it was their innate curiosity which


44


KELL


45


has made spying their national industry. Others maintained with equal 
vigor that generations of spying had honed the Drasnians' natural 
curiosity to a fine edge. The debate was much like the endless 
argument about the chicken and the egg, and almost as pointless. 
Quite early in life, Kheva had trailed unobtrusively along behind one 
of the official court spies and thereby discovered the closet hidden 
behind the east wall of his mother's sitting room. Periodically he 
would slip into that closet in order to keep track of affairs of 
state and any other matters of interest. He was the king, after all, 
and thus he had a perfect right to the information. He reasoned that 
by spying, he could obtain it while sparing his mother the 
inconvenience of passing it on to him. Kheva was a considerate boy.


The conversation in question had concerned the mysterious 
disappearance of the Earl of Trellheim, his ship Seabird, and a 
number of other individuals, including Trellheim's son Unrak.


Barak, Earl of Trellheim, was considered in some quarters to be an 
unreliable sort, and his companions in this vanishing were, if 
anything, even worse. The Alorn kings were disquieted by the 
potential for disaster represented by Barak and his cohorts roaming 
loose in the Gods only knew what ocean.


What concerned young King Kheva, however, was not so much random 
disasters as it was the fact that his friend Unrak had been invited 
to participate while he had not. The injustice of mat rankled. The 
fact that he was a king seemed to automatically exclude him from 
anything that could even remotely be considered hazardous. Everyone 
went out of his way to keep Kheva safe and secure, but Kheva did not 
want to be kept safe and secure. Safety and security were boring, and 
Kheva was at an age where he would go to any lengths to avoid 
boredom.


Clad all in red, he made his way through the marble halls of the 
palace in Boktor that winter morning. He stopped in front of a large 
tapestry and made some show of examining it. Then, at least 
relatively sure that no one was watching—this was Drasnia, after 
all—he slipped behind the tapestry and into the small closet 
previously mentioned.


His mother was conferring with the Nadrak girl Vella and with 
Yarblek, Prince Kheldar's shabby partner. Vella always made King 
Kheva nervous. She aroused certain feelings in him with which he was 
not yet prepared to cope, and so he customarily avoided her. Yarblek, 
on the other hand, could be quite amusing. His speech was blunt and 
often colorful and laced with oaths Kheva was not supposed to know 
the meaning of.



SEERESS OF KELL


"They'll turn up, Porenn," Yarblek was assuring Kheva's mother. 
"Barak just got bored, that's all."


"I wouldn't be so concerned if he'd gotten bored by himself," Queen 
Porenn replied, "but the fact that this boredom seems to be an 
epidemic worries me. Barak's companions aren't the most stable men in 
the world."


"I've met them." Yarblek grunted. "You might just be right." He paced 
up and down for a moment. "I'll have our people keep an eye out for 
them."


"Yarblek, I've got the finest intelligence service in the world."


"Perhaps so, Porenn, but Silk and I have more men than you do, and 
we've got offices and warehouses in places Javelin hasn't even heard 
of." He looked at Vella. "Do you want to go back to Gar og Nadrak 
with me?" he asked.


"In the wintertime?" Porenn objected.


"We'll just wear more clothes, that's all." Yarblek shrugged.


"What are you going to do there?" Vella asked. "I'm not really very 
interested in sitting around listening to you talk business."


' 'I thought we'd go to Yar Nadrak. Javelin's people don't seem to be 
having much luck finding out what Drosta's up to." He broke off and 
looked speculatively at Queen Porenn. "Unless they've picked up 
something lately I haven't heard about yet," he added.


"Would I keep secrets from you, Yarblek?" she asked with mock 
innocence.


"Probably, yes. If you've got something, Porenn, share it with me. I 
don't want to make the trip for nothing, and Yar Nadrak's a miserable 
place in the winter."


"Nothing yet," she replied seriously.


Yarblek grunted. "I didn't think so. Drasnians look too much like 
Drasnians to be able to move around in Yar Nadrak without attracting 
attention." He glanced at Vella. "Well?" he asked.


"Why not?" she agreed. "Don't take this personally, Porenn, but this 
project of yours—trying to turn me into a lady-is starting to 
distract me just a (ittle. Would you believe mat yesterday I left my 
room with only one of my daggers? I think I need some fresh air and 
stale beer to clear my head.''


Kheva's mother sighed. "Try not to forget everything IVe taught you, 
Vella."



"I have a very good memory, and I can tell the difference


KELL


47


between Boktor and Yar Nadrak. Boktor smells better, for one thing."


"How long will you be gone?" Porenn asked the rangy Yarblek.


"A month or two, I'd imagine. I think we'll want to go to Yar Nadrak 
by a roundabout route. I don't want to announce to Drosta that I'm 
coming."


"All right then," the queen agreed. Then she thought of something. 
"One last thing, Yarblek."


"Yes?"


"I'm very fond of Vella. Don't make the mistake of selling her while 
you're in Gar og Nadrak. I'd be very put out if you did that."


"Who'd buy her?" Yarblek responded. Then he grinned and skipped out 
of the way as Vella automatically went for one of her daggers.


Eternal Salmissra looked with some distaste at her current Chief 
Eunuch, Adiss. In addition to being incompetent, Adiss was slovenly. 
His iridescent robe was food-spotted, and his scalp and face were 
sparsely stubbled. He had never, she concluded, been more than an 
opportunist, and now that he had ascended to the position of Chief 
Eunuch and felt more or less secure there, he had given himself over 
to the grossest sorts of debauchery. He consumed staggering 
quantities of some of the most pernicious drugs available in Nyissa 
and frequently came into her presence with the vacant-eyed shamble of 
a sleepwalker. He bathed infrequently, and the combination of the 
climate of Sthiss Tbr and the various drugs he used gave his body a 
rank, almost rancid, odor. Since the Serpent Queen now sampled the 
air with her flickering tongue, she could not only smell him but also 
taste him.


He groveled on the marble floor before the dais, delivering a report 
on some unimportant matter in a whining, nasal voice. Unimportant 
matters filled the Chief Eunuch's days. He devoted himself to petty 
things, since significant things were beyond his capabilities. With 
the mindless concentration of a man with severely limited talents, he 
expanded the trivial out of all proportion and reported it as if it 
were of earthshaking importance. Most of the time, Salmissra 
suspected, he was blithely ignorant of the things that should really 
be receiving his full attention.


"That will be all, Adiss," she told him in her sibilant whisper, her 
coils moving restlessly on her divanlike throne.


48


SBBRESS OF KELL


"But, my Queen," he protested, the half-dozen or so drugs he had 



taken since breakfast making him brave, "this matter is of utmost 
urgency.''


"To you, perhaps. I am indifferent to it. Hire an assassin to cut off 
the Satrap's head and have done with it."


Adiss stared at her in consternation. "B-but, Eternal Sal-missra," he 
squeaked in horror, "the Satrap is of vital importance to the 
security of the nation.''


"The Satrap is a petty time-server who bribes you to keep himself in 
office. He serves no particular purpose. Remove him and bring me his 
head as proof of your absolute devotion and obedience."


"H-hishead?"


"That's the part that has eyes in it, Adiss," she hissed 
sarcastically. "Don't make a mistake and bring me a foot instead. Now 
leave."


He stumbled backward toward the door, genuflecting every step or two.


"Oh, Adiss," she added, "don't ever enter the throne room again 
unless you've bathed."


He gaped at her in stupid incomprehension.


"You stink, Adiss. Your stench turns my stomach. Now get out of 
here."


He fled.


"Oh, my Sadi," she sighed half to herself, "where are you? Why have 
you deserted me?"


Urgit, High King of Cthol Murgos, was wearing a blue doublet and 
hose, and he sat up straight on his garish throne in the Drojim 
Palace. Javelin privately suspected that Urgit's new wife had a great 
deal to do with the High King's change of dress and demeanor. Urgit 
was not bearing up too well under the stresses of marriage. His face 
had a slightly baffled look on it as if something profoundly 
confusing had entered his life.


"That is our current assessment of the situation, your Majesty," 
Javelin concluded his report. "Kal Zakath has so reduced his forces 
here in Cthol Murgos that you could quite easily sweep them into the 
sea."


"That's easy for you to say, Margrave Khendon," Urgit replied a bit 
petulantly, "but I don't see you Alorns committing any of your forces 
to assist with the sweeping."


"Your Majesty raises a slightly delicate point," Javelin said, 
thinking very fast now. "Although we have agreed from the


KELL 49


start that we have a common enemy in the Emperor of Mallorea, the 



eons of enmity between the Alorns and the Murgos cannot be erased 
overnight. Do you really want a Cherek fleet off your coast or a sea 
of Algar horsemen on the plains of Cthan and Hagga? The Alorn kings 
and Queen Porenn will give instructions, certainly, but commanders in 
the field have a way of interpreting royal commands to suit their own 
preconceptions. Your Murgo generals might very well also choose to 
misunderstand your instructions when they see a horde of Alorns 
bearing down on them."


"That's true, isn't it?" Urgit conceded. "What about the Tolnedran 
legions then? There have always been good relations between Tolnedra 
and Cthol Murgos."


Javelin coughed delicately and then looked around with some show of 
checking for unwanted listeners. Javelin knew that he must move with 
some care now. Urgit was proving to be far more shrewd than any of 
them had anticipated. Indeed, he was at times as slippery as an eel 
and he seemed to know instinctively exactly the way Javelin's fine-
tuned Drasnian mind was working. "I trust this won't go any further, 
your Majesty?" he said in a half whisper.


"You have my word on it, Margrave," Urgit whispered back. "Although 
anyone who takes the word of a Murgo—anda member of the Urga Dynasty 
as well—shows very poor judgment. Murgos are notoriously 
untrustworthy, and all Urgas are quite mad, you know."


Javelin chewed on a fingernail, strongly suspecting that he was being 
outmaneuvered. "We've received some disquieting information from Tol 
Honeth." "Oh?"


"You know how the Tblnedrans are—always alert for the main chance."


"Oh, my goodness, yes." Urgit laughed. "Some of the fondest memories 
of my childhood come from the times when Taur Urgas, my late, 
unlamented father, fell to chewing on the furniture when he received 
the latest proposal from Ran Borune." "Now mind you, your Majesty," 
Javelin went on, "I'm not 'Suggesting that Emperor Varana himself is 
in any way involved m this, but there are some fairly high-ranking 
Tolnedran nobles whoVe been in contact with Mal Zeth." "•:. "That's 
disturbing, isn't it? But Varana controls the legions. -As long as 
he's opposed to Zakath, we're safe." "That's true—as long as Varana's 
alive."


50


SEERESS OF KBLL


KELL


51


"Are you suggesting the possibility of a coup?"


' 'It's not unheard of, your Majesty. Your own kingdom gives evidence 
of that. The great families in northern Tolnedra are still infuriated 
about the way the Borunes and Anadiles pulled a march on them and put 
Varana on the imperial throne. If something happens to Varana and 
he's succeeded by a Vordue or a Honeth or a Horbite, all assurances 



go out the window. An alliance between Mal Zeth and Tol Honeth could 
be an absolute disaster for Murgo and Alorn alike. More than that, 
though, if such an alliance were kept a secret and you had Tblnedran 
legions in force here in Cthol Murgos and they received sudden 
instructions to change sides, you'd be caught between an army of 
Tolnedrans and an army of Malioreans. That isn't my idea of a 
pleasant way to spend a summer."


Urgit shuddered.


"Under the circumstances, your Majesty," Javelin went on smoothly, 
"I'd advise the following course." He began ticking items off on his 
fingers. "One: There's a vastly diminished Mal-lorean presence here 
in Cthol Murgos. Two: An Alom force inside your borders would be 
neither necessary nor advisable. You have enough troops of your own 
to drive the Malioreans out, and we'd be ill-advised to risk any 
accidental confrontations between your people and ours. Three: The 
rather murky political situation in Tolnedra makes it extremely risky 
to contemplate bringing the legions down here."


"Waitaminute, Khendon," Urgit objected. "You came here to Rak Urga 
with all sorts of glowing talk about alliances and commonality of 
interests, but now when it's time to put troops into the field, you 
back down. Why have you been wasting my time?"


' 'The situation has changed since we began our negotiations, your 
Majesty," Javelin told him. "We did not anticipate a Mal-lorean 
withdrawal of such magnitude, and we certainly didn't expect 
instability in Tolnedra."


' 'What am / going to get out of this then?''


' 'What is Kal Zakath likely to do the minute he gets word that 
you're marching on his strongholds?"


"He'll turn around and send his whole stinking army back to Cthol 
Murgos."


"Through a Cherek fleet?" Javelin suggested. "He tried that after 
Thull Mardu, remember? King Anheg and his berserkers sank most of his 
ships and drowned his troops by the regiment.''


"That's true, isn't it?" Urgit mused. "Do you think Anheg


might be willing to blockade the east coast to keep Zakath's army 
from returning?"


"I think he'd be delighted. Chereks take such childlike pleasure in 
sinking other people's boats."


' 'He'd need charts in order to make his way around the southern tip 
of Cthol Murgos, though,'' Urgit said thoughtfully.


Javelin coughed. "Ah—we already have those, your Majesty," he said 
deprecatingly.


Urgit slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne. ' 'Hang it all, 
Khendon! You're here as an ambassador, not as a spy."



"Just keeping in practice, your Majesty," Javelin replied blandly. 
"Now," he went on, "in addition to a Cherek fleet in the Sea of the 
East, we're prepared to line the northern and western borders of 
Goska and the northwestern border of Araga with Algar cavalry and 
Drasnian pikemen. That would effectively cut off escape routes for 
the Malioreans trapped in Cthol Murgos, block Kal Zakath's favorite 
invasion route down through Mishrak ac Thull, and seal off the 
Tolnedran legions in the event of an accommodation between Tol Honeth 
and Mal Zeth. That way, everybody defends more or less his own 
territory, and the Chereks keep the Mailoreans off the continent so 
that we can settle it all to our own satisfaction."


"It also totally isolates Cthol Murgos." Urgit pointed out the one 
fact that Javelin had hoped to gloss over. "I exhaust my kingdom 
pulling your chestnuts out of the fire, and then the Alorns, 
Tolnedrans, Arends, and Sendars are free to march in and eliminate 
the Angarak presence on the western continent."


"You have the Nadraks and Thulls as allies, your Majesty."


"I'll trade you," Urgit said dryly. "Give me the Arends and the 
Rivans, and I'll gladly give you the Thulls and Nadraks."


"I think it's time for me to contact my government on these matters, 
your Majesty. I've already overextended my authority. I'll need 
further instructions from Boktor."


"Give Porenn my regards," Urgit said, "and teil her that I join with 
her in wishing a mutual relative well."


Javelin felt a lot less sure of himself as he left.


The Child of Dark had smashed all die mirrors in her quarters in the 
Grolim Temple at Balasa that morning. It had begun to touch her face 
now. Dimly she had seen the swirling lights beneath the skin of her 
cheeks and forehead and then had broken the mirror that had revealed 
the fact to her—and all the others, as well. When it was done, she 
stared in horror at the gash in


SEERESS OF KELL


KELL


the palm of her hand. The lights were even in her blood. Bitterly she 
recalled the wild joy that had filled her when she had first read the 
prophetic words: "Behold: the Child of Dark shall be exalted above 
all others and shall be glorified by the light of the stars.' * But 
the light of the stars was no halo or glowing nimbus. The light was a 
creeping disease that encroached upon her inch by inch.


It was not only the swirling lights, however, that had begun to 
consume her. Increasingly her thoughts, her memories, and even her 
dreams were not her own. Again and again she awoke screaming as the 
same dream came again and again. She seemed to hang bodiless and 
indifferent in some unimaginable void, watching all unconcerned as a 



giant star spun and wobbled on its course, swelling and growing 
redder as it shuddered toward inevitable extinction. The random 
wobble of the off-center star was of no real concern until it became 
more and more pronounced. Then the bodiless and sexless awareness 
drifting in the void felt a prickle of interest and then a growing 
alarm. This was wrong. This had not been intended. And then it 
happened. The giant red star exploded in a place where that explosion 
was not supposed to happen; and, because it was in the wrong place, 
other stars were caught up in it. A vast, expanding ball of burning 
energy rippled outward, engulfing sun after sun until an entire 
galaxy had been consumed.


The awareness in the void felt a dreadful wrench within itself as the 
galaxy exploded, and for a moment it seemed to exist in more than one 
place. And then it was no longer one. "This must not be," the 
awareness said in a soundless voice.


"Truly," another soundless voice responded.


And that was the horror that brought Zandramas bolt upright and 
screaming in her bed night after night—the sense of another presence 
when always before there had been the perfect solitude of eternal 
oneness.


The Child of Dark tried to put those thoughts—memories, if you 
will—from her mind. There was a knock at the door of her chamber, and 
she pulled up the hood of her Grolim robe to hide her face. "Yes?" 
she said harshly.


The door opened, and the archpriest of this temple entered. "Naradas 
has departed, Holy Sorceress," he reported. "You wanted to be told.''


"All right," she said in a flat voice.


"A messenger has arrived from the west," the Archpriest continued. 
"He brings news that a western Grolim, a Hierarch,


has landed on the barren west coast of Finda and now moves across 
Dalasia toward Kell."


Zandramas felt a faint surge of satisfaction. "Welcome to Mallorea, 
Agachak," she almost purred. "IVe been waiting for you."


It was foggy that morning along the southern tip of the Isle of 
Verkat, but Gait was a fisherman and he knew the ways of these 
waters. He pushed out at first light, steering more by the smell of 
the land behind him and the feel of the prevailing current man by 
anything else. From time to time he would stop rowing, pull in his 
net, and empty the struggling, silver-sided fish into the large box 
beneath his feet. Then he would cast out his net again and resume his 
rowing while the fish he had caught thumped and flapped beneath him.


It was a good morning for fishing. Gart did not mind the fog. There 
were other boats out, he knew, but the fog created the illusion that 
he had the ocean to himself, and Gart liked that.



It was a slight change in the pull of the current on his boat that 
warned him. He hastily shipped his oars, leaning forward, and began 
to clang the bell mounted in the bow of his boat to warn the 
approaching ship that he was here.


And then he saw it. It was like no other ship Gart had ever seen 
before. It was long and it was big and it was lean. Its high bowsprit 
was ornately carved. Dozens of oars propelled it hissing through the 
water. There could be no mistaking the purpose for which that ship 
had been built. Gart shivered as the ominous vessel slid past.


Near the stern of the ship, a huge red-bearded man in chain mail 
stood leaning over the rail. "Any luck?" he called to Gart.


"Fair," Gart replied cautiously. He did not wish to encourage a ship 
with that big a crew to drop anchor and begin hauling in his fish.


"Are we off the southern coast of the Isle of Verkat yet?'' the led-
bearded giant asked.


Gait sniffed at the air and caught the faint scent of the land. "15x1
*116 almost past it now," he told them. "The coast takes a bend to 
the northeast about here.''


A man dressed in gleaming armor joined the big red-bearded .fellow at 
the rail. The armored man held his helmet under one ann, and his 
black hair was curly. "Thy knowledge of these waters doth seem 
profound, friend," he said in an archaic form of address Gart had 
seldom heard before, "and thy willingness


SEERESS OF KELL


to share thy knowledge with others doth bespeak a seemly courtesy. 
Canst thou perchance advise us of the shortest course to Mallorea?"


"That would depend on exactly where you wanted to go in Mallorea," 
Gart replied.


"The closest port," the red-bearded man said.


Gart squinted, trying to recall the details of the map he had tucked 
on a shelf at home. "That would be Dal Zerba in southwestern 
Dalasia," he said. "If it were me, I'd go on due east for another ten 
or twenty leagues and then come about to a northeasterly course."


"And how long a voyage do we face to reach this port thou hast 
mentioned?" the armored man asked.


Gart squinted at the long, narrow ship alongside him. "That depends 
on how fast your ship goes," he replied. "It's three hundred and 
fifty leagues or so, but you have to swing back out to sea again to 
get around the Turim reef. It's very dangerous, I'm told, and no one 
tries to go through it."


"Peradventure we might be the first, my Lord," the armored man said 
gaily to his friend.



The giant sighed and covered his eyes with one huge hand. "No, 
Mandorallen," he said in a mournful voice. "If we rip out my ship's 
bottom on a reef, we'll have to swim the rest of the way, and you're 
not dressed for it."


The huge ship began to slide off into the fog.


"What kind of a ship is that?" Gart called after the disappearing 
vessel.
"A Cherek war boat," the rumbled reply came back with a note of 


pride. "She's the largest afloat."
"What do you call her?" Gart shouted between his cupped hands.
"Seabird, "the reply came ghosting back to him.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was not a large city, but its architecture was at a level of 


sophistication Garion had never seen before. It nestled in a shallow 
valley near the foot of the vast white peak, looking somehow as if it 
were resting in the mountain's lap. It was a city of slender white 
spires and marble colonnades. The low buildings spaced among the 
spires often had entire walls of glass. There were wide lawns around 
the buildings and groves of trees with marble benches beneath them. 
Formal gardens were spaced about the lawns—boxy hedges and beds of 
flowers lined by low, white walls. Fountains played in the gardens 
and in the courtyards of the buildings.


Zakath gaped at the city of Kell in stunned amazement. "I never even 
knew this was here!" he exclaimed.
"You didn't know about Kell?" Garion asked him.
"I knew about Kell, but I didn't know it was like this.'"
55
56
SEERESS OF KELL
KELL


57
Zakath made a face. "It makes Mal Zeth look like a collection of 
hovels, doesn't it?"


"Tol Honeth, as well—and even Melcene," Garion agreed.


"I didn't think the Dais even knew how to build a proper house," the 
Mallorean said, "and now they show me something like this."
Tom had been gesturing to Durnik.



"He says that it's the oldest city in the world," the smith supplied. 
"It was built this way long before the world was cracked. It hasn't 
changed in almost ten thousand years."


Zakath sighed. "They've probably forgotten how to do it, then. I was 
going to press some of their architects into service. Mal Zeth could 
use a bit of beautifying."


Toth gestured again, and a frown appeared on Durnik's face. "I can't 
have gotten that right," he muttered.


"What did he say?"


"The way I got it was that nothing the Dais have ever done has ever 
been forgotten." Durnik looked at his friend. "Is that what you 
meant?" he asked.


Tom nodded and gestured again.


Durnik's eyes went wide. "He says that every Dal alive today knows 
everything that every Dal who's ever lived knew."


"They must have very good schools then," Garion suggested.


Toth only smiled at that. It was a strange smile, tinged slightly 
with pity. Then he gestured briefly to Durnik, slid down from his 
horse, and walked away.


"Where's he going?" Silk asked.


"To see Cyradis," Durnik replied.


"Shouldn't we go with him?"


Dumik shook his head. "She'll come to us when she's ready.''


Like all the Dais Garion had ever seen, the inhabitants of Kell wore 
simple white robes with deep cowls attached to the shoulders. They 
walked quietly across the lawns or sat in the gardens in groups of 
two or three engaged in sober discussion. Some carried books or 
scrolls. Others did not. Garion was somehow reminded of the 
University of Tol Honeth or the one at Melcene. This community of 
scholars, he was convinced, however, was engaged in studies far more 
profound than the often petty research that filled the lives of the 
professors at those exalted institutions.


The group of Dais who had escorted them to this jewellike city led 
them along a gently curving street to a simple house on


the far side of one of the formal gardens. An ancient, white-TObed 
man leaned on a long staff in the doorway. His eyes were very blue, 
and his hair was snowy white. "We have long awaited your coming," he 
said to them in a quavering voice, "for The Book of Ages has foretold 
that in the Fifth Age the Child of Light and his company would come 
to us here at Kell to seek guidance."


"And the Child of Dark?" Belgarath asked him, dismounting. "Will she 
also come here?"



"No, Ancient Belgarath,"the elderly man replied. "She may not come 
here, but will find direction elsewhere and in a different manner. I 
am Dalian, and I am bid to greet you."


"Do you rule here, Dalian?" Zakath asked, also dismounting.


"No one rules here, Emperor of Mallorea," Dalian said, "not even 
you."


"You seem to know us," Belgarath noted.


"We have known you all since the book of the heavens was first opened 
to us, for your names are written large in the stars. And now 1 will 
take you to a place where you may rest and await the pleasure of the 
Holy Seeress," He looked at the oddly placid she-wolf at Garion's 
side and the frolicking puppy behind her. "How is it with you, little 
sister?" he asked in formal tones.


"One is content, friend," she replied in the language of wolves.


"One is pleased that it is so," he replied in her own tongue.


"Does everyone in the whole world except me speak wolf?" Silk asked 
with some asperity.


"Would you like lessons?" Garion asked.


"Nevermind."


And then with tottering step the white-haired man led them across the 
verdant lawn to a large marble building with broad, gleaming steps at 
the front. "This house was prepared for you at the beginning of the 
Third Age, Ancient Belgarath," the old man said. "Its first stone was 
laid on the day when you recovered your Master's Orb from the City of 
Endless Night."


"That was quite sometime ago," the sorcerer observed.


"The Ages were long in the beginning," Dalian agreed. "They grow 
shorter now. Rest well. We will attend to your mounts." Then he 
turned and, leaning on his staff, he went back toward his own house.


"Someday a Dal is going to come right out and say what he means 
without all the cryptic babble, and the world will come


SEERESS OP KELL


to an end," Beldin growled. "Let's go inside. If this house has been 
here for as long as he said it has, the dust's likely to be knee-deep 
in there, and it's going to need to be swept out."


"Tidiness, uncle?" Polgara laughed as they started up the marble 
steps. "From you?"


"I don't mind a certain amount of dirt, Pol, but dust makes me 



sneeze."


The interior of the house, however, was spotless. Gossamer curtains 
hung at the windows, billowing in the sweet-scented summer breeze, 
and the furniture, although oddly constructed and strangely alien-
looking, was very comfortable. The interior walls were peculiarly 
curved, and there were no corners anywhere to be seen.


They wandered about this strange house, trying to adjust themselves 
to it. Then they gathered in a large, domed central room where a 
small fountain trickled water down one wall.


"There isn't any back door," Silk noted critically.


"Were you planning to leave, Kheldar?" Velvet asked him.


"Not necessarily, but I like to have that option open if the need 
should arise."


"You can always jump out a window if you have to."


"That's amateurish, Liselle. Only a first-year student at the academy 
dives out of windows."


"I know, but sometimes we have to improvise."


There was a peculiar murmuring sound in Garion's ears. At first he 
thought it might be the fountain, but somehow it didn't quite sound 
like running water. "Do you think they'd mind if we went out and had 
a look around?" he asked Belgarath.


"Let's wait a bit before we do that. We were sort of put here. I 
don't know yet if that means we're supposed to stay or what. Let's 
feel things out before we take any chances. The Dais here— and 
Cyradis in particular—have something we need. Let's not offend 
them." He looked at Dumik. "Did Toth give you any hints about when 
she'll be coming here?"


' 'Not really, but I got the impression it wouldn't be too long.''


"That's not really too helpful, brother mine," Beldin said. "The Dais 
have a rather peculiar notion of time. They keep track of it in ages 
rather than years.''


Zakath had been rather closely examining the wall a few yards from 
the trickling fountain. "Do you realize that there's no mortar 
holding this wall together?"


Durnik joined him, took his knife from its sheath, and probed at the 
slender fissure between two of the marble slabs. "Mortise


KELL


and tenon," he said thoughtfully, "and very tightly fit, too. It must 
have taken years to build this house."



"And centuries to build the city, if it's all put together that 
way," Zakathadded. "Where did they learn how to do all this? And 
when?"


"Probably during the First Age," Belgarath told him.


"Stop that, Belgarath," Beldin snapped irritably. "You sound just the 
way they do.''


"I always try to follow local customs."


"I still don't know any more than I did before," Zakath complained.


"The First Age covered the period of time from the creation of man 
until the day when Torak cracked the world," Belgarath told him. "The 
beginning of it is a little vague. OurMasterwas never very specific 
about when he and his brothers made the world. I expect that none of 
them want to talk about it because their Father disapproved. The 
cracking of the world is iairly well pinpointed, though."


"Were you around when it happened, Lady Polgara?" Sadi asked 
curiously.


"No," she replied. "My sister and I were born a while later."


"How long awhile?"


"Two thousand years or so, wasn't it, father?"


"About that, yes."


"It chills my blood, the casual way you people shrug off eons." Sadi 
shuddered.


"What makes you think they learned this style of building before the 
cracking of the world?" Zakath asked Belgarath.


"IVe read parts of The Book of Ages," the old man said. "It fairly 
well documents the history of the Dais. After the world was cracked 
and the Sea of the East rushed in, you Angaraks fled to Mallorea. The 
Dais knew that eventually they'd have to come to terms with your 
people, so they decided to pose as simple fanners. They dismantled 
their cities—all except this one."


"Why would they leave Kell intact?"


"There was no need to take it apart. The Grolims were the ones they 
were really worried about, and the Grolims can't come here."


' 'But other Angaraks can,'' Zakath noted shrewdly.' 'How is it that 
none of them has ever reported a city like this to the bureaucracy?"


SEERESS OF KELL


"They're probably encouraged to forget," Polgara told him.



He looked at her sharply.
"It's not really that difficult, Zakath. A hint or two can usually 


erase memories." An expression of irritation crossed her face. "What 
is that murmuring sound?" she demanded.
"I don't hear anything," Silk said, looking slightly baffled.
"You must have your ears stopped up, then, Kheldar."
About sunset, several young women in soft white robes brought supper 


to them on covered trays.
"I see that diings are the same the world over," Velvet said wryly to 


one of the young women. "The men sit around and talk, and the women 
do the work.''
"Oh, we don't mind," the girl replied earnestly. "It's an honor to 


serve.'' She had very large dark eyes and lustrous brown hair.


"That's what makes it even worse," Velvet said. "First they make us 
do all the work, and then they persuade us that we like it."
The girl gave her a startled look, then giggled. Then she looked 


around guiltily and blushed.
Beldin had seized a crystal flagon almost as soon as the young women 
had entered. He filled a goblet and drank noisily. Then he began to 


choke, spraying a purplish liquid over half the room. "What is this 
stuff?" he demanded indignandy.
"It's fruit juice, sir," the young woman with the dark hair assured 


him earnestly. "It's very fresh. It was pressed only this morning."
"Don't you let it set long enough to ferment?"
"You mean when it goes bad? Oh, no. We throw it out when that 


happens."
Hegroaned. "What about ale? Or beer?"
"What are those?"
"I knew there was going to be something wrong with this place," the 


dwarf growled to Belgarath.
Polgara, however, had a beatific smile on her face.
"What was that all about?" Silk asked Velvet after the Dal-asian 


women had left. "Ail that chitchat, I mean?"


"Groundwork," she replied mysteriously. "It never hurts to open 
channels of communication."
"Women," He sighed, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.
Garion and Ce'Nedra exchanged a quick look, both of them remembering 


how often each of them had said approximately



KELL


the same thing in the same tone early in their marriage. Then they 
both laughed.


"What's so funny?" Silk asked suspiciously.


"Nothing, Kheldar," Ce'Nedra replied. "Nothing at all."


Garion slept poorly that night. The murmuring in his ears was just 
enough of a distraction to bring him back from the edge of sleep over 
and over again. He arose the next morning sandy-eyed and out of 
sorts.


In the large round central room he found Durnik. The smith had his 
ear pressed against the wall near the fountain. -


"What's the trouble?" Garion asked him.


"I'm trying to pinpoint that noise," Durnik said. "It might be 
something in the plumbing. The water in this fountain has to come 
from somewhere. Probably it's piped in, and then the pipe runs under 
the floor or up through the walls."


"Would water running through a pipe make that sort of noise?"


Dumik laughed. "You never know what sort of sounds are going to come 
out of the plumbing, Garion. I saw a whole town abandoned once. They 
all thought the place was haunted. The noise turned out to be coming 
from the municipal water supply."


Sadi came into the room once again wearing his iridescent silk robe.


"Colorful," Garion observed. For the past several months, the eunuch 
had been wearing a tunic, hose, and Sendarian half-boots.


Sadi shrugged. "For some reason I feel homesick this morning." He 
sighed. "I think I could live out my life in perfect contentment if I 
never saw another mountain. What are you doing, Goodman Durnik? Still 
examining the construction?"


"No. I'm trying to track down die source of that noise."


"What noise?"


"Surely you can hear it."


Sadi cocked his head to one side. "I hear some birds just outside the 
window," he said, "and there's a stream somewhere nearby, but that's 
about all."


Garion and Durnik exchanged a long, speculative look. "Silk couldn't 
hear it yesterday either," Durnik recalled.


"Why don't we get everybody up?" Garion suggested.



"That might make some of them a little unhappy, Garion."
"They'll get over it. I think this might be important."


SEERESS OF KELL


There were some surly looks directed at Garion as the others filed 
in.
"What's this all about, Garion?" Belgarath asked in exasperation.
"It's what you might call an experiment, Grandfather."
"Do your experiments on your own time."
"My, aren't we cross this morning?" Ce'Nedra said to the old man.
"I didn't sleep very well."
"That's strange. J slept like a baby."
"Durnik," Garion said, "would you stand over there, please?" He 


pointed to one side of the room. "And Sadi, you over there." He 
pointed to the other side. "This will only take a few minutes,'' he 
told them all. "I"m going to whisper a question to each of you, and I 
want you to answer yes or no."


"Aren't you being just a bit exotic?" Betgarath asked sourly.


"I don't want to contaminate the experiment by giving all of you the 
chance to talk it over."
"It's a sound scientific principle," Beldin approved. "Let's humor 


him. He's stirred up my curiosity."
Garion went from person to person, whispering a single question: "Can 
you hearthat murmuring sound?" Depending on the answer, he asked each 
of them to join either Sadi or Durnik. It did not take long, and the 
result confirmed Garion's suspicions. Standing with Durnik were 


Belgarath, Polgara, Beldin, and— somewhat surprisingly—Eriond. 
Standing with Sadi were Silk, Velvet, Ce'Nedra, and Zakath.
"Now do you suppose you could explain all this rigama-role?" 


Belgarath asked.


"I asked everybody the same question, Grandfather. The people 
standing with you can hear that sound. The people over there can't."
"Of course they can. It kept me awake half the night."
"Maybe that's why you're so dense this morning." Beldin grunted. 


"Good experiment, Garion. Now, why don't you explain it to our fuzzy-
headed friend?"
"It's not difficult, Grandfather," Garion said deprecatingly. "It's 



probably so simple that you're overlooking it. The only people who 
can hear the sound are those with what you used to call 'talent.' 
Ordinary people can't."


"I'll be honest, Belgarath,"Silk said. "I can't heara sound."


"And I've been hearing it ever since we first caught sight of Kell," 
Durnik added.


KELL


"Now isn't that interesting?" Beldin said to Belgarath. "Shall we 
take it a few steps further, or did you want to go back to bed?"


"Don't be absurd," Belgarath replied absendy.


"All right, then," Betdin continued, "we've got a sound that ordinary 
people can't hear, but that we can. I can think of another right 
offhand, as well, can't you?"


Belgarath nodded. "The sound of someone using sorcery."


"This is not a natural sound, then," Durnik mused. He suddenly 
laughed. "I'm glad you worked this out, Garion. I was right on the 
verge of tearing up the floor."


"What on earth for?" Polgara asked him.


"I thought the noise was coming from a water pipe somewhere."


"This isn't sorcery, though," Belgarath said. "It doesn't sound the 
same and it doesn't feel the same."


Beldin was scratching thoughtfully at his matted beard. "How does 
this idea strike you?" he said to Belgarath. "The people here have 
enough concentrated power to deal with any Grolim or group of Grolims 
who might come along, so why go to the trouble of laying down that 
curse of theirs?''


"I don't quite follow you."


'' A large proportion of Grolims are sorcerers, right? So they 'd be 
able to hear this sound. What if that enchantment is there to keep 
the Grolims far enough away so that they won't hear it?''


"Aren't you getting a little exotic, Beldin?" Zakath asked 
skeptically.


"Not really. Actually, I'm simplifying. A curse designed to keep away 
people you're not really afraid of doesn't make sense. Everybody's 
always thought that the curse was there to protect Kell itself, and 
that doesn't make any sense either. Isn't it simpler to assume that 
there's something more important that has to be protected?"


"What is there about this sound that would make the Dais so concerned 
about having it overheard?" Velvet asked, sounding perplexed.



"All right," Beldin said. "What is a sound?"
"Not that again." Belgarath sighed.
"I'm not talking about the noise in the woods. A sound is just a 


noise unless it's meaningful. What do we call a meaningful sound?"
"Talk, isn't it?" Silk ventured.
"Exactly."
64
SEERESS OP KELL
KELL
65
"I don't understand," Ce'Nedra confessed. "What are the Dais saying 


that they want to keep secret? Nobody understands what they're saying 


anyway."
Beldin spread his hands helplessly, but Durnik was pacing up and 
down, his face creased with thought. "Maybe it's not so much what 
they're saying, but how."


"And you accuse me of being obscure," Beldin said to Bel-garath. 


"What are you getting at, Durnik?"
"I'm groping," the smith admitted. "The noise, or sound-whatever you 
want to call it—isn't a signal that somebody's turning people into 
frogs." He stopped. "Can we really do that?" he asked.


"Yes," Beldin said, "but it's not worth the trouble. Frogs multiply 
at a ferocious rate. I'd rather have one person who irritated me 
instead of a million or so aggravating frogs."


"All right, then," Durnik continued. "It's not the noise that sorcery 
makes."


"Probably not," Belgarath agreed.
"And I think Ce'Nedra's right. Nobody really understands what the 
Dais are saying—except for other Dais. Half the time I can't follow 
what Cyradis is saying from one end of a sentence to the other."


"What does that leave?" Beldin asked intently, his eyes alight. "I'm 
not sure. I've got the feeling though that 'How' is more important 
than 'What.' " Durnik suddenly looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm 
talking too much," he confessed. "I'm sure that some of the rest of 
you have more important things to say about this than I do."


"I don't really think so," Beldin told him. "I think you're right on 
the edge of it. Don't lose it.''
Durnik was actually sweating now. He covered his eyes with one hand, 



trying to collect his thoughts. Garion noticed that everyone in the 
room was almost breathlessly watching his old friend labor with a 
concept that was probably far beyond the grasp of any of the rest of 
them.


"There has to be something that the Dais are trying to protect," the 
smith went on, "and it has to be something that's very simple—for 
them at least—but something they don't want anybody else to 
understand. I wish Toth were here. He might be able to explain it.'' 
Then his eyes went very wide. "What is it, dear?" Polgara asked.


"It can't be that!" he exclaimed, suddenly very excited. "It couldn't 
be!"


"Durnik!" she said in exasperation.


"Do you remember when Toth and I first began to talk to each other—in 
gestures, I mean?" Durnik was suddenly talking very fast and he was 
almost breathless. "We'd been working together, and a man who works 
with someone else begins to know exactly what the other one is 
doing—and even what he's thinking." He stared at Silk. "You and 
Garion and Pol use that finger-language," he said.


"Yes."


"You've seen the gestures Toth makes. Would the secret language be 
able to say all that much with just a few waves of the hand—the way 
he does it?"


Garion already knew the answer.


Silk's voice was puzzled. "No," he said. "That would be impossible."


"But I know exactly what he's trying to say," Durnik told them. "The 
gestures don't mean anything at all. He does it just to make me—to 
give me some rational explanation for what he's really doing." 
Durnik's face grew awed. "He's been putting the words directly into 
my mind—without even talking. He has to, because he can't talk. What 
if that's what this murmuring we hear is? What if it's the sound of 
the Dais talking to one another? And what if they can do it over long 
distances?"


"And overtime, too," Beldin said in a startled voice. "Do you 
remember what your big, silent friend said when we first got here? He 
said that nothing the Dais have ever done has ever been forgotten and 
that every Dal alive knows everything that every Dal who's ever lived 
knew."


"You're suggesting an absurdity, Beldin," Belgarath scoffed.


"No. Not really. Ants do it. So do bees."


"We aren't ants—or bees."


"I can do almost anything a bee can do." The hunchback shrugged. 
"Except make honey—and you could probably build a fairly acceptable 
anthill."



"Will one of you please explain what you're talking about?" Ce'Nedra 
asked crossly.


"They're hinting at the possibility of a group mind, dear," Polgara 
said quite calmly. "They're not doing it very well, but that's what 
they're groping toward." She gave the two old men a condescending 
sort of smile. "There are certain creatures— usually insects—that 
don't have very much intelligence individually, but as a group 
they're very wise. A single bee isn't too


SEERESS OF KELL


bright, but a beehive knows everything that's ever happened to it."


The she-wolf had come padding in, her toenails clicking on the marble 
floor, with the puppy scampering along behind her. "Wolves do it, as 
well," she supplied, indicating that she had been listening at the 
door.


"What did she say?" Silk asked.


"She said that wolves do the same thing," Garion translated. Then he 
remembered something. "I was talking with Hettar once, and he said 
that horses are the same way. They don't think of themselves as 
individuals—only as parts of the herd."


' 'Would it really be possible for people to do something like 
that?" Velvet asked incredulously.


"There's one way to find out," Polgara replied.


"No, Pol," Belgarath said very firmly. "It's too dangerous. You could 
be drawn into it and never be able to get back out."


"No, father," she replied quite calmly. "The Dais may not let me in, 
but they won't hurt me or keep me in if I want to leave.''


"How do you know that?"


"I just do." And she closed her eyes.


CHAPTER SIX


They stood watching her apprehensively as she lifted her flawless 
face. Eyes closed, she concentrated. Then a strange expression came 
to her features.


"Well?" Belgarath asked.


"Quiet, father. I'm listening."


He stood drumming his fingers impatiently on the back of a chair, and 
the others watched breathlessly.


At last Polgara opened her eyes with a vaguely regretful sigh. "It's 
enormous," she said very quietly. "It has every thought these people 



have ever had—and every memory. It even remembers the beginning, and 
every one of them shares in it."


"And so did you?" Belgarath asked her.
"For a moment, father. They let me catch a glimpse of it. There are 
parts of it that are blocked off, though."


"We might have guessed that," Beldin said, scowling. "They're not 
going to provide access to anything that would
67
68
SEERESS OF KELL
KELL


69
give us the slightest advantage. They've been perched on that fence 
since the beginning of time."


Polgara sighed again and sat on a low divan.
"Are you all right, Pol?" Durnik asked with some concern.
"I'm fine, Durnik," she replied. "It's just that for a moment I saw 


something I've never experienced before, and then they asked me to 


leave."
Silk's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you think they'd object if we left 
this house and had a look around?"


"No. They won't mind."
"I'd say that's our next step then," the little man suggested. "We 
know that the Dais are the ones who are going to make the final 


choice—at least Cyradis is—but this oversoul of theirs is probably 
going to provide her some direction."
"That's a very interesting term, Kheldar," Beldin noted.
"What is?"
"Oversoul. How did you come up with it?"
"I've always had a way with words."
"There may be some hope for you after all. Someday we'll have to have 


a long talk.''
"I shall place myself at your disposal, Beldin," Silk said with a 
florid bow. "Anyway," he continued, "since the Dais are going to 
decide things, I think we ought to get to know them better. If 
they're leaning in the wrong direction, maybe we can sway them back."



"Typically devious," Sadi murmured, "but probably not a bad idea. We 
should split up, though. We'll be able to cover more ground that 
way."


"Right after breakfast," Belgarath agreed.


"But, Grandfather," Garion protested, impatient to be off.


"I'm hungry, Garion, and I don't think well when I'm hungry-"


"That might explain a lot," Beldin noted blandly. "We should


have fed you more often when you were younger."


"You can be terribly offensive sometimes, do you know that?"


"Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do." The same group of young women 
brought breakfast to them, and Velvet drew aside the large-eyed girl 
with the glossy brown hair and spoke with her briefly. Then the blond 
girl returned to the table. "Her name is Onatel," she reported, "and 
she's invited Ce'Nedra and me to visit the place where she and the 
other


young women work. Young women talk a great deal, so we might pick up 
something useful.''


"Wasn't Onatel the name of that seeress we met on the Isle of 
Verkat?" Sadi asked.


"It's a common name among Dalasian women," Zakath told him. "Onatel 
was one of their most honored seeresses."


"But the Isle of Verkat is in Cthol Murgos," Sadi pointed out.


"It's not all that strange," Belgarath said. "We've had some fairly 
strong hints that the Dais and the slave race of Cthol Murgos are 
closely related and keep in more or less constant contact. This is 
just some additional confirmation."


The morning sun was warm and bright as they emerged from the house 
and strolled off in various directions. Garion and Zak-ath had 
removed their armor and left their swords behind, al-though Garion 
prudently carried the Orb in a pouch tied to his belt. The two of 
them walked across a dewy lawn toward a group of larger buildings 
near the center of the city.


"You're always very careful with that stone, aren't you, Gar-ion?" 
Zakath asked.


"I'm not sure that careful is the exact word," Garion replied, "but 
then again, maybe it is—in a broader sense. You see, die Orb is very 
dangerous, and I don't want it hurting people by accident."


"What does it do?"


"I'm not really sure. IVe never seen it do anything to anybody—except 
possibly Torak—but that might have been the sword."



"And you're the only one in the world who can touch the Orb?"


"Hardly. Eriond carried it around for a couple of years. He kept 
trying to give it to people. They were mostly Alorns, so they knew 
better than to take it."


"Then you and Eriond are the only people who can touch it?"


"My son can," Garion said. "I put his hand on it right after he was 
born. It was very happy to meet him."


"A stone? Happy?"


"It's not like other stones." Garion smiled. "It can be a little 
silly now and then. It gets carried away by its own enthusiasm. I 
have to be very careful about what I think sometimes. If it decides I 
really want something, it might just take independent action." He 
laughed. "Once I was speculating about the time


SEERESS OF KELL


when Torak cracked the world, and it proceeded to tell me how to 
patch it."


"You're not serious!"


"Oh, yes. It has no conception of the word 'impossible.' If I really 
wanted it to, it could probably spell out my name in stars." He felt 
a small twitch in the pouch at his belt. "Stop that!" he said sharply 
to the Orb. "That was just an example, not a request."


Zakath was staring at him.


"Wouldn't that look grotesque?" Garion said wryly. " *Bel-garion' 
running from horizon to horizon across the night sky?"


"You know something, Garion," Zakath said. "I've always believed that 
someday you and I would go to war with each other. Would you be 
terribly disappointed if I decided not to show up?"


"I think I could bear it." Garion grinned at him. "If nothing else, I 
could always start without you. You could drop by from time to time 
to see how things were going. Ce'Nedra can fix you supper. Of course, 
she's not a very good cook, but we all have to make a few sacrifices, 
don't we?"


They looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing. 
The process that had begun at Rak Urga with the quixotic Uigit was 
now complete. Garion realized with a certain amount of satisfaction 
that he had taken the first few steps toward ending five thousand 
years of unrelenting hatred between Alorn and Angarak.


The Dais paid little attention to them as they strolled along marble 
streets and past sparkling fountains. The inhabitants of Kell went 
about their activities quietly and contemplatively, their eyes lost 
in thought. They spoke but little, since speech among them was 



largely unnecessary.


"It's an eerie sort of place, isn't it?" Zakath observed. "I'm not 
used to cities where nobody does anything."


"Oh, they're doing something, all right."


"You know what I mean. There aren't any shops, and nobody's even out 
sweeping the streets."


"It is a little odd, I suppose." Garion looked around. "What's even 
odder is that we haven't seen a single seer since we got here. I 
thought this was the place where they lived."


"Maybe they stay indoors."


"That's possible, I suppose."


Their morning stroll gained them little information. They tried 
occasionally to strike up conversations with the white-robed cit-


KELL


izens, and although the Dais were unfailingly polite, they 
volunteered little in the way of talk. They answered questions that 
were put to them, and that was about all.


"Frustrating, wasn't it?" Silk said when he and Sadi returned to the 
house that had been assigned to them. "I've never met a group of 
people so disinterested in talk. I couldn't even find anybody willing 
to discuss the weather.''


"Did you happen to see which way Ce'Nedra and Liselle went?" Garion 
asked him.


"Someplace over on the other side of town, I think. I imagine they'll 
come back when those young women bring us our lunch.''


Garion looked around at the others. "Did anybody happen to see any of 
the seers?" he asked.


"They aren't here," Polgara told him. She sat by a window mending one 
of Durnik's tunics. ' 'One old woman told me they have a special 
place. It's not in the city."


"How did you manage to get an answer out of her?" Silk asked.


"I was fairly direct. You have to push the Dais a bit when you want 
information."


As Silk had predicted, Velvet and Ce'Nedra returned with the young 
women who were bringing their meals to them.


"You have a brilliant wife, Belgarion," Velvet said after the 
Dalasian women had left. "She sounded for all the world as if there 
weren't a brain in her head. She spent the morning babbling."



"Babbling?" Ce'Nedra objected.
"Weren't you?"
"Well, I suppose so, but 'babbling' is such an unflattering word."
"I presume there was a reason for it?" Sadi suggested.
"Of course," Ce'Nedra said. "I saw fairly soon that those girls 


weren't going to be very talkative, so I filled up the spaces. They 
began to loosen up after a bit. I talked so that Liselle could watch 
their faces." She smiled smugly. "It worked out fairly well, even if 
I do say it myself.''


"Did you get anything out of them?" Polgara asked.


"A few things," Velvet replied. "Nothing all that specific, but a few 
hints. I think we should be able to get a bit more this afternoon."
Ce'Nedra looked around. "Where's Durnik?" she asked. "AndEriond?"
"Where else?" Polgara sighed.


SEERESS OF KELL
"Where did they find any water to fish in?"
"Durnik can smell water from several miles away," Polgara toid her in 


a resigned tone of voice, "and he can tell you what kind of fish are 
in it, how many, and probably even what their names are."
"I've never cared all that much for fish myself," Beldin said.
"I don't know that Dumik does either, uncle."


"Why does he bother diem then?"
She spread her hands helplessly. "How should I know? The motives of 
fishermen are dreadfully obscure. I can tell you one thing, though."


"Oh? What's that?"


"You've said a number of times diat you want to have some long 
conversations with him."
"Yes, I do."
"You'd better learn how to fish then. Otherwise, he probably won't be 


around."


"Has anybody come by to give us any kind of word about Cyradis?" 
Garion asked,
"Not a soul," Beldin replied.



"We don't really have time for an extended stay," Garion fretted.


' 'I might be abJe to stir an answer out of somebody,'' Zakath 
offered. "She commanded me to present myself to her here at Kell." He 
winced slightly. "I can't believe I just said that. Nobody's 
commanded me to do anything since I was about eight years old. 
Anyway, you know what I mean. I could insist that somebody take me to 
her so 1 can obey her orders."


"I think you might choke on that one, Zakath," Silk said lightly. 
"Obey is a difficult concept for someone in your position. ''


"He's an irritating little fellow, isn't he?" Zakath said to Garion.


"IVe noticed."


"Why, your Majesties," Velvet said, all wide-eyed innocence, "what a 
thing to suggest."


"Well, isn't he?" Zakath said pointedly.


"Of course, but it's not nice to talk about it."


Silk looked slightly offended. "Would you people like for me to go 
away so you can talk freely?"


"Oh, that won't be necessary, Kheldar," Velvet said with a dimpled 
smile.


They gained little more in me way of information that after-


KELL


noon, and die frustration of the fruitless quest made them all 
irritable. "I think perhaps we should follow up that idea of yours," 
Garion said to Zakath after supper. "First thing tomorrow morning, 
why don't we go see that old man, Dalian? We'll tell him right out 
that you're supposed to present yourself to Cyradis. I think it's 
time to start pushing a little."


"Right," Zakath agreed.


Dalian, however, proved to be as unresponsive as all the rest of the 
citizens of Kell. "Be patient, Emperor of Mallorea," he advised. "The 
Holy Seeress will come to you at the proper time."


"And when is that?" Garion asked bluntly.


"Cyradis knows,'and that's all mat's really important, isn't it?"


"If he wasn't so old and feeble, I'd shake some answers out of him," 
Garion muttered as he and Zakath walked back to the house.


' 'If this goes on much longer, I might just ignore his age and 
infirmity," Zakath said. "I'm not in the habit of having my questions 
evaded this way."



Velvet and Ce'Nedra were approaching the house from the other 
direction as Garion and Zakath reached the broad marble steps. The 
two young women were walking quickly, and Ce'Nedra's expression was 
triumphant.


"I think we managed to get something useful at last," Velvet said. 
"Let's go inside so we can tell everyone at once."


They gathered again in the domed room, and the blond giri spoke to 
them quite seriously. "This isn't too precise," she admitted, "but I 
think it might be all we're likely to get out of these people. This 
morning, Ce'Nedra and I went back to that house where those young 
women work. They were weaving, and that's the sort of thing that 
tends to make people a little less than alert. Anyway, that girl with 
the large eyes, Onatel, wasn't there, and Ce'Nedra put on her most 
empty-headed expression and—"


"I most certainly did not," Ce'Nedra said indignantly.


"Oh, but you did, dear—and it was absolutely perfect. She stood there 
all wide-eyed and innocent and asked the young women where we could 
find our 'dear friend,' and one of them let something slip that she 
probably wasn't supposed to have. She said that Onatel had been 
summoned to serve in 'the place of the seers.' Ce'Nedra's eyes 
went—if possible—even more


SEERESS OF KELL


vacant, and she asked where that might be. Nobody answered, but one 
of them looked at the mountain."


"How can you avoid looking at that monster?" Silk scoffed. "I'm a 
little dubious about this, Liselle."


"The girt was weaving, Kheldar. IVe done that myself a few times, and 
I know you have to keep your eyes on what you're doing. She looked 
away in response to Ce'Nedra's question, and then she jerked her eyes 
back and tried to cover her mistake. IVe been to the academy, too, 
Silk, and I can read people almost as well as you can. That girl 
might as well have screamed it out loud. The seers are somewhere up 
on that mountain."


Silk made a face. "She's probably right, you know," he admitted. 
"That's one of the things they stress at the academy. If you know 
what you're looking for, most people's faces are like open books." He 
squared his shoulders. "Well, Zakath," he said, "it looks as if we'll 
get to climb that mountain a little sooner than we'd expected."


"I don't think so, Kheldar," Polgara said firmly. "You could spend 
half a lifetime poking around in those glaciers and still not find 
the seers."


"Have you got a better idea?"


"Several, actually. "She rose to her feet. "Come along, Gar-ion," she 



said. "You, too, uncle."


"What are you up to, Pol?" Belgarath asked.


"We're going to go up and have a look."


"That's what I suggested already," Silk objected.


"There's one difference, though, Kheldar," she said sweetly. "You 
can't fly."


"Well," he said in an offended tone, "if you're going to be that way 
about it."


' 'I am, Silk. It's one of the advantages of being a woman. I get to 
do all sorts of unfair things, and you have to accept them because 
you're too polite not to."


"One for her side," Garion murmured.


"You keep saying that," Zakath said, puzzled. "Why?"


"It's an Alorn joke," Garion told him.


"Why don't you save yourself a bit of time, Pol?" Belgarath 
suggested. "See if you can get some confirmation from that group mind 
before you go swooping off."


"That's a very good idea, father," she agreed. She closed her eyes 
and lifted her face. After a moment she shook her head. "They won't 
let me back in." She sighed.


"That's a kind of confirmation in itself." Beldin chuckled.


KELL


"I don't exactly follow that," Sadi said, rubbing his freshly shaved 
scaip.


"The Dais may be wise," the hunchback told him, "but they're not very 
shrewd. These two girls of ours have picked up some information. If 
the information wasn't correct, there wouldn't be any reason to keep 
Pol out. Since they did keep her out, it indicates that we're on to 
something. Let's go outside of town," he suggested to Polgara, "so 
that we don't give away any secrets."


"I don't really fly all that well, Aunt Pol," Garion said dubiously. 
"Are you sure you need me?"


"Let's not take chances, Garion. If the Dais go out of their way to 
make this place inaccessible, we might need to use the Orb to break 
through. We'll save time if you come along with it in the first 
place."


"Oh," he said, "maybe you're right."



"Keep in touch," Belgarath said as the three of them started out the 
door.


"Naturally," Beldin grunted.
Once they were out on the lawn, the dwarf squinted around. "Over 
there, I think," he said, pointing. "That thicket on the edge of town 
should hide what we're doing."


"AH right, uncle," Polgara agreed.


"One other thing, Pol," he added, "and I'm not trying to be 
offensive."
"That's a novelty."
"You're in good form this morning." He grinned. "Anyway, a mountain 


like that one breeds its own weather—and most particularly, its own 
winds."


"Yes, uncle, I know."
**I know how fond you are of snowy owls, but the feathers are too 
soft. If you get into a high wind, you could end up coming back 
naked."


She gave him a long, level look.
"Do you want all your feathers blown off?"
"No, uncle, as a matter of fact, I don't."
"Why don't you do it my way, then? You might even find that you like 


being a hawk."
"Blue banded, I suppose?"
"Well, that's up to you, but you do look good in blue, Pol."
"You're impossible." She laughed. "All right, uncle, we'll do it your 


way.''


SEERESS OF KELL


"I'D change first," he offered. "Then you can use me as a model to 
make sure you get the shape right."
"I know what a hawk looks like, uncle."
"Of course you do, Pol. I'm just trying to be helpful."
"You're too kind."
It felt very strange to make a shape other than dial of a wolf. 


Garion looked himself over carefully, making frequent comparisons to 
Beldin, who perched fierce-eyed and magnificent on a branch overhead.



"Good enough," Beldin told him, "but next time make your tail 
feathers a little fuller. You need them to steer with."


"All right, gentlemen," Polgara said from a nearby limb, "let's get 
started."


"I'll lead," Beldin said. "IVe had more practice at this. If we hit a 
downdraft, sheer away from the mountain. You don't want to get banged 
up against those rocks. *' He spread his wings, flapped a few times, 
and flew off.


The only time Garion had been aloft before had been on the long 
flight from Jarviksholm to Riva after Geran had been abducted. He had 
flown that time as a speckled falcon. The blue-banded hawk was a much 
bigger bird, and flying over mountain terrain was much different from 
flying over the vast open expanse of the Sea of the Winds. The air 
currents eddied and swirled around the rocks, making them 
unpredictable and even dangerous.


The three hawks spiraled upward on a rising column of air. It was an 
effortless way to fly, and Garion began to understand Beldin's 
intense joy in flight.


He also discovered that his eyes were incredibly sharp. Every detail 
on the mountainside stood out as if it were directly in front of him. 
He could see insects and the individual petals of wildflowers. His 
talons twitched involuntarily when a small mountain rodent scurried 
across a rockfall.


"Pay attention to what we're here for, Garion," he heard Aunt Pol's 
voice in the silences of his mind.


"But—" The yearning to plummet down with his talons spread wide was 
almost irresistible.


"No buts, Garion. You've already had breakfast. Just leave the poor 
little creature alone.''


"You're taking all the fun out of it for him, Pol," Garion heard 
Beldin protest.


"We're not here to have fun, uncle. Lead on."


The buffeting was sudden, and it took Garion by surprise. A


KELL


violent downdraft hurled him toward a rocky slope, and it was only at 
the last instant that he was able to veer away from certain disaster. 
The downdraft pushed him this way and that, wrenching at his wings, 
and it was suddenly accompanied by a pelting rainstorm, huge, icy 
drops that pounded at him like large wet hammers.


"It isn't natural, Garion!" Aunt Pol's voice came to him sharply. He 
looked around desperately, but he could not see her.



"Where are you?" he called out.


"Never mind that! Use the Orb! The Dais are trying to keep us away!"


Garion was not entirely positive that the Orb could hear him in that 
strange place to which it went when he changed form, but he had no 
choice but to try. The driving rain and howling wind currents made 
settling to earth and resuming his own shape unthinkable. "Make it 
stop!" he called out to the stone, "the wind, the rain, all of it!"


The surge he felt when the Orb unleashed its power sent him 
staggering through the air, flapping his wings desperately to hold 
his balance. The air around him seemed suddenly bright blue.


And then the turbulence and the rain that had accompanied it were 
gone, and the column of warm air was back, rising undisturbed into 
the summer air.


He had lost at least a thousand feet in the downdraft, and he saw 
Aunt Pol and Beldin, each over a mile away in opposite directions. As 
he began again to spiral upward, he saw that they also were rising 
and veering through the air toward him. "Stay on your guard," Aunt 
Pol's voice told him. "Use the Orb to muffle anything else they try 
to throw at us."


It took them only a few minutes to regain the height they had lost, 
and they continued upward over forests and rockslides until they 
reached that region on the flanks of the mountain above the tree line 
and below the eternal snows. It was an area of steep meadows with 
grass and wildflowers nodding in the mountain breeze.


"There!" Beldin's voice seemed to crackle. "It's a trail."


"Are you sure it's not just a game trail, uncle?" Polgara asked him.


"It's too straight, Pol. A deer couldn't walk in a straight line if 
his life depended on it. That trail is man-made. Let's see where it 
goes." He tilted on one wing and swooped down toward the well-
traveled track stretching up one of the meadows toward a gap in a 
rocky ridge. At the upper end of the meadow,


SEERESS OF KELL


he flared his wings. "Let's go down," he told them. "It might be 
better if we follow the rest of the way on foot.''


Aunt Pol and Garion followed him down, and the three of them blurred 
back into their own forms. "It was touch and go there for a while," 
Beldin said. "I came within a few feet of bending my beak on a 
rockslide." He looked critically at Pol-gara. "Would you like to 
revise your theory about the Dais not hurting anybody?"


"We'll see."


"I wish I had my sword," Garion said. "If we run into trouble, we're 



pretty much defenseless."


"I don't know if your sword would be much use against the kind of 
trouble we're likely to come up against," Beldin told him. "Don't 
lose contact with the Orb, though. Let's see where this goes." He 
started up the steep trail toward the ridge.


The gap in the ridge was a narrow pass between two large boulders. 
Toth stood in the center of the trail, mutely blocking their way.


Polgara looked him coolly in the face. "We will go to the place of 
the seers, Toth. It is foreordained."


Toth's eyes grew momentarily distant. Then he nodded and stepped 
aside for them.


CHAPTER SEVEN


The cavern was vast, and there was a city inside. The city looked 
much like Kell, thousands of feet below, except, of course, for the 
absence of lawns and gardens. It was dim, since the blindfolded seers 
needed no light, and the eyes of their mute guides had, Garion 
surmised, become adjusted to the faint light.


There were few people abroad in those shadowy streets, and those they 
saw as Toth led them into the city paid no attention to them. Beldin 
was muttering to himself as he stumped along.


"What is it, uncle?" Polgara asked him.


"Have you ever noticed how much some people are slaves to 
convention?" he replied.


"I don't quite see what you're getting at."


"This town is inside a cave, but they still put roofs on the houses. 
Isn't that sort of an absurdity? It isn't going to rain in here."


79


80


SEERESS OF KELL


KELL


81


"But it will get cold—particulaily in the winter. If a house has no 
roof, it's a little hard to keep the heat in, wouldn't you say?" He 
frowned. "I guess I didn't think of that," he admitted. The house to 
which Toth led them was in the very center of this strange 
subterranean city. Although it was no different from those around it, 
its location hinted that the inhabitant was of some importance. Toth 
entered without knocking and led them to the simple room where 
Cyradis sat waiting for them, her pale young face illuminated by a 
single candle.



"You have reached us more quickly than we had expected," she said. In 
a peculiar way her voice was different from the way it had sounded in 
their previous meetings. Garion uneasily felt that the seeress was 
speaking in more than one voice, and the result was startlingly 
choral.


"You knew that we could come, then?" Polgara asked her. "Of course. 
It was but a question of time before you would complete your 
threefold task." "Task?"


"It was but a simple endeavor for one as powerful as thou art, 
Polgara, but it was a necessary test." "I don't seem to recall—"


"As I told thee, it was so simple that doubtless thou hast forgotten 
it."


"Remind us," Beldin said gruffly.


"Of course, gentle Beldin." She smiled. "You have found this place; 
you have subdued the elements to reach it; and Polgara hath spoken 
correctly the words that gained you entry." "More riddles," he said 
sourly.


"A riddle is sometimes the surest way to make the mind receptive." He 
grunted.


"It was necessary for the riddle to be solved and the tasks to be 
completed ere I could reveal to you that which must be revealed." She 
rose to her feet. "Let us depart from this place then, and go down 
even unto Kell. My guide and dear companion will bear the great book 
that must be delivered into the hands of Ancient Belgarath.''


The mute giant went to a shelf on the far side of the dimly lit room 
and took down a large book bound in black leather. He tucked it under 
his arm, took his mistress by the hand, and led them back out of the 
house.


"Why the secrecy, Cyradis?" Beldin asked the blindfolded


girl. "Why do the seers hide up here on the mountain instead of 
staying at Kell?"


"But this is Kell, gentle Beldin."


"What's that city down in the valley, then?"


"Also Kell." She smiled. "It hath ever been thus among us. Unlike the 
cities of others, our communities are widespread. This is the place 
of the seers. There are many other places on this mountain—the place 
of the wizards, the place of the necromancers, the place of the 
diviners—and all are a part of Kell."


''Trust a Dal to come up with an unnecessary complication.''


"The cities of others are built for different purposes, Beldin. Some 
are for commerce. Some are for defense. Our cities are built for 
study.''



"How can you study if you have to walk all day in order to talk with 
your colleagues?''


"There is no need for walking, Beldin. We can speak to each other 
whenever we choose. Is this not the way in which thou and Ancient 
Belgarath converse?"


"That's different," he growled.


"In what way?"


"Our conversations are private."


"We have no need of privacy. The thoughts of one are the thoughts of 
all."


It was shortly before noon when they emerged from the cavern into the 
warm sunlight again. Gently guiding Cyradis, Toth led them back to 
the gap in the ridge and down the steep path that crossed the high 
meadows. After about an hour of descent, they entered a cool green 
forest where birds caroled from the treetops and insects whirled like 
specks of fire in the slanting columns of sunlight.


The trail was still steep, and Garion soon discovered one of , (he 
disadvantages of walking downhill for any extended period of time. A 
large and painful blister was forming atop one of the toes on his 
left foot, and a few twinges from his right clearly indicated that he 
would soon have a matched set. He gritted his teeth and limped on.


It was nearly sunset when they reached the gleaming city in the 
valley. Garion noticed with a certain satisfaction that Beldin was 
also limping as they walked along the marble street that led to the 
house Dalian had lodged them in. ; The others were eating when they 
entered. As it chanced to happen, Garion was looking at Zakath's face 
when the Mallo-rean saw that Cyradis was with them. His oiive-skinned 
face


82


SEERESS OF KELL


KELL


83


paled slightly, a pallor made more pronounced by the short black 
beard he had grown to conceal his identity. He rose to his feet and 
bowed slightly. "Holy Seeress," he said respectfully.


"Emperor of Mallorea," she responded. "As I promised thee in cloud-
dark Darshiva, I surrender myself up to thee as thy hostage.''


"There's no need to talk of hostages, Cyradis," he replied with a 
slightly embarrassed flush. ' 'I spoke in haste in Darshiva, before I 
clearly understood what it is that I am to do. I am committed now.''


"I am, nonetheless, thy hostage, for it is thus preordained, and I 
must accompany thee unto the Place Which Is No More to face the task 



that awaits me."


"You must all be hungry," Velvet said. "Come to the table and eat."


"I must complete one task first, Huntress," Cyradis told her. She 
held out both hands, and Toth placed the heavy book he had carried 
down from the mountain in them. "Ancient Belgarath," she said in that 
strangely choral voice, "thus do we commend into thy hands our holy 
book as the stars have instructed us to do. Read it carefully, for 
thy destination is revealed in its pages.''


Belgarath rose quickly, crossed to her, and took the book, his hands 
trembling with eagerness. "I thank you, Cyradis. I know how precious 
the book is, and I will care for it while it is in my hands and 
return it once I've found what I need." Then he went to a smaller 
table near the window, sat, and opened the heavy volume.


"Move over," Beldin told him, stumping to the table and drawing up 
another chair. The two old men bent their heads over the crackling 
pages, oblivious to all around them.


"Will you eat now, Cyradis?" Polgara asked the blindfolded girl.


"Thou art kind, Polgara," the Seeress of Kell replied. "I have fasted 
since thine arrival here in preparation for mis meeting, and mine 
hunger weakens me."


Polgara gently led her to the table and seated her between Ce'Nedra 
and Velvet.


"Is my baby well, Holy Seeress?" Ce'Nedra asked urgently.


"He is well, Queen of Riva, although he doth yearn to be returned to 
thee."


"I'm surprised he even remembers me." Ce'Nedra said it with some 
bitterness. "He was only a baby when Zandramas stole him.'' She 
sighed. "There's so much I Ve missed—so many things I' 11 never 
see.'' Her lower lip began to tremble.


Garion went to her and put his arms comfortingly around her. "It's 
going to be all right, Ce'Nedra," he assured her.


"Will it, Cyradis?" she asked in a voice near to tears. "Will 
everything really be all right again?"


"That I cannot say, Ce'Nedra. Two courses stand before us, and not 
even the stars know upon which we will place our feet.''


"How was the trip?" Silk asked, more, Garion thought, to get past an 
uncomfortable moment than out of any burning curiosity.


"Nervous," Garion replied. "I don't fly very well, and we ran into 
some bad weather.''


Silk frowned. "But it's been absolutely clear all day."


"Not where we were, it wasn't." Garion glanced at Cyradis and decided 



not to make an issue of the near-disastrous down-draft. "Is it all 


right to tell them about the place where you live?" he asked her.
"Of a certainty, Belgarion." She smiled. "They are of thy company, 
and thou shouldst conceal nothing from them."


"Do you remember Mount Kahsha in Cthol Murgos?" Gar-ion asked his 
friend.


"I Ve been trying to forget."
"Well, the seers have a city that's sort of like the one the Dagashi 
built at Kahsha. It's inside a very large cave."


"I'm glad I didn't go there, then."
Cyradis turned her face toward him, a concerned little frown touching 


her forehead. "Hast thou not yet mastered this unreasoning fear of 
thine, Kheldar?"
"Not noticeably, no—and I'd hardly call it unreasoning. Believe me, 


Cyradis, I have reasons—lots and lots of reasons." He shuddered.


"Thou must summon up thy courage, Kheldar, for the time will surely 
come when thou must enter a place such as thou boldest in dread."
"Not if I can help it, I won't."
"Thou must, Kheldar. No choice is open to thee."
His face was bleak, but he said nothing.
"Tell me, Cyradis," Velvet said then, "were you the one who 


interrupted the progress of Zith's pregnancy?"
"Thou art shrewd to have perceived the pause in that most natural of 
events, Liselle," the Seeress told her, "but nay, it was not I. The 


wizard Vard on the Isle of Verkat bade her to wait until her task at 
Ashaba was completed."
"Vard is a wizard?" Polgara asked in some surprise. "I can usually 


detect them, but in his case, I didn't sense a thing."
84
SEERESS OF KELL
KELL
85
"He is most subtle," Cyradis agreed. "Things stand so in Cthol Murgos 


that great care must be exercised in the practice of our arts. The 
Grolims in the land of the Murgos are ever alert to the disturbances 
such acts inevitably cause."


"We were quite put out with you on Verkat," Durnik told her. "That 
was before we understood the reason for what you did. I'm afraid I 



treated Toth very badly for a while. He was good enough to forgive 
me, though."


The big mute smiled at him and made a few gestures.
Durnik laughed. "You don't really have to do that anymore, loth," he 
told his friend. "I finally figured out how you were talking to me."


loth lowered his hands.
Dumik seemed to listen for a moment. "Yes," he agreed. "It's much 
easier this way—and faster, too—now that we don't have to wave our 


hands at each other. Oh, by the way, Eriond and I found a pond a 
little ways below the city here. It has some very nice trout in it."
loth grinned broadly.
"I thought you might feel that way." Durnik grinned back.
"I'm afraid we've corrupted your guide, Cyradis," Polgara apologized.
"Nay, Polgara." The Seeress smiled. "This passion hath been upon him 


since boyhood. Ofttimes in our travels he hath found excuse to linger 
for a time by some lake or stream. I do not chide him for this, for I 
am fond of fish, and he doth prepare them exquisitely."


They finished their meal and sat, talking quietly to avoid disturbing 


Belgarath and Beldin who still sat poring over the Mallorean Gospels.
"How is Zandramas going to find out where we're all going?" Garion 
asked the Seeress. "Since she's a Grolim, she can't come here."


"That I may not tell thee, Child of Light. She will, however, arrive 
at the appointed place at the proper time."
"With my son?"


"As it hath been foretold."
"I'm looking forward to that meeting." He said it bleakly. ' "There 
are a great many things Zandramas and I have to settle.''


"Let not thy hatred blind thee to thy tasks," she told him quite 
seriously.
"And what is my task, Cyradis?"
"That thou wilt know when it doth face thee."


"But not before?"
"Nay. Thy performance of that task would be marred shouldst thou 
consider it overlong."


"And what is my task, Holy Seeress?" Zakath asked her. "You said you 
would instruct me here at Kell."
"I must reveal that to thee in private, Emperor of Mallorea. Know, 



however, that thy task will begin when thy companions have completed 
theirs, and it will consume the balance of thy life.''


"As long as we're talking about tasks," Sadi said, "perhaps you could 
explain mine to me."


"You have already begun it, Sadi."


"Am I doing it very well?"


She smiled. "Passing well, yes."


' 'I might do a little better if I knew what it is.''


"Nay, Sadi. Even as Belgarion's, thy task would be marred shouldst 
thou know of it."


"Is this place we're going to very far?" Durnik asked her.


"Many leagues, and there is yet much to be done."


"I'll need to talk with Dalian about supplies, then. And I mink I'll 
want to check the horses' hooves before we start. This might be a 
good time to get them shod again."


"That's impossible!" Belgarath suddenly burst out.


"What is it, father?" Aunt Pol asked him.


"It's Korim! The meeting is supposed to take place at Korim!"


"Where's that?" Sadi asked in puzzlement.


"It's no place," Beldin growled. "It's not there anymore. It was a 
mountain range that sank into the sea when Torak cracked the world. 
The Book of Atom mentions it as The High Places of Korim, which are 
no more.' "


"There's a certain perverted logic to it," Silk observed. "That's 
what these assorted prophecies have meant all along when they talked 
about a Place Which Is No More."


Beldin tugged thoughtfully at one ear. "There's something else, 
too," he noted. "You remember the story Senji told us back at 
Melcene? About the scholar who stole the Sardion? His ship was last 
seen founding the southern tip of Gandahar, and it never came back. 
Senji said he thought that it had gone down in a storm off the 
Dalasian coast. It's beginning to sound as if he was right. We have 
to go where the Sardion is, and I've got the uncomfortable feeling 
that it's resting on top of a mountain that sank into the sea over 
five thousand years ago."


KELL


CHAPTER EIGHT



The Queen of Riva was in a pensive mood as they set out from the 
glowing marble city of Kell. A peculiar kind of languor seemed to 
come over her as they rode through the forest to the west of Kell, a 
languor that grew more pronounced with each passing mile. She took no 
part in the general conversation, but was content merely to listen.


"I don't see how you can be so calm about this, Cyradis," Belgarath 
was saying to the blindfolded Seeress as they rode along. ' 'Your 
task will fail the same as ours will if the Sardion is lying at the 
bottom of the sea. And why are we making this side trip to Perivor?"


"It is there that the instruction thou received from the Holy Book 
will be made clear to thee, Ancient Belgarath."


"Couldn't you just explain it to me yourself? We're a little pressed 
for time, you know."


"That I may not do. I may not give thee any aid that I do not


also give to Zandramas. It is thy task—and hers—to unravel this 
riddle. To aid one of thee and not the other is forbidden.''


"Somehow I thought you might look at it that way," he said glumly.


"Where's Perivor?" Garion asked Zakath.


' 'It's an island off the south coast of Dalasia,' * the Mallorean 
replied. "The inhabitants there are very strange. Their legends say 
that they're descendants of some people from the west who were aboard 
a ship that was blown off course and wrecked on the island about two 
thousand years ago. The island's of little value, and the people 
there are fearsome fighters. The general opinion in Mal Zeth has 
always been that the place wouldn't be worth the trouble it would 
take to subdue it, and Urvon didn't even bother to send Grolims 
there.''


"If they're so savage, won't it be sort of dangerous for us to go 
there?"


"No. Actually they're civil and even hospitable—as long as you don't 
try to land an army there. That's when things start to take a turn 
for the worse.''


"Have we really got the time to go to this place?" Silk asked the 
Seeress of Kell.


"Ample time, Prince Kheldar," she replied. "The stars have told us 
for eons that the Place Which Is No More awaits the coming of thee 
and thy companions, and that thou and thy companions will come there 
upon the day appointed for die meeting."


"And so will Zandramas, I suppose?"


She smiled a gentle little smile. "How can there be a meeting if the 
Child of Dark be not also present?" she asked him.



"I think I detected a faint glimmer of humor there, Cyradis,'' he 


bantered. "Isn't that a bit out of character for one of the seers?"
"How little you know us, Prince Kheldar." She smiled again. "Ofttimes 
we have been convulsed with laughter at some message writ large in 
the stars and at the absurd lengths to which others go to ignore or 
avoid that which is preordained. Submit to the instruction of the 
heavens, Kheldar. Spare thyself the agony and turmoil of trying to 
evade thy fate.''


"You throw the word 'fate' around awfully lightly, Cyradis," he said 


disapprovingly.
"Hast thou not come here in response to a fate laid down for thee at 
the beginning of days? All thy concern with commerce


SEERESS OF KELL


and espionage have been but a diversion to occupy thee until the 
appointed day."
"That's a polite way to tell someone he's been behaving like a 


child."
"We are all children, Kheldar."
Beldin came soaring through the sun-dappled forest, avoiding tree 


trunks with deft shifts of his wings. He settled to earth and changed 
form.


"Trouble?" Belgarath asked him.
"Not as much as I'd expected." The dwarf shrugged. "And that worries 
me a bit."


"Isn't that a tittle inconsistent?"


"Consistency is the defense of a small mind. Zandramas couldn't go to 
Kell, right?"
"As far as we know."
"Then she has to follow us to the meeting place, right?"
"Unless she's found some other way to find out where it is."
"That's what worries me. If she had to follow us, wouldn't it be 


logical for her to have ringed this forest with troops and Grolims to 
find out which way we were going?"


"I suppose so, yes."
"Well, there's no army out there—only a few patrols, and they're just 
going through the motions."


Belgarath frowned. "What's she up to?"
"My point exactly. I'd guess that she's got a surprise in store for 



us somewhere."


"Keep your eyes open, then. I don't want her slipping up behind me."


"It might simplify things if she did."


"I doubt it. Nothing about this entire affair has been simple, and I 
don't expect things to change at this stage."


"I'll go scout ahead." The dwarf blurred and soared away.


They made their encampment that evening beside a spring that gushed 
out of an outcropping of moss-covered rock. Belgarath seemed moody 
and out of sorts, so the rest of them avoided him as they worked at 
tasks they had repeated so many times that they had become habitual.


"You're very quiet this evening," Garion said to Ce'Nedra as they sat 
by the fire after supper. "What's the matter?"


' 'I just don't feel like talking." The peculiar lethargy that had 
come over the little queen had not diminished as the day wore on, and 
she had actually found herself dozing in her saddle several times 
during the late afternoon.


KELL


"You look tired," he observed.


"I am, a bit. We've been traveling for a long time now. I think it 
might be starting to catch up with me."
"Why don't you go to bed then? You'll feel better after a good 


night's sleep."
She yawned and held out her arms to him. "Carry me," she said.
He looked startled. Ce'Nedra enjoyed startling her husband. His face 


always looked so wide-eyed and boyish. "Aren't you feeling well?" he 


asked.
"I'm fine, Garion. I'm just sleepy, and I want to be babied a bit. 
Carry me to the tent, put me to bed, and tuck me in."


"Well, if that's what you want . . ." He rose, picked her up easily, 


and carried her across the encampment to their tent.
"Garion," she murmured drowsily after he had gently drawn their 
blankets up around her shoulders.


"Yes, dear?"


' 'Please don't wear your mail shirt when you come to bed. It makes 
you smell like an old iron pot."
Ce'Nedra's sleep that night was disturbed by strange dreams. She 


seemed to see people and places she had not seen or even thought of 



in years. She saw legionnaires guarding her father's palace, and Lord 
Morin, her father's chamberlain, hurrying down a marble corridor. 
Then she seemed to be at Riva, holding a long, incomprehensible 
conversation with Brand, the Rivan Warder, while Brand's blond niece 
sat spinning flax by the window. Arell seemed unconcerned about the 
dagger hilt protruding from between her shoulder blades. Ce'Nedra 
stirred, muttering to herself, and immediately began to dream again.


She seemed then to be a Rheon in eastern Drasnia. Casually she 
plucked a dagger from the belt of Vella, the Nadrak dancer, and just 
as casually drove it to the hilt into the belly of black-bearded 
Ulfgar, the head of the Bear-cult. Ulfgar was speaking sneeringly to 
Belgarath as Ce'Nedra sank the knife into him, and he did not even 
pay any attention to her as she slowly twisted the blade in his 
vitals.


And then she was at Riva again, and she and Garion were sitting naked 
beside a sparkling forest pool while thousands of butterflies hovered 
over them.


She traveled in her restless dream to the ancient city of Val Alorn 
in Cherek, and then went on to Boktor for the funeral of King Rhodar. 
And once again she saw the battlefield at Thull


SEERESS OF KELL


Mardu, and once more the face of her self-appointed protector, 
Brand's son Olban.


There was no coherence to the dream. She seemed to go from place to 
place without effort, moving through time and space looking for 
something, although she could not remember what it was she had lost.


When she awoke the next morning, she was as tired as she had been the 
previous evening. Every movement was an effort, and she kept yawning.


""What's the matter?" Garion asked her as they dressed. "Didn't you 
sleep well?"


"Not really," she replied. "I kept having the strangest dreams."


"Do you want to talk about them? Sometimes that's the best way to put 
them to rest so they don't keep coming back night after night."


"They didn't make any sense, Garion. They just kept jumping around. 
It was almost as if someone were moving me from place to place for 
some reason of her own.''


"Her? Was this someone a woman?"


"Did I say 'her'? I can't imagine why. I never saw this person." 
Ce'Nedra yawned again. "I hope whoever it was got finished with it, 
though. I'd rather not go through another night like that." Then she 
gave him a sly, sidelong glance through her eyelashes. ' 'There were 
some parts of the dream that were rather nice, though," she said. 
"Once we were sitting by that pool back at Riva. Do you want to know 



what we were doing?"


A slow blush crept up Garion's neck. "Uh, no, Ce'Nedra. I don't 
really think so."


But she told him anyway—in great detail—until he finally fled from 
the tent.


Her restless night increased the peculiar lassitude that had lain on 
her since they had left Kell, and she rode that morning in a half 
doze that, try though she might, she could not seem to shake off. 
Garion spoke with her several times to warn her that she was allowing 
her horse to stray, and then, apparently seeing that she just 
couldn't keep her eyes open, he took her reins from her hands and led 
her horse.


About midmorning, Beldin rejoined them. "I think you'd better take 
cover," he tersely told Belgarath. "There's a Darshivan patrol coming 
along this trail."


"Are they searching for us?"


"Who knows? If they are, they're not being very serious


KELL


about it. Go back into the woods for a couple hundred yards and let 
them ride on by. I'll keep an eye on them and let you know when 
they've passed."


"All right." Belgarath turned aside from the trail and led the rest 
of them back into the concealment of the forest.


They dismounted and waited tensely. Soon they heard the jingling of 
the soldiers' equipment as they rode along the forest trail at a 
trot.


Even in this potentially dangerous situation, Ce'Nedra simply could 
not keep her eyes open. Dimly she could hear the whispered 
conversations of the others until she finally dozed oif again.


And then she came awake—or at least partially so. She was walking 
alone through the forest, her mind all bemused. She knew that she 
should be alarmed at being separated from the others, but oddly, she 
was not. She walked on, not so much going anywhere m particular as 
following some sort of subtle summoning.


Then at last she reached a grassy clearing and saw a tall blond girl 
standing among the wildftowers and holding a blanket-wrapped bundle 
in her arms. The girl's blond braids were coiled at her temples, and 
her complexion was like new milk. It was Brand's niece, Arell. "Good 
morning, your Majesty," she greeted the Queen of Riva. "IVe been 
waiting for you."


Something deep in Ce'Nedra's mind tried to scream at her that this 
was wrong—that the tall Rivan girl could not possibly be here. But 



Ce'Nedra could not remember why, and the moment passed. "Good 
morning, Arell," she said to her dear friend. "What on earth are you 
doing here?"


"I came to help you, Ce'Nedra. Look at what IVe found." She turned 
back the comer of the blanket to reveal a tiny face.


"My baby!" Ce'Nedra exclaimed, almost overcome with joy. She ran 
forward, her arms extended hungrily, and took the sleeping infant 
from her friend and held him to her body, her cheek pressed against 
his soft curls. "How did you possibly find him?" she asked Arell. 
"WeVe been looking for him for the longest time now."


"I was traveling alone through this forest," Arell replied, "and I 
thought I smelled the smoke of a campfire. I went to investigate and 
I found a tent set up beside a little stream. I looked inside the 
tent, and there was Prince Geran. There was no one else around, so I 
picked him up and came looking for you."


Ce'Nedra's mind was still trying to scream at her, but she


SEERESS OF KELL


was too deliriously happy to pay any attention. She held her baby, 
rocking back and forth and crooning to him.
"Where is King Belgarion?" Arell asked.
"Back there someplace." Ce'Nedra gestured vaguely.
"You should go to him and let him know that his son is safe."
"Yes. He'll be very happy."
"I have something that I really have to attend to, Ce'Nedra," Arell 


said. "Do you think you'll be able to find your way back alone?"


"Oh, I'm sure I could, but couldn't you come along? His Majesty is 
sure to want to reward you for restoring our son to
us."
Arell smiled. "The happiness on your face is all the reward I need, 


and this matter I must take care of is extremely important. I may be 
able to join you later, however. Which way will you be traveling?''
"South, I think," Ce'Nedra replied. "We have to get to the seacoast."
"Oh?"


"Yes. We're going to an island—Perivor, I think the name is."
"There's supposed to be a meeting of some kind very soon, isn't 
there? Is Perivor the place where it's going to happen?"


"Oh, no." Ce'Nedra laughed, still cuddling her baby. "We're just 



going to Perivor to get some more information about it. We'll be 
going on from there."


'' I may not be able to join you at Perivor,'' Arell said, frowning 
slightly. "Perhaps you could tell me where the meeting's supposed to 
take place. I'm sure I'll be able to meet you there."


"Let me see," Ce'Nedra pondered. "What did they call it? Oh, now I 
remember. It's someplace that's called Korim."


"Korim?" Arell exclaimed in astonishment.


"Yes. Belgarath seemed dreadfully upset when he first found out about 
it, but Cyradis told him that everything would be all right. That's 
why we have to go to Perivor. Cyradis says that there's something 
there that will make everything clear. It seems to me that she said 
something about a chart or something.'' She laughed a bit giddily. 
"To be honest with you, Arell, IVe been so sleepy for the last few 
days that I can barely keep track of what the people around me are 
saying."


"Of course," Arell said absendy, her face creased in thought. ' 'Why 
would Perivor be the key?'' she mused to herself.' 'What could 
possibly be there to explain an absurdity? Are you abso-


KELL


lutely certain the word was Korim? Perhaps you misunderstood."


"That was the way I heard it, Arell. I didn't read it for myself, but 
Belgarath and Beldin kept talking about 'the High Places of Korim, 
Which Are No More,' and isn't the meeting supposed to be at the Place 
Which Is No More? I mean, it does sort of fit together, doesn't it?"


"Yes," Arell replied, frowning strangely. "Now that I think about it, 
it does." Then she straightened, smoothing her gown. "I'll have to 
leave you now, Ce'Nedra," she said. "Take your baby back to your 
husband. Give him my regards." Her eyes seemed to glint in the 
sunlight. "Give my best to Polgara, as well," she added. There seemed 
to be something slightly malicious in the way she said it. She turned 
then and walked away, crossing the flowery meadow toward the dark 
edge of the forest.


"Good-bye, Arell," Ce'Nedra called after her, "and thank you so much 
for finding my baby."


Arell neither turned nor answered.


Garion was frantic. When he first discovered that his wife was 
missing, he leaped into his saddle and rode Chretienne off into the 
forest at a gallop. He had gone three hundred yards before Belgarath 
finally caught up with him. "Garion! Stop!" the old man shouted.


"But, Grandfather!" Garion shouted back. "IVe got to find Ce'Nedra!"


"Where do you plan to start looking? Or are you just going to ride 



around in circles trusting to luck?"


"But—"


"Use your head, boy! We have another way that's much faster. You know 
what she smells like, don't you?"


"Of course, but—"


"Then we have to use our noses. Get down off that horse and send him 
back. We'll change form and follow her trail. It's faster and a great 
deal more certain."


Garion felt suddenly very foolish. "I wasn't thinking, I guess," he 
confessed.


"I didn't think you were. Get rid of that horse."


Garion slid down and slapped Chretienne sharply on the rump. The big 
gray bolted back toward where the others were still concealed. "What 
on earth was she thinking of?" Garion fumed.


"I'm not sure if she was," Belgarath grunted. "She's been


SEERESS OF KELL


acting strangely for the past few days. Let's get on with this. The 
quicker we find her, the quicker we can get her back to the others. 
Your aunt can get to the bottom of this." The old man was already 
blurring into the shape of the huge silver wolf. " You lead," he 
growled at Garion. "Her scent is more familiar to you." -


Garion changed and cast back and forth until his nose caught 
Ce'Nedra's familiar fragrance. "She went this way," he cast his 
thought to Belgarath.


"How fresh is the trail?" the old wolf asked.


' 'It can't be much more than a half hour old,'' Garion replied, 
bunching himself to run.


"Good. Let's go find her." And the two of them ran smoothly through 
the woods, their noses to the ground in the manner of hunting wolves.


They found her after about a quarter of an hour. She was coming 
happily back through the forest, crooning softly to a bundle she was 
carrying tenderly in her arms.


"Don't startle her," Belgarath warned. "There's something very wrong 
here. Just go along with anything she telis you." The two of them 
shimmered and changed.


Ce'Nedra gave a little cry of delight when she saw them. "Oh, 
Garion!" she exclaimed, running toward them. "Look! Arell found our 
baby!''



"Arell? But Arell's—"


"Just let it lie!" Belgarath snapped under his breath. "Don't send 
her into hysterics!"


"Why—uh—that's wonderful, Ce'Nedra," Garion said, trying to make it 
sound natural.


"It's been so long,"" Ce'Nedra said, her eyes brimming with tears, 
"and he looks just the same as he did before. Look, Garion. Isn't he 
beautiful?"


She turned back the blanket, and Garion saw that what she was holding 
so tenderly was not a baby, but a bundle of rags.


Part Two


PERIVOR


CHAPTER NINE


Eternal Salmissra had dispensed with the services of Adiss, her Chief 
Eunuch, that morning. Stunned into forgetful-ness by a massive dose 
of one of his favorite drugs, Adiss had shambled into the throne room 
to make his daily report. When he had come to within a dozen feet of 
the dais, Salmissra had detected from his rank odor that he had 
disobeyed her command that he never enter her presence unbathed. 
Cold-eyed, she had watched the eunuch prostrate himself on the marble 
floor before the throne to deliver his report in a slurred voice. The 
report had never been finished. At a sibilant command from the 
Serpent Queen, a small green snake had emerged from beneath the 
divanlike throne, purring quietly, and Adiss had received a suitable 
reward for his disobedience.


And now Eternal Salmissra coiled pensively on her throne idly 
contemplating her reflection in the mirror. The troublesome business 
of selecting a new Chief Eunuch still lay before her,


97


98


SEERESS OF KELL


and she was not really in the mood for it. She decided finally to 
forgo the chore for a time to give the palace eunuchs the opportunity 
to scramble for the position. That scramble usually resulted in a 
number of fatalities, and there were really too many eunuchs in the 
palace anyway.


From under the throne there was an irritated grumbling. Her pet green 
snake was obviously distressed about something. "What is it, Ezahh?" 
she asked him.


' 'Can't you have them washed before you ask me to bite them, 
Salmissra?" Ezahh replied plaintively. "You might have at least 
warned me what to expect." Although Ezahh and Salmissra were of 
different species, their languages were to some degree compatible.



"I'm sorry, Ezahh. It was inconsiderate of me, I suppose." In rather 
sharp contrast to her dealings with humans, whom she held more or 
less in general contempt, the Serpent Queen was unfailingly polite to 
other reptiles—particularly the venomous ones. This is considered the 
course of wisdom in the world of snakes.


"It was not entirely your fault, Salmissra." Ezahh was also a snake, 
and he was also very polite. "I just wish there was some way to get 
the taste out of my mouth.''


"I could send for a saucer of milk. That might help."


"Thank you, Salmissra, but the taste of him might curdle it. What I'd 
really like is a nice fat mouse—alive, preferably."


"I'll see to it at once, Ezahh." She turned her triangular face 
around on her slender neck. "You," she hissed to one of the chorus of 
eunuchs kneeling in adoration at one side of the throne, "go catch a 
mouse. My little green friend is hungry."


"At once, Divine Salmissra," the eunuch replied obsequiously. He 
jumped to his feet and backed toward the door, genuflecting at every 
other step.


"Thank you, Salmissra," Ezahh purred. "Humans are such trivial 
things, aren't they?"


"They respond only to fear," she agreed, "and to lust."


"That raises a point," Ezahh noted. "Have you had time to consider 
the request I made the other day?''


"I have some people looking," she assured him, "but your species is 
very rare, you know, and finding a female for you might take some 
time."


"I can wait, if necessary, Salrnissra," he purred. "We are all very 
patient." He paused. "I'm not trying to be offensive,


PERIVOR


but if you hadn't chased Sadi away, you wouldn't have to take the 
trouble. His little snake and I were on very good terms."


"I noticed that on occasion. You might even be a father by now."


The green snake slid his head out from under the throne and regarded 
her. Like all snakes of his kind, he had a bright-red stripe down his 
green back. "What's a father?" he asked in a dull, incurious tone.


"It's a difficult concept," she replied. "Humans make much of it for 
some reason.''


' 'Does any real creature care about the perverse peculiarities of 
humans?"



"I certainly don't—at least not anymore."


"You were always a serpent at heart, Salmissra."


"Why, thank you, Ezahh," she said in a pleased hiss. She paused, her 
restless coils rubbing dryly against each other. "I must select a new 
Chief Eunuch," she mused. "It's a bothersome thing."


"Why trouble yourself? Select one at random. Humans are all alike, 
after all."


"Most of them, yes. I've been attempting to locate Sadi, however. I'd 
like to persuade him to come back to Sthiss Tor."


"That one is different," Ezahh agreed. "One might almost believe that 
he is somewhat akin to us."


"He does have certain reptilian qualities, doesn't he? He's a thief 
and a scoundrel, but he still managed the palace better than anyone 
else has ever been able to. If I hadn't been molting when he fell 
into disgrace, I might have forgiven him."


"Shedding one's skin is always a trying procedure," Ezahh agreed. "If 
you don't mind a bit of advice, Salmissra, you should probably make 
the humans stay away from you at those times."


"I need a few of them around me. If nothing else, it gives me someone 
to bite."


"Stick to mice," he advised. "They taste better, and at least they 
can be swallowed.' *


' 'If I can persuade Sadi to return, it may just solve both our 
problems," she hissed dryly. "I'll have someone to run the palace 
without bothering me, and you'll get your little playmate back."


"Interesting notion, Salmissra." He looked around. "Is that human you 
sent out to fetch my mouse raising it from infancy?'' be asked.


SEERESS OF KELL


Yarblek and Vella slipped into Yar Nadrak late one snowy evening just 
before the gates were closed for the night. Vella had left her 
lavender satin gowns at Boktor and had reverted to her traditional 
tight leather garb. Because it was winter, she wore in addition a 
sable coat that would have cost a fortune in Tbl Honeth. "Why does 
this place always smell so bad?1' she asked her owner as they rode 
through snow-clogged streets toward the riverfront.


"Probably because Drosta let the contract for the sewer system out to 
one of his cousins." Yarblek shrugged, pulling the collar of his 
shabby felt coat up around his neck. "The citizens paid a great deal 
in taxes for the system, but Drosta's cousin turned out to be a 
better embezzler than he was an engineer. I think it runs in the 
family. Drosta even embezzles from his own treasury."



"Isn't that sort of absurd?" "We have an absurd sort of king, 
Vella." '' I thought the palace was over that way.'' She pointed 
toward the center of town.


"Drosta won't be in the palace at this time of night," Yarblek told 
her. "He gets lonesome when the sun goes down, and he usually goes 
out looking for companionship." "He could be anywhere, then."


"I doubt it. There are only a few places in Yar Nadrak where he's 
welcome after dark. Our king isn't widely loved." Yarblek pointed up 
a littered alley. "Let's go this way. We'll stop by the office of our 
factor and get you some suitable clothing." "What's wrong with what 
I'm wearing?" "Sable attracts attention in the part of town we're 
going to visit, Vella, and we're trying to be inconspicuous."


The office in Yar Nadrak of Silk and Yarblek's far-flung commercial 
empire was in a loft over a cavernous warehouse filled with bales of 
furs and deep-piled Mallorean carpets. The factor was a squinty-eyed 
Nadrak named Zelmit, who was probably almost as untrustworthy as he 
looked. Vella had never really liked him and she customarily loosened 
her daggers in their sheaths whenever she came into his presence, 
making very sure that he saw her doing so to be certain that there 
would be no misunderstandings. Technically, of course, Vella was one 
of Yarblek's possessions, and Zehnit had a reputation for making 
rather free with things that belonged to his employer.


"How's business?" Yarblek asked as he and Vella entered the cluttered 
little office.


PERIVOR


"We're getting by," Zelmit said in a rasping voice.


"Specifics, Zelmit," Yarblek said brusquely. "Generalities make my 
teeth itch."


"We've found a way to bypass Boktor and evade Drasnian customs."


"That's useful."


"It takes a bit longer, but we can get our furs to Tol Honeth without 
paying Drasnian duties. Our profits in the fur market are up by sixty 
percent."


Yarblek beamed. "If Silk ever comes back through here, I don't think 
you really need to tell him about it," he cautioned. "Sometimes he 
breaks out in a rash of patriotism, and Porenn is his aunt, after 
all."


"I wasn't really thinking of telling him. We still have to carry the 
Mallorean carpets through Drasnia, though. The best market for those 
is still the great fair in central Arendia, and we can't pay anybody 
enough to get him to freight them across Ulgo-land." He frowned. 
"Someone's cutting the prices on us, though. Until we can find out 
what's going on, it might not be a bad idea to curtail our imports."



"Did you manage to sell off those gemstones I brought back from 


Mallorea?"
"Naturally. We smuggled them out and sold them here and there on our 
way south.''


"Good. It always depresses the market when you show up in one place 
with a bushel basket full of them. Do you know if Drosta's in the 
usual place tonight?"


Zelmit nodded. ' 'He went there just before sundown.''


" Vella's going to need a sort of nondescript cloak," Yarblek said 
then.
Zelmit squinted at the girl.
Vella opened her fur coat and put her hands on the hilts of her 


daggers. "Why don't you go ahead and try it now, Zelmit?" she said. 


"Let's get it over with."
"I wasn't really planning anything, Vella," he said innocently. "I 
was just sizing you up, that's all."


"I noticed," she said dryly. "Did that cut on your shoulder ever 
heal?"
"It aches a little in damp weather," he complained.


"You should have kept your hands to yourself."
"I think I Ve got an old cloak that'll fit you. It's a little shabby, 
though."


SEERESS OF KELL


"So much the better," Yarblek said. "We're going to the One-Eyed Dog 
and we'd like to sort of blend in."
Vella removed her sable and laid it across a chair. "Don't lose track 


of this, Zelmit," she warned. "I'm fond of it, and I'm sure we'd both 
hate what would happen if it accidentally wound up on a caravan bound 
for Tol Honeth."


"You don't have to threaten him, Vella," Yarblek said mildly,


"That wasn't a threat, Yarblek," she retorted. "I just wanted to be 
sure that Zelmit and I understood each other."
"I'll get that cloak," Zelmit offered.
"Do that," she said.
The cloak was not so much shabby as it was tattered, and it smelled 


as if it had never been washed. Vella pulled it on over her shoulders 



with some reluctance.


"Put the hood up," Yarblek told her.


"I'll have to wash my hair if I do,"


"So?"


"Do you know how long it takes hair like mine to dry in the


wintertime?"


"Just do it, Vella. Why do you always argue with me?" "It's a matter 
of principle."


He sighed mournfully. "Take care of our horses," he told Zelmit. 
"We'll walkthe rest ofthe way." And then he led Vella out of the 
office. When they reached the street, he took a length of clinking 
chain with a leather collar on one end out of a side pocket of his 
overcoat. "Put this on," he told her.


"I haven't worn a chain or collar in years," she said.


"It's for your own protection, Vella," he said wearily. "We're going 
into a very rough part of town, and the One-Eyed Dog is the roughest 
place down there. If you're chained, nobody will bother you—unless he 
wants to fight with me. If you're loose, some ofthe men in the tavern 
might misunderstand."


"That's what my daggers are for, Yarblek."


"Please, Vella. Oddly enough, I sort of like you, and I don't want 
you getting hurt."


"Affection, Yarblek?" She laughed. "I thought the only thing you 
really liked was money."


"I'm not a complete scoundrel, Vella."


"You'll do until the real thing comes along," she said, fastening the 
collar around her neck. "As a matter of fact, I sort of like you, 
too."


His eyes widened, and he grinned.


"Not that much, though," she added.


PERFVOR


The One-Eyed Dog was perhaps the foulest tavern Vella had ever 
entered and Vella had been in a large number of low dives and shabby 
taverns in her life. Since the age of twelve, she had always relied 
on her daggers to ward off unwanted attentions. Although she had 
seldom been obliged to kill anyone—except for a few enthusiasts—she 
had nonetheless established a reputation for being a girl no sensible 
man would attempt. Sometimes that rankled a bit, though, since there 



were tunes when Vella might have welcomed an attempt. A nick or two 
in some unimportant places upon an ardent admirer would sustain her 
honor, and then-—well, who knows?


"Don't drink any of the beer here," Yarblek cautioned as they 
entered. "The vat is open, and there are usually a few drowned rats 
floating around in it." He wrapped her chain around his hand.


Vella looked around. "This is really a revolting place, Yarblek," she 


told him.
"YouVe been spending too much time with Porenn," he said. "You're 
starting to get delicate."


"How would you like to have me gut you?" she offered.
"That's my girl." He grinned. "Let's go upstairs."
"What's up there?"
"The girls. Drosta doesn't come here for rat-flavored beer."
"That's disgusting, you know?"
"You've never met Drosta, have you? Disgusting only begins to 


describe him. He even turns my stomach."


"Are you planning to just walk in on him? Aren't you going to snoop 
around a bit first?"
'' You've been in Drasnia too long,'' he replied as they started up 


the steps. "Drosta and I know each other. He knows better than to try 
to He to me. I'll get to the bottom of this right away, and then we 
can get out of this stinking town."


"I think you're starting to get delicate, as well."
There was a door at the end of the hall, and the pair of Nadrak 


soldiers standing at either side of it proclaimed by their presence 
that King Drosta lek Thun was inside.
"How many so far?" Yarblek asked them as he and Vella stopped in 


front of the door.
"Three, isn't it?" one ofthe soldiers asked the other.
"I lost count." The other soldier shrugged. "They all look the same 


to me. Three or four. I forget."
"Is he busy right now?" Yarblek asked.
"He's resting."


SEERESS OF KELL
"He must be getting old. He never used to have to rest after only 



three. Do you want to tell him I'm here? I've got a business 


proposition for him.'' Yarblek suggestively shook Vella's chain.
One of the soldiers eyed Vella up and down. "She might be able to 
wake him up at that." He leered.


"And I can put him back to sleep just as fast," Vella said, opening 


her shabby cloak to reveal her daggers.
"You're one of those wild women from up in the forest, aren't you?" 
the other soldier asked. "We really shouldn't let you in there with 
him with those daggers."


"Would you like to try to take them away from me?"
"Not me, girl," he replied prudently.
"Good. Resharpening a dagger is very tedious, and I've been hitting 


bone a great deal lately,''


The other soldier opened the door. "It's that Yarblek fellow again, 
your Majesty," he said. "He's got a girl he wants to sell
you."
"I just bought three," a shrill voice replied with an obscene
giggle.
"Not like this one, your Majesty."
"It's so nice to be appreciated," Vella murmured.
The soldier grinned at her.
"Yarblek, get in here!" King Drosta's high-pitched voice
commanded.
"Right away, your Majesty. Come along, Vella." Yarblek tugged on her 


chain and led her into the room.
Drosta lek Thun, King of Gar og Nadrak, lay half dressed on a rumpled 
bed. He was by far the ugliest man Vella had ever seen. Even the 
hunchbacked dwarf Beldin was handsome by comparison. He was scrawny 
and had bulging eyes. His face was pockmarked, and his beard 
scraggly. "You idiot!" he snapped at Yarblek. "Yar Nadrak is overrun 


with Mallorean agents. They know that you're Prince Kheldar's partner 
and that you practically live in Porenn's palace."
"Nobody saw me, Drosta," Yarblek said, "and even if they did, I Ve 


got a perfectly legitimate reason to be here.'' He shook Vella's 
chain.
"Do you really want to sell her?" Drosta saki, eyeing the
girl.



"Hardly, but we can tell anybody curious about it that we


couldn't agree on a price."


"Why are you really here, then?"


"Porenn's a little curious about your activities. Javelin's got


PERIVOR


some spies in your palace, but you're sneaky enough to hide what 
you're doing from them. I thought I'd save some time and come right 
to the source."


"What makes you think IVe been up to something?"


"You usually are."


Drosta laughed shrilly. "That's true, I suppose, but why should I 
tell you?"


"Because if you don't, I'll set up camp in the palace, and the 
Malloreans will think you're crossing them."


"That's blackmail, Yarblek," Drosta accused.


"Some people call it that, yes."


Drosta sighed. "All right, Yarblek," he said, "but this is for 
Porenn's ears only, and I don't want you and Silk taking advantage of 
it. IVe been trying to mend my fences with Zakath. He was very angry 
when I switched sides at Thull Mardu. It's only a question of time 
until he subdues all of Cthol Murgos, and I don't want him to get the 
idea of coming north looking for me. IVe been negotiating with 
Brador, the chief of his bureau of internal affairs, and weVe almost 
reached an accommodation. I get to keep my skin if I allow Brador's 
agents to pass through Gar og Nadrak to infiltrate the west. Zakath's 
pragmatic enough to forgo the pleasure of having me skinned alive if 
I'm useful to him."


Yarblek looked at him skeptically. "All right, Drosta, what else? 
That's hardly enough to keep Zakath from peeling you like an apple."


"Sometimes you're too smart for your own good, Yarblek."


"Give, Drosta. I don't want to have to spend the next month here in 
Yar Nadrak being conspicuous."


Drosta gave up. "I've cut the import duties on Mallorean carpets. 
Zakath needs tax revenue to continue the war in Cthol Murgos. If I 
cut those duties, Mallorean merchants can undersell you and Silk in 
the marketplaces to the west. The whole plan is to make myself so 
indispensable to his Imperial Majesty that he'll leave me alone."


' 'I was wondering why our profits in carpets have been falling 
off," Yarblek mused. "That's all?" he asked.



"I swear it is, Yarblek."
"Youroaths tend to be a little worthless, my King."
Drosta had been looking at Vella appreciatively. "Are you absolutely 


positive you don't want to sell this girl?" he asked.
"You couldn't really afford me, your Majesty," Vella told
106 SEERESS OF KELL
him, "and sooner or later your appetite would get the better of you. 


I'd have to take steps at that point."
"You wouldn't actually draw a knife on your own king, would
you?"
"Try me."
"Oh, one other thing, Drosta," Yarblek added. "From now on, Silk and 


I will be paying the same import duties you're charging the 


Malloreans."
Drosta's eyes bulged even more. "That's out of the question!" he 
almost screamed. "What if Brador found out about it?"


"We'll just have to make sure he doesn't, then, won't we? That's my 
price for keeping my mouth shut. If you don't cut those fees, I'll 
just have to let it be known that you have. You'll stop being so 
indispensable to Zakath at that point, won't you?''


"You're robbing me, Yarblek."
"Business is business, Drosta," Yarblek said blandly.
King Anheg of Cherek had journeyed to Tol Honeth to confer with 


Emperor Varana. When he had been admitted to the imperial apartments, 
he got right to the point. "We've got a problem, Varana," he said.
"Oh?"
"You know my cousin, the Earl of Trellheim?"


"Barak? Of course."
"He hasn't been seen for quite sometime. He's off with that oversized 
ship of his and he's got some friends with him."


"It's a free ocean, I suppose. Who are these friends?"
"Cho-Hag's son Hettar, that Mimbrate Mandorallen, and Lelldorin the 


Asturian. He also has his own son Unrak along and the Ulgo fanatic 
Relg."
Varana frowned. "That's a dangerous group," he noted.



"I couldn't agree more. It's sort of like a natural disaster looking 
for a place to happen."


"Any ideas about what they're doing?"


"If I knew which way they're going, I could make a few


guesses."


There was a polite tap on the door. "There's a Cherek out here, your 
Imperial Majesty,'' one of the guards outside the door announced. ' 
'He's a sailor, I think, and he says he needs to talk with King 
Anheg."


"Send him in," the emperor instructed.


It was Greldik, and he was slightly drunk. * 'I think I Ve solved


PERIVOR


your problem, Anheg. After I dropped you off on that pier, I wandered 
around on the docks for a while to see what kind of information I 
could pick up."


"In taverns, I see."


"You don't find sailors in tearooms. Anyway, I came across the 
captain of a Tolnedran merchantman. He'd picked up a cargo of 
Mallorean goods, and he was coming south across the Sea of the East 
toward the southern end of Cthol Murgos."


"That's very interesting, but I don't quite see the point."


"He saw a ship, and when I described Seabird to him, he agreed that 
it had been the ship he saw.''


"That's a start, anyway. Where's Barak going?"


"Where else? MaUorea, of course."


After about a week's voyage, the Seabird made port at Dal Zerba on 
the southwest coast of the Mallorean continent. Barak asked a few 
questions and then led his friends to the offices of Silk's factor in 
the port city.


The factor was a very thin man, not so much undernourished as he was 
emaciated.


"We're trying to locate Prince Kheldar," Barak rumbled to him. "It's 
a matter of some urgency, and we'd appreciate any information you 
might be able to give us as to his whereabouts."


The factor frowned. "The last I heard was that he was in Melcene on 
the other side of the continent, but that was over a month ago, and 
Prince Kheldar moves around a great deal."



"That's Silk, all right," Hettar murmured.


"Do you have any guesses about where he might have gone from 
Melcene?" Barak asked.


"This office is fairly new," the factor said, "and I'm sort of at the 
tail end of the route of any couriers." He made a sour face. "The 
factor up at Dal Finda was a bit put out when Kheldar and Yarblek set 
up this office. I guess he felt that I might be in competition with 
him. Sometimes he forgets to pass things on to me. His office has 
been well established for some time, so the couriers always stop 
there. If anybody in this part of Dalasia knows anything abut 
Kheldar's location, he would."


"All right. Where's Dal Finda, then?"


"Upriver about forty leagues."


"Thanks for the help, friend. Do you happen to have a map of this 
part of Mallorea?''


"I believe I could find one for you, yes."


SEERESS OP KELL
"I'd appreciate it. We're not familiar with this part of the
world."
"So we go upriver?" Hettar said when Silk's factor was out
of the room looking for the map.
"If it's the only place where we can find out where Garion and the 


others are, we'll have to," Barak replied.
The current in the Finda River was sluggish, and the oarsmen made 


good time as they rowed upstream. They reached the river town late 
the following day and went immediately to Silk's offices there.
The factor here was almost the reverse of the man in Dal Zerba. He 


was bulky more than fat and he had huge meaty hands and a florid 
face. He was not particularly cooperative. "How do I know you're the 
prince's friends?" he demanded suspiciously. "I'm not going to reveal 
his location to complete


strangers."
"Are you trying to be difficult?" Barak asked.
The factor looked at the big red-bearded man and swallowed hard. "No, 


but sometimes the prince wants his whereabouts kept secret."
"Probably when he's planning to steal something," Hettar
added.



"Steal?" the factor objected in a shocked voice. "The prince


is a respectable businessman."


"He's also a liar, a cheat, a thief, and a spy," Hettar told him. 
"Now, where is he? We'd heard that he'd been in Melcene awhile back. 
Where did he go from there?"


"Can you describe him?" the factor countered.


"Short," Hettar replied, "sort of thin. He's got a face like a rat 
and a long, pointed nose. He's got a clever mouth and he thinks he's 
funny."


"That's a fair description of Prince Kheldar," the factor conceded.


"We have heard that our friend standeth in a certain amount of 
danger," Mandorallen said. "We have sailed many leagues to offer our 
assistance."


"I was sort of wondering why most of you were wearing armor. Oh, all 
right. The last I heard was that he was bound for a place called 
Kell.''


"Show me," Barak said, unfolding his map.


"It's over here," the factor said.


"Is that river navigable?"


"As far north as Balasa."


PERTVOR


' 'Good. We can sail around the southern end of the continent and go 
up that river. How far back from the main channel is this Kell 
place?"


' 'A league or so from the east bank. It's at the foot of a very big 
mountain. I'd be careful, though. Kell's got a very peculiar 
reputation. The seers live there, and they don't particularly welcome 
strangers."


"We'll have to chance it," Barak said. "Thanks for your help, friend. 
We'll give Kheldar your regards when we catch up with him."


They set out downriver the following morning. There was enough of a 
breeze so that the sails were able to aid the oarsmen, and they made 
excellent time. It was shortly before noon when they heard a number 
of cracking detonations coming from somewhere just ahead.


"Methinks we will encounter a storm ere long," Mandorallen said.


Barak frowned. "The sky's perfectly clear, Mandorallen," he 
disagreed, "and that doesn't sound exactly right for thunder." He 



raised his voice. "Ship oars and lower the sail," he commanded his 
sailors, swinging his tiller over sharply so that Seabird coasted to 
the bank.


Hettar, Relg, and Lelldorin came up from below. "Why are we 


stopping?'' Hettar asked.
"There's something peculiar going on just up ahead," Barak replied. 
"I think we'd better go have a look before we blunder into anything."


"You want me to get the horses?"


"I don't think so. It's not very far, and men on horseback are kind 
of conspicuous.''
"You're starting to sound like Silk."
"WeVe been together for quite a while. Unrak!" he shouted to his son, 


who had been riding in the bow. "We're going to go see what that 
noise is all about. You're in charge here until we get back."
"But, father!" the red-haired boy protested.
"That's an order, Unrak!" Barak thundered.


"Yes, sir." Unrak sounded slightly sullen.
The Seabird swung slowly around in the current and bumped gently 
against the brush-covered riverbank. Barak and the others jumped from 
the rail to the bank and started cautiously inland.


There were more of those strange detonations that did not sound 
exactly like thunder.
no


SEERESS OF KELL
"Whatever it is, it's coming from just up ahead," Hettar said 
quietly.


"Let's stay out of sight until we find out what's going on," Barak 
said. "We've heard that kind of sound before—at Rak Cthol when 
Belgarath and Ctuchik were fighting."


"Sorcerers, thinkest thou?" Mandorallen suggested.
"I'm not positive, but I'm beginning to have some strong suspicions 


in that direction. I think we'd better stay under cover until we can 
see just who or what is out there."
They crept to the edge of a clump of scrubby trees and looked out at 


an open field.


A number of black-robed figures lay smoking on the turf. Others 
huddled fearfully near the edge of the field.
"Murgos?" Hettar sounded startled.



"Methinks not, my Lord," Mandorallen said. "If thou wilt look 
closely, thou wilt see that the hoods of their cloaks are lined in 
diverse colors. Those colors do indicate rank among the Grolims. Thou 
wert wise, my Lord of Trellheim, to advise caution."


"What's making them smoke like that?" Lelldorin whispered, nervously 
fingering his bow.


As if in answer to his question, a black-robed and hooded figure rose 
at the top of a knoll and gestured almost contemptuously, A ball of 
incandescent fire seemed to leap from the figure's hand, sizzled 
across the open field, and struck one of the frightened Grolims full 
in the chest with another of those cracking detonations. The Grolim 
shrieked and, clutching at his chest, fell to the earth.


"I guess that explains the noise," Relg observed. "Barak," Hettar 
said quietly, "that one on top of the knoll is a woman." "Are you 
sure?"


' 'IVe got very good eyes, Barak, and I can tell the difference 
between a man and a woman."


' 'So can I, but not when they're all wrapped up in cloaks like


that."


' 'Look at her elbows the next time she raises her arms. Women's 
elbows are hinged differently from ours. Adara says it has to do with 
carrying babies."


"Did you fear to come alone, Agachak?" the woman atop the little hill 
demanded with contempt. Then she flicked another fireball, and 
another Grolim crumpled to the ground.


PERTVOR


"I fear nothing, Zandramas," a hollow voice came from the trees at 
the edge of the field.


"Now we know who they are," Hettar said. "But why are they fighting?"


"Zandramas is a woman?" Lelldorin asked in amazement.


Hettar nodded. "Queen Porenn found out about it some time back. She 
sent word to the Alorn kings, and Cho-Hag told me."


Zandramas almost casually felled the three remaining Grolims. "Well, 
Agachak," she said then, "will you come out of hiding now? Or must I 
come and find you?"


A tall, cadaverous-looking Grolim stepped out of the trees. "Your 
fire will have no effect on me, Zandramas," he said, advancing toward 
the hooded woman.


"I wasn't thinking of fire, Agachak," she almost purred. "This will 



be your fate." She suddenly seemed to blur and shimmer, and then 
standing in the place she had occupied was an enormous, hideous 
beast. It had a long, snakelike neck and huge bat wings.


"Belar!" Barak swore. "She just turned into a dragon!"


The dragon spread her wings and flapped into the air. The cadaverous 
Grolim shrank back, then raised both arms. There was a shocking 
sound, and the dragon was suddenly encased in a sheet of green fire. 
The voice that came thundering from the dragon's mouth was still the 
voice of Zandramas. "You should have paid more attention to your 
studies, Agachak. If you had, you'd know that Torak made dragons 
immune to sorcery." The dragon hovered over the now-terrified Grolim. 
"Incidentally, Agachak," she said, "you'll be happy to know that 
Urvon is dead. Give him my regards when you see him." And then she 
struck, sinking her talons into Agachak's chest. He shrieked once 
before a sudden billow of sooty fire burst from the dragon's mouth 
and engulfed his face. And then the dragon bit his head off.


Lelldorin made a retching sound. "Great Chamdar!" he gasped in a 
revolted voice. "She's eating him!"


There was a horrid crunching sound as the dragon continued her 
ghastly feast. Then at last, with a shrill scream of triumph, she 
spread her huge wings and flew off to the east.


"Is it safe to come out now?" a shaking voice asked from nearby.


"You'd better," Barak said ominously, drawing his sword.


It was a Thull. He was young, with muddy-colored hair and a slack-
lipped mouth.


112 SEERESS OF KELL


"What's a Thull doing in Mallorea?" Lelldorin asked the


stranger.


"Agachak brought me," the Thull replied, trembling violently.


"What's your name?" Relg asked him.


"I'm Nathel, King of Mishrak ac Thull. Agachak said he'd make me 
Overking of Angarak if I'd help him with something he had to do here. 
Please, don't leave me alone." Tears were streaming down his face.


Barak looked at his companions. They all had expressions of pity on 
their faces. "Oh, all right," he said grudgingly. "Come along, I 
guess."


CHAPTER TEN


"What's the matter with her, Aunt Pol?" Garion was looking at 
Ce'Nedra, who sat crooning over her blanket-wrapped bundle of rags.


"That's what I need to find out," Polgarasaid. "Sadi, I need some 
Orel."



"Is that really wise, Lady Polgara?" the eunuch asked. "In her 
present condition . . ." He spread his thin-fingered hands 
suggestively.


"If there's any danger, Aunt Pol—" Garion began.
"Orel is relatively harmless," she cut him off. "It stimulates the 
heart a bit, but Ce'Nedra's heart is strong. I can hear it beating 


half a continent away. We need to know what happened right now, and 
Oret is the fastest way.''
Sadi had opened his red leather case and he handed Polgara one of his 


little vials. She judiciously tapped three drops of the yellow liquid 
into a cup and then filled the cup with water.
113
114


SEERESS OF KELL
"Ce'Nedra, dear," she said to the little queen, "you must be thirsty. 
This might help.'' She handed the cup to the red-haired


girl.


"Why, thank you, Lady Polgara." Ce'Nedra drank deeply. " As a matter 
of fact, I was just about to ask someone for a drink of water."
"Very smooth, Pol," Beldin whispered.
"Rudimentary, uncle."
"Do you have any idea of what they're talking about?" Zak-
ath asked Garion.
"Aunt Pol implanted the notion of thirst into Ce'Nedra's
mind."
"You people can actually do that?"
"As she said, it's rudimentary."
"Can you do it?"
"I don't know. I've never tried." Garion's attention was, however, 


firmly fixed on his blissfully smiling little wife.
Polgara calmly waited.
"I think you can begin now, Lady Polgara," Sadi said after
a few minutes.
"Sadi," she said absently, "we know each other well enough by now to 



skip the formalities, I'm not going to choke over 'your Excellency,' 
so why should you strangle on 'my Lady'?"
"Why, thank you, Polgara."
"Now, Ce'Nedra," Polgara said.
"Yes, Aunt Pol?" the tiny queen said, her eyes slightly unfocused.


"There's a first," Silk said to Beldin.
"She's been living with Garion for quite a while now," the dwarf 
replied. "Things do rub off after a bit."


' 'I wonder what Polgara'd do if / called her by that name? *'


' 'I don't recommend experimentation,'' Beldin told him. * 'It's up 
to you, though, and you'd make a very interesting-looking
radish."
"Ce'Nedra," Polgara said, "why don't you tell me exactly
how you got your baby back?"
"Arell found him for me." Ce'Nedra smiled. "Now I have even more 


reason to love Arell.'*
"We alllove Arell."
"Isn't he beautiful?" Ce'Nedra turned back the blanket to
reveal her rags.
"He's lovely, dear. Did you and Arell have a chance to talk
at all?"
PERIVOR


"Oh, yes, Aunt Pol. She's doing something that's very important. 
That's why she couldn't join us just now. She said she might be able 
to catch up with us at Perivor—or maybe later at Korim."


"Then she knew where we're going?"


"Oh, no, Aunt Pol." Ce'Nedra laughed. "I had to teil her. She does so 
want to be with us, but she has this important thing to do. She asked 
me where we were going, and I told her about Perivor and Korim. She 
seemed a little surprised about Korim, though."


Aunt Pol's eyes narrowed. "I see," she said. "Dumik, why don't you 
set up a tent? I think Ce'Nedra and her baby should get a little 
rest."


"Right away, Pol," her husband agreed after a quick look at her.



"Now that you mention it, Aunt Pol," Ce'Nedra said happily, "I do 
feel a little tired, and I'm sure Geran needs a nap. Babies sleep so 
much, you know. I'll nurse him, and then he'll sleep. He always 
sleeps after he nurses."


"Steady," Zakath said quietly to Garion as the Rivan King's eyes 
filled with tears. The Mallorean Emperor put his hand firmly on his 
friend's shoulder.


"What's going to happen when she wakes up, though?"


"Polgara can fix it."


After Durnik had set up the tent, Polgara led the bemused girl 
inside. After a moment, Garion felt a slight surge and heard a 
whisper of sound. Then his aunt came out of the tent carrying 
Ce'Nedra's bundle. "Get rid of this," she said, pushing it into 
Garion's hands.


"Is she going to be all right?" he asked her.


"She's asleep now. She'll wake up in about an hour and, when she 
does, she won't remember that any of this happened. None of us will 
mention it to her, and that will be the end of it,"


Garion took the bundle back into the woods and hid it under a bush. 
When he returned, he approached Cyradis. "It was Zandramas, wasn't 
it?" he demanded.


"Yes," Cyradis replied simply.


"And you knew it was going to happen, didn't you?"


"Yes."


"Why didn't you warn us?"


"To have done so would have been an interference in an event that had 
to occur."


SEERESS OF KELL


"That was cruel, Cyradis."


"Necessary events sometimes are. I tell thee, Belgarion, Zandramas 
could not go to Kelt as thou didst. Therefore, she had to find the 
location of the meeting from one of thy companions, else she would 
not be at the Place Which Is No More at the proper time." 
"WhyCe'Nedra?"


"Zandramas, thou wilt recall, hath imposed her will upon thy queen in 
times past. It is not difficult for her to reimpose that bond,"


"I'm not going to forgive this, Cyradis." "Garion," Zakath said, "let 
it go. Ce'Nedra hasn't been hurt, and Cyradis was only doing what she 



had to do." The Mallorean seemed peculiarly defensive.


Garion turned and stalked away, his face livid with anger. When 
Ce'Nedra awoke, she appeared to have no memory of the meeting in the 
woods and seemed to have returned to normal. Durnik struck the tent, 
and they rode on.


They reached the edge of the forest about sunset and set up for the 
night there. Garion rather studiously avoided Zakath, not trusting 
himself to be civil to his friend after he had jumped to the defense 
of the blindfolded Seeress. Zakath and Cyradis had engaged in a 
lengthy conversation before they had all left Kell, and now the 
Emperor seemed wholly committed to her cause. His eyes were sometimes 
troubled, though, and he frequently turned in his saddle to look at 
her.


That night, however, when they were both on watch, it was no longer 
possible for Garion to avoid his friend.


"Are you still angry with me, Garion?" Zakath asked. Garion sighed. 
"No, I guess not," he said. "I don't think I was really angry—just a 
little irritated, is all. Most of all, I'm angry with Zandramas, not 
with you and Cyradis. I don't like people who play tricks on my 
wife."


"It really had to happen, you know. Zandramas had to find out where 
the meeting's going to take place. She has to be there,


too."


"You're probably right. Did Cyradis give you any details


about your task?"


"A few. I'm not supposed to talk about it, though. About all


I can tell you is that somebody very important is coming, and


I'm supposed to help him."


"And that's going to take you the rest of your life?" "And probably 
the lives of a lot of others, as well."


PERTVOR


"Mine, too?"


"I don't think so. I think your task will be over after the meeting. 
Cyradis sort of implied that you've done enough already."


They set out early that morning and rode out onto a rolling plain 
along the west side of the Balasa River. There were farm villages 
here and there, villages that looked rude, but in which the houses 
were really very well constructed. The Dalasian villagers labored in 
the fields with the simplest of tools.



"And it's all subterfuge," Zakath said wryly. "These people are 
probably far more sophisticated than even the Melcenes, and they've 
gone to a great deal of trouble to hide the feet."


"Would thy people or the priests of Torak have left them unmolested 
had the truth been known?" Cyradis asked him.


"Probably not," he admitted. "The Melcenes in particular would likely 
have pressed most of the Dais into service in the bureaucracy.''


"That would not have been compatible with our tasks." "I understand 
that now. When I get back to Mal Zeth, I think I'll make some changes 
in imperial policy toward the Dalasian Protectorates. Your people are 
doing something much, much more important than raising beets and 
turnips for die rest of Mallorea."


"If all goes well, our work will be done once the meeting hath taken 
place, Emperor Zakath.''


"But your studies will continue, won't they?" She smiled. 
"Inevitably. The habits of eons die very hard." Belgarath pulled his 
horse in beside Cyradis. "Could you be a bit more specific about what 
we're supposed to be looking for when we get to Perivof?" he asked 
her.


"It is as I told thee at Kell, Ancient Belgarath. At Perivor thou 
must seek out the map that will guide thee to die Place Which Is No 
More."


' 'How is it that the people of Perivor know more about it than the 
rest of the world?'' She did not reply.


"I gather that this is another one of those things you're not going 
to tell me."


"I may not at this time, Belgarath." Beldin came soaring in. "You'd 
better get ready," he said. "There's a patrol of Darshivan soldiers 
just ahead." "How many?" Garion asked quickly. "A dozen or so. 
They've got a Grolim with them. I didn't


SEERESS OF KELL


want to get too close, but I think it's White-eyes. They're hiding in 
ambush in a grove of trees in the next valley."


"How would he know we're coming this way?" Velvet asked


in perplexity.


"Zandramas knows that we're going to Perivor," Polgara replied. "This 
is the shortest route."


"A dozen Darshivans don't really pose much of a threat," Zakath said 
confidently. "What's the purpose of this, then?"


"Delay," Belgarath told him. "Zandramas wants to hold us up so that 



she can get to Perivor before we do. She can communicate with Naradas 
over long distances. We can probably expect him to set traps for us 
every few miles all the way to Lengha."


Zakath scratched at his short beard, frowning in concentration. Then 
he opened one of his saddlebags, took out a map, and consulted it. 
"We're still about fifteen leagues from Lengha," he said. He squinted 
at Beldin. "How fast could you cover that distance?"


"A couple hours. Why?"


"There's an imperial garrison there. I'll give you a message to the 
garrison commander with my seal on it. He'll move out with troops and 
spring those traps from behind. As soon as we join those forces, 
Naradas won't be bothering us anymore." Then he remembered something. 
"Holy Seeress," he said to Cyradis, "back in Darshiva, you told me to 
leave my troops behind when I came to Kell. Is that prohibition still 
in effect?" "Nay, Kal Zakath." "Good. I'll write that message."


"What about the patrol hiding just ahead?" Silk asked Gar-ion. "Or 
are we just going to wait here until Zakath's troops arrive?"


"I don't think so. What's your feeling about a little exercise?"


Silk's answering grin was vicious.


"There's still a problem, though," Velvet said. "With Beldin on his 
way to Lengha, we won't have anyone to scout out any other ambushes."


"Tell the she with yellow hair not to be concerned," the wolf said to 
Garion. "One is able to move without being seen, or if one is seen, 
the man-things will pay no heed."


"It's all right, Liselle," Garion said. "The wolf will scout for us."


"She's a very useful person to have along." Velvet smiled.


PERIVOR


"Person?" Silk said. "Well, isn't she?"


He frowned. ""You know, you might be right at that. She has a 
definite personality, doesn't she?"


The wolf wagged her tail at him and then loped off.


"All right, gentlemen," Garion said, loosening Iron-grip's sword in 
its sheath, "let's go pay these lurking Darshivans a visit."


"Won't Naradas cause some problems?" Zakath asked, handing his note 
to Beldin.


"I certainly hope he tries," Garion replied.


Naradas, however, proved to no longer be among the Dar-shivan 
soldiers hidden in the grove of trees. The skirmish was short, since 



most of the ambushers seemed to be much better at running than at 


fighting.
"Amateurs," Zakath said scornfully, wiping his sword blade on the 
cloak of one of the fallen.


"You're getting fairly competent with that, you know?" Gar-ion 


complimented him.
' 'The training I was given when I was young seems to be coming 
back," Zakath replied modestly.


"He handles that sword almost the same way Hettar handles his saber, 
doesn't he?" Silk noted, pulling one of his daggers out of a 
Darshivan's chest.


"Much the same," Garion agreed, "and Hettar got his training from 
Cho-Hag, the finest swordsman in Algaria."


"Which Taur Urgas discovered the hard way," Silk added.
"I'd have given a great deal to watch that fight," Zakath said 
wistfully.


"So would I," Garion said, "but I was busy somewhere else at the 
time."
"Sneaking up on Torak?" Zakath suggested.
"I don't think 'sneaking' is the right word. He knew I was coming."


"I'll go get the ladies and Belgarath," Durnik said.
"Beldin spoke with me," Belgarath told them when he rode up. "Naradas 
flew out of this grove before you got here. Beldin considered killing 
him, but he had that parchment in his talons.''


"What form did he take?" Silk asked. "Naradas, I mean?"


"A raven," Belgarath said with distaste. "Grolims are always fond of 
ravens for some reason.''
Silk suddenly laughed. "Remember the time when Asharak the Murgo 


changed into a raven on the plain of Arendia, and


SEERESS OF K.ELL


Polgara called that eagle down to deal with him? U rained black 
feathers for almost an hour."
"Who's Asharak the Murgo?" Zakath asked.
"He was one of Ctuchik's underlings," Belgarath replied.
"Did the eagle kill him?"



"No," Silk said. "Garion did that later."


"With his sword?"


"No. With his hand."


"That must have been a mighty blow. Murgos are bulky people."


"Actually it was only a slap," Garion said. "I set fire to him." He 
hadn't thought of Asharak in years. Surprisingly, he found that the 
memory no longer bothered him.


Zakath was staring at him in horror.


"He was the one who killed my parents," Garion told him. "The action 
seemed appropriate. He burned them to death, so I did the same thing 
to him. Shall we ride on?"


The tireless she-wolf ranged out ahead of them and located two more 
groups of ambushers before the sun went down. The survivors of the 
first, failed ambush had spread the word, however, and as soon as 
these other two groups of Darshivans saw Garion and his companions 
bearing down on them, they fied in panic.


"Disappointing," Sadi said after they had flushed out the second 
group. He slipped his small, poisoned dagger back into


its sheath.


"I expect that Naradas is going to speak quite firmly with those 
fellows when he finds out that he's gone to all this trouble for 
nothing," Silk added gaily. "He'll probably sacrifice a goodly number 
of them just as soon as he can find an altar.''


They met the men of Zakath's imperial garrison from Lengha about noon 
the following day. The commander of the garrison rode forward and 
stared at Zakath in some amazement. "Your Imperial Majesty," he said, 
"is that really you?"


Zakath rubbed at his black beard, "Oh, you mean this, Colonel?" He 
laughed. "It was the suggestion of that old man over there." He 
pointed at Belgarath. "We didn't want people to recognize me, and my 
face is stamped on every coin in Mallo-rea. Did you have any trouble 
on your way north?"


"Nothing worth mentioning, your Majesty. We encountered a dozen or so 
groups of Darshivan soldiers—usually hiding in clumps of trees. We 
encircled each clump, and they all surrendered immediately. They're 
very good at surrendering."


PERTVOR


"They run quite well, too, weVe noticed." Zakath smiled.


The colonel looked at his emperor a bit hesitantly. "I hope you won't 
be offended at my saying this, your Majesty, but you seem to have 



changed since the last time I was in Mal Zeth."
"Oh?"
" I Ve never seen you under arms, for one thing.''
"Troubled times, Colonel. Troubled times."
"And if you'll forgive my saying so, your Majesty, I Ve never heard 


you laugh before—or even seen you smile."
"IVe had little reason before, Colonel. Shall we go on to Lengha?"
When they arrived in Lengha, Cyradis, with Toth's assistance, led 


them directly to the harbor, where a strangely configured ship 


awaited them.
"Thank you, Colonel," Zakath said to the garrison commander. 
"Providing this ship was most considerate of you."


"Excuse me, your Majesty," the colonel replied, "but I had nothing to 


do with the ship."
Zakath gave loth a startled look, and the big mute smiled briefly at 
Dumik.


Durnik frowned slightly. "Brace yourself, Kal Zakath," he said. "The 


arrangements for the ship were made several thousand years ago."
Belgarath's face was suddenly creased by a broad smile. "It would 
seem that we're right on schedule then. I do so hate to be late for 
an appointment."


"Really?" Beldin said. "I remember one time when you showed up five 
years after you were supposed to."


"Something came up."
"Something usually does. Wasn't that during the period when you were 
spending your time with the girls in Maragor?"


Belgarath coughed and cast a slightly guilty look at his daughter.
Polgara raised one eyebrow but didn't say anything.
The ship was manned by the same sort of mute crew as had conveyed 


them from the coast of Gorut in Cthol Murgos to the Isle of Verkat. 
Once again Garion was struck by that haunting sense of repetition. As 
soon as they were on board, the crew cast off all lines and made 
sail.


"Peculiar," Silk observed. "The breeze is coming in off the sea, and 
we're sailing directly into it."
"I noticed that," Durnik agreed.



SEERESS OF KELL


"I thought you might have. It appears that normal rules don't apply 
to the Dais."


"Wilt thou, Belgarion, and thy friend Zakath accompany me to the aft 
cabin?" Cyradis said as they cleared the harbor.


"Of course, Holy Seeress," Garion replied. He noticed that as the 
three of them moved aft, Zakath took the blindfolded gill's hand to 
lead her, almost unconsciously duplicating loth's solicitude. A 
peculiar notion crossed the mind of the Rivan King at that point. He 
looked rather closely at his friend. Zakath's face was strangely 
gentle, and his eyes had an odd look in them. The notion was absurd, 
of course, but as clearly as if he had seen directly into the 
Mallorean Emperor's heart, Garion knew that it was absolutely true. 
He rather carefully concealed a smile.


In the aft cabin stood two gleaming suits of armor, looking for all 
the world like those of the knights at Vo Mimbre.


"These must garb you at Perivor," Cyradis told them.


"There's a reason, I assume," Garion said.


"Indeed. And when we approach that coast, thou must each lower thy 
visor and under no circumstances raise it whilst we are on that isle 
unless I give thee leave."


' 'And you're not going to tell us what the reason is, are you?''


She smiled gently and laid one hand on his arm. "Know only that it is 
needful."


"I sort of thought she might take that position," Garion said to 
Zakath. He went to the door of the cabin. "Dumik," he called, "we're 
going to need some help down here."


"We don't have to put it on yet, do we?" Zakath asked him.


"Have you ever worn full armor before?"


"No. I can't say that I have."


"It takes a bit of getting used to. Even Mandorallen grunted a bit 
when he first put his on."


"Mandorallen? That Mimbrate friend of yours?"


Garion nodded. "He's Ce'Nedra's champion."


"I thought you were."


"I'm her husband. Different rules apply." He looked critically at 
Zakath's sword, a rather light and slim-bladed weapon. "He's going to 
need a bigger sword, Cyradis," he told the Seer-ess.


"In that cabinet, Belgarion."



"She thinks of everything," Garion said wryly. He opened the cabinet. 
Inside, standing almost to shoulder height, was a massive broadsword. 
He lifted it out with both hands. "Your sword, your Majesty," he 
said, extending the hilt to Zakath.


PERJVOR


"Thank you, your Majesty." Zakath grinned. As he took me sword, his 
eyes suddenly went wide. "Torak's teeth!" he swore, almost dropping 
the huge weapon. "Do people actually use these things on each other?"


"Frequently. It's a major form of entertainment in Arendia. If you 
think that one's heavy, you should try mine." Then Gar-ion remembered 
something. "Wake up," he said rather peremptorily to the Orb.


The murmur of the stone was slightly offended.


"Don't overdo this," Garion instructed, "but my friend^s sword is 
just a bit heavy for him. Let's make it lighter—a little at a time." 
He watched as Zakath strained to raise the sword. "A little more," he 
instructed the Orb.


The sword point came up—slowly.


"How's that?" Garion asked.


"A bit more, maybe," Zakath grunted.


"Do it," Garion said to the Orb.


"That's better—" Zakath sighed "—but is it really safe to talk to 
that stone that way? *'


"You have to be firm. It's like a dog or a horse sometimes— or even a 
woman."


"I will not forget thy remark, King Belgarion," Cyradis said in a 
crisp tone.


He grinned at her. "I didn't expect you to, Holy Seeress," he said 
mildly.


"One for your side," Zakath said.


"You see how useful that is?" Garion laughed. "I'll make an Alom of 
you yet.''


CHAPTER ELEVEN


The ship continued to move against the wind, and when they were 
perhaps three leagues out from the harbor, the albatross appeared, 
ghosting along on motionless, seraphlike wings. It made one solitary 
cry, and Polgara inclined her head in response. Then it took a 
position just in advance of the bowsprit as if it were leading the 
vessel.



"Isn't that peculiar?" Velvet said. "It's just like the one we saw on 
the way to the Isle of Verkat. *'
"No, dear," Polgara told her. "He's the same one."
"That's impossible, Lady Polgara. That was half a world away."
"Distance has no meaning to a bird with wings like that."
"What's he doing here?"
"He has a task of his own."
"Oh? What's that?"
124
PERIVOR


125
"He did not choose to tell me, and it would have been impolite of me 
to ask.' *


Zakath had been walking up and down the deck trying to set his armor 
into place. "This always looks so splendid, but it's really very 
uncomfortable, isn't it?"


' 'Not nearly as uncomfortable as not having it on when you really 
need it," Garion told him.
"You get used to it in time, though, don't you?"


"Not appreciably, no."
Although it was some distance to the island of Perivor, the strange 
ship with its silent crew made good time and landed them on a wooded 
coast about noon the following day.


"To be perfectly honest with you," Silk said to Garion as they 
unloaded the horses, "I'm just as happy to be off that vessel. A ship 
that sails against the wind and sailors who don't swear make me 
nervous somehow."


* "There are a great many things about this entire business that are 
making me nervous," Garion replied.
"The only difference is that I'm just an ordinary man. You're a 
hero."


"What's that got to do with it?"
"Heroes aren't allowed to be nervous."
"Who made up that rule?"
"It's a known tact. What happened to that albatross?"



"He flew off as soon as we came in sight of land." Garion put his 
visor down.


"I don't care what Polgara says about them," Silk said with a 
shudder. "IVe known a lot of sailors, and IVe never heard one of them 
with anything good to say about those birds."


"Sailors are superstitious."


"Garion, mere's some basis in fact for all superstitions." The little 
man squinted at the dark woods lining the upper end of the beach. 
"Not a very inviting coast, is it? I wonder why the ship didn't put 
us down in some seaport?"


"I don't think anybody really knows why the Dais do anything."


After the horses had been unloaded from the ship, Garion and the 
others mounted and rode up the beach into the woods. "I think I'd 
better cut you and Zakath some lances," Durnik said to Garion. 
"Cyradis had some reason for putting you two in armor, and I've 
noticed that an armored man usually looks a little undressed without 
a lance.'' He dismounted, took his axe, and went back among the 
trees. He returned a tew moments


SEERESS OF KELL


later with two stout poles. "I'll put points on them when we stop for 
the evening," he promised.


"This is going to be awkward," Zakath said, fumbling with his lance 
and shield.


"You do it like this," Garion said, demonstrating. "Buckle the shield 
on your left arm and hold the reins in your left hand. Then set the 
butt of the lance in the stirrup beside your right foot and hold it 
in place with your free hand."


"Have you ever fought with a lance?"


"A few times, yes. It's fairly effective against another man wearing 
armor. Once you knock him off his horse, it takes him quite awhile to 
get back on his feet again."


Beldin, as usual, had been scouting ahead. He came drifting back, 
ghosting among the trees on almost motionless wings. "You're not 
going to believe this," he said to Belgarath after he had changed 
back into his own form.


"What's that?"


"There's a castle up ahead."


"A what?"


* 'A large building. They usually have walls, moats, and 

drawbridges."
"I know what a castle is, Beldin."
' 'Why did you ask then? Anyway, the one ahead looks almost as if it 


had been transplanted directly from Arendia.''


"Do you suppose you could clarify this for us, Gyradis?" Belgarath 
asked the Seeress.
"It is really no mystery, Ancient Belgarath," she replied. "Some two 


thousand years ago, a group of adventurers from the west were 
shipwrecked on the coast of this island. Seeing that there was no way 
to make their ship whole again, they settled here and took wives from 
among the local populace. They have retained the customs and manners 
and even the speech of their homeland."


"Lots of thees and thous?" Silk asked her.
She nodded.
"And castles? "
She nodded again.
"And die men all wear armor? The same as Garion and Zakath are 


wearing? "
"It is even as thou hast said, Prince Kheldar."
He groaned.
"What's the problem, Kheldar?" Zakath asked him.
PERIVOR


'' We've traveled thousands of leagues only to find Mimbrates again."


' 'The reports I received from the battlefield at Thull Mardu all 
said that they're very brave. That might explain the reputation of 
this island."


"Oh, it does indeed, Zakath," the little man told him. "Mimbrates are 
the bravest people in the world—probably because they don't have 
brains enough to be afraid of anything. Garion's friend Mandorallen 
is totally convinced that he's invincible."


"He is," Ce'Nedra said in automatic defense of her knight. "I saw him 
kill a lion once with his bare hands."


"I Ve heard of his reputation," Zakath said. "I thought it was 
exaggerated."


"Not by very much," .Garion said. "I heard him suggest to Barak and 
Hettar once that the three of them attack an entire Tolnedran 
legion."



"Perhaps he was joking."
"Mimbrate knights don't know how to joke," Silk told him.
' 'I will not sit here and listen to you people insult my knight,'' 


Ce'Nedra said hotly.


"We're not insulting him, Ce'Nedra," Silk ioid her. "We're describing 
him. He's so noble he makes my hair hurt."
"Nobility is an alien concept to a Drasnian, I suppose," she noted.
"Not alien, Ce'Nedra. Incomprehensible."
"Perhaps in two thousand years they've changed," Durnik said 


hopefully.


"I wouldn't count on it," Beldin grunted. "In my experience, people 
who live in isolation tend to petrify."
"I needs must warn ye all of one thing, however," Cyradis said. "The 


people of this island are a peculiar mixture. In many ways they are 
even as you have described them, but their heritage is also Dal, and 
they are conversant with the arts of our people.''


"Oh, fine," Silk said sardonically, "Mimbrates who use sorcery. 
That's assuming they can figure out which way to point it."
"Cyradis," Garion said, "is this why Zakath and I are wearing armor?"
She nodded.
' 'Why didn't you just say so?''
"It was necessary for you to find that out for yourselves."
"Well, let's go have a look," Belgarath said. "We've dealt
128
SEERESS OF KELL
PERFVOR


129
with Mimbrates before, and we've usually managed to stay out of 
trouble."


They rode on through the forest in golden afternoon sunshine and, 
when they reached the edge of the trees, they saw the structure 
Beldin had reported. It stood atop a high promontory, and it had the 
usual battlements and fortifications.


"Formidabie," Zakath murmured.
' 'There's no real point in lurking here in the trees,'' Belgarath 



told them. "We can't get across all that open ground without being 
seen. Garion, you and Zakath take the lead. Men in armor are usually 
greeted with some courtesy."


"Are we just going to ride up to the castle?" Silk asked.


"We might as well," Belgarath said. "If they still think like 
Mimbrates, they'll almost be obliged to offer hospitality for the 
night, and we need a certain amount of information anyway.''


They rode out onto an open meadow and proceeded at a walk toward the 
grim-looking castle. "You'd better let me do most of the talking when 
we get there," Garion said to Zakath. "I sort of know the dialect.''


"Good idea," Zakath agreed. "I'd probably choke on all the theesand 
thous."


From inside the castle a horn blew a brazen note, announcing that 
they had been seen, and a few minutes later a dozen gleaming knights 
rode out across the drawbridge at a rolling trot. Garion moved 
Chretienne slightly to the front.


"Prithee, abate thy pace, Sir Knight," the man who appeared to be the 
leader of the strangers said. "I am Sir Astellig, baron of this 
place. May I ask of thee thy name and what it is that brings thee and 
thy companions to the gates of my keep?"


"My name I may not reveal, Sir Knight," Garion replied. "There are 
certain reasons, which I will disclose unto thee in due course. My 
fellow knight and I are embarked with these diverse companions on a 
quest of gravest urgency, and we have come here in search of shelter 
for the night, which shall descend upon us, methinks, within the next 
few hours." Garion was rather proud of the speech.


"Thou needst but ask, Sir Knight," the baron said, "for all true 
knights are compelled by honor, if not by courtesy, to offer aid and 
shelter to any fellow knight engaged in a quest.''


"I cannot sufficiently express our gratitude to thee, Sir Astellig. 
We have, as thou canst see, ladies of quality with us whom the rigors 
of our journey have sorely fatigued."


"Let us proceed straightaway to my keep then, Sir Knights.


Attending to the well-being of ladies is the paramount duty of all 
men of gentle birth." He wheeled his horse with a grand flourish and 
led the way up the long hill to his castle with his men close behind 
him.


"Elegant," Zakath commented admiringly.


"I spent some time at Vo Mimbre," Garion told him. "You can pick up 
their speech after a while. About the only problem with it is that 
the sentences are so involved that you sometimes lose track of what 
you're saying before you get to the bottom end of it."


Baron Astellig led the way across the drawbridge, and they all 
dismounted in a flagstoned courtyard. ' 'My servants will see thee 



and thy companions to suitable quarters, Sir Knight," he said, "where 
you may all refresh yourselves. Then, an it please you, join me in 
the great hall and disclose unto me how I may aid thee in thy noble 
quest."


"Thy courtesy is most seemly, my Lord," Garion said. "Be assured that 
my brother knight and I will join you straightaway, as soon as we 
have seen to the comfort of the ladies."


They followed one of the baron's servants to comfortable quarters on 
the second floor of the main keep.


"I'm truly amazed at you, Garion," Polgara said. "I didn't mink you 
had the faintest idea of how to speak a civilized language."


"Thank you," he said, "I think."


"Maybe you and Zakath should speak with the baron alone," Belgarath 
told Garion. ' 'You've covered your own need for anonymity fairly 
well, but if the rest of us are around, he might start asking for 
introductions. Feel him out rather carefully. Inquire about local 
customs, that sort of thing, and ask him about any incidental wars 
going on." He looked at Zakath. "What's the capital of the island?"


"Dal Perivor, I think."


"That's where we'll want to go then. Where is it?"


"On the other side of the island."


"Naturally." Silk sighed.


"You'd better get started," Belgarath told the two armored men. 
"Don't keep our host waiting."


"When this is all over, would you consider hiring him out to me?" 
Zakath asked Garion as the two of them clanked down the hall. "You 
could make a tidy profit, you know, and I'd have the most efficient 
government in the world."


"Do you really want a man who's likely to live forever run-


130


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


131


ning your government?'' Garion asked in an amused tone.' 'Not to 
mention the feet that he's probably more corrupt than Silk and Sadi 
put together? That is a very bad old man, Kal Zakath. He's wiser than 
whole generations, and he's got a large number of disgusting 
habits.''


"He's your grandfather, Garion," Zakath protested. "How can you talk 
about him like that?"



"Truth is truth, your Majesty."
"You Alorns are a very strange people, my friend."
"We've never tried to hide that, my friend."
There was a clicking of toenails from behind, and the she-wolf 


slipped up between them. "One wonders where you are bound," she said 


to Garion.
"One and one's friend go to speak with the master of this house, 
little sister," he replied.


"One will accompany you and your friend," she said. "If needful, one 
may help to prevent missteps."


"What did she say?" Zakath asked.
"She's coming along to keep us from making any serious mistakes," 
Garion said.


"A wolf?"


"This is no ordinary wolf, Zakath. I'm beginning to have some 
suspicions about her.''
"One is gratified that even a puppy may show some semblance of 


perception." The wolf sniffed.


"Thank you," he said. "One is happy to gain approval from one so 
dearly loved."
She wagged her tail at him. "One requests, however, that you keep 


your discovery to yourself."
"Of course," he promised.
"What was that all about?" Zakath asked.
"It's a wolfy sort of thing," Garion said. "It doesn't really 


translate."
Baron Astellig had removed his armor and sat in a massive chair 
before a crackling hearth. "It is ever thus, Sir Knights," he said. 
"Stone doth provide protection from foes, but it is forever cold, and 
the chill of winter is slow to seep away from its obdurate surface. 


Perforce we are required to maintain our fires even when summer doth 
bathe our isle with its gentle warmth."
"It is, my Lord, as thou sayest," Garion replied. "E'en the massive 


walls of Vo Mimbre do harbor this oppressive chill."
"And thou, Sir Knight, hath seen Vo Mimbre?" the baron
asked in wonder. "I would give all that I own or ever will to behold 


that fabled city. What is it truly like?"



"Large, my Lord," Garion said, "and its golden stones do flash back 
the light of the sun as if to shame the heavens by its magnificence."


The baron's eyes filled with tears. "BlessedamI, Sir Knight," he said 
in a voice choked with emotion. "This unexpected encounter with a 
knight of noble purpose and passing fair eloquence hath been the 
crown of my life, for the memory of Vo Mimbre, echoing down through 
the endless progression of years, hath sustained those of us in 
lonely exile here, though its echoes grow more remote with each 
passing season e'en as dearly loved faces of those gone before us are 
remembered only in a dream that fades and dies as cruel eld creepeth 
upon us."


"My Lord," Zakath said a bit haltingly, "thy speech hath touched my 
heart. If I have power—and I do—I will convey thee at some future 
date even unto Vo Mimbre and present thee before the throne in the 
palace there, that we may reunite thee with thy kindred."


"You see," Garion murmured to his friend, "it gets to be habit-
forming."


The baron wiped his eyes unashamed. "I note this hound of thine, Sir 
Knight," he said to Garion to ease them past an embarrassing moment, 
"a bitch, I perceive—"


"Steady," Garion said firmly to the she-wolf.


"That is a very offensive term," she growled.


"He didn't invent it. It's not his fault."


"She is of a lean and lithesome configuration," the baron continued, 
"and her golden eyes do bespeak intelligence far beyond that of the 
poor mongrels that do infest this kingdom. Canst thou perhaps, Sir 
Knight, identify her breed?"


"She is a wolf, my Lord," Garion told him.


"A wolf! " the baron exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "We must flee 
ere the fearsome beast fall upon us and devour us."


It was a bit ostentatious, but sometimes things like that impress 
people. Garion reached down and scratched the wolf's ears.


"Thou art brave beyond belief, Sir Knight," the baron said almost in 
wonder.


"She is my friend, my Lord," Garion replied. "We are linked by ties 
beyond thine imagining."


"One advises that you stop that," the wolf told him, "unless you have 
a paw to spare."


SEERESS OF KELL


PERTVOR



"You wouldn'(!" he exclaimed, snatching his hand back.


"But you're not entirely sure, are you?" She bared her teeth almost 
in a grin.


"Thou speakest the language of beasts?" The baron gasped.


"Of a few, my Lord," Garion said. "They each have their own, thou 
knowest. I have not yet mastered the speech of the serpent. I think 
it has to do with the shape of my tongue."


The baron suddenly laughed. "Thou art a droll man, Sir Knight. Thou 
hast presented me here with much to ponder and much at which to 
marvel. Now, to the main point. What canst thou reveal to me of thy 
quest?"


"Be very careful here," the wolf warned Garion.


Garion considered. "As thou mayest know, my Lord," he began, "there 
is a great evil abroad in the world now." That was fairly safe. There 
was always a great evil abroad in the world.


"Truly," the baron agreed fervently.


"It is the sworn task of my steadfast companion here and myself to 
confront this evil. Know thou, however, mat rumor, like a barking 
dog, would run before us, announcing—should they be known—our 
identities to the foul miscreant upon whom we mean to do war. Should, 
all forewarned, this vicious enemy learn of our approach, its minions 
would waylay us. Thus it is that we must conceal ourselves behind our 
visors and refrain from declaring before all the world our 
names—which have some smirch of honor upon them in diverse parts of 
the world.'' Gar-ion was beginning to enjoy this. "We, neither one, 
fear any living thing.'' Mandorallen himself could not have said it 
more confidently. "We have, however, dear companions in this quest, 
whose lives we dare not endanger. Moreover, our quest is fraught with 
perilous enchantments that may even vaunt our prowess. Thus, though 
it is distasteful, we must, with thieftike stealth, approach this 
despised miscreant that we may administer suitable chastisement." He 
said the last word with something as close to the crack of doom as he 
could manage.


The baron got the point immediately. "My sword, and those of my 
knights, are at thine immediate disposal, my Lord. Let us eradicate 
this evil for good and all." The baron was a Mim-brate to the bone, 
all right.


Garion raised one regretful hand. "Nay, my Lord of Astel-lig," he 
said. "It may not be so, though I would welcome thee and thy brave 
companions with all my heart. This task hath been lain upon me and 
upon my dear companions. To accept thine


aid in this endeavor would be to anger the minions of the spirit 
world, which, no less than we, do contend in mis matter. We— all of 
us—are but mortal, and the spirit world is a world of immortals. To 



defy the commands of die spirits might well confound the purpose of 
those friendly spirits that take our part in this ultimate battle."


"Though it wounds my heart, Sir Knight," the baron said sadly, "I 
must agree that thine argument hath cogency. Know, moreover, that a 
kinsman of mine hath but recently arrived from the capital at Dal 
Perivor and hath advised me privately of a disturbing turn of events 
at court. No more than a few days ago, a wizard appeared at the 
king's palace. Doubtless using enchantments such as thou hast 
mentioned, he beguiled our king within the space of a few hours and 
gained the king's ear and is now his closest advisor. He now doth 
wield almost absolute authority in the kingdom. Guard yourselves 
well, Sir Knights. Should, perchance, this wizard be one of the 
minions of your foe, he now hath power to do thee gravest injury." 
The baron made a wry face. "Methinks the beguiling of the king was no 
serious task for him. It is improper of me to say it, perhaps, but 
his Majesty is not a man of profound intellectual gifts." This from 
aMimbrate*? "This wizard," the baron continued, "isawicked man, and I 
must advise thee in the spirit of true comradeship to avoid him."


"I thank thee, my Lord," Garion said, "but our destiny, and that of 
our quest, compels us to Dal Perivor. If needs be, we will confront 
this wizard and rid the kingdom of his influence."


"May the Gods and the spirits guide thy hand," the baron said 
fervently. Then he grinned. "Mayhap, an it please thee, I might watch 
as thou and thy valiant, laconic companion administer such 
chastisement as thou seest fit."


"We would be honored, my Lord," Zakath assured him.


"With that end in view then, my Lords, "the baron said, "be advised 
that I and diverse nobles journey on the morrow toward the king's 
palace at Dal Perivor, there to participate in the grand tourney that 
our Lord King hath ordained to select champions of the kingdom to 
deal with a certain recurrent problem which hath confronted us. Know, 
moreover, that by centuries-old tradition, misunderstandings and 
frictions are held in the abeyance of general truce during this 
period and we may expect general tranquility on our journey to the 
west. An it please you, my Lords, may I entreat you to accompany me 
to the capital?"


"My Lord," Garion said, bowing with a slight creaking of


SEERESS OF KELL


annor, "your suggestion and gracious invitation could not suit our 
purposes more. And now, if we may, we will retire to make our 
preparations.''


As Garion and Zakath strode down the long hall, the wolf's toenails 
had an almost metallic ring to them. "One is pleased," she said. "You 
didn't do all that badly—for a couple of puppies."


CHAPTER TWELVE



Perivor proved to be a pleasant island with rolling, emerald-green 
hills where sheep grazed and with dark plowed fields where 
meticulously straight rows of crops flourished. Baron Astellig looked 
about with some pride. " It is a fair land,'' he observed, "though 
doubtless not so fair as far-off Arendia."


"Methinks thou wouldst be somewhat disappointed by Arendia, my 
Lord," Garion told him. "Though the land be fair, the kingdom is much 
marred by civil turmoil and by the misery of the serfs."


"Doth that sad institution still prevail there? It was abolished here 
many centuries ago."


Garion was a bit surprised at that.


"The folk who inhabited this isle ere we came are a gentle people, 
and our forebears sought wives from among them. At first these common 
folk were bound in serfdom, as had always been the practice in 
Arendia, but our ancestors soon perceived


135


136


SEERESS OF KELL


PERWOR


137


that this was the grossest injustice, since the serfs were kinsmen by 
marriage." The baron frowned slightly. "Doth this civil discord thou 
spake of truly mar our ancestral homeland to any great extent?"


Garion sighed. "We have some smalt expectation that it may abate, my 
Lord. Three great duchies warred with each other for centuries until 
one—Mimbre—finally achieved nominal mastery. Rebellion lurked ever 
beneath the surface, however. Moreover, the barons of southern 
Arendia make bloody war upon each other for the most trivial of 
reasons.''


"War? Truly? Such affairs arise here on Perivor, as well, but we have 
attempted to formalize the conflict to such degree that few are ever 
slain."


"How meanst thou 'formalize,' my Lord?"


"Such disputes as arise are—except in cases of outrage or gravest 
insult—customarily settled by tourneys." The baron smiled. "Indeed, I 
have known of a number of disputes that were counterfeited by the 
mutual contrivance of the principals merely as an excuse to hold such 
tourneys—which do-entertain nobles and commons alike."


"How very civilized, my Lord," Zakath said.


The strain of phrasing such involuted sentences was beginning to wear 
on Garion. He asked the baron to excuse him, pleading the need to 
confer with his companions, and rode back to talk with Belgarath and 



the others.


' 'How are you and the baron getting along?'' Silk asked him.


"Quite well, actually. The intermarriage with the Dais has altered 
certain of the more irritating Arendish tendencies."


"Such as?"


"Gross stupidity for one thing. They've abolished serfdom, and they 
usually settle disputes with tournaments rather than open war." 
Garion looked at the dozing Belgarath. "Grandfather."


Belgarath opened his eyes.


"Do you think weVe managed to get here ahead of Zandra-mas?"


"There's no way to know for sure."


"I could use the Orb again."


"It's probably better if you don't just yet. If she's on the island, 
there's no way to know where she landed. She may not have come this 
way, so the Orb wouldn't react to her trail. I'm sure she can feel 
it, though, and about all we'd succeed in doing


would be to let her know we're here. Besides, the Sardion is in mis 
part of the world. Let's not wake it up just yet.''


"You might ask your friend the baron," Silk suggested. "If she's 
here, he might have heard something about her."


"I doubt it," Belgarath said. "In the past she's usually gone to a 
great deal of trouble to remain unobserved."


"That's true," Silk conceded, "and I mink she'll go to even more 
trouble now. She might have some difficulty trying to explain those 
lights under her skin.''


"Let's wait until we get to Dal Perivor," Belgarath decided. "I want 
to sort things out there before we do anything irrevocable."


"Do you suppose it would do any good to ask Cyradis?" Garion asked 
quietly, glancing back at the Seeress, who rode in the splendid 
carriage the baron had provided for the ladies.


"No," Belgarath said. "She won't be permitted to answer us."


"I think we might have a certain advantage in all this," Silk 
observed. "Cyradis is the one who's going to make the choice, and the 
fact that she's traveling with us instead of with Zandra-mas bodes 
rather well, wouldn't you say?"


"I don't think so," Garion disagreed. "I don't think she's traveling 
with us so much as she's here to keep an eye on Zakath. He has 
something very important to do, and she doesn't want him to stray."


Silk grunted. "Where do you propose to start looking for this map 



you're supposed to find?" he asked Belgarath.


"A library probably," the old man replied. "This map is another one 
of those 'mysteries,' and I've had a fair degree of luck finding the 
others in libraries. Garion, see if you can persuade the baron to 
take us to the king's court in Dal Perivor. Palace libraries are 
usually the most complete."


"Of course," Garion agreed.


"I want to take a look at this wizard anyway. Silk, do you have an 
office in Dal Perivor?"


"I'm afraid not, Belgarath. There's nothing here worth trading in."


"Well, no matter. You're a businessman, and there'll be others in the 
city. Go talk business with them. Tell them you want to check over 
shipping routes. Look at every map you can lay your hands on. You 
know what we're looking for."


""You're cheating, Belgarath," Beldin growled.


"How do you mean?"


SEERESS OF KELL


"Cyradis told you that you were supposed to find the map."


"I'm only delegating responsibility, Beldin. It's perfectly 
legitimate."


"I don't think she'd see it that way."


'' You can explain it to her. You 're much more persuasive than I 
am."


They traveled in easy stages, more to spare the horses, Garion felt, 
than for any other reason. The horses of Perivor were not large, and 
they labored under the weight of men in full armor. So it was that it 
was several days before they crested a hill and looked down at the 
seaport city which was the capital of Perivor.


"Behold Dal Perivor," the baron proclaimed, "the crown and the heart 
of the isle."


Garion saw immediately that the shipwrecked Arends who had arrived on 
this shore two thousand years ago had made a conscious effort to 
duplicate Vo Mimbre. The city walls were high and thick and yellow, 
and brightly colored pennons flew from spires within those walls.


"Where did they find the yellow stone, my Lord?" Zakath asked the 
baron. "I have seen no such rock on our journey here."


The baron coughed a bit apologetically. "The walls are painted, Sir 
Knight," he explained.



"Whatever for?"


' 'To serve as a remembrance of Vo Mimbre,'' the baron said a bit 
sadly. "Our ancestors were homesick for Arendia. Vo Mimbre is the 
jewel of our ancestral home, and its golden walls speak to our blood 
even across the endless miles.''


"Ah," Zakath said.


"As I have promised thee, Sir Knight," me baron said to Garion, 
"gladly will I convey thee and thy companions forthwith to the king's 
palace where he will doubtless honor thee and offer thee his 
hospitality.''


"Once more we are in thy debt, my Lord," Garion replied.


The baron smiled a bit slyly. ' 'I confess it to thee, Sir Knight, 
that my motives are not altogether magnanimous. I will accrue much 
credit by presenting at court stranger knights bent on a noble 
quest."


"That's quite all right, my friend." Garion laughed. "This way 
there's something for everybody."


The palace was almost identical to that in Vo Mimbre, a fortress 
within a fortress with high walls and a stout gate.


PERIVOR


"At least this time I don't think my grandfather will have to grow a 
tree," Garion murmured to Zakath.


"Do what?"


"When we first went to Vo Mimbre, the knight in charge of the palace 
gate didn't believe Mandorallen when he introduced Grandfather as 
Belgarath the Sorcerer, so Grandfather took a twig from his horse's 
tail and made an apple tree grow right there in the square in front 
of the palace. Then he ordered the skeptical knight to spend the rest 
of his life taking care of it. *'


"Did the knight actually do it?"


"I assume so. Mimbrates take those kinds of commands very seriously."


"Strange people."


"Oh, yes, indeed. I had to force Mandorallen to marry a girl hell 
loved since childhood, and I had to stop a war in the process.' *


"How do you stop a war?"


"I made some threats. I think they took me seriously." He thought 
about it. "The thunderstorm I created may have helped, though," he 
added. "Anyway, Mandorallen and Nerina had loved each other for 
years, but they'd been suffering in silence beautiful for all that 



time. I finally got tired of it, so I made them get on with it. I 
made some more threats. I've got this big knife back here." He poked 
his thumb over his shoulder. "It attracts a lot of attention 
sometimes.''


"Garion!" Zakath laughed. "You're a peasant."


"Yes. Probably," Garion admitted. "But it got them married, after 
all. They're both deliriously happy now, and if anything goes wrong, 
they can always blame me, can't they?"


"You're not like other men, my friend," Zakath said very seriously.


"No." Garion sighed. "Probably not. I'd like to be, though. The world 
lies very heavily on you and me, Zakath, and it doesn't leave us any 
time for ourselves. Wouldn't you just like to ride out on a summer 
morning to look at the sunrise and see what lies over the next 
hilltop?''


"I thought mat's what weVe been doing."


"Not entirely. We're doing all this because we're compelled to. What 
I was talking about was doing it just for fun.''


"I haven't done anything just for fun in years."


"Didn't you rather enjoy threatening to crucify King Gethel of the 
Thulls? Ce'Nedra told me about that."


Zakath laughed. "That wasn't too bad," he admitted. "I


SEERESS OF KELL


wouldn't have done it, of course. Gethel was an idiot, but he was 
sort of necessary at that point."


"It always comes to that, doesn't it? You and I do what's necessary, 
not what we'd really prefer to do. Neither of us sought this 
eminence, but we'll do what's necessary and what's expected of us. If 
we don't, this world will die, and good, honest men will die with it. 
I won't permit that if I can help it. I won't betray those good, 
honest men, and neither will you. You're too good a man yourself.''


"Good? Me?"


' 'You underestimate yourself, Zakath, and I think that very soon 
someone will come and teach you not to hate yourself anymore.''


Zakath started visibly.


"You didn't think I knew?" Garion said, boring in relentlessly. "But 
that's nearly over now. Your suffering and pain and remorse are 
almost done, and if you need any instructions in how to be happy, 
look me up. After all, that's what friends are for, aren't they?"


A choked sob came from behind Zakath's visor.



The she-wolf had been standing between their horses. She looked up at 
Garion. "Very well done," she said. "Perhaps one has misjudged you, 
young wolf. Perhaps you are not a puppy after all."


"One can but do one's best," Garion replied, also in the language of 
wolves. "One hopes that one has not been too much a disappointment."


"One feels that you have some promise, Garion."


And that confirmed something that Garion had suspected for some time 
now. "Thank you, Grandmother," he said, sure at last just to whom he 
was speaking.


"And it took you so very, very long to say it?"


"It might have been considered impolite."


' 'One believes that you have been too long with one's eldest 
daughter. She is, one has noticed, much caught up in propriety. One 
assumes you will continue to keep your discovery to yourself?"


"If you wish."


"It might be wiser." She looked at the palace gate. "What is this 
place?"


"It is the palace of the king."


"What are kings to wolves?"


"It is the custom among the man-things to pay respect to


PERTVOR


them, Grandmother. The respect is more to the custom than to the man-
thing who wears the crown."


"How very curious," she sniffed.


At last, with a great deal of creaking and the clanking of chain, the 
drawbridge boomed down, and Baron Astellig and his knights led them 
into the palace courtyard.


As was the one in Vo Mimbre, the throne room here in Dal Perivor was 
a great, vaulted hall with sculptured buttresses soaring upward along 
the walls. Tall, narrow windows rose between the buttresses, and the 
light streaming through their stained-glass panels was jeweled. The 
floor was polished marble, and on the red-carpeted stone platform at 
the far end stood the throne of Perivor, backed by heavy purple 
drapes. Flanking the draped wall hung the massive antique weapons of 
two thousand years of the royal house. Lances, maces, and huge 
swords, taller than any man, hung among the tattered war-banners of 
forgotten kings.


Almost bemused by the similarities, Garion half expected to see 



Mandorallen in his gleaming armor come striding across the marble 
floor to greet mem, flanked by red-bearded Barak and horse-maned 
Hettar. Once again, that strange sense of recurrence struck him. With 
a start he realized that in recounting past experiences to Zakath, he 
had in fact been reliving them. In some obscure way this seemed a 
kind of cleansing in preparation for Ihe now almost inevitable 
meeting in the Place Which Is No More.


"An it please ye, Sir Knights," Baron Astellig said to Garion and 
Zakath, "let us approach the throne of King Oldorin that I may 
present ye to his Majesty. I will advise him of the diverse 
restrictions your quest hath lain upon ye."


"Thy courtesy and consideration become thee, my Lord of Astellig," 
Garion said. "Gladly will we greet thy king."


The three of them proceeded along the marble floor toward the 
carpeted platform. King Oldorin, Garion noticed, was a more robust-
looking man than Korodullin of Arendia, but his eyes revealed a 
fearful lack of anything resembling thought.


A tall, powerfully built knight stepped in front of Astellig. "This 
is unseemly, my Lord," he said. "Instruct thy companions to raise 
their visors that the king may behold those who approach him."


"I will explain to his Majesty the reason for this necessary 
concealment, my Lord," Astellig replied a bit stiffly. "I assure thee 
that these knights, whom I dare to call friends, intend no disrespect 
to our Lord King."


SEERESS OF KELL


"I^n sorry, Baron Astellig," the knight said, "but I cannot permit 
this."


The baron's hand went to his sword hilt.


"Steady," Garion warned, placing one gauntleted hand on Astellig's 
arm. "As all the world knows, it is forbidden to draw arms in the 
king's presence."


"Thou art well versed in propriety, Sir Knight," the man barring 
their way said, sounding a bit less sure of himself now.


"I've been in the presence of kings before, my Lord, and I am 
conversant with the customary usages. I do assure thee that we mean 
no disrespect to his Majesty by our visored approach to the throne. 
We are compelled to it, however, by a stern duty that hath been lain 
upon us."


The knight looked even more unsure of himself. "Thou art well spoken, 
Sir Knight," he admitted grudgingly.


"An it please you then, Sir Knight," Garion continued, "wilt thou 
accompany Baron AsteJlig, my companion, and myself to the throne? A 
man of thine obvious prowess can easily prevent mischief." A little 



flattery never hurt anything in difficult situations.


"It shall be as thou sayest, Sir Knight," the knight decided.


The four of them approached the throne and bowed somewhat stiffly. 
"My Lord King," Astellig said.


"Baron," Oldorin replied with an absent-seeming nod.


"I have the honor to present two stranger knights who have traveled 
here from afar in pursuit of a noble quest.''


The king looked interested. The word "quest" rang bells in Mimbrate 
heads.


"As thou may have noticed, your Majesty," Astellig continued, "my 
friends are visored. This is not to be taken as a gesture of 
disrespect, but is a necessary concealment required by the nature of 
their quest. A foul evil is abroad in the world, and they journey 
with diverse companions to confront it. They each have some eminence 
in the world beyond the shores of our isle, and should they reveal 
their faces, they would instantly be recognized, and the evil one 
they seek would be forewarned of their coming and would seek to 
impede them. Thus it is that their visors must remain closed."


"A reasonable precaution," the king agreed. "Greetings, Sir Knights, 
and well met."


"Thou art kind, your Majesty," Garion said, "and we are grateful to 
thee for thy gracious understanding of our circumstances. Our quest 
is fraught with perilous enchantments, and I


PERIVOR


do fear me that should we reveal our identities, we might well fail, 
and the whole world would suffer as a result.''


' 'I do fully understand, Sir Knight, and I will not press thee for 
further details of thy quest. The walls of any palace have ears, and 
some there are even here who might be in league with the villain thou 
seekest."


"Wisely spoken, my King," a rasping voice said from the back of the 
throne room. "As I myself know full well, the powers of enchanters 
are myriad, and even the prowess of these two brave knights may not 
be sufficient to match them."


Garion turned. The man who had spoken had absolutely white eyes.


' "The wizard of whom I told thee,'' Baron Astellig whispered to 
Garion. "Be wary of him, Sir Knight, for he hath the king in thrall."


"Ah, good Erezel," the king said, his face lighting up, "an it please 
thee, approach the throne. Mayhap in thy wisdom thou mayest advise 
these two questors concerning the possibility of avoiding the perils 
posed by the enchantments certain to be strewn in their path."



"It shall be my pleasure, Lord King," Naradas replied.


"You know who he is, don't you?" Zakath murmured to Garion.


"Yes."


Naradas came down to the throne. "If I may be so bold as to suggest 
it, Sir Knights," he said in an unctuous lone, "a great tourney is 
planned not long hence. Should you not participate, it might arouse 
suspicion in the minions the one you seek hath doubtless placed here. 
My first advice to you, therefore, is that you enter our tourney and 
thus avoid that mischance." • "A most excellent suggestion, Erezel," 
the empty-headed king approved. "Sir Knights, this is Erezel, a great 
wizard and UK closest advisor to our throne. Consider well his words, 
for they have great merit. We will, moreover, be greatly honored to 
have two such mighty men join with us in our forthcoming 
entertainment."


Garion ground his teeth together. With that one innocent-seeming 
suggestion, Naradas had effectively achieved the delay he had been 
seeking for weeks now. There was no way out, however. "We would be 
honored to join with thee and thy val-feuit knights in thy sport, 
your Majesty," he said. "Prithee, when are the games to begin?"


"Ten days hence, Sir Knight."


PERIVOR


145


CHAPTER THIRTEEN


The quarters to which they were escorted were again hauntingly 
familiar. The displaced Arends who had been washed ashore here so 
many centuries ago had, it appeared, lovingly recreated the royal 
palace at Vo Mimbre down to the last1 detail— even including its 
inconveniences. Durnik, ever practical, noticed this immediately. 
"You'd think they'd have taken advantage of the opportunity to 
improve a few things," he observed.


"There's a certain charm in archaism, dear," Polgara said, smiling.


"It's nostalgic, perhaps, Pot, but a few modern touches wouldn't have 
hurt all that much. You have noticed that the baths are located down 
in the cellar, haven't you?"


"There's a point there, Lady Polgara," Velvet agreed.


"It was much more convenient in Mal Zeth," Ce'Nedra concurred. "A 
bath in one's own apartments offers all sorts of opportunities for 
fun and mischief,"


144


Garion's ears turned bright red.


"I seem to be missing the more interesting parts of this 



conversation," Zakath said slyly.


"Never mind," Garion told him shortly.


And then the dressmakers arrived, and Polgara and the other ladies 
were whisked away to engage in that activity which, Gar-ion had 
noticed, always seems to fill the feminine heart with a kind of 
dreamy bliss.


Immediately behind the dressmakers came the tailors, equally bent on 
making everyone look as old-fashioned as possible. Beldin, of course, 
adamantly refused their ministrations, even going so far as to show 
one insistent fellow a gnarled and very large fist to indicate that 
he was perfectly satisfied with the way he looked already.


Garion and Zakath, however, were under the constraint placed upon 
them by the Seeress of Kell, and so they remained buckled up in their 
armor.


When they were finally alone, Belgarath's expression grew grave. "I 
want you two to be careful hi that tournament," he told the armored 
men. "Naradas knows who we are, and he's already managed to delay us. 
He may try to go a little farther." He looked sharply toward the 
door. "Where are you going?" he demanded of Silk.


"I thought I'd nose around a bit," the little thief said innocently. 
"It never hurts to know what you're up against."


"All right, but be careful—and don't let anything slip into your 
pockets by mistake. We're walking on some fairly shaky ground here. 
If someone sees you pilfering, we could all get into a great deal of 
trouble."


"Belgarath," Silk replied in an offended tone, "no one has ever seen 
me steal anything." And then he went out muttering to himself.


"Is he trying to say that he doesn 't steal?" Zakath asked.


"No," Eriond replied. "Only that no one ever sees him doing it." He 
smiled gently. "He has a few bad habits, but we've been trying to 
break him of them.'' It was the first time in quite a while that 
Garion had actually heard his young friend say anything. Eriond had 
grown increasingly reticent—one might even say withdrawn. It was 
troubling. He had always been a •(range boy, and he seemed to be able 
to perceive things that none of the rest of them could. A chill came 
over Garion as he remembered the fateful words of Cyradis at Rheon: 
"Thy quest


146


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


147


will be fraught with great peril, Belgarion, and one of thy 
companions shall lose his life in the course of it."



And then, almost as if his memory had summoned her, the blindfolded 
Seeress of Kell emerged from the room in which the ladies had been 
conferring with their dressmakers. Immediately behind her came 
Ce'Nedra, clad only in a very short chemise. "It's a perfectly 
suitable gown, Cyradis," she was protesting.


"Suitable for thee perhaps, Queen of Riva," the Seeress replied, "but 
such finery is not for me."


"Ce'Nedra!" Garion exclaimed in a shocked gasp. "You're not dressed!"


"Oh, bother that!" she snapped. "Everyone here has seen undressed 
women before. I'm just trying to reason with my mystical young friend 
here. Cyradis, if you don't put on the gown, I'll be very cross with 
you—and we really need to do something with your hair."


The Seeress unerringly took the tiny queen in her arms and embraced 
her fondly. "Dear, dear Ce'Nedra," she said gently, "thy heart is 
larger than thyself, and thy concern doth fill mine as well. I am 
content, however, in this simple garb. Mayhap in time my tastes will 
change, and then will I gladly submit to thy gentle ministrations."


"There's absolutely no talking to her," Ce'Nedra said, throwing her 
arms in the air. Then, with a charming flirt of the hem of her 
chemise, she stormed back into the room from which the two of them 
had emerged.


"You ought to feed her more," Beldin told Garion. "She's really very 
skinny, you know."


'' I sort of like her the way she is," Garion replied. He looked at 
Cyradis. "Will you sit, Holy Seeress?"


"If I may."


"Of course." He waved off Tom's almost instinctive move to aid his 
mistress and guided the girl to a comfortable chair.


"I thank thee, Belgarion," she said. "Thou art as kind as thou art 
brave." She smiled, and it was like the sun coming up. She touched 
one hand to her hair. "Doth this really look so ugly?" she asked.


"It's just fine, Cyradis," he told her. "Ce'Nedra sometimes 
exaggerates, and she has an absolute passion for making people 
over—me, usually."


"And dost thou mind her efforts, Belgarion?"


"I suppose not. I'd probably miss them if she didn't try, at least."


"Thou art caught in the snare of love, King Belgarion. Thou art a 
mighty sorcerer, but methinks thy little queen hath a more powerful 
sorcery yet, for she holds thee in the palm of that tiny band."


"That's true, I suppose, but I don't really mind all that much."


"If this gets any more cloying, I think I'll throw up," Beldin said 



gruffly.
And then Silk returned.
"Anything?" Belgarath asked.
"Naradas beat you to the library. I stopped by there, and the man in 


charge—"
"Librarian," Belgarath corrected absently.
"Whatever. Anyway, he said that as soon as Naradas arrived, he 


ransacked the library.''
"So that's it, then," Belgarath said. "Zandramas isn't on the island. 


She sent Naradas here to do her looking for her, it seems. Is be 
still looking?"
"Apparently not."
"That means he's found it, then."
"And probably destroyed it to keep us from getting a look at ft," 


Beldin added.


"Nay, gentle Beldin," Cyradis said. "The chart ye seek doth still 
exist, but it is not in the place where ye propose to seek.''
"I don't suppose you could give us a few hints?" Belgarath asked her.
*' She shook her head. .. "I didn't think so."
"You said the chart," Befdin said, approaching the subject Obliquely. 


"Does that mean there's only one copy?"
She nodded.
The dwarf shrugged. "Oh, well," he said. "Looking for it gives us 


something to do while we're waiting for our two heroes terete go out 


and start denting other people's armor."
"That brings up a point," Garion said. He looked at Zakath. "Tibu're 
not particularly familiar with the lance, are you?"


"Not really, no."
"Tomorrow morning, then, we'll have to go someplace so feat I can 
give you some instruction."


•"'-"That seems like a sensible plan to me."
148
SEERESS OF KELL
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149

The two of them arose early the following morning and left the palace 
on horseback. "I think we'd better go out of town," Garion said. 
"There's a practice field near the palace, but there'll be other 
knights there. I'm not trying to be offensive, but the first few 
passes are usually very awkward. We're supposed to be great knights, 
so let's not let anybody get the idea mat you're totally inept."


"Thanks," Zakath said dryly.
"Do you enjoy public embarrassment?"
"Not really."
"Let's do it my way, then."
They rode out of the city and to a meadow a few miles away.
"You've got two shields," Zakath noted. "Is that customary?"
' 'The other one is for our opponent. *'
"Opponent?"
"A stump or a tree probably. We need a target." Garion reined in. 


"Now," he began, "we're going to be involved in a formal tournament. 
The idea is not to kill anybody, since that's considered bad form. 
We'll probably be using blunted lances. That helps to keep down the 
fatalities."


"But sometimes people do get killed, don't they?"
"It's not unheard of. The whole purpose of a formal joust is to knock 


the other fellow off his horse. You ride at him and aim your lance at 
the center of his shield.''
"And he does the same thing to me, I suppose."
"Exactly."
"It sounds painful."
"It is. After a few passes, you'll probably be bruised from head to 


hip."
"And they do this for entertainment?"
"Not entirely. It's a form of competition. They do it to find out 


who's the best."
"Now that I can understand."
"I thought the notion might appeal to you."
They buckled the spare shield to a springy lower limb of a cedar 


tree. "That's about the right height," Garion said. "I'll make the 
first couple of passes. Watch very closely. Then you can try."



Garion had become quite proficient with the lance and he hit the 
shield squarely on both passes.


"Why do you stand up at the last second?" Zakath asked him.


"I wasn't actually standing so much as leaning forward. The idea is 
to brace your feet in the stirrups, lean forward, and hold your body 
rigid. That way the weight of the horse is added to your own."


"Clever. Let me try it."


Zakath completely missed the shield on his first attempt. "What did I 
do wrong?'' he asked.


"When you raised up and leaned forward, the point of your lance 
dipped. You have to adjust your point of aim."


"Oh, I see. All right, let me try it again." On the next pass he 
struck the shield a glancing blow that made it spin around the limb. 
"Any better?" he asked.


Garion shook his head. "You'd have killed him. When you hit the top 
of the shield that way, your lance is deflected upward, and it drives 
right into his visor. It breaks his neck."


"I'll try it again."


By noon Zakath had made considerable progress.


"That's enough for today," Garion said. "It's starting to get hot out 
here."


"I'm still all right," Zakath objected.


"I was thinking about your horse."


"Oh. He is lathered a bit, isn't he?"


"More than just a bit. Besides, I'm starting to get hungry."


The day of the tourney dawned clear and sunny, and throngs of the 
citizens of Dal Perivor streamed through the streets in bright-
colored clothing toward the field where the festivities were to take 
place. "A thought just occurred to me," Garion said to Zakath as they 
left the palace. * 'You and I aren't really interested Mr who gets 
proclaimed the winner of the tournament, are we?"


"I don't follow you.''


'-• *"We have something much more important to do, and as-anted 
broken bones would probably hinder us. We make a few ptsses and 
unhorse a few knights and then allow ourselves to get knocked out of 
the saddle. We'll have satisfied the requirements of honor without 
putting ourselves in any serious danger Of injury."


•t "Are you suggesting that we deliberately lose?'' Zakath asked 
Incredulously.

"Approximately, yes." ; "I've never lost a contest of any kind in my 
whole life."


•"You're starting to sound more and more like Mandorallen ." Garion 
sighed.
150


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


151


"Besides," Zakath went on, "I think you're overlooking something. 
We're supposed to be mighty knights embarked on a noble quest. If we 
don't try our very best, Naradas will fill the king's ears with all 
sorts of innuendo and suspicion. If we win, on the other hand, we 
pull his teeth."


"Win?" Garion snorted. "You've learned very quickly in the past week 
or so, but the knights we'll be facing have been practicing all their 
lives. I don't think we're in any real danger of winning."


"A compromise then?" Zakath asked slyly.


"What have you got in mind?"


"If we win the tournament, there's almost nothing the king won't 
grant us, right?"


"That's usually the way it works."


"Wouldn't he be more than happy to let Belgarath have a look at that 
chart? I'm sure he knows where it is—or he can compel Naradas to 
produce it."


"You've got a point there, I suppose."


"You're a sorcerer. You can fix it so that we win, can't you?"


' 'Wouldn't that be cheating?''


"You're very inconsistent, Garion. First you suggest that we 
deliberately fall off our horses, and that's cheating, too, isn't it? 
I'll tell you what, my friend. I'm the Emperor of Mallorea. You have 
my imperial permission to cheat. Now, is there a way you can do it?"


Garion thought about it and then remembered something. "Do you 
remember the time I told you that I had to stop a war in order to get 
Mandorallen and Nerina safely married?"


"Yes?"


"This is how I did it. Most lances break sooner or later. By the time 
this tournament is over, the lists will be ankle-deep in splinters. 
On the day I stopped that war, though, my lance would not break, and 
I sort of surrounded it with pure force. It was very effective. 



Nobody, not even the best knights in all of Mimbre, stayed on his 
horse that day.''


"I thought you said you conjured up a thunderstorm."


"That was a little later. The two armies were facing each other 
across an open field. Not even Mimbrates would charge across a field 
where lightning was blowing big holes in the turf. They're not that 
stupid."


"You've had a remarkable career, my young friend." Zakath laughed.


"I had a bit of fun that day," Garion admitted. "It's not too


often that one man gets to bully two complete armies. I got into a 
great deal of trouble about it later, though. When you tamper with 
the weather, you can't be sure just what the consequences are going 
to be. Belgarath and Beldin spent the next six months running around 
the world quieting things down. Grandfather was very cross when he 
got back. He called me all sorts of names, and 'blockhead' was about 
the mildest."


"You mentioned something called 'lists.' What are they?"


"They sink posts into the ground and fasten a long, heavy pole to die 
tops of them. The pole is about shoulder high on a horse. The knights 
who are jousting ride toward each other on opposite sides of the 
pole. I think the idea is to keep the horses from running into each 
other. Good horses are expensive. Oh, that reminds me of something 
else. We're going to have a certain advantage in this anyway. Our 
horses are quite a bit bigger and stronger than the local ones.''


"That's true, isn't it? I'll still feel more comfortable if you 
cheat, though."


"I probably will, too. If we were to do it legitimately, we'd still 
pick up so many bruises that neither one of us would be able to get 
out of bed for a week, and weVe got an appointment—if we can ever 
find out where it's supposed to take place.''


The tournament field was gaily decorated with bright-colored buntings 
and flapping pennons. A stand had been erected for the king, the 
ladies of the court, and members of the gentry too old to participate 
on the field. The commoners stood on the far side of the lists, 
watching avidly. A pair of gaily dressed jugglers was entertaining 
the crowd while the knights made their preparations. Brightly striped 
pavilions stood at either end of the lists-places for knights to have 
their armor repaired and places where the injured could suffer out of 
sight, since watching people groaning and writhing tends to dampen an 
otherwise enjoyable afternoon.


"I'll be right back," Garion told his friend. "I want to talk with 
Grandfather for a moment." He dismounted and crossed the bright-green 
turf to the end of the stand where Belgarath sat. The old man was 
wearing a snowy white robe and a disgruntled expression.


"Elegant," Garion said.



"It's somebody's idea of a joke," Belgarath said.
"Your obvious antiquity shines in your face, old friend," Silk said 


impudently from just behind him. "People instinctively want to make 
you as dignified-looking as possible."
152
SEERESS OF KELL
PERIVOR
153
"Do you mind? What is it, Garion?"
"Zakath and I are going to cheat a little. If we win, the king will 


grant us a boon—like letting you look at that chart."
"That might actually work, you know."
"How do you cheat in a tournament?" Silk asked.
"There are ways."
"Are you sure you'll win?"
"I can almost guarantee it."
Silk jumped to his feet.
"Where are you going?" Bdgarath demanded.
"I want to lay a few wagers." And the little man scurried off.
"He never changes," Belgarath observed.
"One thing, though. Naradas is here. He's a Grolim, so he'll know 


what we're doing. Please, Grandfather, keep him off my neck. I don't 


want him tampering with what I'm doing at some crucial moment.''
"I'll handle him," Belgarath said bleakly. "Go out there and do your 
best, but be careful.''


"Yes, Grandfather." Garion turned and went back to where Zakath 


waited with their horses.
"We'll stand in the second or third rank," Garion said. "It's 
customary to let the winners of previous tournaments joust first. It 
makes us look properly modest, and it'll give you a chance to see how 
to approach the lists." He looked around. "We'll have to surrender 
our lances before we joust; and they'll give us each one of those 
blunted ones from that rack over there. I'll take care of them as 
soon as we get our hands on them."


"You're a devious young man, Garion. What's Kheldar doing? He's 
running through those stands like a pickpocket hard at work."



"As soon as he heard what we're planning, he went out to place a few 


wagers."
Zakath suddenly burst out laughing. "I wish I'd known. I'd have given 
him some money to wager for me, as well.''


"Getting it back from him might have been a little difficult, 


though."
Their friend, Baron Astellig, was unhorsed on the second pass. "Is he 
all right?" Zakath asked with concern.


"He's still moving," Garion said. "He probably just broke one of his 


legs."
"At least we won't have to fight him. I hate hurting friends. Of 
course, I don't have all that many friends."


"You probably have more than you realize."


After the third pass of the front rank, Zakath said, "Garion, have 
you ever studied fencing?"
"Alorns don't use light swords, Zakath. Except for the Al-gars."
"I know, but the theory is similar. If you twist your wrist or elbow 


at the last instant, you could knock your opponent's lance aside. 
Then you could correct your aim and smash into the center of his 
shield when his lance is completely out of position. He wouldn't have 
a chance at that point, would he?"


Garion considered it. "It's highly unorthodox," he said dubiously.
"So's using sorcery, isn't it? Would it work?"
"Zakath, you're using a fifteen-foot lance, and it weighs about two 


pounds a foot. You'd need arms like a gorilla to move it around that 


fast.''
"Not really. You don't really have to move it that far back and 
forth. Just a tap would do. Can I try it?"


"It's your idea. I'll be here to pick you up if it doesn't work."


"I knew I could count on you." Zakath's voice sounded excited—even 
boyish.
"Oh, Gods," Garion murmured almost in despair.
"Anything wrong?" Zakath asked.
"No, I guess not. Go ahead and try it, if you feel that you have to."
"What difference does it make? I can't get hurt, can I?"
"I wouldn't go entirely that far. Do you see that?" Garion pointed at 


a knight who had just been unhorsed and had come down on his back 
across the center pole of the lists, scattering bits and pieces of 



his armor in all directions.


"He's not really hurt, is he?"


',. "He's still moving—a little bit—but they'll need a blacksmith fo 
get him out of his armor before the physicians can go to work On 
him." ... "I still mink it might work," Zakath said stubbornly.


"We'll give you a splendid funeral if it doesn't. All right. It's our 
turn. Let's go get our lances."


The blunted lances were padded at the tip with layer upon layer of 
woolly sheepskin tightly wrapped in canvas. The result was a round 
padded ball that looked totally humane, but which Garion knew would 
hurl a man from his saddle with terrific force, and it was not the 
impact-of the lance that broke bones, Other ft was the violent 
contact with the ground. He was a bit


SEERESS OF KELL


distracted at the point when he began to focus his will, and so the 
best word he could come up with as a release for that will was "Make 
it that way." He was not entirely positive that it worked exactly as 
he had planned. His first opponent was hurled from his saddle at a 
point some five feet before Garion's lance touched his shield. Garion 
adjusted the aura of force around their lances. Zakath's technique, 
Garion saw with some surprise, worked flawlessly. A single, almost 
unnoticeable, twist of his forearm deflected his opponent's lance, 
and then his own blunted lance smashed directly into the center of 
the knight's shield. A man hurled forcefully from the back of a 
charging horse flies through the air for quite some distance, Garion 
noticed, and the crash when he hits the ground sounds much like that 
which might come from a collapsing smithy. Both their opponents were 
carried senseless from the field.


It was a bad day for the pride of Perivor. As their experience with 
their enhanced weapons increased, the Rivan King and the Emperor of 
Mallorea quite literally romped through the ranks of the steel-clad 
knights of Perivor, filling the dispensaries with row upon row of 
groaning injured. It was more than a rout. It soon reached disastrous 
proportions. At last, with even their unthinking Mimbrate heritage 
sobered by the realization that they were facing an invincible pair, 
the knights of Perivor gathered and took counsel with each other. And 
then, en masse, they yielded.


"What a shame," Zakath said regretfully. "I was starting to enjoy 
this."


Garion decided to ignore that.


As the two started back toward the stands to make the customary 
salute to the king, white-eyed Naradas came forward with an oily 
smile. "Congratulations, Sir Knights," he said. "Ye are men of great 
prowess and extraordinary skill. Ye have won the field and the 
laurels of the day. Mayhap ye have heard of the great prize of honor 
and glory that is to be bestowed upon the champions of this field?"



"No," Garion said flatly. "I can't say that we have."


' 'Ye have contested this day for the honor of subduing a troublesome 
beast that betimes hath disturbed the peace of our fair kingdom."
"What kind of beast?" Garion asked suspiciously.
"Why, a dragon, of course, Sir Knight."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"He's tricked us again, hasn't he?" Beldin growled when they had 


returned to their quarters following the tourney. "White-eyes is 


beginning to irritate me just a bit. I think I'll take some steps."
"Too noisy," Belgarath told him, "The people here are not entirely 
Mimbrate." He turned to Cyradis. "There's a certain sound sorcery 
makes," he said.


"Yes," she replied. "I know."
"Can vow hear it?"
She nodded.
"Are there other Dais here on the island who can hear it, as well?" . 


"Yes, Ancient Belgarath."


"How about these counterfeit Mimbrates? They're at least half Dal. Is 
it possible that some of them might be able to hear it, too?"
155
156
SEERESS OF KELL
PERIVOR
157
"Entirely so."
"Grandfather," Garion said in a worried tone, "that means that half 


the people in Dal Perivor heard what I did to the lances."
"Not over the noise of the crowd, they didn't."
"I didn't know that would make a difference."
"Of course it does."
"Well," Silk said grimly, "I won't use sorcery, and I can guarantee 


that there won't be any noise."
"But there will be a certain amount of evidence, Kheldar," Sadi 
pointed out, "and since we're the only strangers in the palace, there 



might be some embarrassing questions if they find Naradas with one of 
your daggers sticking out of his back. Why don't you let me handle 
it? I can make things look much more natural."


"You're talking about cold-blooded murder, Sadi," Durnik accused.


"I appreciate your sensibilities, Goodman Durnik," the eunuch 
replied, "but Naradas has already tricked us twice and, each time he 
does, he delays us that much more. We have to get him out of the 
way.''


"He's right, Durnik," Belgarath said.


"Zith?" Velvet suggested to Sadi.


He shook his head. "She won't leave her babies—not even for the 
pleasure of biting someone. I have a few other things that are just 
as effective. They're not quite as fast perhaps, but they get the job 
done."


"Zakath and I still have to come up against Zandramas," Garion said 
glumly, "and this tune we'll have to do it alone— because of that 
stupid tournament."


"It won't be Zandramas," Velvet told him. "Ce'Nedra and I spoke with 
some of the young ladies here at court while you two were out there 
being magnificent. They told us that this 'fearsome beast' has been 
showing up from time to time for centuries now, and Zandramas has 
only been active for a dozen years, hasn't she? I really think the 
dragon you'll be fighting will be the real one."


"I'm not so sure, Liselle," Polgara disagreed. "Zandramas can take 
the form of that dragon at any time. If the real one is asleep in her 
lair, it could very well be Zandramas who's been out there 
terrorizing the countryside this time—all as a part of the scheme to 
force a confrontation before we get to the place of the meeting."


"I'll know which it is as soon as I get a look at it," Garion said.


"How?" Zakath asked him.


"The first time we met, I cut off about four feet of her tail. If the 
one we run into out there has a stub tail, we'll know it's 
Zandramas."


' 'Do we really have to go to this celebration tonight? *' Beldin 
asked.


"It's expected, uncle," Aunt Pol told him.


"But I haven't got a single solitary thing to wear, don't y' know," 
he said roguishly, lapsing back into Feldegast's brogue.


"We'll take care of you, uncle," she said ominously.


The affair that evening had been weeks in the planning. It was the 
grand finale of the tournament, and it involved dancing—in which 
Garion and Zakath, still in armor, could not participate. It involved 



a banquet—which, visored, they could not eat. And it involved a great 
many flowery toasts to' 'these mighty champions, who have lent luster 
to our remote isle by their presence here," as the nobles in the 
court of King Oldorin vied with one another to heap extravagant 
praise on Garion and Zakath.


"How long is this likely to go on?" Zakath muttered to Gar-ion.


"Hours."


"I was afraid you might say that. Here come the ladies."


Polgara, flanked by Ce'Nedra and Velvet, entered the throne room 
almost as if she owned it. Cyradis, strangely—or perhaps not—was not 
with them. Polgara, as usual, was gowned in royal-blue velvet trimmed 
with silver. She looked magnificent. Ce'Nedra wore a cream-colored 
gown much like her wedding dress, although the seed pearls that had 
adorned her nuptial gown were missing. Her wealth of copper-colored 
hair spilled down in curls over one shoulder. Velvet was gowned in 
lavender satin. Any number of the young knights of Perivor—those who 
could still walk after the day's entertainment—were hopelessly 
smitten by the sight of her.


"Time fbrsome obscure introductions, Ithink," Garion muttered to 
Zakath. Pleading the necessity for anonymity, the ladies had remained 
in their quarters since their arrival. Garion stepped forward and 
escorted them to the throne. "Your Majesty," he ); said to King 
Oldorin, bowing slightly, ' 'though I may not, by , • reason or our 
need for concealment, tell thee in fulsome detail : of their lands of 
origin, it would be discourteous of me—to both ; thee and to the 
ladies themselves—not to present them. I have


SEERESS OF KELL


the honor to present her Grace, the Duchess of Erat.'' That was safe. 
Nobody on this side of the world would have the faintest idea where 
Erat was.


Polgara curtsied with exquisite grace. "Your Majesty," she greeted 
the king in her rich voice.


He rose to his feet with alacrity. "Your Grace," he replied with a 
deep bow. "Thy presence here illuminates our poor palace."


"And, your Majesty," Garion went on, "her Highness, Princess Xera." 
Ce'Nedra stared at him. "Your real name might be too well known," he 
whispered to her.


Ce'Nedra recovered instantly. "Your Majesty," she said with a curtsy 
every bit as graceful as Polgara's. After all, a girl can't grow up 
in an imperial court without learning a few things.


"YourHighness," the king responded. "Thy beauty doth rob my poor 
tongue of speech."


"Isn't he nice?" Ce'Nedra murmured.



"And lastly, your Majesty," Garion concluded, "but certainly not the 
least, the Margravine of Tuna," he introduced Velvet, making the name 
up on the spur of the moment.


Velvet curtsied. "Your Majesty," she said. When she straightened, she 
was smiling, leveling the full impact of her dimples upon him.


"My Lady—" The king faltered, bowing once again "—thy smile doth stop 
my heart." He looked around, a bit puzzled. "Methinks I do remember 
another lady among thy companions, Sir Knight," he said to Garion.


"A poor blind girl, your Majesty," Polgara interceded, "who hath but 
recently joined us. Courtly entertainments, I fear, would be lost on 
one who lives in darkness perpetual. She is in the care of the 
enormous man in our company, one of her family *s faithful retainers, 
who hath guided and protected her since the melancholy occasion when 
the light of day forever vanished from her eyes."


Two great tears of sympathy trickled down the king's cheeks. Arends, 
even transplanted ones, were, after all, an emotional people.


Then Garion's other companions entered, and Garion was glad that his 
visor hid his grin. Beldin's face was like a thundercloud. His hair 
and beard had been washed and combed, and he wore a blue robe not 
unlike Belgarath's white one. Garion proceeded with a group of 
introductions as fraudulent as the previous ones, concluding with, 
"And this, your Majesty, is


PERTVOR


Master Feldegast, a supremely talented jester, whose rare japes do 
lighten the weary miles for us all."


Beldin scowled at him and then made a cursory bow. "Ah, yer Majesty, 
'tis overwhelmed I am by the splendor of yer city an' yer magnificent 
palace here. 'Tis a match fer Tol Honeth, Mal Zeth, an' Melcene—all 
of which places I have seen in th' plyin' of me trade an' 
demonstratin' me unspeakable talents, don't y' know."


The king was grinning broadly. "Master Feldegast," he said, inclining 
his head. "In a world full of sorrow, such men as thou art rare and 
precious."


"Ah, isn't it grand of y't* say it, yer Majesty?"


Then, with the formalities over, Garion and the others drifted away 
to mingle. A determined-looking young lady advanced on .Garion and 
Zakath. "You are the greatest knights on life, my Lords," she greeted 
them with a curtsy, "and the exalted stations of your companions do 
proclaim louder than words that ye are both men of high, mayhap even 
royal, rank." She gave Garion a smoldering look. "Art thou perchance 
betrothed, Sir Knight?" she asked.


Another one of those repetitions, Garion groaned inwardly. "Married, 
my Lady," he replied. This time he knew how to deal with the 



situation.


"Ah," she said, her eyes clearly disappointed. Then she filmed to 
Zakath. "And thou, my Lord?" she asked. "Art thou espoused, as 
well—or betrothed, perchance?"


"Nay, my Lady," Zakath answered, sounding puzzled.


Her eyes brightened.


Garion stepped in at that point. "It is time, my friend, for thee to 
consume yet another draft of that admittedly foul-tasting potion."


"Potion?" Zakath asked in a baffled voice.


Garion sighed. "Thy malady worsens, I perceive," he said, feigning a 
sorrowful voice. "This forgetfulness of thine is, I fear me, a 
precursor of the more violent symptoms that will inevitably ensue. 
Pray to all seven Gods that we may conclude our quest ere the 
hereditary madness, the curse of thy family, o'erwhelms thee quite."


The determined-looking young lady backed away, her eyes wide with 
fright.


"What ore you talking about, Garion?" Zakath muttered.


"IVe been through this before. The girl was looking for a husband."


160


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


161


"That's absurd."


"Not to her, it wasn't."


And then the dancing started. Garion and Zakath drew off to one side 
to watch. "It's a silly pastime, isn't it?" Zakath observed. "I've 
never known why any sane man would choose to waste tune on it."


"Because the ladies love to dance," Garion told him. "IVe never met 
one who didn't. It's in their blood, I think." He looked toward the 
throne and saw that King Oldorin was unoccupied at the moment. He sat 
smiling and tapping his foot in time to the music. "Let's find 
Belgarath and go talk with the king. This might be a good time to ask 
about that chart."


Belgarath was leaning against one of the buttresses, watching the 
dancers with a slightly bored look on his face. "Grandfather," Garion 
said to him, "nobody's talking to the king right now. Why don't we go 
ask him about that map?"


"Good idea. This party's likely to last well into the night, so there 
won't be much chance for a private audience.''



They approached the throne and bowed. "Might we have a word with 
thee, your Majesty?" Garion asked.


"Of course, Sir Knight. Thou and thy companion are my champions, and 
it would be churlish of me indeed not to lend an ear to thee. What is 
this matter that concerns thee?"


"It is but a small thing, your Majesty. Master Garath here—" Garion 
had dropped the "Bel" in making the introduction "—as I told thee 
earlier, is mine eldest advisor and he hath guided my steps since 
earliest childhood. In addition, he is a scholar of some note and 
hath recently turned his attention to the study of geography. There 
hath been a long-standing dispute among geographers concerning the 
configuration of the world of antiquity. By purest chance, Master 
Garath happened to hear of an ancient chart that, his informant 
assured him, is kept here in the palace in Dal Perivor. Beset by 
raging curiosity, Master Garath hath implored me to inquire of thee 
if thou knowest if such a chart doth indeed exist, and if perchance 
thou dost, if thou wilt give him permission to peruse it."


"Indeed, Master Garath," the king said, "I do assure thee that thine 
informant was not in error. The chart thou seekest is one of our most 
prized relics, for it is the selfsame chart that guided our ancestors 
to the shores of this isle eons ago. As soon as we have leisure, I 
will be most happy to provide thee access to it in furtherance of thy 
studies."


Then Naradas stepped from behind the purple drape at the


back of the throne. "There will be, I fear me, scant time for Studies 
for some while, your Majesty," he said, sounding just a bit smug. ' 
'Forgive me, my King, but I chanced to overhear thy last remark as I 
was hurrying to bring thee perhaps distressing news. A messenger hath 
arrived from the east advising that the foul dragon doth even now 
ravage the village of Dal Esta not three leagues from here. The beast 
is unpredictable in its depredations and may lurk in the forest for 
days ere it emerge again. It well may be that this tragic occurrence 
is to our advantage. Now is the time to strike. What better 
opportunity than this for our two brave champions to sally forth and 
rid us of this nuisance? And I do perceive that these powerful 
knights do rely heavily upon the advice of this ancient man, and it 
is fitting therefore that he should accompany them to guide their 
strategy."


"Well spoken, Erezel," the silly king agreed enthusiastically. "I had 
feared me that flushing the beast from hiding might have consumed 
weeks. Now it is accomplished in the space of a single night. Venture 
forth then, my champions and Master Garath. Rid my kingdom of this 
dragon, and no boon ye ask shall be denied thee."


"Thy happy discovery was timely, Master Erezel," Belgarath said. The 
words were bland, but Garion knew his grandfather well enough to 
recognize their implication. "As his Majesty hath said, thou hast 
saved us much time this night. As soon as I have leisure, I will 
think of some way to thank thee properly."


Naradas shrank back slightly, his face apprehensive. "No thanks are 



necessary, Master Garath," he said. "I did no more than my duty to my 


king and his realm."
"Ah, yes," Belgarath said, "duty. We all have many duties, don't we? 
Commend me to the Child of Dark when next thou prayest to her. Advise 
her that, as is foreordained, we shall meet anon."


Then he turned and, with Garion and Zakath close behind him, he 
strode out among the dancers and left the throne room. So long as he 
had been in the presence of strangers, the old man's expression had 
been neutral. Once they reached the deserted corridor, however, he 
began to swear savagely. "I was right on the verge of getting my 
hands on that chart,'' he fumed. "Naradas has done it to me again."


"Should I go back and get the others?" Garion asked.


"No. They'd all want to go along, and that'd only start an argument. 
We'll leave a note."
162
SEERESS OF KELL
PERIVOR
163
"Again?"
"These repetitions are cropping up more and more regularly,
aren't they?"
"Let's hope Aunt Pol doesn't react the same way this time."
"What are you two talking about?" Zakath asked.
"Silk, Grandfather, and I slipped out of Riva when we went
to meet Torak," GaVion explained. "We left a note, but Aunt
Pol didn't take it too well. As I understand it, there was a lot of
swearing and a number of explosions.''
"Lady Polgara? She's the very soul of gentility."
"Don't be deceived, Zakath," Belgarath told him. "Pol's got
a vile temper when things don't go the way she wants them to
go."
"It must be a family trait," Zakath said blandly. ' 'Are you trying 


to be funny? You two go down to the stables. Tell the grooms to 
saddle, our horses and find out where this village is. I want to talk 
with Cyradis a moment b'efore we leave. I'm going to get some 
straight answers out of that girl. I'll join you in the courtyard in 



a few minutes."


It was perhaps ten minutes later when they mounted. Garion and Zakath 
took their lances from the rack at the stable wall, and then the 
three of them rode out of the palace compound. "Any luck with 
Cyradis?" Garion asked Belgarath.


' 'Some. She told me that the dragon out there is not Zandra-mas."


"It's the real one then?"


"Probably. She got cryptic on me then, though. She said that there's 
some other spirit influencing the dragon. That means you'll both have 
to be very careful. The dragon's very stupid normally, but if some 
spirit's guiding her, she might be a bit more perceptive."


A shadow slunk from a dark side street. It was the she-wolf. "How is 
it with you, little sister?" Garion greeted her formally. At the last 
instant, he avoided calling her "Grandmother. ''


"One is content," she replied. "You go to hunt. One will


accompany you."


"One must advise you that the creature we seek is not fit for


eating."


"One does not hunt only to eat." "We will be glad of your company 
then." "What did she say?" Zakath asked. ' 'She wants to go along.''


"Did you warn her that it's going to be dangerous?"


"I think she already knows."


"It's up to her." Belgarath shrugged. "Trying to tell a wolf what to 
do is an exercise in futility."


They passed out through the city gate and took the road to which one 
of the grooms had directed Garion. "He said it's about eight miles," 
Garion said.


Belgarath squinted up at the night sky. "Good," he said, "there's a 
full moon. Let's try a gallop until we get to about a mile from that 
village."


"How will we know when we're that close?" Zakath asked.


"We'll know," Belgarath replied bleakly. "There'll be all kinds of 
fire.''


"They don't really breathe fire, do they?"


"Yes, as a matter of fact, they do. You're both wearing armor, so 
that makes it a little safer. Her sides and belly are a bit softer 
than her back. Try to get your lances into her, then finish her off 
with your swords. Let's not drag this out. I want to get back to the 
palace and get my hands on that map. Let's ride."



It was about an hour later when they saw the red glow of fire just 
ahead. Belgarath reined in. "Let's go carefully," he said. "We'll 
want to pinpoint her location before we go charging in there."


"One wil! go look," the she-wolf said, and loped off into the 
darkness.


"I'm glad she came along," Belgarath said. "For some reason it's 
comforting to have her around."


Garion's visor concealed his smile.


The village of Dal Esta was perched on a hilltop, and they could see 
the sooty red flames shooting up out of burning bams and houses. They 
rode up the hill a ways and found the wolf waiting for them. "One has 
seen the creature we seek," she advised. "It is feeding just now on 
the other side of that hill where the dens of the man-things are."


"What's it feeding on?" Garion asked apprehensively. • "A beast 
such as the one upon which you sit."


"Well?" Zakath asked.


"The dragon's on the other side of the village," Belgarath told him. 
"She's eating a horse just now."


"A horse*! Belgarath, this isn't a good time for surprises. Just how 
big is that thing?''


*' About the size of a house—that's not counting the wings, of 
course."


164


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


165


Zakath swallowed hard. "Could we perhaps reconsider this? I haven't 
taken much joy in my life until recently. I 'd sort of like to savor 
it a little longer."


"I'm afraid we're committed now," Garion told him. "She doesn't fly 
very fast, and it takes her quite a while to get off the ground. If 
we can surprise her while she's eating, we might be able to kill her 
before she attacks."


They rode carefully around the hill, noting the trampled crops and 
the carcasses of half-eaten cows. There were a few other dead things, 
as well—things at which Garion carefully avoided


looking.


And then they saw it. "Torak's teeth!" Zakath swore. "It's



bigger than an elephant!''


The dragon was holding down the carcass of a horse with its front 
claws, and she was not so much feeding as she was ravening.


"Give it a try," Belgarath said. "She's usually a bit unwary when 
she's eating. Be careful, though. Get clear of her as soon as you 
sink your lances into her. And don't let your horses go down. She'll 
kill them if they do, and a man on foot is at a serious disadvantage 
when he's fighting a dragon. Our little sister and I will slip around 
to the rear and attack her tail. She's sensitive there, and a few 
bites might distract her." He dismounted, walked some distance away 
from the horses, and blurred into the shape of the great silver wolf. 
"That still unnerves me," Zakath admitted. Garion had been looking 
carefully at the feedilig dragon. "Notice that she has her wings 
raised," he said quietly. "With her head down like that, they block 
her vision toward the rear. You go around to that side, and I'll go 
to this one. When we both get into position, I'll whistle. That's 
when we'll charge. Go in as fast as you can and try to stay behind 
that upraised wing. Sink your lance as deep into her as you can and 
leave it stuck in. A couple of lances hanging out of her should 
impede her movements a bit. Once you get the lance in, wheel and get


out of there."


"You're awfully cold-blooded about this, Garion."


"In this kind of situation you almost have to be. If you stop to 
think about it, you'll never do it. This isn't the most rational 
thing weVe ever done, you know. Good luck."


"You, too."


They separated and moved out slowly at some distance from the feeding 
dragon until they had flanked her on either side.


Zakath dipped his lance twice to indicate that he was in position. 
Garion drew in a deep breath. He noticed that his hands were shaking 
slightly. He shook off all thought and concentrated on a spot just 
behind the dragon's front shoulder. Then he whistled shrilly.


They charged.


As far as it went, Canon's strategy worked quite well. The dragon's 
scaly hide, however, was much tougher than he had expected, and their 
lances did not penetrate as deeply as he might have wished. He 
wheeled Chretienne and rode away at a dead run.


The dragon shrieked, belching fire, and she tried to turn toward 
Garion. As he had hoped, the lances protruding from her sides impeded 
her movements. Then Belgarath and the she-wolf darted in, savagely 
biting and tearing at the scaly tail. Desperately the dragon began to 
flap her saillike wings. She rose ponderously into the air, 
screeching and belching out fire.


"She's getting away!" Garion threw the thought at his grandfather.


' 'She 'II be back. She's a very vindictive beast.''



Garion rode past the dead horse and rejoined Zakath.


"The wounds we inflicted are probably mortal, aren't they?" the 
Mallorean said hopefully.


"I wouldn't count on it," Garion replied. "We didn't get the lances 
in deep enough, I'm afraid. We should have backed off another hundred 
yards to pick up more momentum. Grandfather says that we can expect 
her back."


"Garion," Belgarath's voice sounded in his mind, "I'm going to do 
something. Tell Zakath not to panic.''


"Zakath," Garion said, "Grandfather's going to use sorcery of some 
kind. Don't get excited."


"What's he going to do?"


"I don't know. He didn't tell me." Then Garion felt the familiar 
surge and rush of sound. The air around them turned a pale azure.


"Colorful," Zakath said. "What's it supposed to do?" His voice 
sounded nervous.


.Belgarath came padding out of the darkness.' 'Good enough," - he 
said in the language of wolves.


"What is it?" Garion asked.


"It's a kind of a shield. It'll protect you from the fire—at least 
partially. The armor should take care of the rest. You might get


166


SEERESS OF KELL


PERFVOR


167


singed a bit, but the fire won't really hurt you. Don't get too 
brave, though. She still has claws and fangs."


"It's a shield of sorts," Garion told Zakath. "It should help to 
protect us from the flame."


Then from off to the east there was a scream and a sooty belch of 
fire up in the sky. "Get ready!" Garion said sharply. "She's coming 
back!" Cautioning the Orb to behave itself, he drew Iron-grip's 
sword. Zakath also pulled his broadsword from its sheath with a 
steely hiss. "Spread out," Garion said. "Get far enough away so that 
she can attack only one of us at a time. If she comes at you, I'll 
attack her from behind. If she comes at me, you do the same. If you 
can manage it, try for her tail. She goes all to pieces when somebody 
attacks that. She'll try to turn around to protect it. Then whichever 
one of us is in front of her might be able to get a clear swing at 
her neck.''



"Right," Zakath said.


They fanned out again, tensely awaiting the dragon's attack.


Their lances, Garion saw, had been bitten off, leaving only short 
stumps protruding from the dragon's sides. It was upon Zakath that 
she fell, and the force of her strike knocked him out of his saddle. 
He floundered, trying to get to his feet as the dragon bathed him in 
flames.


Again and again he struggled, trying to get up, but he instinctively 
flinched back from each billow of flame, and the dragon's raking 
talons dug at him, making it impossible for him to regain his feet. 
Snakelike, the dragon's head darted forward, her cruel fangs 
screeching across his armor.


Garion discarded his strategy at that point. His friend needed 
immediate protection. He leaped from his saddle to run to Zak-ath's 
aid. "I need some fire!" he barked at the Orb, and his sword 
immediately burst into bright-blue flame. He knew that Torak had made 
the dragon invincible to common sorcery on the day he had created 
her, but he hoped that she might not be immune to the power of the 
Orb. He stepped in front of Zakath's struggling body and drove the 
dragon back with great, two-handed strokes. Iron-grip's sword sizzled 
each time it bit into her face, and she shrieked in pain with every 
stroke. She did not, however, flee.


"Get up!" Garion shouted to Zakath. "Get on your feet!" Behind him he 
could hear the rattling of Zakath's armor as the Mallorean struggled 
to rise. Suddenly ignoring the pain Garion's blows were causing her, 
the dragon clawed at him with her talons, knocking him off balance. 
He stumbled backward and


fell on top of Zakath. The dragon shrieked in triumph and lunged in. 
Desperately Garion stabbed with his sword, and with a great, sizzling 
hiss, her bulging left eyeball collapsed. Even as he struggled to get 
back up again, a strange notion came to Garion. It was the same eye. 
Torak's left eye had been destroyed by the power of the Orb, and now 
the same thing had happened to the dragon. Despite the dreadful 
danger they were in, Garion was suddenly certain that they would win.


The dragon had fallen back, bellowing in pain and rage. Gar-ion took 
advantage of that. He scrambled to his feet and yanked Zakath up. 
"Get around to her left side!" he barked. "She's blind on that side 
now! I '11 keep her attention! You swing at her neck!"


They separated, moving fast to get into position before the dragon 
could recover. Garion swung his great, blazing sword as hard as he 
could and opened a huge wound across the dragon's snout. The blood 
spurted out, drenching his armor, and the dragon answered his blow 
with a billow of flame that engulfed him. He ignored the fire and 
drove in, swinging stroke after stroke at her face. He could see 
Zakath directing two-handed blows at the snakelike neck, but the 
heavy, overlapping scales defeated his best efforts. Garion continued 
his attack with the burning sword. The half-blinded dragon clawed at 
him, and he struck at the scaly forepaw, half severing it. Injured 
now almost beyond endurance, the dragon began a grudging, step-by-



step retreat.


"Keep on her!" Garion shouted to Zakath. "Don't give her time to set 
herself again!''


Grimly the pair drove the hideous beast back and back, alternating 
their blows. When Garion struck, the dragon turned her head to bathe 
him in fire. Then Zakath would swing at the unprotected back of her 
head. She would swivel her head to meet his attack, and then Garion 
would strike at her. Confused and frustrated by this deadly tactic, 
the dragon helplessly swung her head back and forth, her fumacelike 
breath singeing bushes and turf more often than it did her attackers. 
Finally, driven beyond her ability to bear the pain, she began to 
desperately flap her saillike wings, clumsily attempting to rise from 
the earth.


"Don't let up!" Garion called. "Keep pushing her!" They continued 
their savage attack. "Try to get her wings!" Garion yelled. "Don't 
let her get away!"


They switched their attack to the batlike wings, desperately striving 
to cripple the dragon's final option, but her armored


SEERESS OF KELL


skin defeated their purpose. Ponderously she rose into the air, and 
still shrieking, belching flame, and streaming blood from her many 
wounds, she flew off toward the east.


Belgarath had resumed his own form and he strode up to them, his face 
livid with rage. "Are you two insane?" he almost screamed at them. "I 
told you to be careful!"


"Things got a little out of hand there, Belgarath," Zakath panted. * 
'We didn't have much choice in the matter. *' He looked at the Rivan 
King. "You saved my life again, Garion," he said. "You're starting to 
make a habit of that."


"It sort of seemed like the thing to do," Garion replied, sinking 
exhausted to the ground. "We're still going to have to chase her 
down, though. If we don't, she'll only come back."


"One does not think so," the she-wolf said. "One has had much 
experience with wounded beasts. You poked sticks into her, put out 
her eye, and cut her face and forepaw with fire. She will return to 
her den and remain there until she heals—or dies.''


Garion quickly translated for Zakath.


"It presents a problem, though," the emperor of Mallorea said 
dubiously. "How are we going to persuade the king that we've driven 
her off for good? If we'd have killed her, we'd have no further 
obligation, but the king—with Naradas prompting him—might very well 
insist that we stay here until he's sure she's not coming back."


Belgarath was frowning. "I think Cyradis was right," he said. "The 



dragon wasn't behaving exactly right. Each time Garion hit her with 
that burning sword, she flinched momentarily."


"Wouldn't you have?" Zakath asked him.


"This is a little different. The dragon herself wouldn't even feel 
fire. She was being directed by something—something that the Orb can 
injure. I'll talk it over with Beldin when we get back. As soon as 
you two get your breath, we'll round up the horses. I want to get 
back to Dal Perivor and have a look at that map."


CHAPTER FIFTEEN


It was nearly dawn by the time they returned to the palace, and to 
their surprise, they found nearly everyone awake. A ripple of gasps 
ran through the throne room as Garion and Zak-ath entered. Garion's 
armor was scorched and red with the dragon's blood; Zakath's surcoat 
was charred, and great fang marks scarred one side of his 
breastplate. The condition of their armor gave mute testimony to the 
seriousness of the encounter.


"My glorious champions!" the king exulted as they entered me throne 
room. It appeared to Garion at first that the king was leaping to a 
conclusion—that because they had returned alive, they had succeeded 
in killing the dragon. . "In all the years that this foul beast hath 
been ravaging this realm," the king said, however, "this is the first 
time anyone hath forced it to flee." Then, noting Belgarath's puzzled 
look, he elaborated. "Not two hours ago, we observed the dragon 
flying over the city, shrieking in pain and fright.''


169


170


SEERESS OF KELL


"Which way did it go, your Majesty?" Garion asked. "It was last seen 
flying out to sea, Sir Knight, and, as all men know, its lair lies 
somewhere to the west. The chastisement thou and thy valiant 
companion administered hath driven it from the realm. Doubtless it 
will seek shelter in its lair and lick its wounds there. Now, an it 
please ye, our ears hunger for an account of what transpired."


"Let me," Belgarath muttered. He stepped forward. "Thy two champions, 
your Majesty, are modest men, as befits their nobility. They would, I 
do fear me, be reticent in their description of their exploit out of 
a desire not to appear boastful. Better, perhaps, that I describe the 
encounter for them so that your Majesty and the members of thy court 
receive a truer version of what actually occurred."


"Well said, Master Garath," the king replied. "True humility is the 
crown of any man of noble birth, but it doth, as thou sayest, 
ofttimes obscure the truth of an encounter such as this knight hath 
witnessed. Say on, I pray thee."


"Where to begin?" Belgarath mused. "Ah, well. As your Majesty 
knoweth, Master Erezel's timely warning that the dragon was ravaging 
the village of Dal Esta came not a moment too soon. Directly upon our 



departure from this very hall, we took to horse and rode posthaste to 
the aforementioned village. Great fires burned there, graphic 
evidence of the dragon's fiery breath, and cattle and many of the 
inhabitants had already been slain and partially consumed by the 
beast—for whom all flesh is food."


"Piteous." The king sighed.


"His commiseration is all very pretty," Zakath murmured to Garion, 
"but I wonder if he'll be willing to dip into his treasury to aid the 
villagers in the reconstruction of their homes."


' 'You mean actually to give back some of the taxes after he's gone 
to all the trouble of extorting them from his people?" Garion asked 
in mock surprise. "What a shocking thing to suggest."


"Carefully thy champions reconnoitered the area around the village," 
Belgarath was saying, "and they soon located the dragon, which was at 
that very moment feeding on the bodies of a herd of horses."


"I only saw one," Zakath whispered. "Sometimes he embellishes things 
to make his stories more exciting," Garion whispered back.


Belgarath was warming to his subject now. "Advised by me,''


PERIVOR


he said modestly, "thy champions paused to take stock of the 
situation. At once we all perceived that the dragon's attention was 
wholly riveted upon its grisly feast, and of a certainty, because of 
its size and savagery, it had never been given reason to be wary. The 
champions separated and circled around the feeding dragon that they 
might attack one from either side, hoping thereby to drive their 
lances into its vitals. Cautiously, step by step, they moved, for 
though they are the bravest men on liie, they are not foolhardy."


There was absolute silence in the throne room as the king's court 
listened to the old man with that same breathless fascination Garion 
had seen before in the dining hall at Faldor's farm.


"Isn't he laying it on a bit thick?" Zakath whispered.


"It's a compulsion, I think," Garion whispered back. "Grandfather's 
never been able to let a good story rest on its own merits. He always 
feels the need for artistic enhancement."


Certain now that he had his audience's full attention, Belgarath 
began to utilize all those subtle tricks of the storyteller's art. He 
altered pitch and volume. He changed cadences. Sometimes his voice 
dropped to a whisper. He was obviously enjoying himself enormously. 
He described the simultaneous charge on the dragon in glowing detail. 
He told of the dragon's initial retreat, adding gratuitously a wholly 
fictional feeling of triumph in the hearts of the two knights and 
their belief that they had struck mortal blows with their lances. 
Though this last was not entirely true, it helped to heighten the 
suspense.



"I wish I'd seen that fight," Zakath murmured. "Ours was a lot more 
prosaic."


The old man then went on to describe the dragon's vengeful return, 
and, just to make things interesting, he expanded hugely on Zakath's 
mortal peril. "And then," he went on, "heedless of his own life, his 
stalwart companion leaped into the fray. Sick with the fear that his 
friend might already have received fatal injury and filled with 
righteous rage, he hurled himself into the very teeth of the beast 
with great two-handed strokes of his mighty blade."


"Were you really thinking those things?" Zakath asked Gar-ion. • 
"Approximately."


"And then," Belgarath said, "though it may have been some trick of 
the flickering light coming from the burning village, methought I saw 
the hero's blade come all aflame. Again and again he struck, and each 
stroke was rewarded with rivers of


SKKRESS OF K.ELL


bright blood and with shrieks of agony. And then, horror of horrors, 
a chance blow from the dragon's mighty talons hurled our champion 
back, and then he stumbled, and then he fell-full upon the body of 
his companion, who was still vainly striving to rise."


Groans of despair came from the throng crowding the throne room, even 
though the presence of the two heroes plainly said that they had 
survived.


"I admit it freely," Belgarath continued, "that I felt dark despair 
in my heart. But as the savage dragon sought to slay our champions, 
the one—I may not say his name—plunged his burning sword into the 
very eye of the loathsome beast."


There was a great roar of applause.


"Shrieking in pain, the dragon faltered and fell back. Our champions 
took advantage of this momentary opportunity to regain their feet. 
And then what a mighty battle ensued." Belgarath proceeded in loving 
detail to describe at least ten times more sword strokes than Garion 
and Zakath had actually d61iv-ered.


"If I'd swung that sword that many times, my arms would have fallen 
off," Zakath said.


"Never mind," Garion said. "He's enjoying himself."


"At last," Belgarath concluded, "unable to any longer bear the 
dreadful punishment, the dragon, which had never known fear before, 
turned and cravenly fled from the field, to pass, as your Majesty 
hath said, directly over this fair city toward its hidden lair, where 
the fear it hath learned this night will, me-thinks, canker far more 
than the wounds it received. It will, I believe, never return to thy 
kingdom, your Majesty, for, stupid though it may be, it will not 



willingly return to the place mat hath been the site of so much pain. 
And that, your Majesty, is exactly what happened."


"Masterful!" the king said delightedly. And from the assemblage there 
in the throne room came thunderous applause. Belgarath turned and 
bowed, signaling to Garion and Zakath to do likewise, generously 
permitting them to share in the adulation.


The nobles of the court, some of them with actual tears in their 
eyes, pressed forward to congratulate the trio, Garion and Zakath for 
their heroism and Belgarath for his lurid description of it. Naradas, 
Garion noticed, stood at the king's elbow, his dead white eyes 
burning with hatred. "Brace yourselves," Gar-ion warned his friends. 
"Naradas is planning something."


When the hubbub had died down, the white-eyed Grolim


PERWOR


stepped to the front of the dais. ' 'I, too, join my voice with these 
others in this hall to heap praise upon these mighty heroes and their 
brilliant advisor. Never hath this kingdom seen their match. 
Methinks, however, that caution is indicated here. I do fear me that 
Master Garath, fresh from the scene of this unutterably magnificent 
struggle and understandably exhilarated by what he hath witnessed, 
may have been too sanguine in his assessment of the dragon's present 
state of mind. Truly, most normal creatures would shun a place that 
hath been the locale of such desperate agony, but this foul, 
loathsome brute is no normal creature. Might it not be more probable 
that, given what we know of it, it will instead be consumed with rage 
and a hunger and a thirst for revenge? Should these mighty champions 
depart now, this fair and beloved kingdom would lie defenseless 
beneath the vengeful depredations of a creature consumed with 
hatred."


"1 knew he was going to do that," Zakath grated.


"I am honor bound, therefore," Naradas added, "to advise his Majesty 
and the members of his court to consider long and well rather than 
make hasty decision concerning the disposition of these knights. We 
have seen that they are perhaps the only two on life who can face 
this monster with any hope of success. Of what other knights in all 
this land are there any of whom we can make the same statement with 
any degree of certainty?"


"What thou sayest may well be true, Master Erezel," the king said 
with surprising coolness, "but it would be churlish of me to hold 
them here against their will in view of the sacred nature of the 
quest in which they are engaged. We have delayed them here too long 
already. They have rendered us amply sufficient service. To insist on 
more would be ungrateful of us in the extreme. I thereby decree that 
tomorrow will be a day of celebration and of gratitude throughout the 
realm and shall culminate with a royal banquet at which we will honor 
these mighty champions and bid them a regretful farewell. I do 
perceive that the sun hath risen, and our champions are doubtless 
greatly fatigued by the rigors of the tourney of yesterday and by 



their encounter last night with the loathsome dragon. This day, 
therefore, will be a day of preparation, and tomorrow will be a day 
of joy and thanksgiving. Let us then to our beds for a time to 
refresh ourselves that we may more assiduously turn to our several 
tasks."


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


"I thought he'd never get around to that," Zakath said as the three 
of them moved through the packed throne room. "Right now I could 
sleep standing up."


"Please don't," Garion said. "You're wearing armor, and you'd make an 
awful clatter when you toppled over. I don't want to be startled out 
of sleep. I'm as tired as you are."


"At least you have someone to sleep with."


"Two someones, actually, counting the puppy. Puppies take an 
unwholesome interest in toes, I've noticed."


Zakath laughed.


"Grandfather," Garion said, "up until now, the king has blithely gone 
along with anything Naradas suggested. Did you tamper with him at 
all?"


"I made a couple of suggestions," Belgarath admitted. "I don't 
usually like to do that, but the situation was a bit unusual.''


It was in the corridor outside that Naradas caught up with them. "You 
haven't won yet, Belgarath," he hissed.


"No, probably not," Belgarath admitted with aplomb, "but then, 
neither have you, Naradas, and I imagine Zandramas— youVe heard the 
name before, I trust—will be a bit cross with you when she finds out 
how miserably you've failed here. Maybe, if you start running right 
now, you can get away from her—for a while, at least."


"This isn't the end of this, Belgarath."


"Never thought it was, old boy." Belgarath reached out and 
insultingly patted Naradas on the cheek. "Run along now, Gro-lim," he 
advised, "while you still have your health." He paused. "Unless, of 
course, you'd like to challenge me. Considering your limited talents, 
I don't advise it, but that's entirely up to you."


After one startled look at the Eternal Man, Naradas fled.


"I enjoy doing that to his kind," Belgarath gloated.


"You are a dreadful old man, aren't you?" Zakath said.


"Never pretended not to be, Zakath." Belgarath grinned. "Let's go 



talk with Sadi. Naradas is starting to become an inconvenience. I 


think it's high time he left us."
"You'll do anything, won't you?" Zakath asked as they continued down 
the corridor.


"To get the job done? Of course.''


"And when I interfered with you back in Rak Hagga, you could have 
blown me into nothingness, couldn't you?"
"Probably, yes."
"But you didn't. Why not?"


"Because I thought I might need you, and I saw more in you than 
others did."


"More than Emperor of half the world?"


"That's trash, Zakath," Belgarath said scornfuHy. "Your friend here 
is Overlord of the West, and he still has trouble getting his boots 
on the right feet."


"I do not\" Garion objected vehemently.


"That's probably because youVe got Ce'Nedra to help you figure it 
out. That's what you really need, Zakath—a wife, someone to keep you 
looking reasonably presentable."


"I'm afraid that's quite out of the question, Belgarath." Zakath 
sighed.


"We'll see," the Eternal Man said.


The greetings they received in their quarters in the royal palace at 
Dal Perivor were not cordial.


"You old fool!" Polgara began, speaking to her father. Things 
deteriorated quite rapidly from there.


"You idiot!" Ce'Nedra shrieked at Garion.


"Please, Ce'Nedra," Polgara said patiently, "let me finish first."


"Oh, of course, Lady Polgara," the Rjvan Queen agreed politely. 
"Sorry. You have many more years of aggravation than I do. Besides, I 
can get this one alone in bed and give him a piece of my mind."


"And you wanted me to get married?" Zakath asked Belgarath.


"It has its drawbacks," Belgarath replied calmly. He looked around. 
"The walls are still standing, I see, and there doesn't seem to be 
any evidence of explosions. Maybe, eventually, you'll grow up after 
all, Pol."



"Another note?" she half shrieked. "A miserable note?"
"We were pressed for time,"
"The three of you went up against the dragon alone?"
"More or less—yes. The she-wolf was with us, however."
"An animal! That's your idea of protection?"
"She was very helpful."
At that point, Polgara began to swear—in several different languages.
"Why, Pol," he objected mildly, "you don't even know what those words 


mean—at least I hope you don't."


"Don't underestimate me, old man. This isn't over yet. All right, 
Ce'Nedra, it's your turn."
"I think I'd prefer to conduct my discussions with his Majesty
176
SEERESS OF KELL
PERIVOR
177
in private—where I can be much more direct," the tiny queen said in 


an icy tone.
Garion winced.
Then, surprisingly, Cyradis spoke. "It was discourteous of thee, 


Emperor of Mallorea, to hurl thyself into mortal danger without first 
consulting me." Belgarath, it appeared, had been characteristically 
obscure in his discussion with her before they had gone forth to face 
the dragon, conveniently forgetting to mention what they proposed to 
do.


"I beg thy forgiveness, Holy Seeress," Zakath apologized, lapsing, 
perhaps unconsciously, into archaic language. "The urgency of the 
matter was such that there was no time for consultation."


"Nicely spoken," Velvet murmured. "We'll make a gentleman out of him 
yet."
Zakath raised his visor and grinned at her—a surprisingly


boyish grin.
"As it may be, Kal Zakath," Cyradis continued sternly, "know that I 
am wroth with thee for thy hasty and unthinking rashness."


"I am covered with confusion, Holy Seeress, that I have offended 
thee, and I hope that thou canst find it in thy heart to forgive mine 



error."


"Oh," Velvet sighed, "he'll be just fine. Kheldar, were you taking 
notes?"


"Me?" Silk sounded surprised.


"Yes. You."


There were jar too many things going on, and Garion was hovering on 
the verge of exhaustion. "Durnik," he said a bit plaintively, "can 
you help me out of this?" He rapped his knuckles on the breastplate 
of his armor.


"If you wish." Even Durnik's voice sounded cold.


"Does he really have to sleep with us?" Garion complained about 
midmorning.


"He's warm," Ce'Nedra replied in a snippy tone, "which is more than I 
can say for some others. Besides, he sort of fills the vacancy I have 
in my heart—in a small way, of course."


The wolf puppy under the covers was enthusiastically licking Garion's 
toes, then, inevitably, fell to nibbling.


They slept for a goodly part of the day, rising about midaf-


ternoon. They sent a servant to the king, asking to be excused from 
this night's festivities, pleading extreme fatigue.


"Wouldn't this be a good time to ask to see that map?" Beldin asked.


"I don't think so," Belgarath replied. "Naradas is getting desperate 
now. He knows how unforgiving Zandramas can be, so he'll do just 
about anything to keep us away from that chart. He still has the 
king's ear, and he'l! come up with all kinds of excuses to stop us. 
Why don't we just let him wonder about what we're up to? It might 
help to keep him off balance until Sadi has the chance to put him to 
sleep."


The eunuch bowed a bit mockingly.


"There's an alternative, Belgarath," Silk volunteered. "I could slip 
around a bit and fish for information. If I can pinpoint the location 
of the map, a bit of burglary could solve our problem." , "What if 
you got caught?" Durnik asked.


"Please, Durnik," Silk said in a pained voice, "don't be insulting."


"It's got some possibilities," Velvet said. "Kheldar could steal a 
man's teeth even if the man had his mouth closed."


"Better not chance it," Polgara told her. "Naradas is a Gro-lim, and 
he may very well have laid a few traps around that chart. He knows 
all of us, by reputation at least, and I'm sure he's fully aware of 
Silk's specialized talents."



"Do we really have to kill him?" Eriond asked sadly. "Naradas, I 
mean?"


"I don't think we have any choice, Eriond," Garion said. "As long as 
he's still alive, we'll be stumbling over him at every turn. "He 
frowned. "It may be my imagination, but Zandramas seems very 
reluctant to leave the choice to Cyradis. If she can block us, she'll 
win by default."


"Thy perception is not altogether awry, Belgarion," Cyradis told him. 
"Zandramas indeed hath done all in her power to thwart my task." She 
smiled briefly. "I tell thee truly, she hath caused me much vexation, 
and were the choice to be between her and thee, well might I be 
tempted to choose against her by way of retribution.' *


"I never thought I'd hear that from one of the seers," Beldin said. 
"Are you actually coming down off that fence, Cyradis?" She smiled 
again. "Dear, gentle Beldin," she said affectionately, ' 'our 
neutrality is not the result of whim, but of duty—a duty laid upon us 
before even thou wast bom."


178


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


179


Since they had slept most of the day, they talked well into the 
night. Garion awoke refreshed the next morning and prepared to face 
the day's festivities.


The nobles at the court of King Oldorin had utilized the previous day 
and probably half the night preparing speeches—long, flowery, and 
generally tedious speeches—in praise of "our heroic champions." 
Protected by his closed visor, Garion frequently found himself 
dozing—a languor brought on not by weariness, but by boredom. At one 
point he heard a light clang on the side of his armor.


"Ouch!" Ce'Nedra said, rubbing her elbow.


"What's the matter, dear?"


"Do you have to wear all that steel?"


"Yes, but you know I'm wearing it. What possessed you to try to gouge 
me in the ribs?"


"Habit, I suppose. Stay awake, Garion."


"I wasn't sleeping," he lied.


"Really? Why were you snoring then?"


Following the speeches, the king assessed the glassy-eyed condition 
of his court and called upon ' 'Good Master Felde-gast" to lighten 
things up.



Beldin was at his outrageous best that day. He walked on his hands; 
he did astonishing back-flips; he juggled with amazing dexterity—all 
the while telling jokes in his lilting brogue. "I hope IVe managed in 
me small way t' add t' the festivities, yer Majesty," he concluded 
the performance after bowing in response to the enthusiastic applause 
of the assemblage.


"Thou art truly a virtuoso, Master Feldegast," the king complimented 
him. "The memory of thy performance this day will warm many a dreary 
winter evening in this hall."


"Ah, yer too kind t' say it, yer Majesty." Beldin bowed.


Before the banquet got under way, Garion and Zakath went back to 
their quarters for a light meal, since they would be unable to eat in 
the main dining hall without raising their visors. As guests of 
honor, however, it was incumbent upon them to be present.


"IVe never gotten very much entertainment out of watching other 
people eat," Zakath said quietly to Garion after they had entered the 
banquet hall and taken their seats.


"If you want entertainment, watch Beldin," Garion replied. "Aunt Pol 
spoke very firmly with him last night. She told him to mind his 
manners today. YouVe seen the way he usually eats.


The strain of behaving himself should come very close to making him 
fly apart."


Naradas sat at the king's right elbow. His white eyes were 
uncertain—even slightly baffled. The fact that Belgarath had made no 
attempt to get his hands on the map obviously confused him.


And then the serving men began to bring in the banquet. The smells 
made Cation's mouth water, and he began to wish that he'd eaten a bit 
more earlier.


"I must talk with the king's chef before we leave," Polgara said. 
"This soup is exquisite."


Sadi chuckled slyly.


"Did I say something amusing, Sadi?"


"Just watch, Polgara. I wouldn't want to spoil it for you."


Suddenly there was a commotion at the head of the table. Naradas had 
half risen, clutching at his throat with his hands. His white eyes 
were bulging, and he was making strangling noises.


"He's choking!" the king cried out. "Someone help him!"


Several of the nobles near the head of the table leaped to their feet 
and began to pound the Grolim on the back. Naradas, however, 
continued to strangle. His tongue protruded from his mouth, and his 
face started to turn blue.



"Save him!" the king almost screamed.


But Naradas was beyond saving. He arched backward, stiffened, and 
toppled to the floor.


There were cries of dismay from all over the dining hall.


"How did you do that?" Velvet murmured to Sadi. "I'd take an oath 
that you were never anywhere near his food."


Sadi smirked wickedly. "I didn't have to go near his food, Liselle," 
he said. "The other night I took a rather careful note of his 
customary place at the table. He always sits to the king's right. I 
slipped in here an hour or so ago and anointed his spoon with a 
little something that makes a man's throat swell shut." He paused. "I 
hope he enjoyed his soup," he added. "I know /certainly did."


"Liselle," Silk said, "when we get back to Boktor, why don't you have 
a chat with your uncle? Sadi's out of work just now, and Javelin 
could use a man with his talents."


"It snows in Boktor, Kheldar," Sadi said with some distaste, ***and I 
really don't like snow that much." . "You wouldn't necessarily 
have to be stationed in Boktor,


SEERESS OF K.ELL


JLOW


Sadi. How would Tbl Honeth suit you? You'd have to let your


hair grow, though."


Zakath leaned forward, chuckling. "Brilliant, Sadi,*' he added his 
congratulations, "and so perfectly appropriate. Nar-adas poisoned me 
back in Rak Hagga, and you poisoned him here. I'll tell you what, 
I'll double any offer Javelin makes you if you'll come to work for me 
in Mal Zeth."


"Zakath!" Silk exclaimed.


"The employment opportunities seem to be cropping up in all quarters 
of the world," Sadi observed.


"Good men are hard to find, my friend," Zakath told him.


The king, shaking and with his face white, was being slowly escorted 
from the room. As he passed their table, Garion could hear him 
sobbing.


Belgaralh began to swear under his breath.


"What's the matter, father?" Polgara asked him."


"That idiot will be in mourning for weeks. I'll never get my hands on 
that map."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Belgarath was still swearing when they returned to their quarters. "I 
think I've outsmarted myself," he fumed. "We should have exposed 
Naradas before we killed him. There's no way to discredit him in the 
king's eyes now."


Cyradis sat at the table eating a simple meal with Toth standing 
protectively over her. "What hath thou wrought, Ancient One?" she 
asked.


"Naradas is no longer with us," he replied, "and now the king's in 
mourning for him. It could be weeks before he recovers his composure 
enough to show me that map."


Her face grew distant and Garion seemed to hear the murmur of mat 
strange group mind. "I am permitted to aid thee in this, Ancient 
One," she said. "The Child of Dark hath violated the Tt-fpommandment 
we laid upon her when we assigned her this task. •'Ipbe sent her 
henchman here rather than coming to seek the chart 4llerself. Thus 
certain strictures upon me are relaxed." '$&• i ft i


asst I. ol


182


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


183


She leaned back in her chair and spoke briefly to Toth. He nodded and 
quietly left the room. ' 'I have sent for one who will assist us," 
she said.


"What exactly are you going to do?" Silk asked her.


"It might be unwise of me to tell thee in advance, Prince Kheldar. 
Canst thou, however, discover the location of the remains of Naradas 
for me?"


"I should be able to do that," he replied. "I'll go ask around a 
bit." Then he left the room.


"And when Prince Kheldar returns with the location of dead Naradas, 
thou, King of Riva, and thou, Emperor of Mallorea, go even unto the 
king and prevail upon him in the strongest of terms to accompany you 
at midnight to that place, for certain truths shall be revealed to 
him there which may lessen his grief."


"Cyradis," Beldin sighed, "why must you always complicate things?"


She smiled almost shyly. ' 'It is one of my few delights, gentle 
Beldin. To speak obscurely doth cause others to ponder my words more 
carefully. The dawning of understanding in them causes me a certain 
satisfaction."



"Not to mention the fact that it's very irritating."


"That perhaps is also a part of the delight," she agreed impishly.


"You know," Beldin said to Belgarath, "I think she's a human being 
after all."


It was about ten minutes later when Silk returned. "Found him," he 
said a bit smugly. "They've got him laid out on a bier in the chapel 
of Chamdar on the main floor of the palace. I looked in on him. He's 
really much, much more attractive with his eyes closed. The funeral's 
scheduled for tomorrow. It's summer, and he probably won't keep."


"What would be thine estimate of the hour, Goodman?" Cyradis asked 
Durnik.


The smith went to the window and looked up at the stars. "I make it 
about an hour before midnight," he replied.


"Go then now, Belgarion and Zakath. Use all the powers of persuasion 
at your command. It is absolutely essential that the king be in that 
chapel at midnight."


"We'll bring him, Holy Seeress," Zakath promised her.


"Even if we have to drag him," Garion added.


"I wish I knew what she was up to," Zakath said as he and Garion 
walked down the hall outside. "It might make the king a bit easier to 
persuade if we could tell him what to expect.''


"It might also make him skeptical," Garion disagreed. "I think 
Cyradis is planning something fairly exotic, and some people have 
difficulty accepting that sort of thing."


"Oh, my, yes." Zakath grinned.


"His Majesty does not wish to be disturbed," one of the guards at the 
king's door said when they asked admission.


"Tell him, please, that it is a matter of extremes! urgency," Garion 
said.


"I'll try, Sir Knight," the guard said dubiously, "but he is much 
distraught at the death of his friend."


The guard returned a few moments later. "His Majesty consents to see 
thee and thy companion, Sir Knight, but prithee, be brief. His 
suffering is extreme."


"Of course," Garion murmured.


The king's private chambers were ornate. The king himself sat in a 
deeply cushioned chair reading a slender volume by the light of a 
single candle. His face looked ravaged, and there were signs that he 
had been weeping. He held up the book after they had presented 
themselves to him. "A volume of consolation," he said. "It doth not 



offer much of that to me, however. How may I serve ye, Sir Knights?"


"We have come in part to offer thee our condolences, your Majesty," 
Garion began carefully. "Know that first grief is always sharpest. 
The passage of time will dull thy pain."


' 'But never banish it entirely, Sir Knight.''


"Undoubtedly true, your Majesty. What we have come to ask of thee may 
seem cruel in the light of present circumstances, and we would not 
presume to intrude upon thee were the matter not of such supreme 
urgency—not to us so much as it is to thee."


"Say on, Sir Knight," the king said, a fault interest showing in his 
eyes.


"There are certain truths which must be revealed unto thee this very 
night, your Majesty," Garion went on, "and they can be revealed only 
in the presence of thy late friend."


"Unthinkable, Sir Knight," the king said adamantly.


"We are assured by the one who will reveal these truths that they may 
in some measure assuage thy sorrow. Erezel was thy dearest friend, 
and he would not have thee suffer needlessly.''


"Truly," the king conceded. "He was a man with a great


"I'm sure," Garion said.


"There is perhaps another, more personal reason for thee to


SEERESS OF KELL


visit the chapel where Master Erezel lies in state, your Majesty," 
Zakath added. "His funeral will be held, we are told, tomorrow. The 
ceremony will be attended by most of thy court. This night provides 
thee thy last opportunity to, visit with him privately and to fix his 
well-loved features in thy memory. My friend and I will guard the 
chapel door to insure that thy communion with him and with his spirit 
shall be undisturbed."


The king considered that. "It may be even as thou sayest, Sir 
Knight," he conceded. "Though it may wring my heart, I would indeed 
look upon his face one last time. Very well, then, let us repair to 
the chapel." He rose and led them from the chamber.


The chapel of Chamdar, the Arendish God, was dimly lighted by a lone 
candle standing on the bier at the body's head. A gold-colored cloth 
covered the immobile form of Naradas to the chest, and his face was 
calm, even serene. Knowing what he did of the Grolim's career, Garion 
found that apparent serenity a rriockery.


' 'We will guard the chapel door, your Majesty,'' Zakath said, "and 
leave thee alone with thy friend." He and Garion stepped back out 
into the corridor and closed the door.



"You were very smooth back there," Garion told his friend.


"You weren't so bad yourself, but smooth or rough, at least we got 
him here."


They stood at the door awaiting Cyradis and the others. After about a 
quarter of an hour, they arrived.


"Is he in there?" Belgarath asked Garion.


"Yes. We had to do a bit of fast talking, but he finally agreed."


Standing beside Cyradis was a figure robed and hooded in black. It 
appeared to be a woman, a Dal most likely, but it was the first time 
Garion had ever seen one of that race clad in any color but white. 
"This is the one who will aid us," the Seeress said. "Let us go in 
unto the king, for the hour is nigh."


Garion opened the door, and they filed in.


The king looked up in some surprise.


"Be not dismayed, King of Perivor," Cyradis said to him,, "for, as 
thy champions have told thee, we have come to reveal truths to thee, 
truths which will lessen thy sorrow."


"I am grateful for thine efforts, Lady," the king replied, "but that 
is scarce possible. My sorrow may neither be lessened nor banished. 
Here lieth my dearest friend, and my heart lieth on that coki bier 
with him."


"Thine heritage is in part Dal, your Majesty," she said to him, "so 
thou art aware that many of us possess certain gifts. There are 
things the one you called Erezel did not tell thee ere


PERIVOR


he died. I have summoned one who will question him ere his spirit 
doth sink into the darkness."


"A necromancer? Truly? I have heard of such, but have never seen the 
art practiced."


"Knowest thou that one with such gifts cannot misspeak what the 
spirits reveal?"


"I understand so, yes."


"I assure thee that it is true. Let us then probe the mind of this 
Erezel, and see what truths he will reveal to us."


The dark-robed and hooded necromancer stepped to the bier and laid 
her pale, slender hands on Naradas' chest,


Cyradis began posing the questions. "Who art thou?" she asked.



"My name was Naradas," the figure in black replied in a halting, 
hollow voice. "1 was Grolim Archpriest of the Temple of Torak at 
Hemil in Darshiva."


The king stared first at Cyradis and then at the body of Naradas in 
stunned astonishment.


"Whom didst thou serve?" Cyradis asked.


"I served the Child of Dark, the Grolim Priestess Zandra-mas."


"Wherefore earnest thou to this kingdom?."


"My mistress sent me hither to seek out a certain chart and to impede 
the progress of the Child of Light to the Place Which Is No More."


"And what means didst thou use to accomplish these ends?"


"I sought out the king of this isle, a vain and foolish man, and I 
beguiled him. He showed me the chart which I sought, and the chart 
revealed to me a wonder which my shadow conveyed immediately to my 
mistress. Now she knows precisely where the final meeting is to take 
place. I prevailed upon the king's gullibility and was able to lead 
him into various acts which delayed the Child of Light and his 
companions so that my mistress might arrive at the Place Which Is No 
More before him and thereby avoid the necessity of leaving the issue 
in the hands of a certain seeress whom my mistress distrusts."


"How is it that thy mistress did not herself perform this task, which 
was lain upon her and not upon thee?" Cyradis' voice was stern.


"Zandramas had other concerns. I was her right hand, and all that I 
did was as if she had done the deeds herself."


"His spirit doth begin to sink out of reach, Holy Seeress," ;the 
necromancer said in a more normal tone of voice. "Ask


186


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


187


quickly, for soon I will no longer be able to wrest further answers 
from him."


"What were these concerns of thy mistress which prevented her from 
seeking the answer to the last riddle herself as she was commanded to 
do?"


"A certain Grolim Hierarch from Cthol Murgos, Agachak by name, had 
come to Mallorea seeking the Place Which Is No More, hoping to 
supplant my mistress. He was the last of our race with enough power 
to challenge her. She met him near the barrens of Finda and killed 
him there.'' The hollow voice broke off, and then there came a 



despairing wail. "Zandramas!" the voice cried. "You said that I would 
not die! You promised, Zandramas!" The last word seemed to fall away 
into some unimaginable abyss.


The dark-hooded necromancer's head slumped fofward, and she was 
shuddering violently. "His spirit has gone, Holy Seer-ess," she said 
in a weary voice. "The midnight hour is past, and he can no longer be 
reached."


"I thank thee," Cyradis said simply.


"I but hope, Holy Seeress, that I have been able in some small way to 
aid thee in thine awesome task. May I retire now? For contact with 
this diseased mind hath distressed me beyond measure."


Cyradis nodded briefly, and the necromancer quietly left the chapel.


The King of Perivor, his face ashen but firmly set, walked to the 
bier. He took hold of the golden cloth that covered Naradas to the 
chest and hurled it to the floor. "Some rag perhaps," he said from 
between clenched teeth. "I would not look upon the face of this foul 
Grolim more."


"I'll see what I can find, your Majesty," Durnik said 
sympathetically. He stepped out into the hall.


The rest stood silently by as the king, his back to the bier and his 
jaws clenching and unclenching, stared at the back wall of the 
chapel.


After a few moments, the smith returned with a torn piece of burlap, 
rusty and mildewed. "There was a storeroom just down the hall, your 
Majesty," he said. "This was plugging up a rat hole. Was it more or 
less what you had in mind?"


"Perfect, my friend. An it please thee, throw it over the face of 
that piece of carrion. I declare here unto ye all, there will be no 
funeral for this miscreant. Some ditch and a few spadefuls of earth 
shall be his grave."


"More than a few spadefuls I think, your Majesty," Dumik suggested 
prudently. "He's corrupted your kingdom enough already. We wouldn't 
want him to pollute it any more, would we? I'll take care of it for 
you."


"I like thee, my friend," the king said. "An it please thee, bury the 
Grolim facedown."


"We'll see to it, your Majesty," Durnik promised. He nodded to loth, 
and the two of them roughly lifted the body of Naradas from the bier 
by the shoulders and dragged it from the chapel with its sandal-shod 
feet bouncing unceremoniously across the floor.


Silk stepped closer to Zakath. "So now we know that Agachak is 
dead," he said quietly to the Mallorean. "Urgit will be delighted to 
hear it. I don't suppose you'd be willing to send a messenger to him 
to let him know about it?''



"The tensions between your brother and myself have not re-: taxed all 


that much, Kheldar."
"Who are ye all?" the king demanded. "Was this so-called quest of 
thine mere subterfuge?"


"The time hath come for us to reveal ourselves," Cyradis said 
gravely. "The need for concealment is now past, for the other spies 
Zandramas hath set in this place without the knowledge of Naradas 
cannot commune with her without his aid.''


"That's Zandramas, all right," Silk said. "She doesn't even trust 


herself."
Garion and Zakath raised their visors with some relief. "I know that 
your kingdom is isolated, your Majesty," Garion said in his normal 
dialect. "How much do you know of the outside world?"


"There are times when seafarers call upon this harbor," the Icing 
replied. "They bring us news as well as goods."


"And what of the events that shaped the world in times past?''
"Our forebears brought many books with them, Sir Knight, for the 
hours at sea are long and tedious. Among those volumes were those of 
history, which I have read."


"Good," Garion said. "That should make things a bit easier to 
explain. I am Beigarion, King of Riva," he introduced himself.


The king's eyes widened. "The Godslayer?" he asked in an awed voice.
4 "You've heard about that, I see," Garion said wryly. , "All the 
world hath heard of it. Didst thou indeed slay the God of Angarak?"


188
SEERESS OF KELL
PERIVOR
189
"I'm afraid so. My friend here is Kal Zakath, Emperor of Mallorea."
The king began to tremble. "What event is of such magnitude that it 


persuaded ye two to put aside thy hereditary enmity?"
"We'll get to that in a moment, your Majesty. The helpful fellow 
who's out burying Naradas is Durnik, the most recent disciple of the 


God Aldur. The short one there is Beldin, also a disciple, and the 
one with the whiskers is Belgarath the Sorcerer. ''
"The Eternal Man?" The king's voice was choked.
"I wish you wouldn't throw that around so much, Garion," Belgarath 


said in a pained tone. "Sometimes it upsets people."



"It saves time, Grandfather," Garion replied. "The tall lady with the 
lock of white hair is Belgarath's daughter, Polgara the Sorceress. 
The little one with the red hair is Ce'Nedra, my wife. The blond girl 
is the Margravine Liselle of Drasnia, niece to the chief of Drasnian 
intelligence, and the blindfolded girl who exposed Naradas is the 
Seeress of Kell. The big fellow who's helping Durnik is Toth, her 
guide, and this one is Prince Kheldar of Drasnia."


"The richest man in the world?"


"The reputation might be a trifle exaggerated, your Majesty," Silk 
said modestly, "but I'm working on it."


"The young fellow with blond hair is named Eriond, a very close 
friend."


"I am awed to be in such august company. Which of ye is the Child of 
Light?"


"That's the burden I bear, your Majesty," Garion told him. "Now, 
though it's largely a part of Alorn history and prophecy, you may 
know that from time to time in the past there have been meetings 
between the Child of Light and the Child of Dark. We're going toward 
the last one there's ever going to be. The meeting's going to decide 
the fate of the world. Coir problem at the moment is discovering 
where the meeting's supposed to take place."


"Thy quest then is even more awesome than I had imagined, King 
Belgarion. I will aid thee in whatsoever way I can. The foul Grolim 
Naradas misled me into hindering thee. Whatever small way in which I 
might assist thee may serve as partial recompense for that error. I 
will send forth my ships to seek out the place of the meeting for 
thee wheresoever it may be, from the beaches of Ebal to the reef of 
Korim.''


"The reef of w/wf?" Belgarath exclaimed.


"Korim, Ancient Belgarath. It doth lie to the northwest of this isle. 
Its location is clearly marked upon that chart which tfeou hast 
sought. Let us repair to my chambers, and I will show


thee."


"I think we've just about come to the end of it, Belgarath," Beldin 
said. "As soon as you take a look at that map, you'll be able to go 
home."


"What are you talking about?"


"That's the end of your task, old man. We certainly appreciate your 
efforts, though."


"You wouldn't mind too much if I came along, would you?"


"That's up to you, of course, but we wouldn't want to keep you from 
anything important you've been neglecting." Beldin's grin grew 
vicious. Needling Belgarath was one of his favorite forms of 
entertainment.



As they turned toward the chapel entrance, Garion saw the she-wolf 
sitting in the doorway. Her golden eyes were intent, and her tongue 
lolled out in a wolfly smile.


PERIVOR


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


They followed the king through the dimly lighted'and deserted 
midnight halls of the palace at Perivor. A tense excitement filled 
Garion. They had won. No matter how hanl Zan-dramas had tried to 
prevent it, they had still won. The answer to the riddle lay no more 
than a few yards away, and once it was answered, the meeting would 
take place. No power on earth could prevent it now.


"Stop that, " the voice in his mind told him. "You have to be calm 
now—very calm. Try to think about Faldor's farm. That always seems to 
settle you.''


"Where have you—" Garion started, then broke off.


"Where have I what?"


"Never mind. The question always irritates you. "


"Amazing. You actually remembered something I said. Faldor's farm, 
Garion. Faldor's farm. "


He did as he had been told. Though the memories had seemed 190


to fade over the years, they suddenly returned with startling 
clarity. He saw the shape of the place, the sheds and barns and the 
kitchen, smithy, and dining hall on the lower floor, and the gallery 
on the second floor where the sleeping chambers were— all surrounding 
that central yard. He could hear the steely ring of Durnik's hammer 
coming from the smithy and smell the warm fragrance of freshly baked 
bread coming from Aunt Pol's kitchen. He saw Faldor and old Cralto 
and even Brill. He saw Doroon and Rundorig and, last, Zubrette—blond 
and pretty and artfully deceitful. A vast kind of calm came over him, 
not unlike the calm that had engulfed him when he had stood in the 
tomb of the one-eyed God in the City of Endless Night so long ago.


' 'That '$ better,'' the voice said. ' 'Try to hold on to that. You 
're going to have to think very clearly in the next few days and you 
can't do that with your mind racing every which way. You can fty to 
pieces after it's all over.''


"That's if I'm still around. "


"We can hope. "Then the voice was gone.


The guards at the king's door admitted them, and the king went 
directly to a cabinet, unlocked it, and removed a roll of ancient, 
crackling parchment. "It is much faded, I do fear me," he said. "We 
have tried to protect it from the light, but it is very old." He went 



to a table and carefully unrolled the chart, weighting down the 
comers with books. Once again Garion felt the tense excitement as he 
held back slightly, reaching back into his memories of Faldor's farm 
to steady himself.


The King of Perivor pointed with his finger. "Here lieth Perivor," he 
told them, "and here doth lie the reef of Korim."


Garion knew that if he looked too long at that fateful spot on the 
map, the wild excitement and sense of triumph would return, so he 
merely glanced at it, then let his eyes rove over the rest of the 
map. The spellings were strangely archaic. His eyes automatically 
sought his own kingdom. "Ryva" it was spelled. There were also 
"Aryndia," "Kherech," and "Tol Nydra" as well as "Draksnya" and 
"Chthall Margose."


"It's misspelled," Zakath noted. "The proper name is the lUrimreef."


Beldin began to explain, but Garion already knew the answer. *'Things 
change," the dwarf said, "and among those tilings are the way we say 
certain words. The sounds of words shift over the centuries. The name 
of that reef has probably changed several times over the last few 
thousand years. It's a common phenomenon. If Belgarath were to speak 
in the language the people


192


SEERESS OF KELL


PERFVOR


193


spoke in the village where he grew up, for example, none of us would 
be able to understand him. I'd guess that for a time the reef was 
called Torim or something like that, and it finally settled into 
Turim. It may change again a few times. I've made a study of that 
sort of thing. You see, what happens is that—"


"Will you get on with it?" Belgarath demanded in exasperation.


"Aren't you interested in expanding your education?"


"Not at the moment, no."


Beldin sighed. "Anyway," he continued, "what we call writing is just 
a way to reproduce the sound of a word. As the sound changes, so does 
the spelling. The difference is easily explained."


"Thine answer to the question was cogent, gentle Beldin," Cyradis 
said, "but in this particular case, the change of the sound was 
imposed."


"Imposed?" Silk said, "by who—whom?"


"It was the two prophecies, Prince Kheldar. In furtherance of their 
game, they altered the sound of the word to conceal the location from 
Ancient Belgarath and from Zandramas. These two were both required to 



solve the riddle ere the final meeting could take place."


"Game?" Silk asked incredulously. "They were playing games with 
something diis important?"


"These two eternal awarenesses are not as we, Prince Kheldar. They 
contend with each other in myriad ways. Ofttimes, one will attempt to 
alter the course of a star, while the other strives to hold it in 
place. At other times, one will attempt to move a grain of sand while 
the other exerts all its energy to keep the grain motionless. Such 
struggles ofttimes consume whole eons. The riddle game they have 
played with Belgarath and Zandramas is but another of the ways they 
have used to formalize their contention, for should it ever come to 
pass that they confront each other directly, they would rend the 
universe apart,"


Garion suddenly remembered an image that had come to him in the 
throne room at Vo Mimbre just before he had exposed the Murgo Nachak 
to King Korodullin. He had seemed to see two faceless players seated 
at a game where the moves had been so complex that his mind could not 
follow them. With absolute certainty now he saw that he had caught a 
momentary glimpse of the higher reality Cyradis had just described. 
"Did you do that on purpose?" he asked the voice in his mind.


"Naturally. You needed a bit of encouragement to get you to


do something that was necessary. You 're a competitive sort of boy, 
so J thought the image of the great game might get you stoned. "


Then something else occurred to Garion. "Cyradis," he said, "why is 
it that there are so many of us while Zandramas appears to be almost 
totally alone?"


"It hath ever been thus, Belgarion. The Child of Dark is solitary, 
even as was Torak in his pride. Thou, however, art humble. Thou hast 
never pushed thyself forward, forthou know-est not thine own worth. 
This is endearing in thee, Child of Light, for thou art not puffed up 
with thine own importance. The Prophecy of Dark hath ever chosen one 
and one only, and hath infused that one with all its power. The 
Prophecy of Light, however, hath chosen to disperse its power among 
many. Although thou art the principal bearer of the burden, all of 
thy companions share it with thee. The difference between the two 
prophecies is simple, but it is profound."


Beldin was frowning. "You're saying that it's sort of like the 
difference between absolutism and shared responsibility, then?"


"It is much as thou hast said. The difference is more complex, 
however."


"I was just trying to be concise."


"Now that's a first," Belgarath said. Then he looked at the King of 
Perivor. "Can you describe this reef to us, your Majesty?" he asked. 
"The representation on the map isn't too precise."


"Gladly, Ancient Belgarath. In my youth I sailed thither, for the 
reef is something of a marvel. Seafarers assert that there is none 



like it in all the world. It doth consist of a series of rocky 
pinnacles rising from the sea. The pinnacles themselves are easy to 
see and therefore to avoid. Other dangers, however, lurk beneath the 
surface. Savage currents and tides do rush through gaps in the reef, 
and the weather there is ever unsettled. By reason of these perils, 
the reef hath never been charted in any detail. All prudent saiiors 
avoid it entirely, giving that dangerous obstruction wide berth."


Dumik and Toth entered. "We've taken care of it, your Majesty," 
Durnik reported. "Naradas is safely in the ground now. He won't 
trouble you—or us—ever again. Did you want to know where we put him?"


"Methinks not, my friend. Thou and thy massive companion have done me 
a service this night. I implore thee, if ever I can do thee service 
in return, hesitate not to call upon me."


SEERESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


"Cyradis," Belgarath said, "is this the last part of the riddle? Or 
are there other bits and pieces lurking about?''


"Nay, Ancient One. The game of the riddles is finished. Now the game 
of deeds doth begin.''


"Finally," Belgarath said with some relief. Then he and Bel-din fell 
to studying the map.


"Did we find it?" Durnik asked Silk. "I mean, does the map show the 
location of Korim?"


Silk led him to the table. "It's right here," he said, pointing. 
"This is a very old map. Modern maps misspell the name. That's why we 
had to come here."


"We've been doing a lot of running around chasing after scraps of 
paper," the smith observed.


"We have indeed, my friend. According to Cyradis, it's all been part 
of a game being played by the friend Garion's got inside his head and 
the other one, who's probably inside Zan-dramas* head."


"I hate games."


"I don't mind them."


"That's because you're Drasnian."


"That could be part of it, I suppose."


"It's in the approximate location where the mountains of Korim were, 
Belgarath," Beldin said, measuring off distances with his fingers. 
"They were probably moved a bit when Torak cracked the world."


"A lot of things were moved that day, as I recall."



"Oh, yes," Beldin agreed fervently. "I had trouble standing up, and 
Inbuilt closer to the ground than you are."


"You know something? IVe noticed that myself. Your Majesty," the old 
man addressed the king, "could you be a bit more specific about the 
reef? Trying to land on the side of a rock pinnacle from a boat 
that's pitching around in the surf would be difficult and dangerous."


"If memory doth serve me, Ancient Belgarath, I do seem to recall a 
few rocky beaches, built up, doubtless, from shards and boulders 
tumbled from the sides of the peaks and then pounded to bits by the 
restless sea. When the tide is low, this rubble, accumulated over the 
eons, doth rise above the surface of the sea, providing means whereby 
one may move freely from one pinnacle to the next."


"Sort of like that land bridge from Morindland to Mallorea," Silk 
recalled sourly. "That wasn't a very pleasant trip."


"Are there any landmarks of any kind?" Belgarath pressed.


"That reef goes on for quite a ways. It could take a lot of wading to 
find the exact place we need to reach."


"I cannot attest to this from mine own true knowledge," the king said 
cautiously, "but certain seafarers have asserted that there appears 
to be a cave mouth on the north side of the highest pinnacle. On 
occasion, more adventurous ones have sought to go ashore to explore 
its depths, for, as is widely known, remote caves ofttimes serve as 
repositories for the ill-gotten gains of freebooters and pirates. The 
pinnacle, however, hath ever repulsed their most valiant efforts. 
Each time one of these brave souls attempts landing there, the sea 
becomes angry, and sudden storms do appear from a cloudless sky.''


"That's it, Belgarath." Beldin chortled exultantly. "Something's been 
going out of its way to keep casual explorers out of mat cave."


"TU-o somethings, Igather," Belgarath agreed. "You're right, though. 
WeVe finally located the exact place of die meeting. It's in that 
cave.''


Silk groaned.


"Art thou ill, Prince Kheldar?" the king inquired.


"Not yet, your Majesty, but I think I'm going to be."


"Our Prince Kheldar has difficulties with caves, your Majesty," 
Velvet explained,, smiling.


"There's nothing difficult about it at all, Liselle," the rat-faced 
little man disagreed. "It's really very simple. Every time I see a 
cave, I go into an absolute panic."


"I have heard of this malady," the king said. "One wonders what may 
be its mysterious source.''



"There's nothing mysterious about the source of mine, your 
Majesty,'' Silk said dryly. ' 'I know exactly where it came from.''


"If it is thine intent to dare the perilous reef, Ancient 
Belgarath," the king said then, "I will provide thee and thy 
companions with a stout ship to convey thee thither. I will give 
orders that the ship be ready to sail with the morning tide.''


"Your Majesty is very kind."


"It is but small payment for the service thou hast rendered to me 
this night." The king paused, his face reflective. "It may be even as 
the spirit of foul Naradas proclaimed," he mused. "I may indeed be a 
vain and foolish man, but I am not immune to the promptings of 
gratitude. You all have preparations to make," he said then. "I will 
not delay you more. We shall meet i on the morrow ere you depart.''


"We thank you, your Majesty," Garion said, his armor


196


SBBRESS OF KELL


PERIVOR


197


creaking as he bowed. Then he led the others from the chamber. He was 
not at all surprised to see the she-wolf sitting just outside the 
door.


"The time is exactly right, isn't it, Cyradis?" Polgara said to the 
Seeress once they were all out in the corridor. "At Ash-aba, you said 
it would be nine months until the meeting. As I make it, the exact 
time will be the day after tomorrow."


"Thy calculations are correct, Polgara."


"It works out precisely then. It should take us one full day to reach 
the reef, and we'll go to the cave on the following morning." Polgara 
smiled a bit wryly. "All this time we've been fretting about arriving 
late, and now we get there precisely on time." She laughed. "What a 
waste of all that perfectly good worrying."


"Well, now we know where and when," Durnik said. "All that's left to 
do is to go there and get on with it."


"That sums it up, I'd say," Silk agreed.


Eriond sighed, and Garion felt a chill suspicion that was not quite a 
certainty. ' 'Is it going to be he?" he asked the dry voice. ' 'Is 
Eriond going to be the one who dies ?''


But the voice would not answer.


They entered their quarters with the wolf close behind them.



"It's been a long time getting here," Belgarath said wearily. "I'm 
getting a little old for these extended journeys."


"Old?" Beldin snorted. "You were born old. I still think youVe got a 
few miles left in you, though."


"I think that when we get home, I'll spend a century or so in my 
tower."


"That's an idea. It should take you about that long to get it cleaned 
up—oh, one other thing, Belgarath. Why don't you fix that loose 
step?"


"I'll get around to it."


"Aren't we all assuming that we're going to win?" Silk said. "I think 
that making plans for the future at this point might be a bit 
premature—unless the Holy Seeress might see fit to let slip a hint or 
two about the outcome?'' He looked at Cyradis.


"I would not be permitted to do that, Prince Kheldar— even if I knew 
the answer."


"You mean you don't know?" he asked incredulously.


"The Choice hath not .yet been made," she said simply. "It may not be 
made until I stand in the presence of the Child of Light and the 
Child of Dark. Until that moment, the outcome doth still hang in the 
balance."


"What good is it being a Seeress if you can't predict the future?"


"This particular Event is not susceptible to prediction, Kheldar," 
she said tartly.


"Ithink we'd all betterget some sleep," Belgarath said. "The next 
couple of days are going to be hectic."


The she-wolf followed Garion and Ce'Nedra to their room and entered 
with them. Ce'Nedra looked a bit startled at that, but the wolf went 
directly to the bed and put her forepaws up on it to look critically 
at the puppy, who lay sleeping on his back with all four of his paws 
in the air.


The wolf gave Garion a slightly reproachful look. "One notes that he 
has grown fat," she said. "Your mate has ruined him with overfeeding 
and pampering. He is no longer fit to be a wolf. He no longer even 
smells like a wolf."


"One's mate bathes him from time to time," Garion explained.


"Bathes," the wolf said in a tone loaded with contempt. "A wolf 
should be bathed only by the rain or in the course of swimming across 
a river.'' She dropped to her haunches. *' One would ask a favor of 
your mate.''


"One will convey your request to her."



' 'One had hoped you might. Ask your mate if she will continue to 
care for the young one. One believes you need not add that she has 
spoiled him so badly that he is unfit to be anything but alapdog."


"One will phrase your request cautiously."
"What's she saying?" Ce'Nedra asked.
"She wants to know if you'd be willing to take care of the puppy."
"Of course I will. IVe wanted to do that all along." Then she knelt 


and impulsively put her arms about the she-wolf's neck. "I will care 


for him," she promised.
"One notes that her scent is not unpleasant," the wolf said to 
Garion.


"One has also noticed that."


' 'One was fairly certain that you had.'' Then the wolf rose to her 
feet and silently left the room.
"She's going to leave us now, isn't she?" Ce'Nedra said wistfully. 


"I'm going to miss her."
"What makes you think that?"
"Why else would she give up her baby?"
198
SEERESS OF KELL
PERIVOR
199
"I think there's a bit more to it than that. She's preparing for 


something.''
"I'm very tired, Garion. Let's go to bed."
Later, in the velvet darkness as they lay close together in the bed, 


Ce'Nedra sighed. "1\vo more days and I'll see my baby again. It's 


been so very, very long."
"Try not to dwell on it, Ce'Nedra. You need your rest, and thinking 
too much about it will keep you awake."


She sighed again, and after a few moments, she drifted off to sleep.


' 'Cyradis is not the only one who has to make a choice,'' the voice 
in his mind told him. "You and Zandramas also have choices to make.''
'' What choices are those ?''
"You have to choose your successors. Zandrafnas has already chosen 


hers. You should be giving some thought to your last task as the 



Child of Light. It's going to be fairly significant.''


' 7 suppose that in a way, I 'II sort of miss having that to carry 
around, but I'll be glad to get rid of it. Now I'll be able to go 
back to being ordinary again.''


' 'You never were ordinary, you know. You 've been the Child of Light 
since the moment you were born.''


"I know I'm going to miss you. "


"Please don't get sentimental, Garion. I may stop by from time to 
time, just to see how you 're doing. Now get some sleep.''


When he awoke the next morning, Garion lay in bed for quite some 
time. He had tried for very long not to think about something, but 
now he had no choice but to face it squarely. He had every reason in 
the world to hate Zandramas, but...


Finally, he slipped out of bed, dressed himself, and went looking for 
Belgarath.


He found the old man in the central room, seated with Cyradis. 
"Grandfather," he said, "IVe got a problem."


"There's nothing unusual about that. What's got you worked up this 
time?"


"Tomorrow I'm going to meet Zandramas."


"Why, do you know? I think you're right." '


"Please don't do that. This is serious."


"Sorry, Garion. I'm feeling whimsical today."


"I'm afraid that the only way we're going to be able to stop her is 
to kill her, and I'm not sure I'll be able to do that. Torak was one 
thing, but Zandramas is a woman.''


"Well, she was. I think her gender has become irrelevant now, 
though—even to herself."


"I still don't think I'll be able to do it."


"There will be no need, Belgarion," Cyradis assured him. "Another 
fate doth lie in store for Zandramas, no matter what my choice may 
be. Thou wilt not be required to shed her blood."


A vast wave of relief came over Garion. "Thank you, Holy Seeress,'' 
he said. ' 'I Ve been afraid to face up to that. It's good to know 
that it's not one of the tasks I Ve got ahead of me. Oh, by the way, 
Grandfather, my friend up here—" He tapped his forehead "—has been 
visiting again. Last night he told me that my final task will be to 
choose my successor. I don't suppose I could get you to help me, 
could I?"


"No, Garion, I'm afraid not. I don't think I'm supposed to, am I, 



Cyradis?"


"Nay, Ancient Belgarath. That task lieth on the Child of Light 
alone."


"I was afraid you might look at it that way," Garion said glumly.


"Oh, one thing, Garion," Belgarath said. "The one you choose has a 
fair chance of becoming a God. Don't choose me. I 'm not suited for 
the job.''


The others drifted in singly or in pairs. As each one entered, Garion 
considered their faces, trying to picture each of his friends as a 
divinity. Aunt Pol? No, that didn't seem right somehow, and that 
automatically excluded Durnik. He could not deprive her of her 
husband. Silk? That idea very nearly caused Garion to collapse in 
helpless laughter. Zakath? It had some possibilities. Zakath was an 
Angarak, and the new God would be the God of that race. Zakath was a 
bit unpredictable, however. Until recently, he had been obsessed with 
power. A sudden onset of Godhood might unsettle his mind and make him 
revert. Garion sighed. He'd have to think about it some more.


The servants brought in breakfast, and Ce'Nedra, obviously 
remembering her promise of the previous night, fixed a plate for the 
puppy. The plate contained eggs, sausage, and a generous dollop of 
jam. The she-wolf looked away with a shudder.


They deliberately avoided the subject of tomorrow's meeting as they 
ate. The meeting was inevitable now, so there was no point in talking 
about it.


Belgarath pushed back his plate with a look of contentment on his 
face. "Don't forget to thank the king for his hospitality," he told 
Garion.


SEERESS OF KELL


And then the she-wolf came over and laid her head in the old man's 
lap. Belgarath looked startled. The wolf had usually avoided him. 
"What is it, little sister?" he asked her.


Then, to everyone's astonishment, the wolf actually laughed and spoke 
quite plainly in the language of humans.'' Your brains have gone to 
sleep, old wolf," she said to Belgarath. "I thought you'd nave known 
me weeks ago. Does this help?" A sudden blue nimbus surrounded her. 
"Or this?" She shimmered, and then the wolf was gone. Standing in its 
place was a tawny-haired, golden-eyed woman in a brown dress.


"Mother!" Aunt Pol exclaimed.


"You're no more observant than your father, Polgara," Po-ledra said 
reprovingly. "Garion has known for quite some time now."


Belgarath, however, was staring in horror at the puppy.


"Oh, don't be silly, old man," his wife told him, "You know that 



we're mated for life. The puppy was weak and sick, so the pack had to 
leave him behind. I cared for him, that's all."


The smile on the face of theSeeressof Kell was gentle. "This is the 
Woman Who Watches, Ancient Belgarath," she said. "Now is thy company 
complete. Know, however, that she is ever with thee, as she has 
always been."


Part Three


THE HIGH


PLACES OF KORIM


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Garion had seen his grandmother—or her image-several times, but the 
similarity of her features to Aunt Polls seemed uncanny. There were 
differences, of course. Aunt Pol's hair, except for that white lock 
at her brow, was dark, almost black, and her eyes were a deep, deep 
blue. Poledra, on the other hand, had tawny hair, hovering nearly on 
the verge of being as blond as Velvet's, and her eyes were as golden 
as the eyes of a wolf. The features of the two women, however, were 
almost identical, as had been, the one time Garion had seen her 
image, the features of Aunt Pol's sister, Beldaran. Belgarath, his 
wife, and his daughter had withdrawn to the far side of the room, and 
Beldin, his tears glistening through his scowl, had placed himself 
squarely between them and the others in the room to guard their 
privacy during their reunion.


"Who is she?" Zakath asked Garion in puzzlement.


203


204


SEERESS OF KELJL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


205


"She's my grandmother," Garion replied simply, "Belgar-ath's wife."


"I didn't know he had a wife."


"Where did you think Aunt Pol came from?"


"I guess I hadn't thought of that." Zakath looked around, noting that 
both Ce'Nedra and Velvet were dabbing at their eyes with wispy little 
handkerchiefs.


"Why is everyone so misty-eyed?" he asked.


"We all thought that she had died in childbirth when Aunt Pol and her 
sister Beldaran were born."


"And how long ago was that?"



"Aunt Pol is over three thousand years old." Garion shrugged.


Zakath began to tremble. "And Belgarath's been grieving all that 
time?-"


"Yes." Garion didn't really want to talk just then. All he wanted to 
do was to drink in the radiant faces of his family. The word came to 
him unbidden, and he suddenly remembered that bleak tune after he had 
first learned that Aunt Pol was not, strictly speaking, his aunt. He 
had felt then so terribly alone— an orphan in the most dreadful sense 
of the word. It had taken years, but now everything was all right. 
His family was nearly complete. Belgarath, Poledra, and Aunt Pol did 
not speak, for speech was largely unnecessary. Instead they simply 
sat in chairs drawn closely together gazing into each other's faces 
and holding hands. Garion couid only faintly begin to understand the 
intensity of their emotions. He did not, however, feel cut off from 
them, but rather seemed somehow to share their joy.


Durnik crossed the room to the rest of them. Even solid, practical 
Durnik's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Why don't we leave them 
alone?" he suggested. "It's a good time to get the packing done 
anyway. We have a ship to catch, you know."


"She said you knew," Ce'Nedra said accusingly to Garion when they had 
returned to their room.


"Yes," he admitted.


"Why didn't you tell me?"


"She asked me to keep it to myself."


"That doesn't apply to your own wife, Garion."


"It doesn't?" he asked in feigned surprise. "When did they pass that 
rule?"


"I just made it up," she admitted. "Oh, Garion," she said then, 
throwing her arms about his neck and kissing him, "I do love you.''


"I certainly hope so. Shall we pack?"


The corridors of the royal palace here in Perivor were cool as Garion 
and Ce'Nedra returned to the central room, and the arched embrasures 
admitted golden morning sunlight as if even the elements were 
bestowing a benediction on what was, after all, a special, even 
sacred, day.


When they had all gathered once again, Belgarath and his wife and 
daughter had composed themselves enough so that they welcomed 
company.


"Would you like to have me introduce them, mother?" Aunt Pol asked.


"I know all of them, Polgara," Poledra replied. "IVe been with you 
for quite some time, remember?"



"Why didn't you tell me?"


"I wanted to see if you could figure it out for yourself. You 
disappointed me just a bit, Polgara."


"Mother," Aunt Pol protested, "not in front of the children."


They both laughed that same warm, rich laugh. "Ladies and 
gentlemen," Polgara said then, "this is my mother, Poledra."


They crowded around the tawny-haired legend. Silk extravagantly 
kissed her hand. "I suppose, Lady Poledra," he said slyly, "we should 
congratulate Belgarath. All things considered, I think you got the 
worst of that bargain. You daughter's been trying to reform him for 
about three eons now without much notable success."


Poledra smiled. "One has perhaps greater resources at one's command 
than one's daughter, Prince Kheldar." She lapsed, it seemed, 
unconsciously into her previous mode of speech.


"All right, Poledra," Beldin growled, stumping forward, "what really 
happened? After the girls were born, our Master came to us and told 
us that you were no longer with us. We ail thought he meant that you 
had died. The twins cried for two straight months, and that left me 
to try to cope with the babies. What really happened?"


"Aldur didn't tie to you, Beldin," she replied calmly. "In a very 
real sense, I was no longer with you. You see, shortly after the 
girls were bom, Aldur and UL came to me. They said they had a great 
task for me but that it would involve an equally great sacrifice. I 
would have to leave you all behind to prepare for the task. At first, 
I refused, but when they explained the task to me, I had no choice 
but to agree. I turned my back on the Vale and went with UL to Prolgu 
to receive instruction. From time to time


206


SEER ESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


207


he'd relent and let me go unobserved out into the world to see how my 
family was doing." She looked rather firmly at Belgar-ath. "You and I 
have much to discuss, Old Wolf," she told him.


Belgarath winced. v


"I don't suppose you could give us some enlightenment about this 
momentous task?" Sadi suggested mildly.


"I'm afraid not."


"I didn't think so," the eunuch murmured.


"Eriond," Poledra said then, greeting the blond-haired young man.



"Poledra," he responded. Eriond-, as always, seemed unsurprised by 
this turn of events. Eriond, Garion had noticed, was never surprised.


"You've grown since we last met," she noted.


"I suppose I have," he agreed.


"Are you ready?"


The question sent a chili through Garion as he suddenly remembered 
the strange dream he had had the night before his true identity had 
been revealed.


There was a polite knock on the door. Dumik answered it and found an 
armored knight standing outside. "His Majesty hath dispatched me to 
advise thee and thy companions that thy ship awaiteth thee in the 
harbor, my Lord," the knight said.


"I'm not a—" Durnik started.


"Let it He, Durnik," Silk told him. "Sir Knight," he said to the 
armored man at the door, "where might we find his Majesty? We would 
take our leave of him and tiiank him for his many kindnesses,"


"His Majesty doth await thee and thy companions at the harbor, my 
Lord. He would bid ye all farewell there and see ye off on the great 
adventure which doth tie in store for ye."


' 'We will make haste then, Sir Knight,'' the little man promised. 
"It were discourteous of us in the extreme to keep one of the 
paramount monarchs of the world awaiting our arrival. Thou hast 
performed thine appointed task in manner which does thee credit, Sir 
Knight, and we are all in thy debt."


The knight bowed, beaming. Then he went back down the haliway.


"Where did you ever learn to speak like that, Kheldar?" Velvet asked 
in some surprise.


"Ah, dear Lady," Silk replied with outrageous extravagance, "knowest 
thou not that the poet doth lurk beneath the most common exterior? An 
it please thee, I will deliver unto thee


fulsome compliments upon thine every ravishing and unsurpassed 
part." He eyed her up and down suggestively.


"Kheldar!" she exclaimed, blushing bright red.


"That's sort of fun, you know," Silk said, referring to the archaic 
speech—at least Garion hoped that was what he was referring to. "Once 
you learn how to wrap your tongue around the 'haths,' and 'doths,' 
and 'forasmuches,' it has a certain ring and cadence to it, doesn't 
it?"


"We're surrounded by charlatans, mother." Polgara sighed.


"Belgarath," Dumik said seriously, "there's not much point in taking 
the horses, is there? What I mean is that we're going to be 



clambering over rocks and wading in surf when we get to the reef. 
Wouldn't the horses just be in the way?"


"You're probably right, Dumik," the old man agreed.


"I'll go down to the stables and talk with the grooms," the smith 
said. "The rest of you go on ahead. I'll catch up." He turned and 
left the room.


"An eminently practical man," Poledra observed.


"The poet, however, doth lurk beneath that most practical of 
exteriors, Mother—" Polgara smiled "—-and thou woutdst not believe 
how much pleasure I take in that aspect of him."


"I think it's time for us to get off this island, Old Wolf," Poledra 
said wryly. "Two more days and they'll all be sitting around 
composing bad poetry."


Servants arrived then to carry their packs to the harbor, and Garion 
and his companions trooped through the halls of the palace and out 
into the streets of Dal Perivor. Although the morning had dawned 
bright and sunny, a bank of heavy clouds had begun to build up off to 
the west, heavy, purple clouds that spoke eloquently of the 
likelihood of bad weather over Korim.


"I suppose we should have known." Silk sighed. "Once-just once—I'd 
like to see one of these stupendous events happen in good weather."


Garion fully understood what lay behind the apparently tight-hearted 
banter. None of them approached tomorrow without a certain 
apprehension. The pronouncement Cyradis had made at Rheon that one of 
them would not survive the meeting lay heavily on each of their 
minds, and in the fashion as old as man himself, each tried to make 
light of his fears. That reminded him of something, and he dropped 
back to have a word with the Seeress of Kell. "Cyradis," he said to 
the blindfolded girl, "should Zakath and I wear our armor when we get 
to the reef?" He plucked at the front of the doublet he had put on 
with


208


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


209


some relief that morning in the hope that he might never again be 
obliged to encase himself in steel. "What I'nl getting at is that if 
the meeting is going to be entirely spiritual, there's no real need 
for it, is there? But if there's a possibility of some ; 
fighting, we should probably be prepared, shouldn't we?"


"Thou art as transparent as glass, Belgarion of Riva," she said, 
chiding him gently, "Thou thinkest to trick answers from me to ' 
questions which I am forbidden to discuss with thee. Do as it pleas-
eth thee, King of Riva. Prudence, however, doth suggest that a bit of 



steel here and mere in thine apparel might not be inappropriate when 
approaching a situation where surprises might await thee."


"I wUl be guided by thee." Garion grinned. "Thy prudent advice 
seemeth to me the course of wisdom."


"Makestthou a rather feeble attempt at humor, Belgarion?"


"Would I do that, Holy Seeress?" He grinned at her and strode back to 
where Belgarath and Poledra walked hand in hand just behind Zakath 
and Sadi. "Grandfather, I think I just man-r aged to sneak an 
answer out of Cyradis," he said.


"That might be a first," the old man replied. :


"I think there might be some fighting when we get to the | 
reef. I asked her if Zakath and I should wear armor when we i 
get there. She didn't answer me directly, but she said that it might 
not be a bad idea—just in case."


' 'You might want to pass that on to the others. Let's not have them 
walking into something blind."


"I'll do that."


The king, along with most of his gaily clad court, awaited them on a 
long wharf extending out into the choppy waters of , the 
harbor. Despite the temperate morning, the king wore an ' 
ermine robe and a heavy gold crown. "Gladly do I greet thee and thy 
noble companions, Belgarion of Riva," he declaimed, "and in sadness 
do I await thy departure. Many here have pled with me that I might 
permit them also to speak to this matter, but in thy behalf I have 
steadfastly refused such permission, knowing full well the urgency of 
thy quest."


"Thou art a true and faithful friend, your Majesty," Garion said with 
genuine gratitude at being spared a morning of windy speeches. He 
clasped the king's hand warmly. "Know that if the Gods grant us 
victory on the morrow, we will return straightaway to this happy isle 
so that we may more fulsomely express our gratitude to thee and the 
members of thy court who have all treated us with such noble 
courtesy.'' Besides, they had to come back for the horses anyway. 
"And now, your Majesty, our fate


awaits us. We must, with scant and niggard farewell, take ship to go 
forth with resolute hearts to meet that fate. An it please the Gods, 
we shall return anon. Good-bye, my friend."


"Fare thee well, Belgarion of Riva," the king said in a voice near to 
tears. "May the Gods grant thee and thy companions victory."


"Pray that it may be so." Garion turned with a rather melodramatic 
swirl of his cloak and led his friends up the gangway. He glanced 
back over his shoulder and saw Durnik pushing his way through the 
crowd. That would help. As soon as the smith was on board, Garion 
could give the order to cast off all lines and thus avoid the 
necessity of more extended farewells shouted across the ship's rail.



Directly behind Durnik came die several carts carrying their packs. 
Their belongings were quickly transferred to the ship, and Garion 
went aft to speak with the captain, a grizzled old seaman with a 
weathered face.


Unlike western vessels, whose bare plank decks were usually 
holystoned into some semblance of whiteness, the quarterdeck and its 
surrounding railings were finished with a dark, glossy varnish, and 
snowy ropes hung in neat coils from highly polished- belaying pins. 
The effect was almost ostentatiously neat, evidence that the vessel's 
master took great pride in his ship. The captain himself wore a 
somewhat weathered blue doublet. He was, after all, in port. A jaunty 
velvet cap was cocked rakishly over one of his ears.


"I guess that's everything, Captain," Garion said. "We may as well 
cast off and get clear of the harbor before the tide turns.''


"You've been to sea before, I see, young master," the captain said 
approvingly. "I hope your friends have, as well. It's always a trial 
to have landsmen aboard. They never seem to realize that throwing up 
into the wind isn't a good idea." He raised his voice to an ear-
splitting bellow. "Cast off all lines! Prepare to make sail!"


"Your speech doesn't seem to be that of the island, Captain," Garion 
observed.


"I 'd be surprised if it were, young master. I 'm from the Mel-cene 
Islands. About twenty years ago, there were some ugly rumors about me 
being circulated in some quarters back home, so I thought it might be 
prudent to absent myself for a while. I came here. You wouldn't 
believe what these people were calling a ship when I got here."


' 'Sort of like a seagoing castle?'' Garion suggested.


"You've seen them then?"


SEERESS OF KELL


"In another part of the world.''


"Make sail!" the captain roared at his crew. "There, young master." 
He grinned at Garion. "I'll have you out of earshot in no time at 
all. That should spare us all that drasty 'eloquence. Where was I? 
Oh, yes. When I got here, the ships of Perivor were so top-heavy that 
a good sneeze would capsize them. Would you believe it only took me 
five years to explain that to these people?"


"You must have been amazingly eloquent, Captain." Garion laughed.


"A bout or two with belaying pins helped a bit," the captain 
conceded. "Finally I had to issue a challenge, though. None of these 
blockheads can refuse a challenge, so I proposed a race around the 
island. Twenty ships started out, and only mine finished. They 
started listening about then. I spent the next five years in the 
yards supervising construction. Then the king finally let me go back 
to sea. I got me a baronetcy out of it—not that it matters. I think 



IVe even got a castle somewhere."


A brazen blast came from the wharf as, in true Mimbrate fashion, the 
knights of the king's court saluted them on their horns. "Isn't that 
pitiful?" the captain said. "I don't think there's a man on the whole 
island who can carry a tune." He looked appraisingly at Garion. "I 
heard tell that you're making for the Turim reef."


"Korim reef," Garion corrected absently.


"You've been listening to the landsmen, I see. They can't even 
pronounce the name right. Anyway, before you get your mind set in 
stone about where you want to land, send for me. There's some very 
ugly water around that reef. It's not the sort of place where you 
want to make mistakes, and IVe got some fairly accurate charts."


"The king told us there weren't any charts of the reef."


The captain winked slyly. "The rumors I mentioned earlier stirred 
some ship captains to try to follow me," he admitted, "although 
'chase' would probably be a more accurate word. Rewards cause that 
sort of thing sometimes. Anyhow, I was passing near the reef in calm 
weather once, and I decided to take some soundings. It never hurts to 
have a place to hide where others are afraid to follow you.''


"What's your name, Captain?" Garion asked him.


"Kresca, young master."


"I think we can drop that. Garion will do just fine."


"Whatever you like, Garion. Now get oifmy quarterdeck so I can 
maneuver this old tub out of the harbor. *'


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


The speech was different, and it was halfway around the world, but 
Captain Kresca was so much like Barak's friend Grel-dik that Garion 
felt suddenly very secure. He went below to join the others. "WeVe 
had a bit of luck," he told them. "Our captain is a Melcene. He's not 
overburdened with scruples, but he has got charts of the reef. He's 
probably the only man in these waters who does. He's offered to 
advise us when the time comes to decide on where we want to land."


"That was helpful of him," Silk said.


"Maybe, but I think his main concern is not ripping the bottom out of 
his ship."


"I can relate to that," Silk said. "As long as I'm on board, anyway."


"I'm going back up on deck," Garion said then. "Staying in a stuffy 
compartment on the first day of a voyage always makes me a little 
queasy for some reason."


"And you 're the ruler of an island? " Poledra said.



"It's just a question of getting adjusted, Grandmother."


"Of course."


The sea and sky were unsettled. The heavy cloud bank was still coming 
in from trie west, sending long, ponderous combers rolling in from 
that direction, waves that had in all probability started somewhere 
off the east coast of Cthol Murgos. Although, as king of an island 
nation, Garion knew that the phenomenon was not unusual, he 
nonetheless felt a certain sense of superstitious apprehension when 
he saw that the surface winds were moving westward while those aloft, 
as proclaimed by the movement of the clouds, moved east. He had seen 
this happen many times before, but mis time he could not be positive 
that the weather was responding to natural causes or to something 
else. Idly he wondered what those two eternal awarenesses might have 
done had he and his friends not found a ship. He had a momentary 
vision of the sea parting to provide a broad highway across its 
bottom, a highway littered with startled fish. He began to feel less 
and less in charge of his own destiny. Even as he had on the long 
trek to Cthol Mishrak, he became increasingly certain that the two 
prophecies were herding him toward Korim for a meeting that, though 
he himself might not have chosen it, was the ultimate Event toward 
which the entire universe had been yearning since the beginning of 
days. A plaintive "Why me?" hovered on his lips.


And then Ce'Nedra was there, burrowing under his arm as she had 
during those first few heady days when they had finally discovered 
that they did, in fact, love each other. "What are


SEERESS OF KELL


you thinking about, Garion?" she asked softly. She had changed out of 
the antique green satin gown she had worn at the palace and now wore 
a gray dress of utilitarian wool.


"I'm not, really. Probably worrying comes a lot closer."


"What's mere to worry about? We're going to win, aren't we?"


' 'That hasn't been decided yet.''


"Of course you're going to win. You always do."


"This time's a little different, Ce'Nedra." He sighed. "It's not just 
the meeting, though. I've got to choose my successor, and the one I 
choose is going to be the new Child of Light—and most probably a God. 
If I pick the wrong person, it's possible that I'll create a God 
who'll be an absolute disaster. Could you imagine Silk as a God? He'd 
be out there picking the pockets of the other Gods and inscribing 
off-color jokes in the constellations."


"He doesn't really seem to have the right kind of temperament for 
it," she agreed. "I like him well enough, but I'm afraid UL might 
disapprove very strongly. What else is bothering you?"



"You know what else. One of us isn't going to live through 


tomorrow.''
"You don't really have to concern yourself about that, Gar-ion," she 
said wistfully. "It's going to be me. IVe known that from the very 
beginning."


"Don't be absurd. I can make sure it's not you."
"Oh? How?"
"I'll just tell them that I won't make the Choice if they hurt you in 


any way."


"Garion!" she gasped. "You can't do that! You'll destroy the universe 
if you do!"
' 'So what? The universe doesn't mean anything to'me without you, you 


know."


"That's very sweet, but you can't do it. You wouldn't do it anyway. 
YouVe got too great a sense of responsibility.''
"What makes you think you're going to be the one?"
"The tasks, Garion. Every one of us has a task—some of us more than 


one. Belgarath had to find out where the meeting's going to take 
place. Velvet had to kill Harakan. Even Sadi had a task. He had to 
kill Naradas. I have no task—except to die."


Garion decided at that point to tell her. "You did have a task, 
Ce'Nedra," he told her, "and you did it very well."


"What are you talking about?"
"You wouldn't remember it. After we left Kell, you were very drowsy 
for several days.''


"Yes, I remember that."
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


"It wasn't because you were sleepy. Zandramas was tampering with your 
mind. She's done it before. You remember that you got sick on your 
way to Rak Hagga?"


"Yes."


"It was a different kind of sickness, but it was Zandramas again. 
She's been trying to take control of you for more than a year now.''


Ce'Nedra stared at him.


"Anyway, after we left Kell, she managed to put your mind to sleep. 
You wandered off and, out there in the forest, you thought you met 
Arell."



"Arell? She's dead."


"I know, but you thought you met her all the same, and she gave you 
what you thought was our baby. Then this supposed Arell asked you 
some questions, and you answered them."


"What kind of questions?"


"Zandramas had to find out where the meeting was supposed to take 
place, and she couldn't go to Kell. She posed as Arell so she could 
ask you those questions. You told her about Perivor, about the map, 
and about Korim. That was your task.''


"I betrayed you?" Her look was stricken.


"No. You saved the universe. Zandramas absolutely has to be at Korim 
at the right time. Somebody had to tell her where to go, and that was 
your task.''


"I don't remember any of this."


' 'Of course not. Aunt Pol erased the memory of it from your mind. It 
wasn't really your fault, and you'd have been overcome with remorse 
if you'd been able to remember what happened."


"I still betrayed you."


"You did what had to be done, Ce'Nedra." Garion smiled a bit 
wistfully. "You know, both sides in this have been trying to do the 
same thing. We—and Zandramas, of course—have been trying to find 
Korim and to keep the other side from finding out where it is so that 
we can win by default. It was never going to happen that way, though. 
The meeting absolutely has to take place before Cyradis can choose. 
The prophecies weren't going to let it happen any other way. Both 
sides have wasted a great deal of effort trying to do something that 
simply could not be done. We should have all realized that from the 
very beginning. We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble. About 
the only consolation I have is that Zandramas wasted a lot more 
effort than we did.


"I'm still certain that it's going to be me."


"Nonsense."


SEERESS OF KELL


"I just hope they let me hold my baby before I die," she said sadly.


"You're not going to die, Ce'Nedra."


She ignored him. "I want you to take care of yourself, Gar-ion," she 
said firmly. "Be sure that you eat right, dress warmly in winter, and 
make sure that our son doesn't forget me."


"Ce'Nedra, will you stop this?"



"One last thing, Garion," she plowed on relentlessly. "After I've 
been gone for a while, I want you to marry again. I don't want you 
moping around the way Belgarath has for the last three thousand 
years."


"Absolutely not. Besides, nothing's going to happen to you."


"We'll see. Promise, Garion. You weren't meant to be alone, and you 
need somebody to take care of you."


"Have you almost finished with this?" It was Poledra. She stepped out 
from behind the foremast in a businesslike way. "It's all very pretty 
and sweetly melancholy, I'm sure, but isn't it just a trifle 
overdramatic? Garion's right, Ce'Nedra. Nothing's going to happen to 
you, so why don't you fold up all this nobility and put it away in a 
closet someplace?"


"I know what I know, Poledra," Ce'Nedra said stubbornly.


"I hope you won't be too disappointed when you wake up the day after 
tomorrow and find that you're in perfect health."


"Who's it going to be, then?"


"Me," Poledra said simply. "IVe known about it for over three 
thousand years now, so IVe had time to get used to it. At least I 
have this day with the ones I love before I have to leave for good. 
Ce'Nedra, that wind is very chilly. Let's go below before you catch 
cold." ,


"She's just like your Aunt Pol, isn't she?" Ce'Nedra said over her 
shoulder as Poledra firmly led her toward the stair leading 
belowdecks.


"Naturally," Garion called back.


"It's started, I see," Silk said from not far away.


"What's started?"


"The gushy farewells. Just about everybody's convinced that he's the 
one who won't see the sun go down tomorrow. I'd imagine that they'll 
all come up here one by one to say good-bye to you. I thought I'd be 
first—sort of to get it out of the way—but Ce'Nedra beat me to it.''


"You? Nothing could kill you, Silk. You're too lucky."


"IVe made my own luck, Garion. It's not that hard to tamper with 
dice." The little man's face grew reflective. "WeVe really


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


had some good times, haven't we? I think they outweigh the bad ones, 
and that's about ali a man can hope for."



"You're as maudlin as Ce'Nedra and my grandmother were."


"It does sort of seem that way, doesn't it? And that's very 
unbecoming. Don't be too sad about it, Garion. If I do happen to be 
the one, it should spare me the discomfort of making a very 
unpleasant decision.''


"Oh? What decision is that?"


"You know my views on marriage, don't you?"


"Oh, yes. YouVe spoken on the subject many, many times."


Silk sighed. "All that to the contrary, I think I'm going to have to 
make up my mind about Liselle."


"I wondered how long that would take you."


"You knew?" Silk looked surprised.


"Everybody knew, Silk. She set out to get you, and she did exactly 
that."


"That's depressing—to get trapped finally when I'm in my dotage."


"I'd hardly say you're that far gone."


"I must be even to be considering something like this," Silk said 
moodily. "Liselle and I could continue to go on the way we have been, 
I suppose, but sneaking down hallways to her bedroom in the middle of 
the night seems a little disrespectful for some reason, and I'm too 
fond of her for that."


"Fond?"


"All right then," Silk snapped. "I'm in love with her. Does it make 
you feel better to have me come right out and say it?"


"I just wanted to get it clear, that's all. Is this the first time 
youVe admitted it—even to yourself?"


"IVe been trying to avoid that. Do you suppose we could talk about 
something else?" He looked around. "I wish he'd go find another piece 
of air to fly in,'' he said in a grouchy tone of voice.


"Who?"


"That blasted albatross. He's back again." Silk pointed. Gar-ion, 
turned and saw the white seabird with its enormous wings Oil station 
once more just ahead of the bowsprit. The cloud bank to the west had 
grown more and more purpie as the morning had progressed, and against 
that backdrop the snowy bird .seemed almost to glow with an unearthly 
incandescence.


"That's very strange," Garion said.


*'I just wish I knew what he was up to," Silk said. "I'm going below. 
I don't want to look at him anymore." He took



SEERESS OF KELL


Garionls hand in his. "WeVe had fun," he said gruffly. "Take care of 
yourself.''


"You don't have to leave."


"I have to make room for all the others waiting in line to see you, 
your Majesty." Silk grinned. "I think you're in fora depressing day. 
I 'm going to go find out if Beldin's found an ale barrel yet." With 
a jaunty wave, the little man turned and went to the stairway leading 
below.


Silk's prediction proved to be all too accurate. One by one, Garion's 
friends came up on deck to take leave of him, each firmly convinced 
that he would be the one to die. Alt in all, it was a very gloomy 
day.


It was almost twilight when the last of the self-composed epitaphs 
had been completed. Garion leaned on the rail, looking back at the 
phosphorescent wake glowing behind their ship.


"Bad day, I take it?" It was Silk again.


"Dreadful. Did Beldin find any ale?"


"I don't recommend any of that for you. You'll need your wits about 
you tomorrow. I just came up to make sure that all the gloom your 
friends have been piling on you doesn't make you start thinking about 
drowning yourself." Silk frowned. "What's that?" he asked.


"What's what?"


"That booming noise." He looked toward the bow. "There it is," he 
said tensely.


The purple sky had turned almost black with the onset of evening, a 
black pierced here and there with patches of angry red, the light of 
the setting sun glowing through tfie clouds. There was a rusty-
colored blur low on the horizon, a blur that seemed to be wearing a 
white necklace of frothy surf.


Captain Kresca came forward with the rolling walk of a man who spends 
little time ashore. "That's it, good masters," he told them. "That's 
the reef."


Garion stared out at the Place Which Is No More, his thoughts and 
emotions stumbling over each other.


And then the albatross gave a strange cry, a cry that seemed almost 
triumphant. The great pearly-white bird dipped its pinions once, then 
continued toward Korim on seemingly motionless wings.


CHAPTER NINETEEN



Oskatat the Seneschal moved with a certain deliberate speed through 
the corridors of the Drojim Palace toward the throne room of Urgit, 
high King of Cthol Murgos. Oskatat's scarred face was bleak, and his 
mind was troubled. He stopped before the closely guarded door to the 
throne room. "I will speak with his Majesty," he declared.


The guards hastily opened the door for him. Although by mutual 
agreement between himself and King Urgit, Oskatat still bore only the 
title of Seneschal, the guards, like everyone else in the palace, 
recognized the fact that he was second only to the king himself in 
authority in Cthol Murgos.


He found his rat-faced monarch in light conversation with Queen Praia 
and Queen Mother Tamazin, Oskatat's own wife. "Ah, there you are, 
Oskatat," Urgit said. "Now my little family is complete. We've been 
discussing some extensive remodeling of the Drojim Palace. All these 
jewels and the tons of gold


217


218


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


219


on the ceilings are in terribly bad taste, wouldn't you say? Besides, 
I need the money I'll be able to get for all that trash for the war 
effort."


"Something important has come up, Urgit," Oskatat told his king. By 
royal command, Oskatat always called his king by his first name in 
private conversations.


"That's depressing," Urgit said, sprawling deeper into the cushions 
on his throne. Taur Urgas, Urgit's supposed father, had scornfully 
rejected such comforts as cushions, preferring to set an example of 
Murgo hardihood by sitting for hours on cold stone. About all that 
brainless gesture had gained the mad king had been a fistula, which 
had added quite noticeably in the later years of his life to his 
irritability.


"Sit up straight, Urgit," Lady Tamazin, the king's mother, said 
absently.


"Yes, mother," Urgit replied, straightening slightly on his throne. 
"Go ahead, Oskatat," he said, "but please drop it on me gently. 
Lately IVe noticed that 'important things' usually turn out to be 
disasters."


"IVe been in contact with Jaharb, Chief Elder of the Da-gashi," 
Oskatat reported. "At my request, he's been trying to pinpoint the 
location of Agachak the Hierarch. We've finally found him—or at least 
found the port he sailed from when he left Cthol Murgos."


"Astonishing," Urgit said with a broad grin. "For once you've 



actually brought me some good news. So Agachak has left Cthol Murgos. 
We can hope that it's his intention'to sail off the edge of the 
world. I'm glad you told me about this, Oskatat. I'll sleep much 
better now that that walking corpse no longer contaminates what's 
left of my kingdom. Were Jaharb's spies able to find out his intended 
destination?"


"He's bound for Mallorea, Urgit. Judging from his actions, he appears 
to believe that the Sardion is there. He went to Thull Mardu and 
pressured King Nathel into accompanying him."


Urgit suddenly laughed uproariously. "He actually did it!" he 
exclaimed with delight.


"I don't quite follow you."


"I suggested to him once that he take Nathel instead of me when he 
went after the Sardion. Now he's saddled himself with that cretin. 
I'd give a great deal to listen to some of their conversations. If he 
happens to succeed, he'll make Nathel Over-king of Angarak, and 
Nathel can't even tie his own shoes."


"You don't actually think Agachak will succeed, do you?"


Queen Praia said, a slight frown creasing her flawless brow. Queen 
Praia was several months gone with child, and she'd taken flHvorrying 
about things lately.


"Win?" Urgit snorted. "He hasn't got a chance. He has to get past 
Belgarion first—not to mention Belgarath and Polgara. They'll 
incinerate him." He smiled sardonically. "It's so nice to have 
powerful friends." He stopped, frowning slightly. "We really ought to 
warn Belgarion, though—and Kheldar," he added. He sprawled down into 
his cushions again. ' 'The last we heard, Belgarion and his friends 
had left Rak Hagga with Kal Zakath. Our best guess was that they were 
going to Mal Zeth, either as guests or as prisoners.'' He pulled at 
his long, pointed nose. "I know Belgarion well enough to know that 
he's not the sort to stay a prisoner for very long, though. Zakath 
probably knows where he is, however. Oskatat, is there any way we can 
get a Dagashi to Mal Zeth?"


' 'We could try, Urgit, but our chances of success wouldn't be too 
good, and a Dagashi might have some difficulty getting in to see the 
Emperor, Zakath's got a civil war on his hands, so he's likely to be 
a bit preoccupied."


"That's true, isn't it?" Urgit tapped his fingers on the arm of his 
throne. "He's still keeping abreast of what's happening here in Cthol 
Murgos, though, wouldn't you say?"


"Undoubtedly."


' 'Why not let him be our messenger to Belgarion then?''


"You're moving a little fast for me, Urgit," Oskatat confessed.


"What's the nearest town occupied by the Malloreans?"



"They still have a reduced garrison at Rak Cthaka. We could overwhelm 
them in a few hours, but we haven't wanted to give Zakath any reason 
to return to Cthol Murgos in force."


Urgit shuddered. "I'm very strongly inclined toward that line of 
thinking myself," he admitted, "but I owe Belgarion several favors, 
and I want to protect my brother as much as I can. I'll tell you what 
you do, Oskatat. Take about three army corps and run on down to Rak 
Cthaka. Malloreans out in the countryside will run off to Rak Hagga 
to pass the word on to Kal Zakath that we're beginning to attack his 
cities. That should get his attention. Mill around outside the city 
for a while, then surround the place. Ask for a parlay with the 
garrison commander. Explain the situation to him. I'll compose a 
letter to Kal Zakath pointing out a certain community of interest in 
this affair. I'm sure he doesn't want Agachak in Mallorea any more 
than I want the old


220


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


221


magician here in Cthol Murgos. I'll suggest in the strongest terms 
that he pass the word on to Belgarion. The word he'll have already 
received about our hostile actions will guarantee that he'll at least 
look at my letter. He'll get in touch with Belgarion, and then we can 
both sit back and watch the Godslayer solve our problem for us." He 
grinned suddenly. "Who knows? This might even be the first step 
toward a reconciliation between his Imperial Implacableness and me. I 
really think it's time for An-garaks to stop killing each other."


' 'Can't you squeeze any more speed out of her?'' King Anheg demanded 
of Captain Greldik.


"Of course, Anheg," Greldik growled. "I could crowd on more sail, and 
we'll be as swift as an arrow—for about five minutes. Then the masts 
will break, and we'll go back to rowing. Which shift should I put you 
down for?"


"Greldik, have you ever heard the term 'l£se-majest£'?"


"YouVe mentioned it frequently, Anheg, but you should take a look at 
maritime law sometime. When we're on board this ship and at sea, I 
have even more absolute authority than you've got in Val Alorn. If I 
tell you to row, you'll row—or swim."


Anheg walked away, muttering curses under his breath.


"Any luck?" Emperor Varana asked as the Alorn king approached the 
bow.


"He told me to mind my own business," Anheg grunted. "Then he offered 
to let me man an oar if I was in such a hurry."


"Have you ever manned an oar before? "



"Once. Chereks are a seagoing people, and my father thought it would 
be educational for me to make a voyage as a deckhand. I didn't mind 
the rowing so much. It was the flogging that irritated me.''


"They actually flogged the crown prince?" Varana asked incredulously.


"It's very hard to see an oarsman's lace when you're coming up behind 
him.'' Anheg shrugged. ''The oarsmaster was trying to get more speed 
out of us. We were pursuing a Tolnedran merchantman at the time, and 
we didn't want her to reach the safety of Tblnedran territorial 
waters."


"Anheg!" Varana exclaimed.


"That was years ago, Varana. I've given orders now that Tblnedran 
vessels are not to be molested—at least not in the sight of 
witnesses. The whole point of this is that Greldik's


probably right. If he puts on all sail, the wind will uproot his 
masts, and you and I'll both wind up rowing."


"We don't have much chance of catching up with Barak, then, do we?"


"I'm not so sure. Barak's not nearly as good a sailor as Greldik is, 
and that oversized tub of his isn't very responsive to the helm. 
We're gaining on him every day. When he gets to Mal-lorea, he's going 
to have to stop in every port to ask questions. Most Malloreans 
wouldn't recognize Garion if he walked up and spat in their eyes. 
Kheldar's another matter, though. I understand that the little thief 
has branch offices in most of the cities and towns in Mallorea. I 
know how Barak thinks. As soon as he gets to Mallorea, he's going to 
go looking for Silk, since Silk and Garion are obviously going to be 
together. I don't have to ask about Silk, though. All I've got to do 
is describe the Seabird to waterfront loafers in just a few towns. 
For the price of a few tankards of ale, I'll be able to follow Barak 
wherever he goes. Hopefully we'll catch up with him before he finds 
Garion and ruins everything. I just wish that blind girl hadn't told 
him he couldn't go along. The fastest way I know of to get Barak to 
do something is to forbid him to do it. If he was with Garion, at 
least Belgarath would be there to keep him under control."


"How do you propose to stop him even if we do catch up with him? His 
ship may be slower than this one, but it's also bigger, and it 
carries more men."


"Greldik and I have worked that out," Anheg replied. "Greldik's got a 
special piece of equipment in his forward hold. It bolts to the bow 
of this ship. If Barak refuses to come about when I order him to, 
Greldik's going to ram him. He won't go very fast in a sinking 
ship.''


"Anheg, that's monstrous!"


"So's what Barak's trying to do. If he succeeds in breaking through 
to Garion, Zandramas will win, and we'll all end up under the heel of 
somebody worse than Torak was. If I have to sink Seabirdto avoid 
that, I'll do it ten times over." He sighed. "I'll miss my cousin, 



though, in case he gets drowned," he admitted.


Queen Porenn of Drasnia had summoned Margrave Khen-don, the chief of 
her intelligence service, to her private chambers that morning and 
issued her commands in no uncertain trams. "Every oneof them, 
Javelin," she had said in a peremp-


222


SEERESS OF KELL.


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


223


tory tone, "I want every single spy out of this wing of the palace 
for the rest of the day.''


"Porenn!" Javelin had gasped. "That's unheard of! "


' 'Not really. You just heard it—from me. Tell your people to sweep 
all the unofficial spies out, as well. I want this wing of the palace 
totally unpopulated within the hour. I have spies of my own, Javelin, 
and I know where all the usual hiding places are. Clean out every one 
of them."


"I'm bitterly disappointed in you, Porenn. Monarchs simply don't 
treat the intelligence service in this fashion. Have you any idea of 
what this is going to do to my people's morale?"


"Frankly, Khendon, I couldn't care less about the morale of your 
professional snoops. This is a matter of supreme urgency.''


"Has my service ever failed you, your Majesty?" Javelin's tone had 
been a bit offended.


"Twice that J recall. Didn't the Bear-cult infiltrate your service? 
And didn't your people fail abysmally to warn me about Genera! 
Haldar's defection?"


Javelin had sighed. "All right, Porenn, sometimes a few mi-northings 
have escaped us."


"You call Haldar's going over to the Bear-cult minor?"


"You're being unnecessarily critical, Porenn,"


"I want this wing cleared, Javelin. Would you like to have me summon 
my son? We'll draw up a proclamation making the prohibition against 
spying on the royal family permanent."


"You wouldn't!" Javelin's face had turned absolutely white. "The 
whole service would collapse. The right to spy on the royal family 
has always been the highest reward for exemplary service. Most of my 
people jump at the chance.'' He frowned slightly. "Silk's turned it 
down three times already, though," he added.


"Then clear them out, Javelin—and don't forget the closet hidden 



behind the tapestry in the corridor just outside."


"How did you find out about thafi"


"Ididn't. Kheva did, actually."


Javelin had groaned.


A few hours after that, Porenn sat impatiently in her sitting room 
with her son, King Kheva. Kheva was maturing rapidly now. His voice 
had settled into a resonant baritone, and a downy beard had begun to 
sprout on his cheeks. His mother, in somewhat marked contrast to most 
regents, had been gradually introducing him into state councils and 
negotiations with foreign powers. It would not be long now until she 
could gently guide


.r him to the forefront and gradually withdraw herself from her 
unwanted position of authority. Kheva would be a good king, she 
thought. He was very nearly as shrewd as his father had been and he 
had that most necessary trait in a reigning monarch,


. good sense.


•i. There was a rather heavy-handed pounding on the sitting-loom 
door. "Yes?" Porenn replied.
i "It's me, Porenn," a brash-sounding voice said. "Yarblek." v "Come 
in, Yarblek. We've got something to talk about." s, Yarblek pushed 
the door open, and he and Vella entered. | Porenn sighed. During the 
course of her visit to Gar og Nadrak, & Vella had reverted. She had 
shed the shallow veneer of gentility f?Porenn had labored so long to 
create, and her garb indicated f that she had once again become the 
wild, untameable creature 'I she had always been before.


;| "What's all the rush, Porenn?" Yarblek said gruffly, dump-|ing 
his shabby felt coat and shaggy hat in the corner. "Your messenger 
almost killed his horse getting to me."


"Something urgent has come up," the Queen of Drasnia replied. "I 
think it concerns us all. I want you to keep it in strictest 
^confidence, however."


"Confidence." Yarblek laughed derisively. "You know there f aren't 
any secrets in your palace, Porenn." ; "There is this time," 
Porenn said a bit smugly. "This mom-


• :ing I ordered Javelin to clear all the spies out of this wing of 
die 'i palace."
Yarblek grinned. "How did he take it?" "Badly, I'm afraid."


"Good. He's been getting just a little too sure of himself flately. 
All right, let's get down to business. What's this prob-"tem?"


§;-"In a moment. Did you find out what Drosta's been up to?" "Of 
course. He's trying to make peace with Zakath. He's been dealing—at a 
distance—with the Mallorean who's in charge [of their Bureau of 
Internal Affairs; Brador, I think his name is. Anyway, Drosta's been 



letting Mallorean agents runnel through Gar og Nadrak to infiltrate 
the west.''


It was Yarblek's tone of voice more than anything that warned renn 
that there was more. "All of it, Yarblek. You're holding ngs back.''


Yarblek sighed. "I hate dealing with a clever woman," he implained. 
"It seems so unnatural for some reason." Then he prudently skipped 
out of the range of Vella's daggers. "All


224


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


225


right.'' He gave up. ' 'Zakath needs money and lots of it to deal 
with the wars he's got on two different fronts. Drosta's cut the 
import duties on Mallorean carpets—at least to the merchants who pay 
taxes to Mal Zeth. Those Malloreans have been scalping Silk and me in 
the Arendish markets."


"I assume you took advantage of that information?"


"Naturally." He thought a moment. "Here's your chance to make a tidy 
profit, Porenn," he suggested. "Drosta's cut the import duties to the 
Malloreans by fifteen percent. You could raise your duties by the 
same amount. You'll make money, and Silk and I can stay competitive."


"I think you're trying to swindle me, Yarblek," Porenn said 
suspiciously.


"Me?"


"We'll talk about it later. Now, listen very carefully. This is the 
reason I sent for you. Barak, Mandorallen, Hettar, Lell-dorin, and 
Relg are sailing to Mallorea. We're not entirely positive, but we 
think they plan to intrude themselves in Belgarion's quest. You were 
there at Rheon, and you know what that Dala-sian Seeress told us. 
Those hotheads absolutely have to stay out of it."


"I'll certainly agree about that."


"How fast can you get a message to your people in Mallorea?"


"A few weeks. Maybe a little fester if I make it a top priority."


"This matter has the highest priority, Yarblek. Anheg and Varana are 
chasing Barak, but we can't be sure they'll catch him in time. We 
have to delay Barak, and the best way to do that is to feed him 
misinformation. I want you to instruct your people in Mallorea to 
tell Barak lies. Keep him going off in the wrong direction every 
chance you get. Barak will be following Khel-dar, so he'll be 
checking in at every one of your branch offices in Mallorea for 
information. If Kheldar and the others are going to Maga Renn or Penn 
Daka, have your people tell Barak thai he's going to Mal Dariya."



"I know the procedure, Porenn," Yarblek said. He squinted at her 
speculatively. "You'll be turning authority here in Drasnia over to 
his Majesty here fairly soon, won't you?" he asked her.


"In a few years, yes."


"When this business in Mallorea is concluded, I think Silk and I 
might want to have a long discussion with you."
"Oh?"
"What's your feeling about accepting a junior partnership in our 


operation—after your obligations here in Boktor have all been 


satisfied?"
"I'm very flattered, Yarblek. What possessed you to raise such a 
possibility? "


"You're very shrewd, Porenn, and you've got all sorts of contacts. We 


might even be prepared to go as high as a five percent share."
"Absolutely out of the question, Yarblek," King Kheva interrupted 
surprisingly. "The percentage would have to be at least twenty."


"Twenty?" Yarblek almost screamed.
*' I have to protect my mother's interests,'' Kheva said blandly. 


"She won't always be young, you know, and I'd hate to see her spend 
her declining years scrubbing floors."
"This is highway robbery, Kheva!" Yarblek's face had turned bright 


red.
"I'm not holding a knife to your throat, Yarblek," Kheva said. "It 
might really be better in the long run if mother went into business 
for herself anyway. She should be able to do very well—particularly 


in view of the fact that all members of the royal family are exempt 
from Drasnian import duties.''
"I think you just stabbed yourself in the hand, Yarblek." Vella 


smirked. "As long as you're getting bad news today anyway, I might as 
well add my share. When this is all over, I want you to sell me."
"Sell you? To whom?"
"I'll tell you when the time comes."


"Has he got any money?"
"I really don't know, but that doesn't matter. I'll pay you your 
share of the price myself.''


"You must really think a lot of him to make that kind of an offer."
"You have absolutely no idea, Yarblek. I was made for this man."
"We were told to stay here, Atesca," Bradorsaid stubbornly.



"That was before this long silence," General Atesca said, nervously 
pacing up and down in the large pavilion they shared. Atesca wore his 
uniform and his gold-inlaid steel breastplate. "The Em-perort well-
being and safety are my responsibility."


"They're as much mine as they are yours." Brador was ab-


SEERESS OF KELL


sently rubbing the furry tummy of the half-grown cat lying ecstatic 
in his tap.


"All right, why aren't you doing something about it then? We haven't 
had word of him in weeks. Not even your intelligence network can tell 
us where he is."


"I know that, Atesca, but I'm not going to disobey an imperial 
command just because you're getting nervous—or bored."


' 'Why don't you stay here and take care of the kittens, then?'' 
Atesca said acidly. "I'm going to move the army out tomorrow 
morning."


"I didn't deserve that, Atesca."


"Sorry, Brador. This long silence is making me a little edgy, and I'm 
losing my grip on civility."


"I'm as concerned as you are, Atesca," Brador said, "but all of my 
training rises up in protest at the notion of flying directly in the 
face of an imperial command." The kitten in Brador's lap nuzzled at 
his fingers affectionately. "You know," he said, "I think that when 
his Majesty returns, I'll ask him if I can have this kitten. I'm 
really growing rather fond of her."


"That's up to you," Atesca said. "Trying to find homes for two or 
three litters of kittens every year might keep you out of trouble." 
The broken-nosed general tugged thoughtfully at one earlobe. "How 
about a compromise?" he suggested.


"Ifai always willing to listen."


"All right. We know that Urvon's army has largely disbanded, and 
there's fairly strong presumptive evidence that Ur-von is dead."


"I'd say so, yes."


"And Zandramas has moved her forces into the Dalasian protectorates."


"That's what my people report."


"Now then, we're both senior officials in his Majesty's government, 
aren't we?"


"Yes."



"Doesn't that mean that we're expected to use our own initiative to 
take advantage of tactical situations that arise in the field without 
consulting Mal Zetn?"


"I suppose so. YouVe spent more time in the field than I have, 
though."


"It's standard practice, Brador. All right, then. Darshiva is 
virtually undefended. What I'm suggesting is that we restore order 
across the river in Peldane and move in to occupy Darshiva. That way 
we cut Zandramas off from her base of support.


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


We set up a main line of resistance along the edge of those mountains 
to repel her forces if they try to return. We'll have effectively 
brought these two provinces back under imperial control. We might 
even get a few medals out of it."


"His Majesty would be rather pleased if that happened, wouldn't he?"


"He'd be overjoyed, Brador."


"I still don't see how occupying Darshiva is going to get us any 
closer to locating his Majesty."


"That's because you're not a military man. We have to keep track of 
the enemy. In this case, that means the Darshivan army. Standard 
military procedure in such situations is to send out patrols in force 
to make contact with the enemy to determine his strength and probable 
intentions. If those patrols should just happen to encounter the 
Emperor in the process, well—" He spread his hands eloquently.


"You'd have to brief the officers in command of those patrols rather 
thoroughly," Brador pointed out cautiously. "A green lieutenant might 
get flustered and blurt out things we'd rather not have the Emperor 
aware of."


"I said patrols m force, Brador." Atesca smiled. "I was thinking 
along the lines of full brigades. A brigade is commanded by a 
colonel, and I Ve got a number of fairly intelligent colonels."


Brador grinned at his friend. "When do we start?'' he asked.


"Did you have anything planned for tomorrow morning?"


"Nothing that I can't postpone," Brador said.


* 'But why didn't you know it was coming?'' Barak demanded of Drolag, 
his bosun. The two of them stood on the aft deck with the wind-driven 
rain sheeting almost horizontally across the rail to tear at their 
beards.
Drolag mopped at his face with one hand. "I haven't got the faintest 
idea, Barak," he admitted. "That leg has never iailed me before.'' 



Drolag was one of those unfortunates who at some time in the past had 
broken one of his legs—in Drolag's case it had happened in a tavern 
brawl. He had discovered not long after the bone had knit that the 
leg was extraordinarily sensitive to weather changes. He was able to 
predict the onset of bad weather with uncanny accuracy. His shipmates 
always watched him very closely. When Drolag winced with every step, 
they began searching the horizons for oncoming storms; when he 
limped, they shortened sail and began rigging safety lines; and


SEERESS OF KELL


when he fell down with a surprised cry of pain, they immediately 
battened down all hatches, rigged the sea anchor, and went below. 
Drolag had turned a temporary inconvenience into a lifetime career. 
He always commanded top pay, and nobody ever expected him to do any 
real work. All he had to do was pace the deck where everybody could 
watch him. The miraculous leg even made it possible for him to 
predict with some degree of certainty just exactly when a given storm 
would hit. But not this time. The storm that swept the Seabirtfs 
decks with wind and pelting rain had come unannounced, and Drolag was 
as surprised by its arrival as any man on board.


"You didn't get drunk and fall down and break it again, did you?" 
Barak demanded suspiciously. Barak had very little knowledge of human 
anatomy-—except about where to hit someone with an axe or to run a 
sword through him that would have the desired, and usually fatal, 
results. The big red-bearded man reasoned somewhat foggily that if 
Drolag had achieved his weather sensitivity by breaking his leg, a 
second break might very well have taken it away again.


"No, of course I didn't, Barak," Drolag said disgustedly. "I'm not 
going to risk my livelihood for a few tankards of bad ale."


"How did the storm sneak up on you, then?"


"I don't know, Barak. Maybe it's not a natural storm. Some wizard may 
have summoned it. I don't know if my leg would react to something 
like that."


"That's always an easy excuse, Drolag," Barak scoffed. "Anytime an 
ignorant man can't explain something, he blames it on magic."


"I don't have to take this, Barak," Drolag said hotly. "I earn my 
way, but I tanot responsible for supernatural forces."


"Go below, Drolag," Barak told him. "Have a long talk with your leg 
and see if it can come up with a better excuse.''


Drolag staggered down the pitching deck talking to himself.


Barak was in a foul humor. Everything seemed to be conspiring to 
delay him. Not long after he and his friends had witnessed Agachak's 
unpleasant demise, Seabird had struck a submerged log and sprung a 
seam. It had only been by dint of herculean bailing that they had 
been able to limp downriver to Dal Zerba and to haul the leaky ship 
up onto a mud bar for repairs. That chore had cost them two weeks, 



and now this storm from nowhere added to the delay. Then Unrak came 
up from below, trailed by the dull-faced King of the Thulls. Unrak


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


looked around with the wind clawing at his bright-red hair. "It 
doesn't seem to be letting up, does it, father?" he observed.
"Not noticeably."
"Hettar wants to talk with you."


"I've got to steer this big brute."
"The mate can do it, father. All he has to do is keep her bow into 
the wind. Hettar's been studying that map, and he thinks we're in 
danger."


"From this little storm? Don't be silly."
"Is Seabirtfs bottom strong enough to take on rocks?"
"We're in deep water."
"Not for long, I don't think. Just come below, father. Hettar can 


show you."
Grumbling, Barak turned the tiller over to the first mate and 
followed his son to the companionway leading below. Nathel, the King 
of the Thulls, trailed along behind them, his face incurious. Nathel 
was a bit older than Unrak, but he had taken to following Barak's 


red-haired son about like a stray puppy. Unrak was none too gracious 
to his unwanted companion.
"What's this all about, Hettar?" Barak demanded of his friend as he 


entered the cramped cabin.
"Come over here and have a look," the tall Algar said.
Barak strode to the bolted-down table and looked down at the map.
"We left Dal Zerba yesterday morning, right?"
"Yes. We'd have gotten away sooner if somebody'd been paying 


attention to what was lying under the surface of that river. I think 
I'll find out who was on bow watch that day and have him keel-
hauled."


"What's keel-hauled?" Nathel asked Unrak.
"Something very unpleasant," the red-haired boy replied.
"I'd rather you didn't tell me, then. 1 don't like unpleasant stuff."
"Whatever you want, your Majesty." Unrak did have a few manners.



"Couldn't you just call me Nathel?" the Thull asked plaintively. "I'm 
not really a king anyway. Mother's the one who makes all the 
decisions."


"Anything you want, Nathel." Unrak said it with a certain


pity.


"How far would you estimate we've come since yesterday?'


Hettar asked Barak.


SEERESS OF KELL


"Oh, maybe twenty leagues. We had to heave to last night because 
we're in strange waters."


"That puts us almost right here, doesn't it?" Hettar pointed at an 
ominous symbol on the map.


"We aren't anywhere near that reef, Hettar. We came about to 
southeast as soon as we came out of that estuary at the mouth of the 
river."


"But we haven't been going southeast, Barak. There seems to be a 
current that comes down along the west coast of Mal-lorea, and it's a 
fairiy strong one. I've checked a few times. Your bow is pointed 
southeast, but the Seabird has been drifting sideways almost due 
south because of that current."


' 'When did you suddenly become such an expert on sailing?''


**I don't have to be, Barak. Take a stick of wood and throw it off 
your starboard side. Your ship will catch up with the stick in just a 
few minutes. We're definitely drifting south in spite of whichever 
direction your bow is pointed. I'd guess that within an hour we' 11 
be able to hear the surf breaking on that reef.''


"I do confirm that our friend speaketh truth, my Lord of Trellheim," 
Mandorallen assured him. "I myself have witnessed his experiment with 
the stick. Truly, we are tending southward."


"What can we do?" Lelldorin asked a bit apprehensively.


Barak stared gloomily at the map. "We don't have any choice," he 
said. "We can't get back out into open sea in this storm. We'll have 
to drop both anchors and hope that we can find a bottom that'll hold 
us. Then we sit tight and ride it out. What's the name of that reef, 
Hettar?"


'"ftirim," the Algar replied.


CHAPTER TWENTY


Like almost every other ship's cabin in all the world, the one on 
Captain Kresca's vessel was low and had dark-stained beams overhead. 



The furniture was bolted to the floor, and oil lamps swung from the 
beams as the ship, swinging at anchor, rolled heavily in the combers 
coming in off the Sea of the East. Garion rather liked being at sea. 
There was a calmness, a kind of suspension of care out on deep water. 
When he was ashore it seemed that he was always scurrying from place 
to place through crowds of people, all filling his ears with 
distractions. At sea, however, there was time to be alone with his 
thoughts, and the even, patient roll of waves and the slow movement 
of the sky made those thoughts long and deep.


Their evening meal had been simple, a hearty bean soup and thick 
slices of dark, rich bread, and they sat on the benches around the 
plain table after they had eaten, talking idly and


231


232


SEERESS OF KELL


awaiting the arrival of the captain, who had promised to join them as 
soon as he had secured his ship.


The half-grown wolf lay under the table near where Ce'Nedra sat, and 
his eyes had a studied, pleading look in them. Ce'Nedra slipped him 
tidbits when she thought no one was watching her. Wolves are not 
stupid, after all.


"The surf seems to be heavy," Zakath said, cocking his head to one 
side to listen to the booming of the waves against the rocks of the 
reef. ' 'That's likely to cause some problems when we try to land, 
isn't it?"


' 'I rather doubt it," Belgarath said. ' 'This storm has probably 
been brewing since the day the earth was made. It's not going to 
interfere with us in any way,"


"Aren't you being just a little fatalistic, Belgarath?" Beldin 
suggested. "And perhaps slightly overconfident?"


"I don't think so. The two prophecies must have this meeting. They've 
been coming toward this place since the beginning of time. They're 
not going to let anything interfere with the arrival of anyone who's 
supposed to be here."


"Why raise a storm like this, then?"


"The storm wasn't designed to hinder us—or Zandramas."


"What is its purpose?"


"It's probably out there to keep others away. There are only certain 
people who are supposed to be on that reef tomorrow. The prophecies 
are going to see to it that no one else can set foot on it until 
after our business has been completed."


Garion looked at Cyradis. The blindfolded girl's face was calm, even 
serene. The half concealment of the strip of cloth across her eyes 



had always at least partially concealed her features from him. In 
this light, however, he suddenly realized just how extraordinarily 
beautiful she really was.' 'That raises something rather interesting, 
Grandfather," he said. "Cyradis, didn't you tell us that the Child of 
Dark has always been solitary? Doesn't that mean that she'll have to 
face us alone tomorrow?"


"Thou hast misread my meaning, Belgarion of Riva. Thou and each of 
thy companions have had your names writ large in the stars since the 
beginning of days. Those who will accompany the Child of Dark, 
however, are of no moment. Their names do not stand in the book of 
the heavens. Zandramas is the only emissary of the dark prophecy of 
any significance. The others she will bring with her were doubtless 
chosen at random, and their numbers are limited to match your force."


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


"A fair fight, then," Velvet murmured approvingly. "I think we can 
probably cope."


"That doesn't bode too well for me, though," Beldin said. "Back at 
Rheon, you rather carefully listed the people who were supposed to 
come here with Garion. As I recall, my name wasn't on the list. Do 
you suppose they forgot to send me an invitation?"


"Nay, gentle Beldin. Thy presence here is necessary now. Zandramas 
hath included in her forces one who is beyond the prophecies. Thou 
art here to offset that one, though in numbers only."


"Zandramas can't ever play a game without cheating, can she?" Silk 
said.


"Can you?" Velvet asked him.


"That's different. I'm only playing for worthless counters-bits and 
pieces of unimportant metal. The stakes in this game are a lot 
higher."


The cabin door opened, and Captain Kresca entered with several rolls 
of parchment under his arm. He had changed out of his doublet and now 
wore a tar-stained canvas sea coat and no hat. Garion saw that his 
short-cropped hair was as silvery as Belgarath's, a startling 
contrast to his deeply tanned and weathered face. "The storm seems to 
be abating," he announced. "At least around the reef it is. I don't 
think I've ever seen a storm like this."


"I'd be surprised if you had, Captain," Beldin told him. "As closely 
as we can determine, this is the first one—and probably the last—of 
its kind."


"I think you're wrong, friend," Captain Kresca disagreed. "There's 
nothing new in the way of weather in the world. It's all happened 
before."


"Just let it lie," Belgarath said quietly to Beldin. "He's a Melcene. 
He's not really prepared for this sort of thing."



"AH right," the captain said, pushing their soup bowls out of the way 
and laying his charts on the table. "We're here." He pointed. "Now, 
which part of the reef was it you propose to land on?"


"The highest pinnacle," Belgarath told him.


Kresca sighed. "I might have known," he said. "That's the one part of 
the reef where my charts aren't too accurate. About the time I got to 
taking soundings around that one, a squall came out of nowhere, and I 
had to back off." He thought about it. "No matter," he decided. 
"We'll stand a half mile or so off-


SEERESS OF KELL


shore and go in with the longboat. There's something you ought to 
know about that part of the reef, though."


"Oh?"Belgarathsaid.


"I think there are some people there."


"I sort of doubt it."


"I don't really know of any other creature that builds fires, do you? 
There's a cave on the north side of that pinnacle, and sailors have 
been seeing the light of fires coming out of the mouth of it for 
years now. It's my guess that there's a band of pirates living in 
there. It wouldn't be all that hard for them to come out in small 
boats on dark nights and waylay merchantmen in the straits on the 
landward side of the reef."


' 'Can you see the fire from where we are right now?'' Garion asked 
him.


' 'I 'd guess so. Let's go topside and have a look. *'


The ladies, Sadi, and Toth remained in the cabin, and Garion and his 
other friends followed Captain Kresca up the compan-ionway to the 
deck. The wind, which had been howling through the rigging when the 
sailors had dropped anchor, had fallen off, and the surf along the 
reef was no longer frothy.


"There," Kresca said, pointing. "It's not quite as visible from this 
angle, but you can make it out. When you're standing out to sea from 
the cave mouth, it's really bright."


Dimly, Garion could see a sooty red glow a short way up the side of a 
bulky-looking peak jutting up out of the sea. The other rocks that 
formed the reef appeared to be little more than slender spires, but 
the central peak had a different shape. For some reason, it reminded 
Garion of the truncated mountain that was the site of far-off Prolgu 
in Ulgoland.


"Nobody's ever explained to my satisfaction how the top of mat 
mountain got sliced off like that," Kresca said.



"It's probably a very long story," Silk told him. The litde man 
shivered. "It's still a little chilly out here," he noted. "Why don't 
we go below again?"


Garion fell back to walk beside Belgarath. "What's making that light, 
Grandfather?" he asked quietly.


"I'm not entirely sure," Belgarath replied, "but I think it might be 
the Sardion. We know it's in that cave."


"We do?"


"Of course we do. At the time of the meeting, the Orb and the Sardion 
have to come into each other's presence in the same way you and 
Zandramas do. That Melcene scholar who stole the Sardion—the one 
Senji told us about—sailed around the


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


southern tip of Gandahar and disappeared into these waters. That was 
all too convenient to be mere coincidence. The Sardion was 
controlling the scholar, and the scholar delivered the stone to the 
precise place it wanted to go. It's probably been waiting for us in 
that cave for about five hundred years."


Garion looked back over his shoulder. The hilt of his sword was 
covered by the leather sleeve, but he was still fairly certain that 
he'd be able to see the muted glow of the Orb. "Doesn't the Orb 
usually react to the presense of the Sardion?" he asked.


"We may not be close enough yet, and we're still at sea. Open water 
confuses the Orb. Then, too, maybe it's trying to conceal itself from 
the Sardion.''


' 'Could it actually think its way through that complex an idea? It's 
usually fairly childish, I've noticed."


"Don't underestimate it, Garion."


"Everything's fitting together, then, isn't it?"


"It all has to, Garion. Otherwise what's going to happen tomorrow 
couldn't happen."


"Well, father?" Polgara asked as they reentered the cabin.


"There's a fire of some kind in that cave, all right," he told her. 
His fingers, however, were telling her something else.—We'll talk 
about it in more detail after the captain leaves.—He turned toward 
Kresca. "When's the next low tide?" he asked the seaman.


Kresca squinted, calculating. "We just missed one," he said. "The 
tide's coming in now. The next low tide will come about daybreak and, 
if my observations are correct, it should be a neap tide. Well, I'll 
leave you to get some rest now. I sort of gather that you've got a 



full day ahead of you tomorrow."
"Thank you, Captain Kresca," Garion said, shaking the seaman's hand.
"Don't mention it, Garion." Kresca grinned. "The King of Peldane paid 


me very handsomely for this voyage, so being helpful doesn't really 


cost me anything."
"Good." Garion grinned back. "I like to see friends get ahead in the 
world."


The captain laughed and went back out with a hearty wave.
"What was he talking about?" Sadi asked. "What's a neap tide?"
"It only happens a few times a year," Beldin explained. "It's an 


extreme low tide. It has to do with the positions of the sun and 
moon."
236
SEERESS OF KELL
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


237
"Everything seems to be going out of its way to make tomorrow a very 
special day," Silk observed.


"All right, fother," Polgara said crisply. "What's the story on the 


fire in that cave?"
"I can't be positive, Pol, but I rather strongly suspect that it's 
not a group of pirates—not after all the trouble the prophecies have 
gone to to keep people away from the cave."


"What do you think it is, then?"
"It's probably the Sardion."
"Would it give off a red glow?"
He shrugged. "The Orb glows blue. I suppose there's a sort of logic 


to the Sardion's glowing a different color."
"Why not green?" Silk asked.
"Green's an in-between color," Beldin told him. "It'samix-ture of 


blue and yellow.''


"You're a real gold mine of useless information, you know that, 
Beldin? "Silk said.
"There's no such thing as useless information, Kheldar." Beldin 


sniffed.
"All right," Zakath said, "how are we going to go about this?"



"Cyradis," Belgarath said to the Seeress, "I'm guessing about this, 
but I think I'm fairly close. Nobody is going to reach that cave 
first, are they? What I mean is that the prophecies aren't going to 
let Zandramas get there before we do—or let us get there first 
either."


"Astounding," Beldin murmured. "That actually sounded like real 
logic. Aren't you feeling well, Belgarath?"


"Would you please?" Belgarath growled. "Well, Cyradis?"


She paused, her expression distant. Garion seemed to hear that faint 
choral murmuring.' "Thy reasoning is correct, Ancient One. The same 
perception came to Zandramas some time ago, so I am not revealing 
anything unto thee which she doth not already know. Zandramas, 
however, hath rejected the fruits of her reasoning and hath striven 
to circumvent her conclusions."


"Very well, then," Zakath said, "since we're all going to get there 
at the same time anyway, and since everybody knows about it, there's 
not much point in being coy, is there? I say we just land on the 
beach and march straight to the cave."


"Stopping only long enough for you and me to put on our armor," 
Garion added. "It probably wouldn't be a good idea to dress up here 
on board ship. It might make Kresca nervous."


"Your plan sounds good to me, Zakath," Durnik agreed.


"I'm not so sure," Silk said dubiously. "There's a certain advantage 
to sneaking."


"Drasnians," Ce'Nedra sighed.


"Listen to his reasons before you throw the notion out, Ce'Nedra," 
Velvet suggested.


"It's sort of like this," Silk went on. "Zandramas knows— deep 
down—that she can't beat us to that cave, but she's been trying for 
months all the same, hoping that there's some way she can bypass the 
rules. Now, let's try to think the way she does."


"I'd sooner take poison," Ce'Nedra said with a shudder.


"It's only for the sake of understanding your opponent, Ce'Nedra. 
Now, Zandramas has been hoping against hope that she can beat us to 
that cave and avoid the necessity of coming up against Garion. He did 
kill Torak, after all, and nobody in his right mind would willingly 
confront the Godslayer."


"I'm going to have that removed from my title when I get back to 
Riva," Garion said sourly.


"You can do that later," Silk told him. "What would Zandramas most 
likely feel if she arrived at the cave mouth, looked around, and 
didn't see us?"



"I think I see where you're going, Kheldar," Sadi said admiringly.


"You would," Zakath said dryly.


"It's really rather brilliant, you know, Kal Zakath," the eunuch 
said. "Zandramas is going to feel a wild exultation. She'll believe 
that she's succeeded in circumventing the prophecies and that she's 
won in spite of them."


' 'Then what's going to happen to her when we all step out from 
behind a boulder and she finds out that she still has to face Garion 
and submit to the choice of Cyradis after all?" Silk asked.


"She's probably going to be very disappointed," Velvet said.


"I think disappointment might be too mild a term," Silk suggested. "I 
think chagrin might come closer. Couple that with exasperation and a 
healthy dose of fear, and we'll be looking at somebody who's not 
going to be thinking too clearly. We're feirly sure there's going to 
be a fight when we get there, and you've always got an advantage in a 
fight when the opposing general is distracted."


"It's sound tactical reasoning, Garion," Zakath conceded.


"I'll go along with it," Belgarath said. "If nothing else, it should 
give me the opportunity to pay Zandramas back for all the times she's 
upset me. I think I still owe her just a bit for


SEERESS OF KELL


slicing pieces out of the Ashabine Oracles. I'll talk with Captain 
Kresca early tomorrow morning and find out if there's a beach on the 
east side of the peak. With a neap tide, our chances should be pretty 
good. Then we'll work our way up along the side of the peak, staying 
out of sight. We'll take cover near the cave mouth and wait for 
Zandramas to put in an appearance. Then we'll step out and surprise 
her."


"I can add an even bigger advantage," Beldin said. "I'll scout on 
ahead and let you know when she lands. That way, you'll be ready for 
her."


"Not as a hawk, though, uncle," Polgara suggested.


"Why not?"


"Zandramas isn't stupid. A hawk wouldn't have any business on that 
reef. There wouldn't be anything there for him to eat."


"Maybe she'll think the storm blew me out to sea."


"Do you want to risk your tail feathers on a maybe? A seagull, 
uncle."


"A seagull?" he objected. "But they're so stupid—and so dirty."



"You? Worried about dirt?" Silk asked him, looking up. Silk had been 
busily counting on his fingers.


"Don't push it, Kheldar," Beldin growled ominously.


"What day of the month was Prince Geran born on?" Silk asked 
Ce'Nedra.


"The seventh, why?"


"We appear to have another one of those things that's setting out to 
make tomorrow very special. If IVe counted right, tomorrow will be 
your son's second birthday."


"It can't be!" she exclaimed. "My baby was born in the wintertime."


"Ce'Nedra," Garion said gentiy, "Riva's up near the top of the world. 
This reef is near the bottom. It is winter in Riva right now. Count 
up the months since Geran was born—the time he spent with us before 
Zandramas stole him, the time we spent marching on Rheon, the trip to 
Prolgu then to Tol Honeth and on to Nyissa and all those other places 
where we had to stop. I think if you count rather closely, you'll 
find that it has been very close to two years."


She frowned, ticking the months off. Finally, her eyes went very 
wide. "I think he's right!" she exclaimed. "Geran will be two years 
old tomorrow!"


Dumik laid his hand on the litde queen's arm. "I'll see if I can make 
something for you to give as a present, Ce'Nedra,"


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


he said gently. "A boy ought to have a birthday present after he's 
been separated from his family for so long."


Ce'Nedra's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Durnik!" She wept, embracing 
him. "You think of everything."


Garion looked at Aunt Pol, his fingers moving slightly.—Why don't you 
ladies take her in and put her to bed?—\vt suggested.—We're all 
through here, and if she thinks too much about this, she's going to 
get herself worked up. Tomorrow's going to be hard enough for her 
anyway, —


—You might be right. —


After the ladies had left, Garion and the other men sat around the 
bolted-down table reminiscing. They covered in some detail the 
various adventures they had shared since that wind-tossed night so 
long ago when Garion, Belgarath, Aunt Pol, and Dumik had crept out 
through the gate of Faldor's farm into the world where the possible 
and the impossible inexorably merged. Again Garion felt that sense of 
cleansing, coupled with something else. It was as if, by 
recapitulating all that had happened in their long journey to the 
reef lying out there in the darkness, they were somehow bringing 



everything into focus to strengthen their resolve and their sense of 


purpose. It seemed to help for some reason.
"I think that's about enough of that," Belgarath said finally, rising 
to his feet. "Now we all know what's behind us. It's time to pack all 
that away and start looking ahead. Let's get some sleep. *'


Ce'Nedra stirred restlessly when Garion slipped into bed. "I thought 
you were going to stay up all night," she said sleepily.


"We were talking."
"I know. I could hear the murmur of voices even in here. And men 
think women talk all the time."


"Don't you?"


"Probably, but a woman can talk while her hands are busy. A man 
can't."
"You might be right."
There was a moment of silence. "Garion," she said.
"Yes, Ce'Nedra?"
"Can I borrow your knife—the little dagger Durnik gave you when you 


were a boy?"
"If you want something cut, point it out. I'11 cut it for you."
"It's nothing like that, Garion. I just want to have a knife 


tomorrow."
"What for?"
"As soon as I see Zandramas, I'm going to kill her."
"Ce'Nedra!"


SEERESS OF KELL


"I have every right to kill her, Garion. You told Cyradis you didn't 
think you could do it because Zandramas is a woman. I don't suffer 
from the same kind of delicacy as you do. I'm going to carve out her 
heart—if she has one—slowly.'' She said it with a fierceness he had 
never heard in her voice before. ' 'I want blood, Garion! Lots of 
blood, and I want to hear her scream as I twist the knife in her. 
You'll lend me your dagger, won't you?'* "Absolutely not!"


"That's all right, Garion," she said in an icy tone. "I^n sure 
Liselle will lend me one of hers. LiseUe's a woman and she knows how 
I feel,'' Then she turned her back on him. "Ce'Nedra," he said 
placatingly. "Yes?" Her tone was sulky. "Be reasonable, dear."


"I don't want to be reasonable. I want to kill Zandramas." ' 'I 'm 



not going to let you put yourself in that kind of danger. We have 
much more important things to do tomorrow.'' She sighed. "I suppose 
you're right. It's just—" "Just what?"


She turned back and put her arms around his neck. "Never mind, 
Garion," she said. "Let's go to sleep now." She nestled down against 
him, and after a few moments her regular breathing told him that she 
had drifted off.


"You should have given her the knife, "the voice in his mind told 
him. "Silk could have stolen it back from her sometime tomorrow. " 
"But—"


"We've sot something else to talk about, Garion. Have you been 
thinking about your successor ?"


"Well—sort of. It doesn't really fit any of them, you know. " "Have 
you given serious consideration to each of them?" ' 7 suppose I have, 
but I haven't been able to make any decisions yet. "


' 'You 're not supposed to make your choice yet. All you had to do 
was think about each one of them and get them all firmly fixed in 
your mind. "


'' When do / make the choice then ?'' ' 'At the last possible moment, 
Garion. Zandramas might be able to hear your thoughts, but she can't 
hear what you haven't decided yet. "


"What if I make a mistake?"


"I really don't think you can, Garion. I really don't. "


Garion's sleep was troubled that night. His dreams seemed


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


chaotic, disconnected, and he woke often only to sink back into a 
restless doze. There was at first a kind of distorted recapitulation 
of the strange dreams that had so disturbed him that night long ago 
on the Isle of the Winds just before his life had been unalterably 
changed. The question "Are you ready?" seemed to echo again and again 
in the vaults of his mind. Again he faced Rundorig with Aunt Pol's 
matter-of-fact instruction to kill his boyhood friend roaring in his 
mind. And then the boar he had encountered in the snowy wood outside 
Val Alorn was there, pawing at the snow, its eyes aglow with rage and 
hate. ' 'Are you ready?" Barak asked him before releasing the beast. 
Then he stood on the colorless plain surrounded by the pieces of the 
incomprehensible game trying to decide which piece to move while the 
voice in his mind urged him to hurry.


The dream subtly changed and took on a different tone. Our dreams, no 
matter how bizarre, have a familiarity to them, since they are formed 
and shaped by our own minds. Now it seemed as if Garion's dreams were 
being formed by a different and unfriendly awareness almost in the 
same way that Torak had intruded himself in dreams and in thoughts 
before the meeting at Cthol Mishrak.



Again he faced Asharak the Murgo in the loamy Wood of the Dryads, and 
once again he unleashed his will with that single, open-handed slap 
and the fatal word, "Burn!" This was a familiar nightmare. It had 
haunted Garion's sleep for years. He saw Asharak's cheek begin to 
seethe and smoke. He heard the Grolim shriek and saw him clutch at 
his burning face. He heard the dreadful plea, "Master, have mercy!" 
He spurned that plea and intensified the flame, but this time the act 
was not overlaid with the sense of self-loathing that had always 
accompanied the dream, but a kind of cruel exultation, a hideous joy 
as he watched his enemy writhe and burn before him. Deep within him 
something cried out, trying to repudiate that unholy joy.


And then he was at Cthol Mishrak, and his flaming sword slid again 
and again into the body of the One-Eyed God. Tbrak's despairing 
"Mother!" did not this time fill him with pity but with a towering 
satisfaction. He felt himself laughing, and the savage, unpitying 
laughter erased his humanity.


Soundlessly shrieking in horror, Garion recoiled, not so much from 
the awful images of those whom he had destroyed, but more from his 
own enjoyment of their despairing agony.


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


They were a somber group when they gathered in the main cabin before 
daybreak the following morning. With a sudden, even surprising, 
insight, Garion was very certain that the nightmares had not been his 
alone. Insight and intuitive perception were not normal for Garion. 
His sensible Sendarian background rejected such things as 
questionable, even in some peculiarway, immoral. "Did you do that?" 
he asked the voice.


' Wo. Rather surprisingly, you came up with it all on your own. You 
seem to be making some progress—slowly, of course, but progress all 
the same.


"Thanks."


' 'Don't mention it.''


Silk looked particularly shaken as he entered the cabin. The little 
man's eyes were haunted, and his hands were shaking. He slumped onto 
a bench and buried his face in his hands. "Have you got any of that 
ale left?" he asked Beldin in a hoarse voice.


242


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


243


"A little quivery this morning, Kheldar?" the dwarf asked him.


"No," Garion said. "That's not what's bothering him. He had some bad 
dreams last night."


Silk raised his face sharply. "How did you know that?" he demanded.



"I had some myself. I got to relive what I did to Asharak the Murgo, 
and I killed Torak again—several times. It didn't get any better as 
we went along."


"I was trapped in a cave," Silk said with a shudder. "There wasn't 
any light, but I could feel the walls closing in on me. I think the 
next time I see Relg, I 'm going to hit him in the mouth-gently, of 
course. Relg's sort of a friend."


"I'm glad I wasn't the only one," Sadi said. The eunuch had placed a 
bowl of milk on the table, and Zith and her babies were gathered 
around it, lapping and purring. Garion was a bit surprised to note 
that no one really paid any attention to Zith and her brood anymore. 
People, it seemed, could get used to almost anything. Sadi rubbed his 
long-fingered hand over his shaved scalp. ' 'It seemed to me that I 
was adrift in the streets of Sthiss Tor, and I was trying to survive 
by begging. It was ghastly."


"I saw Zandramas sacrificing my baby," Ce'Nedra said in a stricken 
voice. "There was crying and so much blood—so very much blood."


"Peculiar," Zakath said. "I was presiding over a trial. I had to 
condemn a number of people. There was one of them I cared a great 
deal about, but I was forced to condemn her anyway."


"I had one, too," Velvet admitted.


"I rather expect we all did," Garion told them. "The same thing 
happened to me on the way to Cthol Mishrak. Torak kept intruding in 
my dreams." He looked at Cyradis. "Does the Child of Dark always fall 
back on this?" he asked her. "We've found that events keep repeating 
themselves when we're leading up to one of these meetings. Is this 
one of those events that keeps happening over and over again?"


"Thou art very perceptive, Belgarion of Riva," the Seeress told him. 
"In all the uncounted eons since these meetings began, thou art the 
first Child of either Light or Dark to have realized that the 
sequence must be endlessly repeated until the division hath ended."


"I am not sure I can take much credit for it, Cyradis," he admitted. 
"As I understand it, the meetings are getting closer and closer 
together. I 'm probably the first in history to have been


SEERESS OF KELL


the Child of Light—or Dark—during two meetings, and even then it took 
me awhile to realize that it was happening. The nightmares are part 
of that pattern then?"


"Thy guess is shrewd, Belgarion." She smiled gently. "Unfortunately, 
it is not correct. It seemeth to me a shame to waste such a clever 
perception, though."


"Are you trying to be funny, Holy Seeress?"



"Would I do that, noble Belgarion?" she said, perfectly imitating 
Silk's inflection.


"You could spank her," Beldin suggested.


"With that human mountain standing guard over her?" Gar-ion said, 
grinning at Toth. His eyes narrowed. "You're not permitted to help us 
with diis, are you, Cyradis?" he asked her.


She sighed and shook her head.


"That's all right, Holy Seeress," he said. "I think we can come up 
with a workable answer to the question by ourselves.'' He looked at 
Belgarath. "AH right," he said. "Torak tried to frighten me with 
nightmares, and now it looks as if Zandramas is trying to do the same 
thing, except that this time, she's doing it to all of us. If it's 
not one of those usual repetitions, what is it?"


"That boy's beginning to develop a rather keen analytical mind, 
Belgarath," Beldin said.


"Naturally," the old man said modestly.


"Don't wrench your shoulder out of its socket trying to pat yourself 
on the back," Beldin said sourly. He rose to his feet and started 
pacing up and down, his forehead creased in thought. "Now then," he 
began, "first: This isn't just erne of the tedious repetitions that 
have been dogging us since the beginning, right?"


"Right," Belgarath agreed.


"Second: It happened in about the same way last time." He looked at 
Garion. "Right?" he asked.


"Right," Garion said.


"That's only two times. Twice can be a coincidence, but let's assume 
that it's not. We know that the Child of Light always has companions, 
but that the Child of Dark is always solitary."


"So Cyradis tells us," Belgarath agreed.


"She doesn't have any reason to lie to us. All right, if the Child of 
Light has companions but the Child of Dark is alone, wouldn't that 
put the Dark at a serious disadvantage?"


"You'd think so."


"But the two have always been so evenly matched that not


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


even the Gods can predict the outcome. The Child of Dark is using 
something to offset the apparent advantage of our side. I think these 
nightmares might be part of it.''



Silk rose and came over to Garion. "Discussions like mis make my head 
ache," he said quietly. "I'm going up on deck for a while." He left 
the cabin, and for no apparent reason the gangly young wolf followed 
him.


' 'I don't really think a few nightmares would make that much 
difference, Beldin," Belgarath disagreed.


"But what if the nightmares are only a part of it, Old Wolf?" Poledra 
asked him. "You and Pol were both at Vo Mimbre, and that was one of 
these meetings, too. You two have been companions of the Child of 
Light twice already. What happened at Vo Mimbre?"


"We did have nightmares," Belgarath conceded to Beldin.


"Anything else?" the dwarf asked intently.


"We saw things that weren't there, but that could have come from all 
the Grolims in the vicinity."


"And?"


' 'Everybody went sort of crazy. It was all we could do to keep Brand 
from trying to attack Torak with his teeth, and at Cthol Mishrak I 
entombed Belzedar in solid rock, and then Pol wanted to dig him up so 
that she could drink his blood."


"Father! I did notV she objected.


"Oh, really? You were very angry that day, Pol."


"It fits the same pattern, Old Wolf," Poledra said somberly. "Our 
side fights with normal weapons. Garion's sword might be a little 
abnormal, but it's still just a sword."


"You wouldn't say that if you'd been at Cthol Mishrak," her husband 
told her.


"I was there, Belgarath," she replied.


"You were?"


"Of course. I was hiding in the ruins watching. Anyway, the Child of 
Dark doesn't attack the body; it attacks the mind. That^s how it 
manages to keep everything so perfectly balanced."


"Nightmares, hallucinations, and ultimately madness," Pol-gara mused. 
"That's a formidable array of things to throw against us. It might 
even have worked—if Zandramas hadn't been so clumsy."


"I don't quite follow that, Pol," Durnik said.


"She blundered." Polgara shrugged. "If only one person has a 
nightmare, he'll probably try to shrug it off and he certainly won't 
mention it on the morning of the meeting. Zandramas



SEERESS OF KELL


sent nightmares to all of us, though. This conversation probably 
wouldn't have taken place if she hadn't."


"It's nice to know that she can stumble, too," Belgarath said. "All 
right then, we know that she's been tampering with us. The best way 
to defeat that tactic is to put those nightmares out of our minds."


"And to be particularly wary if we start seeing things that shouldn't 
be there," Polgara added.


SUk and the wolf came back down the stairs to the cabin. "WeVe got 
absolutely beautiful weather this morning," he reported happily, 
bending slightly to scratch the pup's ears.


"Wonderful," Sadi murmured dryly. Sadi was carefully anointing his 
small dagger with a fresh coating of poison. He was wearing a stout 
leather jerkin and leather boots that reached to midthigh. Back in 
Sthiss Tor, Sadi had appeared, despite his slender frame, to be soft, 
even in some peculiar way dabby. Now, however, he looked lean and 
tough. A year or more without drugs and widi an enforced regimen of 
hard exercise had changed him a great deal.


"It's perfect," Silk told him. "We have fog this morning, ladies and 
gentlemen," he said, "a nice, wet, gray fog almost thick enough to 
walk on. That fog would be a burglar's delight. *'


"Trust Silk to think of that." Duraik smiled. The smith wore his 
usual clothing, but he had given Toth his axe, while he himself 
carried the dreadful sledge with which he had driven off the demon 
Nahaz.


"The prophecies are leading us around by the noses again," Beldin 
said irritably, ' 'but at least it appears that we made the right 
decision last night. A good thick fog makes sneaking almost 
inevitable." Beldin looked the same as always, tattered, dirty, and 
very ugly.


"Maybe they're just trying to help," Velvet suggested. Velvet had 
shocked them all when she had entered the cabin a half hour earlier. 
She wore tight-fitting leather clothing not unlike that normally worn 
by the Nadrak dancer, Vella. It was a peculiarly masculine garb and 
bleakly businesslike. "They've done a great deal to assist Zandramas. 
Maybe it's our turn to get a little help.''


"Is she right?" Garion asked the awareness that shared his mind. "Are 
you and your opposite helping us far a change?"


"Don't be silly, Garion. Nobody's been helping anybody. That's 
forbidden at this particular stage of the game.''


"Where did the fog come from then?"


"Where does fog usually come from?"


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM



247


"How would I know ? "


"I didn't think so. Ask Beldin. He can probably tell you. The fog out 
there is perfectly natural.''


"Liselle," Garion said, "I just checked with my friend. The fog isn't 
the result of any playing around. It's a natural result of the 
storm."


"How disappointing," she said.


Ce'Nedra had risen that morning fully intent on wearing a Dryad 
tunic. Garion had adamantly rejected that idea, however. She wore 
instead a simple gray wool dress with no petticoats to hinder her 
movements. She was quite obviously stripped down for action. Garion 
was fairly certain that she had at least one knife concealed 
somewhere in her clothing. "Why don't we get started?" she demanded.


"Because it's still dark, dear," Polgara explained patiently. "We 
have to wait for at least a little bit of light." Polgara and her 
mother wore almost identical plain dresses, Polgara's gray and 
Poledra's brown.


"Garion," Poledra said then, "why don't you step down to the galley 
and tell them that we'll have breakfast now? We should all eat 
something, since I doubt that we'll have time or maybe even the need 
for lunch." Poledra sat at Belgarath's side, and the two of them were 
almost unconsciously holding hands. Gar-ion was a bit offended at her 
suggestion. He was a king, after all, not an errand boy. Then he 
realized just how silly that particular thought was. He started to 
rise.


"I'll go, Garion," Eriond said. It was almost as if the blond young 
man had seen into his friend's thoughts. Eriond wore the same simple 
brown peasant clothes he always wore, and he had nothing even 
resembling a weapon.


As the young man went out through the cabin door, Garion had an odd 
thought. Why was he paying so much attention to the appearance of 
each of his companions? He had seen them all before, and for the most 
part, he had seen the clothing they wore this morning so many times 
that the garments should not even have registered on his mind. Then, 
with dreadful certainty, he knew. One of them was going to die today, 
and he was fixing mem all in his mind so that he could remember for 
the rest of his life the one who was to make that sacrifice. He 
looked at Zakath. His Mallorean friend had shaved off his short 
beard. His slightly olive skin was no longer pale, but tanned and 
healthy-looking save for the now-lighter patch on his chin and jaw. 
He wore simple clothing much like Garion's own, since as


248


SEERESS OF KELL


soon as they reached the reef, the two of them would be putting on 
their armor.



Toth, his face impassive, was dressed as always—a loincloth, sandals, 
and that unbleached wool blanket slung across one shoulder. He did 
not, however, have his heavy staff. Instead, Durnik's axe lay in his 
lap.


The Seeress of Kell was unchanged. Her hooded white robe gleamed, and 
her blindfold, unwrinkted and unchanged, smoothly covered her eyes. 
Idly Garion wondered if she removed the cloth when she slept. A 
chilling thought came to him then. What if the one they would lose 
today was going to be Cyradis? She had sacrificed everything for her 
task. Surely the two prophecies could not be so cruel as to require 
one last, supreme sacrifice from this slender girt.


Belgarath, of course, was unchanged and unchangeable. He still wore 
the mismatched boots, patched hose, and rust-colored tunic he had 
worn when he had appeared at Faldor's farm as Mister Wolf the 
storyteller. The one difference about the old man was the fact that 
he did not hold a tankard in his free hand. At supper the previous 
evening, he had almost absently drawn himself one that brimmed with 
foaming ale. Poledra, just as absently, had firmly removed it from 
his hand and had emptied it out a porthole. Garion strongly suspected 
that Belgarath's drinking days had come rather abruptly to an end. He 
decided that it might be refreshing to have a long conversation with 
his grandfather when the old man was completely sober.


They ate their breakfast with hardly any conversation, since mere was 
nothing more to say. Ce'Nedra dutifully fed the puppy, then looked 
rather sadly at Garion. "Take care of him, please," she said.


There was no point in arguing with her on that score. The idea that 
she would not survive this day was so firmly fixed in her mind that 
no amount of talking would erase it. "You might want to give him to 
Geran," she added. "Every boy should have a dog, and caring for him 
will teach our son responsibility."


"I never had a dog," Garion said.


"That was unkind of you, Aunt Pol," Ce'Nedra said, lapsing 
unconsciously—or perhaps not—into that form of address.


"He wouldn't have had time to look after one, Ce'Nedra," Polgara 
replied. "Our Garion has had a very busy life."


"Let's hope that it gets less so when this is all over," Garion said.


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


After they had eaten, Captain Kresca entered the cabin carrying a 
map. "This isn't very precise," he apologized. "As I said last night, 
I was never able to take very accurate soundings around that peak. We 
can inch our way to within a few hundred yards of the beach, and then 
we'll have to take to the longboat. This fog is going to make it even 
more complicated, I'm afraid."


"Is there a beach along the east side of the peak?" Belgarath asked 



him.


"A very shallow one," Kresca replied. "The neap tide should expose a 
bit more of it, though."


"Good. There are a few things we'll need to take ashore with us." 
Belgarath pointed at the two stout canvas bags holding the armor 
Garion and Zakath would wear.


"I'll have some men stow them in the boat for you."


"When can we get started?" Ce'Nedra asked impatiently.


"Another twenty minutes or so, little lady."


"So long?"


He nodded. "Unless you can figure out a way to make the sun come up 
early.''


Ce'Nedra looked quickly at Belgarath.


"Never mind," he told her.


"Captain," Poledra said, "could you have someone look after our 
pet?" She pointed at the wolf. "He's a bit overenthu-siastic 
sometimes, and we wouldn't want him to start howling at the wrong 
time."


"Of course, Lady." Kresca, it appeared, had not spent enough time 
ashore to recognize a wolf when he saw one.


"Inching" proved to be a very tedious process. The sailors raised the 
anchors and then manned the oars. After every couple of strokes, they 
paused while a man in the bow heaved out the lead-weighted sounding 
line.


"It's slow," Silk observed in a low voice as they all stood on deck, 
"but at least it's quiet. We don't know who's on that reef, and I'd 
rather not alert them."


*'It's shoaling, Captain," the man with the sounding line reported, 
his voice no louder than absolutely necessary. The obviously warlike 
preparations of Garion and his friends had stressed the need for 
quiet louder than any words. The sailor cast out his line again. 
There was that interminable-seeming wait while the ship drifted up 
over the weighted line. "The bottom's coming up fast, Captain," the 
sounder said then. "I make it two fathoms.''


"Back your oars," Kresca commanded his crew in a low


250


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


251



voice. "Drop the hook. This is as close as we can go." He turned to 
his mate. "After we get away in the longboat, back out about another 
hundred yards and anchor there. We'll whistle when we come back—the 
usual signal. Guide us in."


"Aye, aye, Cap'n."


"You've done this before, I see," Silk said to Kresca.


"A few times, yes," Kresca admitted.


"If ali goes well today, you and I might want to have a little talk. 
I have a business proposition that I think might interest you."


"Is that all you ever think about?" Velvet asked him.


' 'A missed opportunity is gone forever, my dear Liselle,'' he 
replied with a certain pomposity.


"You're incorrigible."


"I suppose you could say that, yes."


An oil-soaked wad of burlap in the hawsehole muffled the rattling of 
the anchor chain as the heavy iron hook sank down through the dark 
water. Garion felt rather than heard the grating of the points of the 
anchor on the rocks lying beneath the heavy swells.


"Let's board the longboat," Kresca said. "The crew will lower her 
after we're all on board.'' He looked apologetically at them. "I'm 
afraid you and your friends are going to have to help with the 
rowing, Garion. The longboat only holds so many people."


"Of course, Captain."


"I'll come along to make sure you get ashore safely."


"Captain," Belgarath said then, "once we're ashore, stand your ship 
out to sea a ways. We'll signal you when we're ready to be picked 
up."


"All right."


"If you don't see a signal by tomorrow morning, you might as well go 
on back to Perivor, because we won't be coming back."


Kresca's face was solemn. "Is whatever it is you're planning to do on 
that reef really that dangerous?" he asked.


"Probably even more so," Silk told him. "We've all been trying very 
hard not to think about it.''


It was eerie rowing across the oily-seeming black water with the 
grayish tendrils of fog rising from the heavy swells. Garion was 
suddenly reminded of that foggy night in Sthiss Tor when they had 
crossed the River of the Serpent with only the unerring sense of 
direction of the one-eyed assassin Issus to guide them.



Idly, as he rowed, Garion wondered whatever had happened to Issus.


After every ten stokes or so, Captain Kresca, who stood in the stern 
at the tiller, signaled for them to stop, and he cocked his head, 
listening to the sound of the surf. "Another couple hundred yards 
now," he said in a low voice. "You there," he said to the sailor in 
the bow who held another sounding line, "keep busy with that lead. I 
don't want to hit any rocks. Sing out if it starts shoaling."


"Aye, aye, Cap'n."


The longboat crept on through dark and fog toward the unseen beach 
where the long wash and slither of the waves on graveled shingle made 
that peculiar grating sound as each wave lifted pebbles from the 
beach to carry them up to the very verge of land and then, with 
melancholy and regretful note, to draw them back again as if the 
ever-hungry sea mourned its inability to engulf the land and rum all 
the world into one endless ocean where huge waves, unimpeded, could 
roll thrice around the globe.


The heavy fog bank lying to the east began to turn lighter and 
lighter as dawn broke over the dark, mist-obscured waves.


"Another hundred yards," Kresca said tensely.


"When we get there, Captain," Belgarath said to him, "keep your men 
in the boat. They won't be permitted to land anyway, and they'd 
better not try. We'll push you back out as soon as we get ashore."


Kresca swallowed hard and nodded.


Garion could hear the surf more clearly now and catch the seaweed-
rank smell of the meeting of sea and land. Then, just before he was 
able to make out the dark line of the beach through the obscuring 
fog, the heavy, dangerous swells flattened, and the sea around the 
longboat became as flat and slick as a pane of glass.


"That was accommodating of them," Silk observed.


"Shh," Velvet told him, laying one finger to her lips. "I'm trying to 
listen."


The bow of the longboat grated on the gravel strand, and Durnik 
stepped out of the boat and drew it farther up onto the pebbles. 
Garion and his friends also stepped out into the ankle-deep water and 
waded ashore. "We'll see you tomorrow mom-Big, Captain," Garion said 
quietly as Toth prepared to push the boat back out. "I hope," he 
added.


252


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


253



"Good luck, Garion," Kresca said. "After we're all back on board, 
you'll have to tell me what this was all about."


"I may want to forget about it by then," Garion said ruefully.


"Not if you win," Kresca's voice came back out of the fog.


"I like that man," Silk said. "He's got a nice optimistic attitude."


"Let's get off this open beach," Belgarath said. "In spite of what 
Garion's friend told him, I sense a certain tenuousness about this 
fog. I'll feel a lot better if weVe got some rocks to hide behind."


Durnik and Toth picked up the two canvas bags containing the armor, 
and Garion and Zakath drew their swords and led the way up from the 
gravel strand. The mountain they approached seemed composed of 
speckled granite, fractured into unnatural blocks. Garion had seen 
enough granite injhe mountains here and there around the world to 
know that the stone usually crumbled and weathered into rounded 
shapes. "Strange," Durnik murmured, kicking with one still-wet boot 
at the perfectly squared-off edge of one of the blocks. He lowered 
the canvas bag and drew his knife. He dug for a moment at the rock 
with his knife point. "It's not granite," he said quietly. "It looks 
like granite, but it's much too hard. It's something else."


"We can identify it later," Beldin told him. "Let's find some cover 
just in case Belgarath*s suspicion turns out to be accurate. As soon 
as we get settled, I' 11 drift around the peak a few times.''


"You won't be able to see anything," Silk predicted.


"I'll be able to hear, though."


"Over mere," Durnik said, pointing with his sledge. "It looks as if 
one of these blocks got dislodged and rolled down to the beach. 
There's a fairly large niche there."


"Good enough for now," Belgarath said. "Beldin, when you make the 
change, do it very slowly. I'm sure Zandramas landed at almost the 
exact same time we did, and she'll hear you."


"I know how it's done, Belgarath."


The niche in the side of the strange, stair-stepped peak was more 
than large enough to conceal them, and they moved down into it 
cautiously.


"Neat," Silk said. "Why don't you all wait here and catch your bream? 
Beldin can turn into a seagull and go have a look around the island. 
I'll go on ahead and pick out a trail for us."


"Be careful," Belgarath told him.


"Someday you're going to forget to say that, Belgarath, and


it'll probably wither every tree on earth.'' The little man climbed 
back up out of the niche and disappeared into the fog.



"You do say that to him a lot, you know," Beldin said to Belgarath.


"Silk's an enthusiast. He needs frequent reminding. Did you plan to 
leave sometime during the next hour?"


Beldin spat out a very unflattering epithet, shimmered very slowly, 
and sailed away.


"Your temper hasn't improved much, Old Wolf," Poledra said to him.


"Did you think it might have?"


"Not really," she replied, "but there's always room for hope."


Despite Belgarath's premonition, the fog hung on. After about a half 
hour, Beldin returned. "Somebody's landed on the west beach," he 
reported. "I couldn't see them, but I could certainly hear them. 
Angaraks seem to have some trouble keeping their voices down—sorry, 
Zakath, but it's the truth."


"I'll issue an imperial command that the next three or four 
generations converse in whispers, if you'd like."


"No, that's all right, Zakath." The dwarf grinned. "As long as I'm on 
the opposite side from at least some Angaraks, I like to be able to 
hear them coming. Did Kheldar make it back yet?''


"Not yet," Garion told him.


"What's he doing? These stone blocks are much too big to steal."


Then Silk slipped over the edge of the niche and dropped tightly to 
the stone floor. "You're not going to believe this," he said.


"Probably not," Velvet said, "but why don't you go ahead and tell us 
anyway?"


"This peak is man-made—or at least something made it. These blocks 
encircle it like terraces, all straight and smooth. The ming forms 
steps up to that flat place on top. There's an altar up there and a 
huge throne.''


"So that's what it meant!" Beldin exclaimed, snapping his fingers. 
"Belgarath, have you ever read the Book of Torak?"


"I've struggled through it a few times. My Old Angarak isn't really 
all that good."


"You can speak Old Angarak?" Zakath asked with some surprise. "It's a 
forbidden language here in Mallorea. I suspect Tbrak was changing a 
few things, and he didn't want anyone to catch him at it."


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM



"I learned it before the prohibition went into effect. What's the 
point of this, Beldin?''


"Do you remember that passage near the beginning—in the middle of all 
that conceited blather—when Torak said he went up into the High 
Places of Korim to argue with UL about the creation of the world?"


"Vaguely."


"Anyway, UL didn't want anything to do with it, so Torak turned his 
back on his father and went down and gathered up the Angaraks and led 
them back to Korim. He told them what he had in mind for them, and 
then, in true Angarak fashion, they fell down on their faces and 
started butchering each other as sacrifices. There's a word in that 
passage, 'Halagachak.' It means 'temple,' or something like that. I 
always thought that Torak was speaking figuratively, but he wasn't. 
This peak is that temple. The altar up there more or less confirms 
it, and these terraces were where the Angaraks stood to watch while 
the Gro-lims sacrificed people to their God. If I'm right, this is 
also the place where Torak spoke with his father. Regardless of how 
you feel about old Burnt-Face, this is one of the holiest places on 
earth."


"You keep talking about Torak's father," Zakath said, looking 
puzzled. "I didn't know that the Gods had fathers."


"Of course they do," Ce'Nedra said loftily. "Everybody knows that."


"I didn't."


' *UL is their father,' * she said in a deliberately offhand manner.


"Isn't he the God of the Ulgos?"


"Not by choice exactly," Belgarath told him. "The original Gorim more 
or less bullied him into it."


"How do you bully a God?"


"Carefully," Beldin said, "Very, very carefully."


"IVemetUL," Ce'Nedra supplied gratuitously. "Hesortof likes me."


"She can be very irritating at times, can't she?" Zakath said to 
Garion.


"YouVe noticed."


"You don't have to like me," she said with a toss of her curls, 
"either one of you. As long as the Gods like a girl, she'll do all 
right."


Garion began to have some hope at that point. If Ce'Nedra was willing 
to banter with them, it was a fair indication that she


did not take her supposed intimations of her own incipient demise all 



that seriously. He did, however, wish that he could get that knife 
away from her.


"During the course of your fascinating explorations, did you by any 
chance happen to locate that cave?" Belgarath asked Silk. "I more or 
less thought that's why you were out there sneaking around in the 
fog."


"The cave?" Silk said. "Oh, that's around on the north side. There's 
a sort of amphitheater in front of it. It's almost exactly in the 
middle of that face. I found that in the first ten minutes."


Belgarath glared at him.


"It's not exactly a cave, though," Silk added. "There may be a cave 
back inside the peak, but the opening is more like a wide doorway. 
It's got pillars on each side and a familiar face above the lintel."


"Tbrak?" Garion said with a sinking feeling.


"None other."


"Hadn't we better get started then?" Durnik suggested. "If Zandramas 
is already on the island . . ." He spread his hands.


"So what?" Beldin said.


They all stared at the grotesque little hunchback.


"Zandramas can't go into the cave until we get there, can she?" he 
asked Cyradis.


"Nay, Beldin," she replied. "That is forbidden."


"Good. Let her wait, then. I'm sure she'll enjoy the anticipation. 
Did anybody think to bring anything to eat? I may have to be a 
seagull, but I don't have to eat raw fish."


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


They waited for almost an hour until Beldin decided that by now 
Zandramas must be keyed to a fever pitch. Garion and Zakath took 
advantage of the delay to put on their armor. "I'll take a look," the 
dwarf said finally. He slowly slipped into the shape of a seagull and 
drifted away into the fog. When he returned, he was chuckling evilly. 
"I've never heard a woman use that kind of language," he said. "She 
even puts you to shame, Pol."


"What's she doing?" Belgarath asked him.


"She's standing outside the cave mouth—or door, or whatever you want 
to call it. She had about forty Grolims with her."


"Forty?" Garion exclaimed. He turned on Cyradis. "I thought you said 



we'd be evenly matched," he accused.


"Art thou not a match for at least five, Belgarion?'' she asked 
simply.


"Well-"


"You said had," Belgarath said to his brother.


"I'd say dial our star-speckled friend tried to force several of her 
Grolims to push through whatever il is that has the door sealed 
against her. I 'm not sure if it was the force holding the door or if 
Zandramas lost her temper when the Grolims failed. About five of them 
are noticeably dead at the moment, and Zandramas is stalking about 
outside inventing swear words. All of her Grolims have purple linings 
on the insides of their hoods, by the way.''


"Sorcerers, then," Polgara said bleakly.


"Grolim sorcery is not all that profound." Beldin shrugged.


"Could you see if she's got those lights under her skin?" Garion 
asked.


"Oh, my, yes. Her face looks like a meadow full of fireflies on a 
summer evening. I saw something else, too. That albatross is out 
there. We nodded, but we didn't have time to stop and speak."


"What was he doing?" Silk asked suspiciously.


"Just hovering. You know how albatrosses are. I don't think they move 
their wings more than once a week. The fog is starting to thin. Why 
don't we just ease around and stand on one of these terraces just 
above that amphitheater and let this murk dissipate. Seeing a group 
of dark figures emerging out of the fog should give her quite a turn, 
wouldn't you think?"


"Did you see my baby?" Ce'Nedra asked, her heart in her voice.


"He's hardly a baby anymore, little girl. He's a sturdy little lad 
with curls as blond as Eriond's used to be. I gathered from his 
expression that he's not very fond of the company he's in, and 
judging from the look of him, he's going to grow up to be as bad-
tempered as the rest of his family. Garion could probably go down 
there and hand him the sword, and then we could all sit back and 
watch him deal with the problem."


"I'd rather not have him start killing people until after he loses 
his baby teeth," Garion said firmly. "Is there anybody else there?"


"Judging from his wife's description, the Archduke Otrath is among 
the group. He's wearing a cheap crown and sort of secondhand royal 
robes. There's not too much in the way of intelligence in his eyes."


"That one is mine," Zakath grated. "I Ve never had the op* portunity 
to deal with high treason on a personal level before."



"His wife will be eternally in your debt." Beldin grinned.


SEERESS OF KELL


"She might even decide to journey to Ma! Zeth to offer her 
thanks—among other things—in person. She's a lush wench, Zakath. I'd 
advise that you get plenty of rest."


"Methinks I care not for the turn this conversation hath taken," 
Cyradis said primly. "The day wears on. Let us proceed."


"Anythin' yer heart desires, me little darlin'." Beldin


grinned.


Cyradis smiled in spite of herself.


Again they all spoke with that jocular bravado. They were approaching 
what was probably die most important Event in all of time, and making 
light of it was a natural human response. Silk led the way out of the 
niche, his soft boots making no sound on the wet stones under their 
feet. Garion and Zakath, however, had to move with some care to avoid 
clinking. The sharply mounting stone terraces were each uniformly 
about ten feet tall, but at regular intervals there were stairways 
leading from one terrace to the one above. Silk led them up about 
three levels and then began circling the truncated pyramid. When they 
reached the northeast corner, he paused. "We'd better be very quiet 
now," he whispered. "We're only about a hundred yards from that 
amphitheater. We don't want some sharp-eared Gro-lim to hear us."


They crept around the corner and made their way carefully along the 
north face for several minutes. Then Silk stopped and leaned out over 
the edge to peer down into the fog. "This is it," he whispered. "The 
amphitheater's a rectangular indentation in the side of the peak. It 
runs from the beach up to that portal or whatever you want to call 
it. If you look over the edge, you'll see that the terraces below us 
break oif back there a ways. The amphitheater is right below us. 
We're within a hundred yards of Zandramas right now."


Garion peered down into the fog, almost wishing that by a single act 
of will he could brush aside the obscuring mist so mat he could look 
at the face of his enemy.


"Steady," Beldin whispered to him. "It's going to come soon enough. 
Let's not spoil the surprise for her."


Disjointed voices came up out of the fog—harsh, guttural Grolim 
voices. The fog seemed to muffle them, so Garion could not pick out 
individual words, but he didn't really have to.


They waited.


The sun by now had risen above the eastern horizon, and its pale disk 
was faintly visible through the fog and the roiling cloud



THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


259


that was the aftermath of the storm. The fog began to eddy and swirl. 
Gradually die mist overhead dissolved, and now Garion could see the 
sky. A thick blanket of dirty-looking scud lay over the reef but 
extended only a few leagues to the east. Thus it was that the sun, 
low on the eastern horizon, shone on the underside of the clouds and 
stained them an angry reddish orange with its light. It looked almost 
as if the sky had taken fire.


"Colorful," Sadi murmured, nervously passing his poisoned dagger from 
one hand to the other. He set his red leather case down and opened 
it. Then he took up the earthenware bottle, worked the stopper out, 
and iaid it on its side. "There should be mice on this reef," he 
said, "or the eggs of seabirds. Zith and her babies will be all 
right.'' Then he straightened, carefully putting a small bag he had 
taken from the case in me pocket of his tunic. "A little 
precaution," he whispered by way of explanation.


The fog now lay beneath them like a pearly gray ocean in the shadow 
of the pyramid. Garion heard a strange, melancholy cry and raised his 
eyes. The albatross hovered on motionless wings above the fog. Garion 
peered intently down into the obscuring mist, almost absently working 
the leather sleeve off me hilt of his sword. The Orb was glowing 
faintly, and its color was not blue, but an angry red, almost the 
color of the burning sky.


"That confirms it, Old Wolf," Poledra said to her husband. "The 
Sardion's in that cave."


Belgarath, silvery hair and beard glowing red in the light reflected 
from the clouds overhead, grunted.


The fog below began to swirl, its surface looking almost like an 
angry sea. It thinned even more. Garion could now see shadowy forms 
beneath them, hazy, indistinct, and uniformly dark. The fog was now 
no more man a faintly obscuring haze. "Holy Sorceress!" a Grolim 
voice exclaimed in alarm. "Look!"


A hooded figure in a shiny black satin robe spun about, and Garion 
looked full into the face of the Child of Dark. He had heard the 
lights beneath her skin described several times, but no description 
had prepared him for what he now saw. The lights in Zandramas' face 
were not stationary, but swirled restlessly beneath her skin. In the 
shadow of the ancient pyramid, her features were dark, nearly 
invisible, but the swirling lights made it appear, in die cryptic 
words of the Ashabine Oracles, as if "all the starry universe" were 
contained in her flesh. Behind him he heard the sharp hiss of 
Ce'Nedra's indrawn


260


SEERESS OF KELL


breath. He turned his head and saw his little queen, dagger in hand 
and eyes ablaze with hatred, starting toward the stairs leading down 



into the amphitheater. Polgara and Velvet, obviously aware of her 
desperate plan, quickly restrained and disarmed


her.


Then Poledra stepped to the edge of the terrace. "And so it has come 
at last, Zandramas," she said in a clear voice.


"I was but waiting for thee to join thy friends, Poledra," the 
sorceress replied in a taunting tone. "I was concerned for thee, 
fearing that thou hadsi lost thy way. Now it is complete, and we may 
proceed in orderly fashion."


"Thy concern with order is somewhat belated, Zandramas," Poledra told 
her, "but no matter. We have all, as was foretold, arrived at the 
appointed place at the appointed time. Shall we put aside all this 
foolishness and go inside? The universe must be growing impatient 
with us."


"Not just yet, Poledra," Zandramas replied flatly. "How tiresome," 
Belgarath's wife said wearily. "That's a failing in thee, Zandramas. 
Even after something obviously isn't working, thou must continue to 
try. Thou hast twisted and turned and tried to evade this meeting, 
but all in vain. And all of diine evasion hath only brought thee more 
quickly to this place. Thinkest thou not that it is time to forgo 
thine entertainments and to go along gracefully?" "I do not think so, 
Poledra."


Poledra sighed. "All right, Zandramas," she said in a resigned tone, 
"asitpleaseththee." She extended her arm, pointing at Garion. "Since 
thou art so bent on this, thus I summon the Godslayer,"


Slowly, deliberately, Garion reached back across his shoulder and 
wrapped his hand about the hilt of his sword. It made an angry hiss 
as it slid from its sheath and it was already flaming an incandescent 
blue as it emerged. Garion's mind was icy calm now. All doubt and 
fear were gone, even as they had been at Cthol Mishrak, and the 
spirit of the Child of Light possessed him utterly. He took the sword 
hilt in both hands and slowly raised it until the flaming blade was 
pointed at the fiery clouds overhead. "This is thy fate, Zandramas!" 
he roared in an awful voice, the archaic words coming unbidden to his 
lips.


"That has yet to be determined, Belgarion." Zandramas' tone was 
defiant, as might be expected, but there was something else behind 
it. "Fate is not always so easily read." She made an imperious 
gesture, and her Grolims formed up into a phalanx


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


around her and began to intone a harsh chant in an ancient and 
hideous language.


"Get back!" Polgara warned sharply, and she, her parents, and Beldin 
stepped to the edge of the terrace.



Flickering faintly, an inky shadow began to appear at the very edge 
of Garion's vision, and he began to feel an obscure sense of dread. 
"Watch yourselves," he quietly warned his friends. "I think she's 
starting one of those illusions we were talking about last night.'' 
Then he felt a powerful surge and heard a roar of sound. A wave of 
sheer darkness rolled out from the extended hands of the Grolims 
massed around Zandramas, but the wave shattered into black fragments 
that sizzled and skittered around the amphitheater like frightened 
mice as the four sorcerers blew it apart almost contemptuously with a 
single word spoken in unison. Several of die Grolims collapsed 
writhing to the stone floor, and most of the rest of diem staggered 
back, their faces suddenly pasty white.


Beldin cackled evilly. "An1 would ye like t' try it again, daiiin'?" 
he taunted Zandramas. "If that's yer intent, ye should have brought 
more Grolims. Yer usin' 'em up at a fearful rate, don't y' know."


"I wish you wouldn't do mat," Belgarath said to him.


"So does she, I'll wager. She takes herself very seriously, and a 
little ridicule always sets that sort off their pace.''


Without changing expression, Zandramas hurled a fireball at the 
dwarf, but he brushed it aside as if it were no more than an annoying 
insect.


Garion quite suddenly understood. The sudden sheet of darkness and 
the fireball were not intended seriously. They were no more than 
subterfuge, a way to distract attention from that shadow at the edge 
of vision.


The Sorceress of Darshiva smiled a chill little smile. "No matter." 
She shrugged. "I was only testing you, my droll little hunchback. 
Keep laughing, Beldin. I like to see people die happy."


"Truly," he agreed. "Smile a bit yerself, me darlin', an' have a bit 
of a look around. Y' might say good-bye t' the sun while yer at it, 
fer I don't think ye'll be seein' it fer much longer."


"Are all these threats really necessary?" Belgarath asked wearily.


"It's customary," Beldin told him. "Insults and boasting are a common 
prelude to more serious business. Besides, she started


SEERESS OF KELL


it." He looked down at Zandramas' Grolims, who had started to move 
menacingly forward. "I guess it's time, though. Shall we go 
downstairs then and prepare a big pot of Grolim stew? I like mine 
chopped rather fine." He extended his hand, snapped his fingers, and 
wrapped the hand around the hilt of a hook-pointed Ulgo knife.


With Garion in the lead, they walked purposefully to the head of the 
stairs and started down as the Grolims, with a variety of weapons in 
their hands, rushed to the bottom.



"Get back!" Silk snapped at Velvet, who had resolutely joined them 
with one of her daggers held professionally low.


"Not a chance," she said crisply. "I'm protecting my investment."


' 'What investment?''


"We can talk about it later. I'm busy right now."


The Grolim leading the charge was a huge man, almost as big as Toth. 
He was swinging a massive axe, and his eyes were filled with madness. 
When he was perhaps five feet from Gar-ion, Sadi stepped up to the 
Rivan King's shoulder and hurled a fistful of strangely colored 
powder full into the ascending Gro-lim's face. The Grolim shook his 
head, pawing at his eyes. Then he sneezed. And then his eyes filled 
with horror, and he screamed. Howling in terror, he dropped his axe, 
spun, and bolted back down, shouldering his companions off the steps 
as he fled. When he reached the floor of the amphitheater, he did not 
stop, but ran toward the sea. He floundered out into waist-deep water 
and then stepped off the edge of an unseen terrace lurking beneath 
the surface. It did not appear that he knew how to swim.


"I thought you were out of that powder," Silk said to Sadi even as he 
made a long, smooth, overhand cast with one of his daggers. A Grolim 
stumbled back, plucking at the dagger hilt protruding from his chest, 
missed his footing, and fell heavily backward down the stairway.


"I always keep a bit for contingencies," Sadi replied, ducking under 
a sword swipe and deftly slicing a Grolim across the belly with his 
poisoned dagger. The Grolim stiffened, then slowly toppled out off 
the side of the staircase. A number of black-robed men, seeking to 
surprise them from the rear, were clambering up the rough sides of 
the stairway. Velvet knelt and coolly drove one of her daggers into 
the upturned face of a Grolim on the verge of reaching the top. With 
a hoarse cry he


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


clutched at his face and fell backward, sweeping several of his 
companions off the wall as he plunged down.


Then the blond Drasnian girl darted to the other side of the stairs, 
shaking out her silken cord. She deftly looped it about the neck of a 
Grolim in the act of scrambling up onto the steps. She stepped under 
his flailing arms, turned until they were back to back, and leaned 
forward. The helpless Grolim's feet came up off the step, and he 
clutched at the cord about his neck with both hands. His feet kicked 
futilely at the air for a few moments, bis face turning black, and 
then he went limp. Velvet turned back, unlooped her cord, and coolly 
kicked the inert body off the edge.


Durnik and Toth had moved up to take positions beside Gar-ion and 
Zakath, and the four of them moved implacably down the stairs, step 
by step, chopping and smashing at the black-robed figures rushing up 
to meet them. Dumik's hammer seemed only slightly less dreadful than 
the swoid of the Rivan King. The Grolims fell before them as they 



moved inexorably down the stairs. Toth was chopping methodically with 
Durnik's axe, his face as expressionless as that of a man felling a 
tree. Zakath was a fencer, and he feinted and parried with his 
massive, though nearly weightless, sword. His thrusts were quick and 
usually lethal. The steps beiow the dreadful quartet were soon 
littered with twisted bodies and were running with rivulets of blood.


' 'Watch your footing,'' Dumik warned as he crushed another Grolim's 
skull. "The steps are getting slippery."


Garion swept off another Grolim head. It bounced like a child's ball 
down the steps even as the body toppled off the side of the stairway. 
Garion risked a quick look back over his shoulder. Belgarath and 
Beldin had joined Velvet to help the girl repel the black-robed men 
scrambling up the sides of the steps. Beldin seemed to take vicious 
delight in driving his hook-pointed knife into Grolim eyes, then, 
with a sharp twist and a jerk he would pull out sizable gobs of 
brains. Belgarath, his thumbs tucked into his rope belt, waited 
calmly. When a GroHm's head appeared above the edge of the stair, the 
old man would draw back his foot and kick the priest of Torak full in 
the face. Since it was a thirty-foot drop from the stairs to the 
stones of the amphitheater, few of the Grolims he kicked off the side 
of the stairs tried the climb a second time.


When they reached the foot of the stairs, scarcely any of Zandramas' 
Grolims survived. With his usual prudence, Sadi darted around first 
one side of the stairway and then the other,


SEERESS OF KELL


coolly sinking his poisoned dagger into the bodies of those Gro-lims 
who had fallen to the amphitheater floor, the inert dead as well as 
the groaning injured.


Zandramas seemed somewhat taken aback by the sheer violence of her 
foes' descent. She held her ground nonetheless, drawing herself up in 
scornful defiance. Standing behind her, his mouth agape with terror, 
stood a man in a cheap crown and somewhat shopworn regal robes. His 
features bore a faint resemblance to those of Zakath, so Garion 
assumed that he was the Archduke Otrath. And then at last, Garion 
beheld his own young son. He had avoided looking at the boy during 
the bloody descent, since he had been unsure of what his own reaction 
might have been at a time when his concentration was vital. As Beldin 
had said, Geran was no longer a baby. His blond curls gave his face a 
softness, but there was no softness in his eyes as he met his 
father's gaze. Geran was quite obviously consumed with hatred for the 
woman who firmly held his arm in her grasp.


Gravely, Garion raised his sword to his visor in salute, and, just as 
gravely, Geran lifted his free hand in response.


Then the Rivan King began an implacable advance, pausing only long 
enough to kick an unattached Grolim head out of his way. The 
uncertainty he had felt back in Dal Perivor had vanished now. 
Zandramas stood no more than a few yards away, and the fact that she 
was a woman no longer mattered. He raised his flaming sword and 



continued his advance.


The flickering shadow along the periphery of his vision grew darker, 
and he hesitated as his sense of dread increased. Try though he 
might, he could not stifle it. He faltered.


The shadow, vague at first, began to coalesce into a hideous face 
that towered behind the black-robed sorceress. The eyes were 
soullessly blank, and the mouth gaped open in an expression of 
unspeakable loss as if the owner of the face had been plunged into a 
horror beyond imagining from a place of light and glory. That loss, 
however, bespoke no compassion or gentleness, but rather expressed 
the implacable need of the hideous being to find others to share its 
misery.


"Behold the King of Hell!" Zandramas cried triumphantly. "Flee now 
and live a few moments longer ere he pulls you all down into eternal 
darkness, eternal flames, and eternal despair."


Garion stopped. He could not advance on that ultimate horror.


And then a voice came to him out of his memories, and with


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


the voice there came an image. He seemed to be standing in a damp 
clearing in a forest somewhere. A light, drizzling rain was falling 
from a heavy, nighttime sky, and the leaves underfoot were wet and 
soggy. Eriond, all unconcerned, was speaking to them. It had 
happened, Garion realized, just after their first encounter with 
Zandramas, who had assumed the shape of the dragon to attack them. 
"But the fire wasn't real," the young man was explaining. "Didn't you 
all know that?" He looked slightly surprised at their failure to 
understand. "It was only an illusion. That's all evil ever really 
is—an illusion. I'm sorry if any of you were worried, but I didn't 
have time to explain."


That was the key, Garion understood now. Hallucination was the 
product of derangement; illusion was not. He was not going mad. The 
face of the King of Hell was no more real than had been the illusion 
of Arell that Ce'Nedra had encountered in the forest below Kell. The 
only weapon the Child of Dark had to counter the Child of Light with 
was illusion, a subtle trickery directed at the mind. It was a 
powerful weapon, but very fragile. One ray of light could destroy it. 
He started forward again.


"Garion!" Silk cried.


"Ignore the face," Garion told him. "It isn't real. Zandramas is 
trying to frighten us into madness. The face isn't there. It doesn't 
even have as much substance as a shadow."


Zandramas flinched, and the enormous face behind her wavered and 
vanished. Her eyes darted this way and that, lingering, Garion seemed 
to perceive, upon the portaJ leading into the cave. As surely as if 
he could see it, Garion knew that there was something in that 



cave—something which was Zandramas' last line of defense. Then, 
seemingly all unconcerned by the obliteration of the weapon that had 
always served the Child of Dark so well, she made a quick gesture to 
her remaining Groiims.


"No." It was the light, clear voice of the Seeress of Kell. "I cannot 
permit this. The issue must be decided by the Choice, not by 
senseless brawling. Put up thy sword, Belgarion of Riva, and withdraw 
thy minions, Zandramas of Darshiva."


Garion found that the muscles of his legs had suddenly cramped, and 
that he could no longer move even one step. Painfully, he twisted 
around. He saw Cyradis descending the stairs, guided now by Eriond. 
Immediately behind her came Aunt Pol, Poledra, and the Rivan Queen.


"The task you both share here," Cyradis continued in an echoing 
choral voice, "is not to destroy each other, for should it come to 
pass that one of you destroyeth the other, your tasks


SEERESS OF KELL


will "remain uncompleted, and I also will be unable to complete mine. 
Thus, all that is, all that was, and all that is yet to be will 
forever perish. Put up thy sword, Belgarion, and send away thy 
Grolims, Zandramas. Let us go even into the Place Which Is No More 
and make our choices. The universe grows weary of our delay.''


Regretfully, Garion sheathed his sword, but the Sorceress of 
Darshiva's eyes narrowed. ' 'Kill her,'' she commanded her Grolims in 
a chillingly flat voice. "Kill the blind Dalasian witch in the name 
of the new God of Angarak.''


The remaining Grolims, their faces filled with religious exaltation, 
started toward the foot of the stairs. Eriond sighed and resolutely 
stepped forward to place his body in front of that of Cyradis.


"That will not be necessary, Bearer of the Orb," Cyradis told him. 
She bowed her head slightly, and the choral voice swelled to a 
crescendo. The Grolims faltered, and then began to grope around, 
staring with unseeing eyes at the daylight around them.


"It's the enchantment again," Zakath whispered, "the same one that 
surrounded Keli. They're blind."


This time, however, what the Grolims saw in their blindness was not 
the vision of the Face of God that the gentle old priest of Torak 
they had met in the sheep camp above Kell had seen, but something 
altogether different. The enchantment, it appeared, could cut two 
ways. The Grolims cried out first in alarm, then in fright. Then 
their cries became screams, and they turned, stumbling over each 
other and even crawling on hands and knees to escape that which they 
saw. They scrambled blindly down to the water's edge, obviously bent 
on following the hulking Gro-lim into whose face Sadi had thrown that 
strange powder of his. They floundered out into the now gently 
rolling waves, and one by one stepped off into deep water.



A few could swim, but not very many. Those who could swam desperately 
out to sea and inevitable death. Those who could not sank beneath the 
surface, their imploring hands reaching upward even after their heads 
had gone under. Columns of bubbles rose to the top of the dark water 
for a few moments, and then they stopped.


The albatross, its great wings motionless, drifted over them for a 
moment and then returned to hover over the amphitheater.


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


"And now art thou, as thou hast ever chosen to be, alone, Child of 
Dark," Cyradis said sternly.


"The ones who were here with me were of no moment, Cyradis," 
Zandramas replied indifferently. "They have served their purpose, and 
I no longer need them."


' 'Art thou then ready to enter through the portal into the Place 
Which Is No More to stand in the presence of the Sardion, there to 
make thy choice?"


"Of course, Holy Seeress," Zandramas acquiesced with surprising 
mildness. ' 'Gladly will I join with the Child of Light that together 
we may enter the Temple of Torak."


"Watch her, Garion," Silk whispered. "The whole tone of this is 
wrong. She's up to something."


But Cyradis, it appeared, had also detected the ruse. "Thy sudden 
acceptance is puzzling, Zandramas," she said. "Vainly hast thou 
striven for all these weary months to avoid this meet-


267


268


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


269


ing, and now thou wouldst rush-eagerly into the grotto. What hath so 
altered thee? Doth perchance some unseen peril lurk within yon grot? 
Seekest thou still to lure the Child of Light to his doom, thinking 
thereby to avoid the necessity of the Choice?"


"The answer to thy question, blind witch, doth lie behind that 
portal," Zandramas replied in a harsh voice. She turned her 
glittering face toward Garion. "Surely the great Godslayer is without 
fear," she said. "Or is he who slew Tbrak become of a sudden timid 
and fearful? What threat could. I, a mere woman, pose to the 
mightiest warrior in the world? Let us then investigate this grotto 
together. Confidently will I deliver my safety into thy hands, 
Belgarion."


"It may not be so, Zandramas,'' the Seeress of Kell declared. "It is 



too late now for subterfuge and deceit. Only the Choice will free 
thee now." She paused and briefly bowed her head. Again Garion heard 
that choral murmuring. "Ah," she said at last, "now we understand. 
The passage in the book of the heavens was obscure, but now it is 
clear." She aimed toward the portal. "Come forth, Demon Lord. Lurk 
not in darkness awaiting prey, but come forth that we may see thee." 
"No!" Zandramas cried hoarsely.


But it was too late. Reluctantly, almost as if being driven, die 
battered and half-crippled dragon limped out of the grotto, roaring 
and belching billows of flame and smoke. "Not again," Zakath groaned.


Garion, however, saw more than just the dragon. Even as in the snow-
clogged forest outside Val Alorn when he had seen the image of Barak 
superimposed upon that of the dreadful bear rushing to his rescue 
after he had speared the boar when he was no more than fourteen, he 
now saw the form of the Demon Lord Mordja within the shape of the 
dragon. Mordja, archfbe of Na-haz, the demon that had borne the 
shrieking Urvon into the eternal pit of Hell. Mordja, who with 
a,half-dozen snakelike arms grasped a huge sword—a sword that Garion 
recognized all too well. The Demon Lord, encased in the form of the 
dragon, strode forward with monstrous steps wielding Cthrek Goru, To-
rak's dread sword of shadows.


The burning red clouds overhead erupted with lightning as the 
hideously twinned beast came at them. "Spread out!" Gar-ion shouted. 
"Silk! Tell them what to do!" He drew a deep breath as great bolts of 
lightning streaked down from the roiling red sky above to crash 
against the sides of the terraced pyramid


with earth-shattering claps of thunder. "Let's go!" Garion cried to 
Zakath as he once more drew Iron-grip's sword. But then he paused, 
dumbfounded. Poledra, as calmly as she would if crossing a meadow, 
approached the awful monstrosity. "Thy Master is the Lord of 
Deception, Mordja," she said to the suddenly immobilized creature 
before her, "but it is time for deceit to end. Thou wilt speak only 
truth. What is thy purpose here? What is the purpose of all of thy 
kind in this place?"


The Demon Lord, frozen within the form of the dragon, snarled its 
hatred as it twisted and writhed, attempting to break free.


"Speak, Mordja," Poledra commanded. Did anyone have that kind of 
power?


"I will not." Mordja spat out the words.


' 'Thou wilt,'' Garion's grandmother said in a dreadfully quiet 
voice.


Mordja shrieked then, a shriek of total agony.


"What is thy purpose?" Poledra insisted.


"I serve the King of Hell!'' the demon cried.


"And what is the purpose of the King of Hell here?"



"He would possess the stones of power," Mordja howled.


"And why?"


"That he may break his chains, the chains in which accursed UL bound 
him long ere any of this was made."


"Wherefore hast thou then aided the Child of Dark, and wherefore 
didst thy foe Nahaz aid the Disciple of Torak? Didst not thy Master 
know that each of them sought to raise a God? A God which would even 
more securely bind him?"


"What they sought was of no moment," Mordja snarled. "Nahaz and I 
contended witii each other, in truth, but our contention was not on 
behalf of mad Urvon or sluttish Zandramas. In the instant that either 
of them gained Sardion would the King of Hell reach forth with my 
hands—or with the hands of Nahaz— and seize the stone. Then, using 
its power, would the one of us or the other wrest Cthrag Yaska from 
the Godslayer and deliver both stones to our Master. In the instant 
that he took up the two stones would he become the new God. His 
chains would break and he would contend with UL as an equal—nay, an 
even mightier—God, and all that is, was, or will be would be his and 
his done."


"And what then was to be the fate of the Child of Dark or the 
Disciple of Tbrak?"


*'They were to be our rewards. Even now doth Nahaz feed


270


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


271


eternally upon mad Urvon in the darkest pit of Hell, even as I shall 
feed upon Zandramas. The ultimate reward of the King of Hell is 
eternal torment."


The Sorceress of Darshiva gasped in horror as she heard her soul's 
fate so cruelly pronounced.


"Thou canst not stop me, Poledra," Mordja taunted, "for the King of 
Hell hath strengthened my hand."


"Thy hand, however, is confined in the body of this rude beast," 
Poledra said. "Thou hast made thy choice, and in this place, a 
choice, once made, cannot be unmade. Here wilt thou contend alone, 
and thine only ally will not be the King of Hell, but no more than 
this mindless creature which thou hast chosen."


The demon raised its dreadful, fang-filled muzzle with a great howl, 
and it struggled, heaving its vast shoulders this way and that as it 
desperately tried to wrench itself free of the shape that enclosed 
it.



"Does this mean we have to fight them both!" Zakath asked Garion in a 
shaking voice.


"I'm afraid so."


"Garion, have you lost your mind?"


"It's what we do, Zakath. At least Poledra has limited Mord-ja's 
power—I don't know how, but she has. Since he doesn't have his full 
powers, we at least have a chance against him. Let's get at it.'' 
Garion clapped down his visor and strode forward, swinging his 
flaming sword before him.


Silk and the others had separated, and they were approaching the 
dragon from the sides and from the rear.


As he and Zakath warily moved in, Garion saw something that might be 
an even greater advantage. The melding of the primitive mind of the 
dragon and the age-old one of the demon was not complete. The dragon, 
with stubborn stupidity, could only focus her single eye upon those 
enemies who stood directly before her, and she charged on, unmindful 
of Garion's friends moving toward her flanks. Mordja, however, was 
all too much aware of the dangers advancing from the sides and from 
the rear. The division of the unnaturally joined mind of the vast, 
bat-winged creature gave it a kind of uncharacteristic hesitation, 
indecision even. Then Silk, the sword of a fallen Grolim in his 
hands, darted in from the rear and chopped manfully at the writhing 
tail.


The dragon bellowed in pain, and flames burst from her gaping mouth. 
Overriding what little control Mordja exerted upon


her, she wheeled clumsily to respond to Silk's attack. The little 
thief, however, skipped nimbly out of her way even as the others 
dashed in to attack her flanks. Durnik rhythmically hammered on one 
exposed flank while Torn chopped no less rhythmically at the other.


A desperate plan came unbidden to Garion as he saw that the dragon 
had turned almost completely around to meet Silk's attack. "Work on 
her tail!" he shouted to Zakath. He backed off a few paces to give 
himself running room, then lumbered forward, his movements made 
awkward by his armor. He leaped over the slashing tail and ran up the 
dragon's back.


"Garion!" he heard Ce'Nedra scream in horror. He ignored her 
frightened cry and continued to scramble up the scaly back until he 
was finally able to plant his feet on the dragon's shoulders between 
the batlike wings. The dragon, he knew, would not fear or even feel 
the strokes of his burning sword. Mordja, however, would. He raised 
Iron-grip's sword and struck a two-handed blow at the base of the 
scaly neck. The dragon, weaving her fearsome head and breathing fire 
and smoke as she sought out those who were attacking her, paid no 
heed. Mordja, however, screamed in agony as the power of the Orb 
seared him. That was their advantage. Left to herself, the dragon was 
incapable of meeting their many-pronged attack. It was the added 
intelligence of the Demon Lord that made her so dangerous in this 
situation, but Garion had seen evidence in the past that the Orb 
could inflict intolerable agony upon a demon. In that respect, it had 



even more power than did a God. Demons fled from the presence of the 
Gods, but they could not flee from the chastisement of Aldur's Orb. 
"Hotter!" he commanded the stone as he raised his blade again. He 
struck and struck and Struck again. The great blade no longer bounced 
off the dragon's scales but seared its way through them to bite into 
the dragon's Besh. The half-indistinct image of Mordja, encased in 
the dragon, shrieked as the sword cut into his neck even as it 
slashed at that of the dragon. Almost in mid-stroke, Garion reversed 
his sword and, grasping the crosspiece of the hilt, drove it down 
into the dragon's back between the vast shoulders.


Mordja screamed.


Garion wrenched the sword back and forth, tearing the wound even 
wider.


Even the dragon felt that. She screamed,


Garion raised his sword again, and once again sank it into die 
bleeding wound, deeper this time.


SEERESS OF KELL


The dragon and Mordja screamed in unison.


Ludicrously, Garion remembered a time in his bygone youth when he had 
watched old Cralto digging holes for fence posts. He consciously 
imitated the old farm worker's rhythmic motion, raising his reversed 
sword high overhead as Cralto had his shovel, and driving the blade 
down into the dragon's flesh. With each driving blow the wound grew 
deeper, and blood gushed and spurted from the quivering flesh. He 
momentarily saw the white of bone and altered his point of aim. Not 
even Iron-grip's sword could shear through that tree-trunksized 
backbone.


His friends had momentarily fallen back, astonished at the Rivan 
King's insane-appearing audacity. Then they saw that the dragon's 
almost serpentlike head was raised high in the air as she tried 
desperately to writhe her neck around to bite at the tormenter 
digging a huge hole between her shoulder blades. They rushed back 
into tine attack, hacking and stabbing at the softer scales covering 
the dragon's throat, belly, and flanks. Darting in and out quickly to 
avoid being trampled by the huge beast, Silk, Velvet, and Sadi 
attacked the unprotected underside of the distracted dragon. Durnik 
was steadily pounding on the dragon's side, methodically breaking 
ribs one by one as Toth chopped at the other side. Belgarath and 
Poledra, once again as wolves, were gnawing on die writhing tail.


Then Garion saw what he had been searching for—the hawserlike tendon 
leading down into one of the dragon's huge wings. "Hotter!" he 
shouted again at the Orb.


The sword flared anew, and this time Garion did not strike. Instead 
he set the edge of his weapon against the tendon and began to saw 
back and forth wkh it, burning through the tough ligament rather than 
chopping. The tendon, finally severed, snapped, its cut ends 



slithering snakelike back into the bleeding flesh.


The bellow of pain that emerged from that flame-filled mouth was 
shattering. The dragon lurched, then fell, thrashing its huge limbs 
in terrible agony.


Garion was thrown clear when the dragon fell. Desperately he rolled, 
trying to get away from those flailing claws. Then Zakath was there, 
yanking him to his feet. "You're insane, Gar-ion!" he shouted in a 
shrill voice. "Are you all right?"


"I'm fine," Garion said in a tight voice. "Let's finish it."


Toth, however, was already there. In the very shadow of the dragon's 
huge head he stood, his feet planted wide apart, chopping at the base 
of the dragon's throat. Great gushes of blood


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


spurted from severed arteries as the huge mute, his heavy shoulders 
surging, sought to find and cut the barrellike windpipe. Despite the 
concerted efforts of Garion and his friends, there had been little 
more than pain before. Toth's singleminded attack, however, 
threatened the dragon's very life. Were he to succeed in severing or 
even broaching the thick gristle of that windpipe, the dragon would 
die, choking for lack of breath or drowning in her own blood. She 
clawed her way back onto her forelegs and reared high over the huge 
mute.


"Toth!" Durnik shouted. "Get out of there! She's going to strike!"


But it was not the fanged tnouth that struck. Dimly, within the 
bleeding body of the dragon, Garion saw the indistinct shape of 
Mordja desperately raise Cthrek Goru, the sword of shadows. Then the 
Demon Lord thrust out with the sword. The blade, as if insubstantial, 
emerged from the dragon's chest and, as smoothly, plunged into Toth 
to emerge from his back. The mute stiffened, then slid limply off the 
sword, unable even in death to cry out.


"No!" Durnik roared in a voice filled with indescribable loss.


Garion's mind went absolutely cold. "Keep her teeth off me," he told 
Zakath in a flat, unemotional tone. Then he dashed forward, reversing 
his sword once again in preparation for a thrust such as he had never 
delivered before. He aimed that thrust not at the wound Toth had 
opened but at the dragon's broad chest instead.


Cthrek Goru flickered out to ward him off, but Garion parried that 
desperate defensive stroke, then set his shoulder against the massive 
crosspiece of his sword's hilt. He fixed the now-shrinking demon with 
a look of pure hatred and then he drove his sword into the dragon's 
chest with all his strength, and the great surge as the Orb unleashed 
its power almost staggered him.


The sword of the Rivan King slid smoothly into the dragon's heart, 
like a stick into water.



The awful bellowing from both the dragon and the Demon Lord broke off 
suddenly in a kind of gurgling sigh.


Grimly, Garion wrenched his sword free and stepped clear of the 
convulsing beast. Then, like a burning house collapsing in on itself, 
the dragon crumpled to the ground, twitched a few times, and was 
still.


Garion wearily turned.


SEERESS OF KELL


Tbth's face was calm, but blind Cyradis knelt on one side of his body 
and Duraik on the other. They were both weeping openly.


High overhead, the albatross cried out once, a cry of pain and loss.


Cyradis was weeping, her blindfold wet with her tears.


The smoky-looking orange sky roiled and tumbled overhead, and inky 
black patches lay in the folds of the clouds,'shifting, coiling, and 
undulating as the clouds, still stained on their undersides by the 
new-risen sun, writhed in the sky above and flinched and shuddered as 
they begot drunken-appearing lightning that staggered down through 
the murky air to strike savagely at the altar of the One-Eyed God on 
the pinnacle above.


Cyradis was weeping.


The sharply regular stones that floored the amphitheater were still 
darkly wet from the clinging fog that had enveloped the reef before 
dawn and the downpour of yesterday. The white speckles in that iron-
hard stone glittered like stars under their sheen of moisture.


Cyradis was weeping.


Garion drew in a deep breath and looked around the amphitheater. It 
was not as large perhaps as he had first imagined— certainly not 
large enough to contain what had happened here—but then, all the 
world would probably not have been large enough to contain that. The 
faces of his companions, bathed in the fiery light from the sky and 
periodically glowing dead white in the intense flashes of the 
stuttering lightning, seemed awed by the enormity of what had just 
happened. The amphitheater was littered with dead Grolims, shrunken 
black patches lying on the stones or sprawled in boneless-looking 
clumps on the stairs. Garion heard a peculiar, voiceless rumble that 
died off into something almost like a sigh. He looked incuriously at 
the dragon. Its tongue protruded from its gaping mouth, and its 
reptilian eyes stared blankly at Him. The sound he had heard had come 
from that vast carcass. The beast's entrails, still unaware that 
they, like the rest of the dragon, were dead, continued their 
methodical work of digestion. Zandramas stood frozen in shock. The 
beast she had raised and the demon she had sent to possess it were 
both dead, and her desperate effort to evade the necessity of 
standing powerless and defenseless in the place of the Choice had 



crumbled and fallen as a child's castle of sand crumbles before the 
encroaching waves. Garion's son looked


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


275


upon his father with unquestioning trust and pride, and Garion took a 
certain comfort in that clear-eyed gaze.


Cyradis was weeping. All else in Garion's mind was drawn from 
reflection and random impressions. The one incontrovertible fact, 
however, was that the Seeress of Kell was crushed by her grief. At 
this particular time she was the most important person in the 
universe, and perhaps it had always been so. It might very well be, 
Garion thought, that the world had been created for the one express 
purpose of bringing this frail girl to this place at this time to 
make this single Choice. But could she do that now? Might it not be 
that the death of her guide and protector—the one person in all the 
world she had truly loved— had rendered her incapable of making the 
Choice?


Cyradis was weeping, and so long as she wept, the minutes ticked by. 
Garion saw now as clearly as if he were reading in that book of the 
heavens which guided the seers that the time of the meeting and of 
the Choice was not only this particular day, but would come in a 
specific instant of this day, and if Cyradis, bowed down by her 
unbearable grief, were unable to choose in that instant, all mat had 
been, all that was, and all that was yet to be would shimmer and 
vanish like an ephemeral dream. Her weeping must cease, or all would 
be forever lost.


It began with a clear-toned single voice, a voice that rose and rose 
in elegaic sadness that contained within it the sum of human woe. 
Then other voices emerged singly or in trios or hi octets to join 
that aching song. The chorus of the group mind of the seers plumbed 
the depths of the grief of the Seeress of Kell and then sank in an 
unbearable diminuendo of blackest despair and faded off into a 
silence more profound than the silence of the grave.


Cyradis was weeping, but she did not weep alone. Her entire race wept 
with her.


That lone voice began again, and the melody was similar to the one 
that had just died away. To Garion's untrained ear, it seemed almost 
the same, but a subtle chord change had somehow taken place, and as 
the other voices joined in, more chords insinuated themselves into 
the song, and the grief and unutterable despair were questioned in 
the final notes.


Yet once again the song began, not this time with a single voice but 
with a mighty chord that seemed to shake the very roots of heaven 
with its triumphant affirmation. The melody remained basically the 
same, but what had begun as a dirge was now an exultation.


276


SEERESS OF KELL



Cyradis gently laid Toth's hand on his motionless chest, smoothed his 
hair, and groped across his body to touch Durnik's tear-wet face 
consolingly.


She rose, no longer weeping, and Garion's fears dissolved and faded 
as the morning fog that had obscured the reef had faded beneath the 
onslaught of the sun. "Go," she said in a resolute voice, pointing at 
the now-unguarded portal. "The time approaches. Go thou, Child of 
Light, and thou, Child of Dark, even into the grot, for we have 
choices to make which; once made, may never be unmade. Come ye with 
me, therefore, into the Place Which Is No More, there to decide the 
fate of all men." And with firm and unfaltering step, the Seeress of 
Kell led the way toward that portal surmounted by the stony image of 
the face of Torak.


Garion found himself powerless in the grip of that clear voice and he 
fell in beside satin-robed Zandramas to follow the slender Seeress. 
He felt a faint brush against his armored right shoulder as he and 
the Child of Dark entered the portal. It was almost with a wry 
amusement that he realized that the forces controlling this meeting 
were not so entirely sure of themselves. They had placed a barrier 
between him and the Sorceress of Darshiva. Zandramas' unprotected 
throat lay quite easily within the reach of his vengeful hands, but 
the barrier made her as unassailable as if she had been on the far 
side of the moon. Faintly, he was aware that the others were coming 
up behind, his friends following him, and Geran and the violently 
trembling Otrath trailing after Zandramas.


"This need not be so, Belgarion of Riva," Zandramas whispered 
urgently. "Will we, the two most powerful ones in all the universe, 
submit to the haphazard choice of this brain-sickly girl? Let us 
bestow our choices upon ourselves. Thus will we both become Gods. 
Easily will we be able to set aside UL and the others and rule all 
creation jointly." The swirling lights beneath the skin of her face 
spun faster now, and her eyes glowed red.' 'Once we have achieved 
divinity, thou canst put aside thine earthly wife, who is not, after 
all, human, and thou and I could mate. Thou couldst father a race of 
Gods upon me, Belgarion, and we could sate each other with unearthly 
delights, Thou wilt find me fair, King of Riva, as all men have, and 
I will consume thy days with the passion of Gods, and we will share 
in the meeting of Light and iDark."


Garion was startled, even a little awed by the single-mindedness of 
the Spirit of the Child of Dark. The thing was as


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


implacable and as unchangeable as adamantine rock. He perceived that 
it did not change because it could not. He began to grope his way 
toward something that seemed significant. Light could change. Every 
day was testimony to that. Dark could not. Then it was at last that 
he understood the true meaning of the eternal division which had rent 
the universe apart. The Dark sought immobile stasis; the Light sought 
progression. The Dark crouched in a perceived perfection; the Light, 
however, moved on, informed by the concept of perfectability. When 



Garion spoke, it was not in reply to the blatant inducements of 
Zandramas, but rather to the Spirit of Dark itself. "It will change, 
you know," he said. "Nothing you can do will stop me from believing 
that. Torak offered to be my father, and now Zandramas offers to be 
my wife. I rejected Ibrak, and I reject Zandramas. You cannot lock me 
into immobility. If I change only one little thing, you've lost. Go 
stop the tide if you can, and leave me alone to do my work."


The gasp that came from the mouth of Zandramas was more than human. 
Garion's sudden understanding had actually stung the Dark, not merely 
its instrument. He felt a faint, almost feath-erlike probing, and 
made no effort to repel it.


Zandramas hissed, her eyes aflame with hate-filled frustration.


"Didn't you find what you wanted?" Garion asked.


The voice that came from her lips was dry, unemotional. "You'll have 
to make your choice eventually, you know," it said.


The voice that came from Garion's lips was not his own, and it was 
just as dry and clinical. "There's plenty of time," it replied. "My 
instrument will choose when it is needful."


"A clever move, but it does not yet signify the end of the game."


"Of course not. The last move lies in the hands of the Seeress of 
Kell."


"So be it, then."


They were walking down a long, musty-smelling corridor.


"I absolutely hate this," Garion heard Silk murmur from behind him.


' 'It's going to be all right, Kheldar,'' Velvet told the little man 
comfortingly. "I won't let anything happen to you."


Then the corridor opened out into a submerged grotto. The walls were 
rough, irregular, for this was not a construction but a natural 
cavern. Water oozed down a far wall to trickle end-


SEERESS OF KELL


lessly with silvery note into a dark pool. The grotto had a faintly 
reptilian smell overlaid by the odor of long-dead meat, and the floor 
was littered with gnawed white bones. By some ironic twist, the lair 
of the Dragon God had become the lair of the dragon herself. No 
better guard had been necessary to protect this place.


On the near wall stood a massive throne carved from a single rock, 
and before the throne there was one of the now all-too-familiar 
altars. Lying on the center of that altar was an- oblong stone 
somewhat larger than a man's head. The stone glowed red, and its ugly 
light illuminated the grotto. Just to one side of the altar lay a 
human skeleton, its bony arm extended in a gesture of longing. Garion 



frowned. Some sacrifice to Torak, perhaps? Some victim of the dragon? 
Then he knew. It was the Melcene scholar who had stolen the Sardion 
from the university and fled with it to this place to die here in 
unthinking adoration of .the stone that had killed him.


Just over his shoulder, Garion heard a sudden animallike snarl coming 
from the Orb, and a similar sound came from the red stone, the 
Sardion, which lay on the altar. There was a confused babble of sound 
in a multitude of languages, some drawn, for all Garion knew, from 
the farthest reaches of the universe. Flickering streaks of blue shot 
up through the milky-red Sardion, and similarly, angry red bathed the 
Orb in undulant waves as all the conflicts of all the ages came 
together in this small, confined space.


"Control it, Garion!" Belgarath said sharply. "If you don't they'll 
destroy each other—and the universe, as well!"


Garion reached back over his shoulder and placed his marked palm over 
the Orb, speaking silently to the vengeful stone. ' 'Not yet," he 
said. "AH in good time." He could not have explained why he had 
chosen those precise words. Grumbling almost like a petulant child, 
the Orb fell silent, and the Sardion also grudgingly broke off its 
snarl. The lights, however, continued to stain the surfaces of both 
stones.


' 'You were quite good back there,'' the voice in Garion's mind 
congratulated him. ' 'Our enemy is a bit off balance now. Don't get 
overconfident, though. We 're at a slight disadvantage here because 
the Spirit of the Child of Dark is very strong in this grotto. "


'' Why didn 't you tell me that before ?''


'' Would you have paid any attention ? Listen carefully, Gar-ion. My 
opposite has agreed that we should leave the matter in


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


Cyradis' hands. Zandramas, however, has made no such commitment. 
She's very likely to make one last attempt. Put yourself between her 
and the Sardion. No matter what you have to do, don't let her reach 
that stone. "


' 'All right,'' Garion said bleakly. He reasoned that attempting to 
edge into position inch by inch would not deceive the Sorceress of 
Darshiva as to his intent. Instead, quite calmly and deliberately, he 
simply stepped in front of the altar, drew his sword, and set its 
point on the floor of the grotto in front of him with his crossed 
hands resting on the pommel.


"What art thou about?" Zandramas demanded in a harsh, suspicious tone 
of voice.


"You know exactly what I'm doing, Zandramas," Garion replied. "The 
two spirits have agreed to let Cyradis decide between them. I haven't 
heard you agree yet. Do you still think you can avoid the Choice?"



Her light-speckled face twisted with hatred. "Thou wilt pay for this, 
Belgarion," she answered. "All that thou art and all that thou lovest 
will perish here.''


"That's for Cyradis to decide, not you. In the meantime, nobody's 
going to touch the Sardion until after Cyradis makes her choice."


Zandramas ground her teeth in sudden, impotent fury.
And then Poledra came closer, her tawny hair stained by the light of 
the Sardion. "Very well done, young wolf," she said to Garion.


"Thou no longer hast the power, Poledra." The strangely abstracted 
words came from Zandramas' unmoving mouth.
"Point." The familiar dry voice spoke through Poledra's lips.


"I perceive no point."
"That's because you've always discarded your instruments when you 
were finished with them. Poledra was the Child of Light at Vo Mimbre. 
She was even able to defeat Torak there— if only temporarily. Once 
that power is bestowed, it can never be wholly taken away. Did not 
her control over the Demon Lord prove that to you?"


Garion was almost staggered by that. Poledra? The Child of Light 


during that dreadful battle five hundred years ago?
The voice went on. "Do you acknowledge the point?" it asked its 
opposite.


"What difference can it make? The game will be played out soon."
"I claim point. Our rules required that you acknowledge it."
280
SEERESS OF KELL
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
281
"Very well. I acknowledge the point. You've really become quite 


childish about this, you know."
"A rule is a rule, and the game isn't finished yet."
Garion went back to watching Zandramas very closely so that he might 


meet any sudden move she made toward the Sardion.


"When is the time, Cyradis?" Belgarath quietly asked the Seeress of 
Keli.
"Soon," she replied. "Very soon."
"We're all here," Silk said, nervously looking up-at the ceiling. 


"Why don't we get on with it?"



' 'This is the day, Kheldar,'' she said,' 'but it is not the instant. 
In the instant of the Choice, a great light shall appear, a light 
which even /will see."


It was the strange detached calm that came over him that alerted 
Garion to the fact that the ultimate Event was about to take place. 
It was the same calm that had enveloped him in the ruins of Cthol 
Mishrak when he had met Torak.


Then, as if the thought of his name had aroused, if only briefly, the 
spirit of the One-Eyed God from its eternal slumber, Garion seemed to 
hear Torak's dreadful voice intoning that prophetic passage from the 
last page of the Ashabine Oracles:


"Know that we are brothers, Belgarion, though our hate for each other 
may one day sunder the heavens. We are brothers in that we share a 
dreadful task. That thou art reading my words means that thou hast 
been my destroyer. Thus must I charge thee with the task. What is 
foretold in these pages is an abomination. Do not let it come to 
pass. Destroy the world. Destroy the universe if need be, but do not 
permit this to come to pass. In thy hand is now the fate of all that 
was, all that is, and all that is yet to be. Hail, my hated brother, 
and farewell. We will meet—or have met—in the City of Endless Night, 
and there will our dispute be concluded. The task, however, still 
lieth before us in the Place Which Is No More. One of us must go 
there to face the ultimate horror. Should it be thou, fail us not. 
Failing all else, thou must reave the life from thine only son, even 
as thou hast reft mine from me."


This time, however, the words of Torak did not fill Garion with 
weeping. They simply intensified his resolve as he finally began to 
understand. What Torak had seen in the vision that had come to him at 
Ashaba had been so terrifying that in the moment of his awakening 
from his prophetic dream the maimed God had felt impelled to lay the 
possibility of the dreadful task upon his most hated foe. That 
momentary horror had surpassed even


Tbrak's towering pride. It had only been later, after the pride had 
reasserted itself, that Torak had mutilated the pages of his 
prophecy. In that one bleak moment of sanity, the maimed God had 
spoken truly for perhaps the one time in his life. Garion could only 
imagine the agony of self-abasement that single moment of truth had 
cost Tbrak. In the silence of his mind Garion pledged his fidelity to 
the task his most ancient foe had lain upon him. "I will do all that 
is in my power to keep this abomination from coming to pass, my 
brother," he threw out his thought to the spirit of Torak. ' 'Return 
to thy rest, for here / take up the burden."


The dusky red glow of the Sardion had muted the swirling tights in 
the flesh of Zandramas, and Garion could now see her features quite 
clearly. Her expression was troubled. She had quite obviously been 
unprepared for the sudden acquiescence of the spirit that dominated 
her. Her drive to win at any cost had been frustrated by the 
withdrawal of the support of that spirit. Her own mind—or what was 
left of it—still strove to evade facing the choice. The two 
prophecies had agreed at the beginning of time to place the entire 
matter in the hands of the Seeress of Kell. The evasions, the 



trickery, and the multitudinous atrocities mat had marked the passage 
of the Child of Dark through the wortd had all come from the twisted 
Grolim perceptions of the Sorceress of Darshiva herself. At this 
moment, Zandramas was more dangerous than she had ever been.


"Well, Zandramas," Poledra said, "and is this the time thou hast 
chosen for our meeting? Shall we destroy each other now when we have 
come so close to the ultimate instant? If thou but await the Choice 
of Cyradis, thou wilt stand an even chance of obtaining that which 
thou hast so desperately sought. If thou shouldst confront me, 
however, thou wilt cast the entire matter into the lap of pure 
chance. Wilt thou throw away thy half chance of success in exchange 
for an absolute uncertainty?"


"I am stronger than thou art, Poledra," Zandramas declared defiantly. 
"I am the Child of Dark."


"And I was the Child of Light. How much art thou willing to gamble on 
the possibility that I can still call forth the strength and power? 
Wilt thou gamble all, Zandramas? All?"


Zandramas' eyes narrowed, and Garion could clearly feel the clenching 
of her will. Then, with a blasting surge of energy and a vast roar, 
she released it. An aura of darkness suddenly surrounded her, and she 
seized Canon's son and lifted him. "Thus will I conquer, Poledra!" 
she hissed. She closed her hand about


282


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


283


the struggling boy's wrist and pushed his Orb-marked hand out in 
front of her.' 'In the instant the hand of Belgarion's son touches 
the Sardion, I will triumph." Implacably, step by step, she started 
forward.


Garion raised his sword and leveled its point at her. "Push her 
back,'' he commanded the Orb. A bolt of intense blue light shot from 
the sword point, but it divided as it struck that dark aura, encasing 
the shadow but in no way interfering with Zan-dramas' advance. "Do 
something!" Garion shouted silently.


' 7 can't interfere,'' the voice told him.


"Is that really the best thou canst do, Zandramas?" Poledra asked 
calmly. Garion had often heard that same note in Aunt Pol's voice, 
but never with quite such indomitable determination. Poledra raised 
her hand almost indifferently and released her will. The surge and 
the sound nearly buckled Garion's knees. The aura of dark surrounding 
Zandramas and Geran vanished. The Sorceress of Darshiva, however, did 
not falter, but continued her slow advance. "Wilt thou kill thy son, 
Belgarion of Riva?" she asked. "For thou canst not strike at me 
without destroying him."



' 7 can't do it!'' Garion cried out, his eyes suddenly full of tears. 
"Ican't!"


' 'You must. You 've been warned that this might happen. If she 
succeeds and puts your son's hand on the Sardion, he will be worse 
than dead. Do what must be done, Garion. "


Weeping uncontrollably, Garion raised his sword. Geran looked him 
steadily in the face, his eyes unafraid.


' 'No!'' It was Ce'Nedra. She dashed across the floor of the grotto 
and threw herself directly in front of Zandramas. Her face was 
deathly pale. "If you intend to kill my baby, you'll have to kill me, 
too, Garion," she said in a broken voice. She turned her back on 
Garion and bowed her head.


"So much the better," Zandramas gloated. "Wilt thou kill thy son and 
thy wife both, Belgarion of Riva? Wilt thou carry that with thee to 
thy grave?"


Garion's face twisted in agony as he gripped the hilt of his flaming 
sword more firmly. With one stroke, he would destroy his very Hie.


Zandramas, still holding Geran, stared at him incredulously. "Thou 
wilt not!" she exclaimed. "Thou canst not!"


Garion clenched his teeth and raised his sword even higher.


Zandramas' incredulity suddenly turned to fright. Her ad-


vance stopped, and she began to shrink back from that awful stroke.


"Now, Ce'Nedra!" Polgara's voice cracked like a whip.


The Rivan Queen, who had been coiled like a spring beneath her 
apparent mute submission to her fate, exploded. With a single leap, 
she snatched Geran from the arms of Zandramas and fled with him back 
to Polgara's side.


Zandramas howled and tried to follow, her face filled with rage.


"No, Zandramas," Poledra said. "If thou turnest away, I will kill 
thee—or Belgarion will. Thou hast inadvertently revealed thy 
decision. Thy choice hath been made, and thou art BO longer the Child 
of Dark, but are only an ordinary Grolim priestess. There is no 
longer any need for thee here. Thou art free now to depart—or to 
die."


Zandramas froze.


. "Thus all thy subterfuge and evasion have come to naught, 
Zandramas. Thou hast no longer any choice. Wilt thou now submit to 
the decision of the Seeress of Kell?"


Zandramas stared at her, the expression on her star-touched fece a 
mixture of fear and towering hatred.


"Well, Zandramas," Poledra said, "what is it to be? Wilt thou die 



this close to thy promised exaltation?" Poledra's golden eyes were 
penetrating as she looked into the face of the Grolim priestess. "Ah, 
no," she said quite calmly, "I perceive that thou wilt not. Thou 
canst not. But I would hear the words from thine own mouth, 
Zandramas. Wilt thou now accept the decision of Cyradis?"


Zandramas clenched her teeth. "I will," she grated.


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


285


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


The thunder still cracked and rumbled outside, and the wind 
accompanying the storm that had been brewing since the earth had been 
made moaned in the passageway leading into the grotto from the 
amphitheater outside. In an abstract sort of way as he resheathed his 
sword, Garion recognized precisely what his mind was doing. It had 
happened so often in the past that he wondered why he had not 
expected it. The circumstances required that he make a decision. The 
feet that he no longer even considered the decision, but concentrated 
instead on a meticulous examination of his surroundings, indicated 
that he had already made his choice somewhere so deep in his mind 
that it did not even register on the surface. There was, he conceded, 
a very good reason for what he was doing. Dwelling upon an impending 
crisis or confrontation would only rattle him, lead him into that 
distracting series of "what ifs," and make him begin to have those 
second thoughts that could quite easily lock


284


him into an agonized indecision. Right or wrong, the choice had been 
made now, and to continue to worry at it would serve no purpose. The 
choice, he knew, was based not only on careful reasoning but also on 
deep feelings. He had that serene inner peace which flowed from the 
knowledge that the choice, whatever it was, was right. Calmly, he 
turned his attention to the grotto itself.


The stones of the walls appeared, though it was hard to be sure in 
the pervading red light of the Sardion, to be a kind of basalt that 
had fractured into a myriad of flat surfaces and sharp edges. The 
floor was peculiarly smooth, either as a result of eons of patiently 
eroding water or of a single thought of Torak during his sojourn in 
this cave while he had contended with and ultimately rejected UL, his 
father. The trickle of water into the pool on the far side of the 
grotto was something of a mystery. This was the highest peak of the 
reef. Water should run down from here, not up to the hidden spring in 
the wall. Beldin could probably explain it—or Dumik. Garion knew that 
he needed to be alert in this strange place, and he did not want to 
break his concentration by pondering the ins and outs of hydraulics.


And then, since it was the only source of light in this dim grotto, 
Garion's almost indifferent eyes were drawn inevitably to the 
Sardion. It was not a pretty stone. It was streaked with pale orange 
and milky white in alternating stripes banded closely together, and 
it was now stained with the wavering blue light emanating from the 
Orb. It was as smooth and polished as the Orb. The Orb had been 



polished by the hand of Aldur, but who had polished the Sardion? Some 
God unknown? Some shaggy clan of the brutish precursors of man 
squatting in dull-eyed patience over the stone, devoting generation 
after generation to the single incomprehensible task of rubbing the 
orange and white surface smooth with calloused and broken-nailed 
hands that were more like paws than human appendages? Even such 
unthinking creatures would have felt the power of the stone, and, 
feeling it to be a God—or at the very least, some object descended 
from a God—might not their mindless polishing have been some obscure 
act of worship?


Then Garion let his eyes wander over the faces of his companions, the 
familiar faces of those who had, in response to destinies that had 
been written large in the stars since the-beginning of days, 
accompanied him to this place on this particular day. The death of 
loth had answered the one unanswered question, and now all was in 
place.


286


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


287


Cyradis, her face still tearstained and marked by her grief, stepped 
to the altar to face them. "The time draws nigh," she said in a 
clear, unwavering voice. "Now must the choices of the Child of Light 
and the Child of Dark be made. All must be in readiness when the 
instant of my Choice arrives. Know ye both that your choices, once 
made, cannot be unmade."


' 'My choice was made at the beginning of days-,'' Zandramas 
declared. "Adown all the endless corridors of time hath the name of 
Belgarion's son echoed, for he hath touched Cthrag Yaska, which 
spurneth all other hands save the hand of Belga-rion himself. In the 
instant that Geran touches Cthrag Sardius, will he become an 
omnipotent God, higher than all the rest, and he shall have lordship 
and dominion over all of creation. Stand forth, Child of Dark. Take 
thy place before the altar of Torak to await the Choice of the 
Seeress of Kelt. In the instant that she chooses thee, reach forth 
thy hand and seize thy destiny."


It was the last clue. Now Garion knew what the choice he had made in 
die deep silences of his mind had been, and he knew why it was so 
perfectly right. Reluctantly, Geran walked toward the altar, stopped 
and then turned, his small face grave.


"And now, Child of Light," Cyradis said, "the time hath come for thee 
to make thy choice. Upon which of thy companions wilt thou lay the 
burden?"


Garion had little sense of the melodramatic. Ce'Nedra, and even on 
occasion Aunt Pol, were, he knew, quite capable of extracting the 
last ounce of theatricality from any given situation, whereas he, a 
solid, practical Sendar, was more inclined toward matter-of-fact 
unostentation. He was quite certain, however, that Zandramas somehow 



knew what his choice should be. He also knew that, despite her 
reluctant agreement to leave the Choice in the hands of the Seeress 
of Kell, the black-robed sorceress was still perfectly capable of 
some desperate final ploy. He had to do something to throw her off 
balance so that she would hesitate at the crucial moment. If he 
appeared to be on the verge of making the wrong choice, the Sorceress 
would exult and she would think that she had finally won. Then, at 
the last possible instant, he could make the correct choice. The 
Child of Dark's momentary chagrin might well freeze her hand and give 
him time to block her. Carefully, he noted her position and that of 
Geran and Otrath. Geran stood perhaps ten feet in front of the altar 
with Zandramas no more than a few feet from him. Otrath was cowering 
back against the rough stone wall at the back of the grotto.


It would have to be exactly right. He would have to build up an 
almost unbearable suspense in the mind of Zandramas, then dash her 
hopes all at once. Rather artfully, he drew his face into an 
expression of agonized indecision. He wandered among his friends, his 
face filled with a purely feigned bafflement. He Slopped from time to 
time to look deeply into their faces, even going so far as to 
occasionally half raise his hand as if on the very verge of choosing 
the wrong person. Each time he did that, be clearly felt a wild surge 
of glee coming from Zandramas. She was not even attempting to hide 
her emotions. Better and better. His enemy by now was no longer even 
rational.


"What are you doing?" Polgara whispered when he stopped in front of 
her.


*Tll explain later," he murmured. "It's necessary—and important. You 
Ve got to trust me, Aunt Pol." He moved on. When be reached 
Belgarath, he felt a momentary apprehension emanating from Zandramas. 
The Eternal Man was certainly someone to be reckoned with, and should 
the eminence of the Child of Light be added to that—and the potential 
for divinity, as well—the old man could be a serious adversary.


"Will you move on with it, Garion?" his grandfather muttered.


"I'm trying to push Zandramas off balance," Garion whispered. "Please 
watch her closely after I choose. She might try something."


"Then you know who it's going to be?"


"Of course. I'm trying not to think about it, though. I don't want 
her to pick it out of my mind.''


The old man made a face. "Do it your way, Garion. Just don't drag it 
out too long. Let's not irritate Cyradis as well as Zandramas."


Garion nodded and moved past Sadi and Velvet, letting his mind push 
out toward that of Zandramas as he did. Her emotions were veering 
around wildly now, and it was clear that she was at a fever pitch. To 
draw things out any further would serve no purpose. He stopped at 
last in front of Silk and Eriond. "Keep your face straight," he 
warned the rat-faced little man. "Don't let Zandramas see any change 
of expression no matter what I seem to be doing.''


"Don't make any mistakes here, Garion," Silk warned. "I'm not looking 



for a sudden promotion of any kind.''


Garion nodded. It was nearly over now. He looked at Eriond, a young 
man who was almost his brother. ' 'I 'm sorry about this,


288


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


289


Eriond," he apologized in a low murmur. "You probably won't want to 
thank me for what I'm about to do."


"It's all right, Belgarion." Eriond smiled. "I've known it was going 
to happen for quite some time now. I'm ready."


And mat clinched it. Eriond had answered the ubiquitous question "Are 
you ready?" for probably the last time. Eriond, it appeared, was—and 
probably had been since the day he was bom. Everything now slipped 
into place to fit together so tightly that nothing could ever take it 
apart again.


"Choose, Belgarion," Cyradis urged.


"I have, Cyradis," Garion said simply. He stretched out his hand and 
laid it on Eriond's shoulder. "Here is my choice. Here is the Child 
of Light."


' 'Perfect!'' Belgarath exclaimed.


"Done!" the voice in Garion's mind agreed.


Garion felt a peculiar wrench followed by a kind of regretful 
emptiness. He was no longer the Child of Light. It was Eriond's 
responsibility now, but Garion knew that he still had one last 
responsibility of his own. He turned slowly, trying to make it look 
casual. The expression on the light-speckled face of Zan-dramas was a 
mixture of rage, fear, and frustration. It confirmed mat what Garion 
had just done had been the right thing. He had made the proper 
choice. He had never actually done what he tried to do next before, 
although he had seen and felt Aunt Pol do it many times. This was 
not, however, a time for random experimentation. Carefully, he sent 
his mind out again, looking this time not so much for overall 
emotional responses from Zan-dramas as for specifics. He had to know 
exactly what she was going to try to do before she could put it into 
motion.


The mind of the Sorceress of Darshiva was filled with a confused 
welter of thoughts and emotions. The wild hope Garion's subterfuge 
had raised in her seemed to have done its work. Zan-dramas 
floundered, unable to concentrate now on her next step. But step she 
must. Garion perceived that she simply could not leave the matter 
wholly in the hands of the Seeress of Kell.


"Go thou then, Child of Light, to stand beside the Child of Dark that 



I may choose between ye," Cyradis said.


Eriond nodded. Then he turned and crossed the grotto to stand beside 
Geran.


"It's done, Cyradis," Poledra said. "All the choices have been made 
but yours. This is the appointed place and the appointed day. The 
moment for you to perform your task has arrived."


*'Not quite yet, Poledra," Cyradis said, her voice trembling with 
anxiety. "The signal that the instant of the Choice hath come must be 
delivered from the book of the heavens.' *


"But you cannot see the heavens, Cyradis," Garion's grandmother 
reminded her. "We stand beneath the earth. The book of the heavens is 
obscured.' *


"I need not go to the book of the heavens. It will come to me."


"Consider, Cyradis," Zandramas urged in a wheedling tone. "Consider 
my words. There is no possible choice but Belgarion 's son.''


Garion's mind suddenly became very alert. Zandramas had made a 
decision. She knew what she was going to do, but she had somehow 
managed to conceal it from him. He almost began to admire his enemy. 
She had prepared each of her moves from the very beginning—and each 
of her defenses in this place, as well—with an almost military 
precision. As each defense failed, she withdrew to the next. That was 
why he could not pick her thought from her mind. She already knew 
what she was going to do, so there was no need for her even to think 
about it. He could feel, however, that her next move had something to 
do with Cyradis herself. That was Zandramas' last line of defense. 
"Don't do that, Zandramas," he told the sorceress. "You know it's not 
the truth. Leave her alone.''


"Then choose, Cyradis," the sorceress commanded.


"I may not. The instant hath not yet arrived." The face of Cyradis 
was twisted with an inhuman agony.


Then Garion felt it. Wave upon wave of indecision and doubt were 
emanating from Zandramas, all focusing on the blindfolded Seeress. 
This was the final desperate attempt. Failing to attack them 
successfully, Zandramas was now attacking Cyradis. ' 'Help her, Aunt 
Pol,'' Garion threw the thought out desperately. "Zandramas is trying 
to keep her from making the Choice."


"Yes, Garion, "Polgarai's voice came back calmly, "Iknow. "


"Do something!"


' 'It's not time yet. It has to come at the moment of the Choice. If 
I try to do anything earlier, Zandramas will feel it and take steps 
to counteract me. "


"Something's happening outside," Durnik said urgently. "There's a 
light of some kind coming down the corridor."



Garion looked quickly. The light was still dim and indistinct, but ft 
was like no other light he had ever seen.


SEERESS OF KELL


"The time for the Choice hath come, Cyradis," Zandramas said, her 
voice cruel. "Choose!" '


"I cannot!" the Seeress wailed, turning toward the growing light, 
"Not yet! I'm not ready yet!" She stumbled across the floor, wringing 
her hands. "I'm not ready! I can't choose! Send another!"


"Choose!" Zandramas repeated implacably.


"If only I could see them!" Cyradis sobbed. "If only I could see 
them!"


And then at last, Polgara moved. "That's easily arranged, Cyradis," 
she said in a calm and oddly comforting tone. "Your vision has 
clouded your sight, that's all." She reached.out and gently removed 
the blindfold. "Look then with human eyes and make your choice.''


"That is forbidden!" Zandramas protested shrilly as her advantage 
crumbled,


"No," Polgara said. "If it were forbidden, I would not have been able 
to do it."


Cyradis had flinched back from even the faint light in the grotto. "I 
cannot!" she cried, covering her eyes with her hands. "I cannot!"


Zandramas' eyes came suddenly alight. "I triumph!" she exulted. "The 
Choice must be made, but now will it be made by another. It no longer 
lieth in the hands of Cyradis, for the decision not to choose is also 
a choice."


"Is that true?" Garion quickly asked Beldin.


' "There are two schools of thought on that.''


"Yes or no, Beldin."


"I don't know. I really don't, Garion."


There was suddenly a soundless burst of intense light from the mouth 
of the passageway leading to the outside. Brighter than the sun, the 
light swelled and grew. It was so impossibly intense that even the 
cracks between the stones in the grotto blazed incandescently.


"It has come at last," Garion's inner companion said unemotionally 
through Eriond's lips. "It is the instant of the Choice. Choose, 
Cyradis, lest all be destroyed."


"It has come," another equally unemotional voice spoke through the 
hps of Garion's son. "It is the instant of the Choice. Choose, 
Cyradis, lest all be destroyed."



Cyradis swayed, torn by indecision, her eyes darting back and forth 
to the two faces before her. Again she wrung her hands.


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


"She cannot!'' the Emperor of Mallorea exclaimed, starting forward 
impulsively.


"She must\" Garion said, catching his friend's arm. "If she doesn't, 
everything will be lost!"


Again the eyes of Zandramas filled with that unholy joy. "It is too 
much for her!" the priestess almost crowed. "Thou hast made thy 
choice, Cyradis," she cried. "It cannot be unmade. Now will / make 
the Choice for thee, and I will be exalted when the Dark God comes 
again!"


And that may have been Zandramas' last and fatal error. Cyradis 
straightened and, eyes flashing, she looked full into the starry face 
of the sorceress. "Not so, Zandramas," the Seeress said in an icy 
voice. "What passed before was indecision, not choice, and the moment 
hath not yet passed." She lifted her beautiful face and closed her 
eyes. The vast chorus of the Seers of Kel] swelled its organ note in 
the tight confines of the grotto, but it ended on a questioning note.


"Then the decision is wholly mine," Cyradis said. "Are all the 
conditions met?" She addressed the question to the two awarenesses 
standing unseen behind Eriond and Geran.


"They are," the one said from Eriond's lips.


"They are," the other said from Geran's.


"Then hear my Choice," she said. Once again she looked full into the 
faces of the little boy and the young man. Then with a cry of inhuman 
despair, she fell into Eriond's arms. "I choose thee!" she wept. "For 
good or for ill, I choose thee!"


There was a titanic lateral lurch—not an earthquake certainly, for 
not one single pebble was dislodged from the walls or ceiling of the 
grotto. For some reason, Garion was positive that the entire world 
had moved—inches perhaps, or yards or even thousands of leagues—to 
one side. And as corollary to that certainty, he was equally sure 
that the same movement had been universal. The amount of power 
Cyradis' agonized decision had released was beyond human 
comprehension.


Gradually, the blazing light diminished somewhat, and the Saidion's 
glow became wan and sickly. In the instant of the Choice of the 
Seeress of Kell, Zandramas had shrunk back, and the whirling lights 
beneath the skin of her face seemed to flicker. Then they began to 
whirl and to glow more and more brightly. "No!" she shrieked. "No!"


"Perhaps these lights in thy flesh are thine exaltation, Zandramas," 
Poledra said. "Even now it may be that thou wilt shine brighter than 



any constellation. Well hast thou served the


292


SEERESS OP KELL


Prophecy of Dark, and it may yet find some way to exalt thee.' * Then 
Garion's grandmother crossed the grotto floor to the satin-robed 
sorceress.


Zandramas shrank back even more. "Don't touch me," she said.


"It is not thee I would touch, Zandramas, but thy raiment. I would 
see thee receive thy reward and thine exaltation.'' Poledra tore back 
the satin hood and ripped the black robe away. Zandramas made no 
attempt to conceal her nakedness, for indeed, there was no nakedness. 
She was now no more than a faint outline, a husk filled with 
swirling, sparkling light that grew brighter and brighter.


Geran ran on sturdy little legs to his mother's arms, and Ce'Nedra, 
weeping with joy, enfolded him and held him close to her. "Is 
anything going to happen to him?" Garion demanded of Eriond. "He's 
the Child of Dark, after all."


"There is no Child of Dark anymore, Garion." Eriond answered the 
question. "Your son is safe."


Garion felt an enormous wave of relief. Then something that he had 
felt since the moment in which Cyradis had made her Choice began to 
intrude itself increasingly upon his awareness. It was that 
overwhelming sense of presence which he had always felt when he had 
come face to face with a God. He looked more closely at Eriond, and 
that sense grew stronger. His young friend even looked different. 
Before, he had appeared to be a young man of probably not much over 
twenty. Now he appeared to be about the same age as Garion, although 
his face seemed strangely ageless. His expression, which before had 
been sweetly innocent, had now become grave and even wise. "We have 
one last thing to do here, Belgarion," he said in a solemn tone. He 
motioned to Zakath and then gently placed the still-weeping Cyradis 
into the Mallorean's arms. "Take care of her, please," he said.


"For all of my life, Eriond," Zakath promised, leading the sobbing 
girl back to the others.


"Now, Belgarion," Eriond continued, "give me my brother's Orb from 
off the hilt of Iron-grip's sword. It's time to finish what was 
started here."


"Of course," Garion replied. He reached back over his shoulder and 
put his hand on the pommel of his sword. ' 'Come off," he told the 
Orb. The stone came free in his hand, and he held it out to the young 
God.


Eriond took the glowing blue stone and turned to look at the


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


293



Sardion and then down at the Orb in his hand. There was something 
inexplicable in his face as he looked at the two stones that were at 
the center of all division. He raised his face for a moment, his 
expression now serene. "So be it then," he said finally.


And men to Garion's horror, he gripped the Orb even more tightly and 
pushed his hand quite deliberately, Orb and all, into the glowing 
Sardion.


The reddish stone seemed to flinch. Like Ctuchik in his last moment, 
it first expanded, then contracted. Then it expanded one last time. 
And then, like Ctuchik, it exploded—and yet that explosion was 
tightly confined, enclosed somehow within some unimaginable globe of 
force that came perhaps from Eriond's will or from the power of the 
Orb or from some other source. Garion knew that had that force not 
been in place, all the world would have been torn apart by what was 
happening in this tightly confined place.


Even though it was partially muffled by Eriond's immortal and 
indestructible body, the concussion was titanic, and they were all 
hurled to the floor by its force. Rocks and pebbles rained down from 
the ceiling, and the entire pyramidal islet that was all that was 
left of Korim shuddered in an earthquake even more powerful than that 
which had destroyed Rak Cthol. Confined within the grotto, the sound 
was beyond belief. Without thinking, Garion rolled across the surging 
floor to cover Ce'Nedra and Geran with his armored body, noting as he 
did so that many of his companions were also protecting loved ones in 
the same fashion.


The earth continued its convulsive shuddering, and what lay confined 
on the altar now with Eriond's hand still buried within h was no 
longer the Sardion but an intense ball of energy a thousand times 
brighter than the sun.


Then Eriond, his face still calm, removed the Orb from the center of 
the incandescent ball that once had been the Sardion. As if the 
removal of Aldur's Orb had also removed the constraint mat had held 
the Sardion in one shape and place, the blazing fragments of Cthrag 
Sardius blasted upward through the roof of the grotto, ripping the 
top off the shuddering pyramid and sending the huge stone blocks out 
in all directions as if they were no more than pebbles.


The suddenly revealed sky was filled with a light brighter than the 
sun, a light that extended from horizon to horizon. The


SEERESS OF KELL


fragments of the Sardion streamed upward to lose themselves in that 
light.


Zandramas wailed, an inhuman, animallike sound. The faint outline 
that was all that was left of her was writhing, twisting. 'Wo.'" she 
cried, "It cannot be! You promised!" Garion did not know, could not 
know, to whom she spoke. She extended her hands to Eriond in 
supplication. "Help me, God of An-garak!" she cried. "Do not let me 



fall into the hands of Mordja or the foul embrace of the King of 
Hell! Save me!''


And then her shadowy husk split apart, and the swirling lights that 
had become her substance streamed inexorably upward to follow the 
fragments of the Sardion into that vast light in the sky.


What was left of the Sorceress of Darshiva fell to the floor like a 
discarded garment, shriveled and tattered like a rag no longer of any 
use to anyone.


The voice that came from Eriond's lips was very familiar to Garion. 
He had been listening to it for all his life.


"Point," it said in a detached, emotionless tone, as if merely 
stating a fact. "Point and game."


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


The sudden silence in the grotto was almost eerie. Gar-ion rose and 
helped Ce' Nedra to her feet. * 'Are you all right?'' he asked her, 
his voice hushed. Ce'Nedra nodded absently. She was examining their 
little boy, a look of concern on her smudged face. Garion looked 
around. "Is everyone all right?" he asked.


"Is that earthquake finished yet?" Silk demanded, still covering 
Velvet's body with his own.


"It's passed, Kheldar," Eriond told him. The young God turned and 
gravely handed the Orb back to Garion.


"Aren't you supposed to keep it?" Garion asked him. "I thought—"


"No, Garion. You're still the Guardian of the Orb."


For some reason, that made Garion feel better. Even in the midst of 
what had just happened, he had felt an empty sense of loss. Somehow 
he had become convinced that he would be obliged to give up the jewel 
now. Covetousness was not a part


295


296


SEERESS OF KELL


of Canon's nature, but over the years the Orb had become more a 
friend than a possession.


"May we not go forth from this place?" Cyradis asked, her voice 
filled with a deep sadness. "I would not leave my dear companion 
alone and untended."


Durnik touched her shoulder gently, and then they all turned and 
silently left the shattered grotto.


They emerged from the portal into the light that was more than the 
light of day. The intense brilliance that had even penetrated the dim 



grotto behind them had faded to the point where it was no longer 
blinding. Garion looked around. Though the time of day was certainly 
different, there was that peculiar sense that he had been through all 
of this before. The storm and lightning that had raged over the Place 
Which Is No More had passed. The clouds had rolled back, and the wind 
that had swept the reef during the fight with the dragon and the 
demon Mordja had subsided to a gentle breeze. Following the death of 
Torak at Cthol Mishrak, Garion had felt in a strange way that he had 
been witnessing the dawn of the first day. Now it was noon—years 
later, to be sure—but somehow the noon of that selfsame day. What had 
begun at Cthol Mishrak was only now complete. It was over, and he 
felt a vast sense of relief. He also felt a bit light-headed. The 
emotional and physical energy he had expended since the first light 
of this most momentous of days had crept slowly over a fogbound sea 
had left him weak and near to exhaustion. More than anything right 
now he wanted to get out of his armor, but the thought of the amount 
of effort that would cost made him almost quail. He settled for 
wearily removing his helmet. He looked around again at the faces of 
his friends.


Although Geran could obviously walk now, Ce'Nedra had insisted on 
carrying him, and she kept her cheek pressed tightly to his, pulling 
back only long enough to kiss him from time to time. Geran did not 
seem to mind.


Zakath had placed his arm about the shoulders of the Seeress of Kell, 
and the look on his face rather clearly indicated that he had no real 
intention of ever removing it. Garion remembered with a smile how, in 
the first moments of their openly avowed love for each other, 
Ce'Nedra had continually wormed her way into a very similar embrace. 
He walked wearily over to where Eriond stood looking out across the 
sun-splashed waves. "Can I ask you something?" he asked.


"Of course, Garion."


Garion looked pointedly at Zakath and Cyradis. "Is that more


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


or less a part of the way things are supposed to be?" he asked. "What 
I'm getting at is that Zakath lost someone very dear to him when he 
was young. If he loses Cyradis now, it might destroy him. I wouldn't 
want that to happen."


"Put your mind at rest, Garion." Eriond smiled. "Nothing will 
separate those two. It's one of the things that are preordained. ''


"Good. Do they know?"


"Cyradis does. She'll explain it to Zakath in time."


"She's still a seeress then?"


"No. That part of her life ended when Polgara removed her blindfold. 
She has looked into the future, though, and Cyradis has a very good 
memory.''



Garion thought about that for a moment, and then his eyes opened very 
wide. "Are you trying to say that the fate of the entire universe 
depended on the choice of an ordinary human being?" he asked 
incredulously.


"I'd hardly call Cyradis ordinary. She's been preparing for that 
choice since infancy. But in a way you're right. The Choice had to be 
made by a human being, and it had to be made without any help. Not 
even her own people could help Cyradis at mat moment."


Garion shuddered. "That must have been terrifying for her. She had to 
have been desperately lonely.''


"She was, but the people who make choices always are."


"She didn't just select at random, did she?"


"No. She wasn't really choosing between your son and me, though. She 
was choosing between the Light and the Dark."


"I can't see where all the difficulty was then. Doesn't everybody 
prefer the light to the dark?''


"You and I might, but the Seers have always known that Light and Dark 
are simply opposite sides of the same thing. Don't worry too much 
about Zakath and Cyradis, Garion," Eriond said, returning to the 
original subject. He tapped his forehead with one finger. "Our mutual 
friend here has made a few arrangements about those two. Zakath's 
going to be very important for most of die rest of his life, and our 
friend has a way of encouraging people to do necessary things by 
rewarding them— sometimes in advance."


"Like Relg and Taiba?"


"Or you and Ce'Nedra—or Polgara and Durnik, for that matter."


298


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


299


"Can you tell me what it is that Zakath's supposed to do? What could 
you possibly need from him?"


"He's going to complete what you started."


"Wasn't I doing it right?"


"Of course you were, but you're not an Angarak. You'll understand in 
time, I think. It's not really very complicated."


A thought came to Garion, and in the instant it emerged he was sure 
it was absolutely correct. "You knew all along, didn't you? Who you 
really are, I mean."



"I knew that the potential was there. It didn't really happen until 
Cyradis made the Choice, though." He looked over to where the others 
were sadly gathering around Toth's still form. "I think they need us 
now," he said.


Toth's face was in repose, and his hands, folded across his chest, 
covered the wound Cthrek Goru had made when Mordja had killed him. 
Cyradis stood enfolded in Zakath's arms, her face wet with new tears.


"Are you sure this is the right idea?" Beldin asked Durnik.


"Yes," the smith said simply. "You see—"


"You don't have to explain it, Durnik," the hunchback told him. "I 
just wanted to know if you're sure. Let's build a litter for him. It 
has more dignity." He made a brief gesture, and a number of smooth, 
straight poles and a coil of rope appeared beside Toth's body. The 
two of them carefully lashed the poles together to form a litter and 
then lifted the mute's massive body onto it. "Belgarath," Beldin 
said, "Garion, we'll need some help here."


Although any one of them could have translocated Ibth's body into the 
grotto, the four sorcerers chose instead to carry it to its final 
resting place in a ceremony as old as mankind.


Since the upward explosion of the Sardion had unroofed the grotto, 
the noon sun filled the formerly dim cave with light. Cyradis quailed 
slightly when she saw the grim altar upon which the Sardion had lain. 
"It seemeth to me so dark and ugly," she mourned in a small voice.


"It isn't really very attractive, is it?" Ce'Nedra said critically. 
She turned to look at Eriond. "Do you suppose—?"


"Of course," he agreed. He glanced only briefly at the roughly 
squared-off altar. It blurred slightly and then became a smooth bier 
of snowy-white marble.


"That's much nicer," she said. "Thank you."


"He was my friend, too, Ce'Nedra," the young God responded.


It was not a formal funeral in any sense of the word. Garion and his 
friends simply gathered about the bier to gaze upon the fece of their 
departed friend. There was so much concentrated power in the small 
grot that Garion could not be sure exactly who created the first 
flower. Tendrils of ivylike vines grew suddenly up the walls, but 
unlike ivy, the vines were covered with fragrant white flowers. Then, 
between one breath and another, the floor was covered with a carpet 
of lush green moss. Flowers in profusion covered the bier, and then 
Cyradis stepped forward to lay the simple white rose Poledra had 
provided her upon the slumbering giant's chest. She kissed his cold 
forehead and then sighed. "All too soon, methinks, the flowers will 
wither and fede."


"No, Cyradis," Eriond said gently, "they won't. They'll remain fresh 
and forever new until the end of days.''



"I thank thee, God of Angarak," she said gratefully.


Durnik and Beldin had retired to a corner near the pool to confer. 
Then they both looked up, concentrated for a moment, and roofed the 
grotto with gleaming quartz that refracted the sunlight into 
rainbows.


"It's time to leave now, Cyradis," Polgara told the slim girl. "We've 
done all we can." Then she and her mother took the still-weeping 
Seeress by the arms and slowly led her back to the passage with the 
others following behind.


Durnik was the last to leave. He stood at the bier with his hand 
lying on Toth's motionless shoulder. Finally, he put out his hand and 
took Toth's fishing pole out of midair. He carefully laid it on the 
bier beside his friend's body and patted the huge crossed hands once. 
Then he turned and left.


When they were outside again, Beldin and the smith sealed the 
passageway with more quartz.


"There's a nice touch," Silk observed sadly to Garion, pointing to 
the image above the portal. "Which one of you thought of that?"


Garion turned to look. The face of Torak was gone, and in its place 
the image of Eriond's face smiled its benediction. "I'm not really 
sure," he replied, "and I don't think it really matters." He tapped 
his fingers against the breastplate of his armor. "Do you suppose you 
could help me out of this?" he asked. "I don't think I need it 
anymore."


, "No," Silk agreed, "probably not. From the look of things, iy say 
you've run out of people to fight."


"Let's hope so."


300


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


301


It was much later. They had removed the Grolims from the amphitheater 
and cleaned up the debris that had littered the stone floor. There 
was very little they could do about the vast carcass of the dragon, 
however. Garion sat on the lowest step of the stairway leading down 
into the amphitheater. Ce'Nedra, still holding her sleeping child, 
dozed in his arms.


"Not bad at all," the familiar voice said to him. This time, however, 
the voice did not echo in the vaults of his mind, but seemed instead 
to be right beside him.


"I thought you were gone," Garion said, speaking quietly to avoid 
waking his wife and son.



"No, not really," the voice replied.
"I seem to remember that you once said that there was going to be a 


new voice—awareness, I suppose would be a better term—after this was 
decided.''
"There is, actually, but I'm a part of it."
"I don't quite understand."
"It's not too complicated, Garion. Before the accident there was only 


one awareness, but then it was divided in the same way everything 
else was. Now it's back, but since I was part of the original, IVe 
rejoined it. We're one again."


'' That's your idea of not too complicated?''
"Do you really want me to explain further?"
Garion started to say something but then he decided against it. "You 


can still separate yourself, though?"
"No. That would only lead to another division."


* "Then how—'' Garion decided at the last instant that he didn't 
really want to ask that question. "Why don't we just let this drop?" 
he suggested. "What was that light?"
"That was the accident, the thing that divided the universe. It also 
divided me from my opposite and the Orb from the Sar-dion."
"I thought that happened a long time ago."
"It did—a very long time ago."


"But—"
"Try to listen for a change, Garion. Do you know very much about 
light?"


"It's just light, isn't it?"


"There's a little more. Have you ever stood a long way from somebody 
who's chopping wood?"
"Yes."
"Did you notice that he'd chop and that then, a moment or so later, 


you heard the sound?"
"Yes, now that you mention it, I did. What causes that?"
"The interval is the amount of time the sound takes to reach you. 


Light moves much faster than sound, but it still takes time to go 
from one place to another."
"I'll take your word for it."



"Do you know what the accident was?"
"Something out among the stars, I understand."
"Exactly. A star was dying, and it died in a place where that wasn't 


supposed to happen. The dying star was in the wrong place when it 
exploded, and it ignited an entire cluster of stars— a galaxy. When 
the galaxy exploded, it tore the fabric of the universe. She 
protected herself by dividing. That's what led to all of this."


"All right. Why were we talking about light then?"


"That's what that sudden light was—the light from that exploding 
galaxy—the accident. It only just now reached this place."
Garion swallowed hard. "Just how far away was the accident?"
"The numbers wouldn't mean anything to you."
"How long ago did it happen?"
"That's another number you wouldn't understand. You might ask 


Cyradis. She could probably tell you. She had a very special reason 


to have it calculated rather precisely."
Garion slowly began to understand. "That's it then," he said, excited 
in spite of himself. "The instant of the Choice was the instant when 
the light from the accident reached this world."


"Very good, Garion."
' 'Did that cluster of stars that exploded come back again after 


Cyradis made the Choice? I mean there has to be something to patch 
that hole in the universe, doesn't there?"
"Better and better. Garion, I'm proud of you. You remember how the 


Sardion and Zandramas broke up into little flecks of intense light 


when they blew the roof off the grotto?"
"It's not the sort of thing I'd be likely to forget." Garion 
shuddered.


"There was a reason for that. Zandramas and the Sardion— or the 
pieces of them, at any rate—are on their way back toward that 'hole,* 
as you put it. They're going to be the patch. They'll get bigger 
along the way, of course."


302
SEERESS OF KELL
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
303
"And how long—" Garion broke off. "Another meaningless number, I 


suppose?"



"Very meaningless."


' 'I noticed some things about Zandramas back there. She had this all 
worked out, didn't she? Right from the very beginning?''


"My opposite was always very methodical."


"What I'm getting at is that she made all of her arrangements in 
advance. She had everything in place in Nyissa before she ever went 
to Cherek to pick up those Bear-cultists. Then, when she went to Riva 
to steal Geran, everything was ready. She'd even put things in place 
so that we ail suspected the cult instead of her.''


"She'd have probably made a very good general."


"But she went even further. No matter how good her plans were, she 
always had a contingency to fall back on in case the original plan 
failed." A thought came to him. "Did Mordja get her? I mean, she blew 
all apart when the Sardion exploded, didn't she? Is her spirit still 
mixed up in those stars, or did it get pulled down into Hell? She 
sounded so very much afraid just before she dissolved."


"I really wouldn't know, Garion. My opposite and I dealt with this 
universe, not with Hell—which, of course, is a universe all its own."


' 'What would have happened if Cyradis had chosen Geran instead of 
Eriond?"


"You and the Orb would be moving to a new address about now."


Garion felt his skin begin to crawl. "And you didn't warn me?" he 
demanded incredulously.


"Would you really have wanted to know? And what difference would it 
have made?"


Garion decided to let that pass. "Was Eriond always a God?" he asked.


"Weren't you listening earlier when he explained? Eriond was intended 
to be the seventh God. Torak was a mistake caused by the accident."


"He's always been around then? Eriond, I mean?"


"Always is a long time, Garion. Eriond was present—in spirit— since 
the accident. When you were born, he began to move around in the 
world."


"We're the same age then?"


"Age is a meaningless concept to the Gods. They can be any age they 
choose to be. It was the theft of the Orb that started


tilings moving toward what happened here today. Zedar wanted to steal 
the Orb, so Eriond found him and showed him how to do it. That's what 
got you moving in the first place. If Zedar hadn't stolen the Orb, 
you'd probably still be at Faldor's farm-married to Zubrette, I'd 
imagine. Try to keep your perspective about this, Garion, but in a 
very peculiar way mis world was created just to give you something to 



stand on while you were fixing things."


' * Please stop joking.''


"I'm not joking, Garion. You're the most important person who's ever 
lived—or ever will—with the possible exception of Cyradis. You killed 
a bad God and replaced him with a good one. You did a lot of 
floundering around in the process, but you finally managed to get it 
all done. I 'm sort of proud of you, actually. All hi all, you turned 
out rather well."


"I had a lot of help."


"Granted, but you're entitled to a bit of conceit—for a moment or 
two, anyway. I wouldn't overdo it, though. It's not a very becoming 
sort of thing."


Garion concealed a smile. "Why me?" he asked, making it sound as 
plaintive and imbecilic as possible.


There was a startled silence, and then the voice actually laughed. 
"Please don't go back to asking that, Garion."


"I'm sorry. What happens now?"


"You get to go home."


"No, I mean to the world?"


"A lot of that's going to depend on Zakath. Eriond is the God of 
Angarak now, and despite Urgit and Drosta and Nathel, Zak-ath's the 
real overking of Angarak. It might take a bit of doing and he may 
have to use up a large number of Grolims in the process, but before 
he's done, Zakath is going to have to ram Eriond down the throats of 
all the Angaraks in the world."


"He'll manage." Garion shrugged. "Zakath's very good at ramming 
things down people's throats."


"Cyradis will be able to soften that side of him, I expect."


"All right, then. What about afterward? After all the Angaraks have 
accepted Eriond?"


"The movement will spread. You'll probably live long enough to see 
the day when Eriond is the God of the whole world. That's what was 
intended from the beginning."


*' 'And he shall have Lordship and Dominion'?" Garion quoted with a 
sinking feeling, remembering certain Grolim prophecies.


SEERESS OF KELL


"You know Eriond better than that. Can you possibly see him sitting 
on a throne gloating over sacrifices?"



"No, not really. What happens to the other Gods then? Aldur and the 
rest of them?''


"They'll move on. They Ve finished with what they came here to do, 
and there are many, many other worlds in the universe.''


"What about UL? Will he leave, too?"


"UL doesn't leave any place, Garion. He's everywhere. Does that more 
or less answer all the questions? I have some other things that need 
to be attended to. There are a number of people I have to make 
arrangements for. Oh, incidentally, congratulations on your 
daughters.''


"Daughters?"


"Small female children. They're devious, but they're prettier than 
sons, and they smell better."


"How many?" Garion asked breathlessly.


"Quite a few, actually. I won't tell you the exact number. I wouldn't 
want to spoil any surprises for you, but when you get back to Riva, 
you'd better start expanding the royal nursery." There was a long 
pause. "Good-bye for now, Garion," the voice said, its tone no longer 
dry. "Be well."


And then the voice was gone.


The sun was slipping down, and Garion, Ce'Nedra, and Geran had 
rejoined the others near the portal to the grotto. They were all 
subdued as they sat not far from the vast carcass of the dragon.


"We ought to do something about her," Belgarath murmured. "She wasn't 
really a bad brute. She was just stupid, and that's not really a 
crime. IVe always felt rather sorry for her, and I'd sort of hate to 
just leave her out here in the open for the birds to pick over."


"You've got a sentimental streak in you, Belgarath," Beldin noted. 
"That's very disappointing, you know."


' 'We all get sentimental as we get older.'' Belgarath shrugged.


"Is she all right?" Velvet asked Sadi as the eunuch returned with 
Zith's little bottle. "You took quite a long time."


"She's fine," Sadi replied. "One of the babies wanted to play. He 
thought it was funny to hide from me. It took me awhile to locate 
him."


"Is there any real reason for us to stay here?" 'Silk asked. "We 
could light that beacon, and maybe Captain Kresca could pick us up 
before dark.''


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM



"We're expecting company, Kheldar," Eriond told him.
"We are? Whom are we expecting?"
"Some friends are planning to stop by."
'' Your friends or ours?''
"Some of each, actually. There's one of them now." Eriond pointed out 


to sea.
They all turned to look.
Silk suddenly laughed. "We should have known," he said. ' 'Trust 


Barak to disobey orders.''
They all looked out at the gently rolling ocean. The Seabird looked a 
bit the worse for weather, but she wallowed through the waves 
ponderously on a starboard tack that was taking her on a course past 


the reef. "Beldin," Silk suggested, "why don't we go down to the 
shore and light a signal for him?"
"Can't you do it yourself?"
"I'll be happy to—just as soon as you teach me how to set fire to 


rocks."
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that, I guess."
' 'Are you sure you're not older than Belgarath? Your memory seems to 


be slipping a bit, old boy."


"Don't belabor it, Silk. Let's go see if we can signal that oversized 
barge into shore."
The two of them started down to the edge of the water.
' 'Was that arranged?'' Garion asked Eriond.'' Barak showing up, I 


mean?"
"We had a hand in it, yes," Eriond admitted. "You're going to need 


transportation back to Riva, and Barak and the others are sort of 
entitled to find out what happened here."
"The others, too? Is that all right? I mean, at Rheon Cyradis said—"
"There's no problem now.'' Eriond smiled. "The Choice has been made. 


There are quite a number of people on their way to meet us, actually. 
Our mutual friend has a passion for tying up loose ends."


"You've noticed that already, I see."
The Seabird hove to on the lee side of the reef, and a longboat put 
out from her starboard side to glide across what seemed to Garion to 
be a molten stretch of water made golden by the setting sun. They all 
went down to the shore to join Silk and Beldin as (he longboat ran 
smoothly toward the shore of the reef.



"What kept you?" Silk called across the intervening water to Barak, 
who stood, his beard aflame in the light of the setting sun, in the 
prow of the boat.


SEERESS OF KELL


Barak was grinning broadly. "How did things turn out?" he shouted.


"Quite well, actually," Silk called back. Then he seemed to think of 
something. "Sorry, Cyradis," he said to the Seeress. "That was 
insensitive of me, wasn't it?"


"Not entirely, Prince Kheldar. My companion's sacrifice was made 
willingly, and methinks his spirit doth rejoice in our success even 
as we do."


They were all in the boat with Barak, Garion saw. Mandor-allen's 
armor gleamed just behind the huge Cherek. Hettar, lean and whiplike, 
was there, and Lelldorin, and even Relg. Barak's son Unrak was 
chained in the stern. Unrak had grown, but the restraints upon him 
were puzzling.


Barak placed one huge foot on the gunwale, preparing to leap from the 
boat.


"Careful," Silk told him. "It's deep right there. There are a fair 
number of Grolims who found that out the hard way."


"Did you throw them out into the water?" Barak asked.


"No. They volunteered."


The longboat's keel grated on the wave-eroded stones of the 
amphitheater, and Barak and the others clambered out. "Did we miss 
very much?" the big man asked.


"Not really," Silk replied with a shrug. "It was just your average, 
run-of-the-mill saving of the universe. You know how those things 
are. Is your son in trouble?" Silk looked at Unrak, who seemed a bit 
crestfallen in his chains.


"Not exactly that," Barak replied. "Along about noon, he turned into 
a bear, that's all. We sort of thought it was significant."


"It runs in your family, I see. But why chain him now?"


' "The sailors refused to get into the longboat with him until we 
did."


"I didn't follow that at all," Zakath murmured to Garion.


"It's a hereditary sort of thing," Garion explained. "Barak's family 
members are the protectors of the Rivan King. When the situation 
demands it, they turn into bears. Barak did it several times when I 
was in danger. It appears that he passed it on to Unrak—his son."



"Unrak's your protector now? He seems a little young, and you don't 
really need that much protection."


"No. He's probably Geran's protector, and Geran was in a certain 
amount of danger back there in the grotto.''


"Gentlemen," Ce'Nedra said then in a triumphant voice,


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


"may I introduce the Crown Prince of Riva?" She held Geran up so that 
they could see him.


' 'He's going to forget how to walk if she doesn't put him down one 
of these days," Beldin muttered to Belgarath.


"Her arms should start getting tired before too much longer," 
Belgarath said.


Barak and the others crowded around the little queen even as the 
sailors who had been rowing reluctantly removed the chains from 
Barak's son.


"Unrak!" Barak roared, "Come here!"


"Yes, father." The boy stepped out of the boat and came forward.


"This young fellow is your responsibility," Barak told him, pointing 
at Geran. "I'll be very cross if you let anything happen to him.''


Unrak bowed to Ce'Nedra. "Your Majesty," he greeted her, "you're 
looking well."


"Thank you, Unrak." She smiled.


"May I?" Unrak asked, holding out his arm toward Geran. "His Highness 
and I should probably get to know each other."


"Of course," Ce'Nedra said, giving her son to the youthful Cherek.


"We've missed you, your Highness." Unrak grinned at the little boy he 
held in his arms. "The next time you plan one of these extended 
trips, you should let us know. We were a little worried."


Geran giggled. Then he reached out and tugged on Unrak's scarcely 
fledged red beard.


Unrak winced.


Ce'Nedra embraced each of their old friends in turn, bestowing kisses 
at random. Mandorallen, of course, was weeping openly, too choked up 
to even deliver a flowery greeting, and Lelldorin was in virtually 
the same condition. Relg, peculiarly, did not even shrink from the 
Rivan Queen's embrace. Relg, it appeared, had undergone certain 
philosophical modifications during the years of his marriage to 
Taiba.



"There seem to be a few strangers here," Hettar noted in his quiet 
voice.


Silk smacked his forehead with an open palm. "How remiss of me," he 
said. "How could I have been so forgetful? This is Lady Poledra, 
Belgarath's wife and Polgara's mother. The rumors about her demise 
appear to have been exaggerations."


308 SEERESS OF KELL


"Will you be serious?" Belgarath muttered as their friends greeted 
the tawny-haired woman with a certain awe.


"Not a chance," Silk said roguishly. "I'm having too much fun with 
this, and I'm just starling to get wanned up. Please, gentlemen," he 
said to their friends, "let me get on with this. Otherwise the 
introductions are likely to last until midnight. This is Sadi. You 
should remember him—Chief Eunuch in the palace of Queen Salmissra."


'"Formerly Chief Eunuch, Kheldar," Sadi corrected. "My Lords." He 
bowed.


"Your Excellency," Hettar replied. "I'm sure there'll be all sorts of 
explanations later."


"You all remember Cyradis, of course," Silk went on, "the Holy 
Seeress of Kell. She's a little tired just now. She had to make a 
fairly important decision about noon today."


"Where's that big fellow who was with you at Rheon, Cyradis?" Barak 
asked her.


"Alas, my Lord of Trellheim," she said. "My guide and protector gave 
up his life to insure our success."


"I'm deeply sorry," Barak said simply.


"And this, of course," Silk said in an offhand voice, "is his 
Imperial Majesty, Kal Zakath of Mallorea. He's been rather helpful 
from time to time."


Garion's friends looked at Zakath warily, their eyes filled with 
surprise.


"I'd assume that we can set aside certain unpleasantnesses from the 
past," Zakath said urbanely. "Garion and I have more or less resolved 
our differences.'?


"It pleaseth me, your Imperial Majesty," Mandorallen said with a 
creaking bow, "to have lived to see near-universal peace restored to 
all the world."


"Thy reputation, the marvel of the known world, hath preceded thee, 
my Lord of Mandor," Zakath replied in an almost perfect Mimbrate 
dialect. "I do perceive now, however, that reputation is but a poor 
shade of the stupendous reality."



Mandorallen beamed.


"You'll do just fine," Hettar murmured to Zakath.


Zakath grinned at him. Then he looked at Barak. "The next time you 
see Anheg, my Lord of Trellheim, tell him that I'm still going to 
send him a bill for all those ships of mine he sank in the Sea of the 
East after Thull Mardu. I think some reparations might be in order.''


"I wish you all the luck in the world, your Majesty—" Barak


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


grinned "—but I think you'll find that Anheg's very reluctant to ; 
open the doors of his treasury."


"Never mind," Garion said quietly to Lelldorin, who had drawn himself 
up, pale-faced and furious at the mention of Zakath's name.


"But—"


;, "It wasn't his fault," Garion said. "Your cousin was 
killed in a battle. Those things happen, and there's no point in 
holding grudges. That's what's kept things stirred up in Arendia for 
the last twenty-five hundred years."


"And I'm sure you all recognize Eriond—formerly Errand," Silk said 
once again hi a deliberately offhand manner,' 'the new '( God of 
Angarak."


"The whatV Barak exclaimed.


"You really should try to keep abreast of things, my dear Barak," 
Silk said, buffing his nails on the front of his tunic. ; "Silk," 
Eriond said reprovingly.


"I'm sorry." Silk grinned. "I couldn't resist. Can you find it in 
your heart to forgive me, your Divinityship? " He frowned. ' 'That's 
really very cumbersome, you know. What is the correct form of 
address?"


"How about just Eriond?"


Relg had gone deathly pale and he almost instinctively fell to his 
knees.


"Please don't do that, Relg," Eriond told him. "After all, youVe 
known me since I was just a little boy, haven't you?"


"But—"


"Stand up, Relg," Eriond said, helping the Ulgo to his feet. > 
"Oh, my father sends his best, by the way." v Relg looked 
awed.


,, "Oh, well," Silk said wryly, "we might as well get it out 



into the open, I suppose. Gentlemen," he said, "I'm sure you all 
remember the Margravine Liselle, my fiancee."
"Your^onc^c?" Barak exclaimed in amazement.


"We all have to settle down sometime." Silk shrugged.
They gathered around to congratulate him. Velvet, however, did not 
look pleased.


"Was something the matter, dear?" Silk asked her, all innocence.


"Don't you think you've forgotten something, Kheldar?" she asked 
acidly.
"Not that I recall."
"You neglected to ask me about this first."


SEERESS OF KELL


"Really? Did I actually forget that? You weren't planning to refuse, 
were you?"


"Of course not."


"Well, then—"


"You haven't heard the last of this, Kheldar," she said ominously.


"I seem to be getting off to a bad start here," he observed.


"Very bad," she agreed.


They built a large bonfire in the amphitheater not too far from the 
huge carcass of the dragon. Dumik had rather shamefacedly 
translocated a sizable stack of driftwood in from various beaches 
here and there on the reef. Garion looked critically at the stack. "I 
seem to remember a number of very wet evenings when Eriond and I 
spent hours looking for dry firewood," he said to his old friend.


"This is sort of a special occasion, Garion," Dumik explained 
apologetically. "Besides, if you'd have wanted it done this way, you 
could have done it yourself, couldn't you?"


Garion stared at him, then he suddenly laughed. "Yes, Dur-nik," he 
admitted, "I suppose I could have at that. I don't know that we have 
to tell Eriond, though."


"Do you really think he doesn't know?"


They talked until quite late. A great deal had happened since they 
had last seen each other, and they all had a lot of catching up to 
do. Finally, one by one, they drifted off to sleep.


It was still a few hours before dawn when Garion came suddenly awake.



It was not a sound that had awakened him, but a light. It was a 
single beam of intense blue that bathed the amphitheater in its 
radiance, and it was soon joined by others that streamed down from 
the night sky in great glowing columns, red and yellow and green and 
shades for which there were no names. The columns stood in a 
semicircle not far from the edge of the water, and there in the 
center of their rainbow-hued light, the pristine white albatross 
hovered on seraphlike wings. The incandescent forms that Garion had 
seen before at Cthol Mishrak began to appear in the columns of pure 
light. Aldur and Mara, Issa and Nedra, Chaidan and Belar, the Gods 
stood, their faces filled with the joy of welcome.


"It's time," Poledra sighed from where she sat enfolded in 
Belgarath's arms. She firmly took his arms from about her shoulders 
and rose to her feet.


THE HIGH PLACES op KORIM


"No," Belgarath protested in an anguished tone, his eyes filled with 
tears. "There's time yet."


"You knew this was going to happen. Old Wolf," she said gently. "It 
has to be this way, you know."


"I'm not going to lose you twice," he declared. He also rose. 
"There's no longer any meaning to any of this." He looked at his 
daughter. "Pol," he said.


"Yes, father," she replied, rising to her feet with Durnik at her 
side.


"You'll have to look after things now. Beldin and Durnik and the 
twins wilt help you."


' 'Will you orphan me in one single stroke, father?'' Her voice was 
throbbing with unshed tears.


"You're strong enough to bear it, Pol. Your mother and I are not 
displeased with you. Be well."


"Don't be foolish, Belgarath," Poledra said firmly.


"I'm not. I won't live without you again."


"It's not permitted."


"It can't be prevented. Not even our Master can prevent me now. You 
won't leave alone, Poledra. I'm going with you." He put his arms 
about his wife's shoulders and looked deeply into her golden eyes. 
"It's better this way."


"As you decide, my husband," she said finally. "We must act now, 
however, before UL arrives. He can prevent it, no matter how much you 
bend your will to its accomplishment."



Then Eriond was there. "Have you really considered this, Belgarath?" 


he said.
"Many times in the last three thousand years, yes. I had to wait for 
Garion, though. Now he's here, and there's nothing to hold me any 
longer."


"What would make you change your mind?"
"Nothing. I won't be separated from her again."
"Then I'll have to see to that, I suppose." .
"That's forbidden, Eriond," Poledra objected. "I agreed to this when 


my task was laid upon me."
"Agreements are always subject to renegotiation, Poledra," he said. 
"Besides, my father and my brothers neglected to advise me of their 


decision, so I'll have to deal with the situation without their 
advice."
"You can't defy your father's will," she objected.
"But I don't know my father's will as yet. I'll apologize, of course. 


I'm sure he won't be too angry with me, and no one stays angry 
forever—not even my father—and no decision is
312
SEERESS OF KELL
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


313
irrevocable. If necessary, I'll remind him of the change of heart he 
had at Prolgu when Gorim persuaded him to relent."


"That sounds awfully familiar," Barak murmured to Hettar. "It looks 
as if the new God of Angarak has spent a little too much time with 
our Prince Kheldar.''


"It might be contagious," Hettar agreed.
An impossible hope had sprung up in Canon's heart.
"May I borrow the Orb again, Garion?" Eriond asked politely,
"Of course." Garion almost snatched the Orb from the pommel of the 


sword and offered it to the youthful God.
Eriond took the glowing jewel and approached Belgarath and his wife. 
Then he reached out with it and gently touched it to each of their 


foreheads. Garion, knowing that the touch of the jewel meant death, 
leaped forward with a strangled cry, but it was too tate.
Belgarath and Poledra began to glow with a blue nimbus as they looked 


deeply into each other's eyes. Then Eriond handed the Orb back to the 



Rivan King.
"Won't you get into trouble about this?" Garion asked.
"It's all right, Garion," Eriond assured him. "I'm probably going to 


have to break all kinds of rules in the next several years, so I 


might as well get into practice."
A deep organ note came from the incandescent columns of light at the 
edge of the water. Garion looked quickly at the assembled Gods and 
saw that the albatross had become so intensely bright that he could 
not bear to look at it.


And then the albatross was gone, and the Father of the Gods stood 
where it had hovered, and he was surrounded by his sons. "Very well 
done, my Son," UL said.


"It took me a little while to perceive what thou hadst in thy mind, 


Father," Eriond apologized. "I'm sorry to have been so dense."
"Thou art unaccustomed to such things, my Son," UL forgave him. "Thy 
use of thy brother's Orb in this was unanticipated, however, and most 
ingenious." A faint smile touched the Eternal Face. ' 'Even had I 
been inclined not to relent, that alone would have forestalled me."


"I thought such might be the case, Father."
"I pray thee, Poledra," UL said then, "forgive me my cruel-seeming 
subterfuge. Know that the deception was not meant for thee, but for 


my son. He hath ever been of a retiring nature, reluctant to exercise 
his will, but his will shall prevail upon this
.world, and he must learn now to unleash it or to restrain it as
^*eemeth him best."
"It was a test, then, Most Holy?" Belgarath's voice had a
slight edge to it.
: "All things which happen are tests, Belgarath," UL ex-T plained 


calmly. "Thou mayest take some satisfaction in the ;V knowledge that 


thou and thine espoused wife did very well in
'tias. It was the decisions of you two which compelled my son /to 
make his. Still do you both serve even now, when all seems


complete. And now, Eriond, join with me and my brothers. Let
us go apart a ways that we may welcome thee unto this world
which we now deliver into thy hands."
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX



The sun had risen, a golden disc hanging low on the eastern horizon. 
The sky was intensely blue and the light breeze blowing steadily in 
from the west touched the tops of the waves with white. There was 
still the faint, damp smell of the previous day's fog lingering on 
the stones of the strangely shaped pyramid that jutted up out of the 
sea to form the center of the reef.


Garion was light-headed with exhaustion. His body screamed for rest, 
but hi3 mind skittered from impression to thought to image and back 
again, keeping him awake but all bemused on the very edge of sleep. 
There would be time later to sort out everything that had happened 
here in the Place Which Is No More. And then he rearranged his 
thinking about dial. If ever there was a place that was, it was 
Korim. Korim was more eternally real than Tol Honeth, Mal Zeth, or 
Val Alorn. He gathered his sleeping wife and his son closer in his 
arms. They smelled good. Ce'Nedra's hair had its usual, floweriike 
fra-


grance, and Geran smelled like every little boy who had ever lived—a 
small creature probably at least marginally in need of a bath. 
Garion's own need for bathing was, he concluded, somewhat more than 
marginal. Yesterday had been very strenuous.


His friends were gathered in strange little groupings here and


6there around the amphitheater. Barak, Hettar, and Mandorallen


were talking with Zakath. Liselle sat with a look of abstract


•concentration on her face, combing Cyradis' hair. The ladies all 
Seemed quite determined to take the Seeress of Kell in hand.
• Sadi and Beidin sprawled on the stones near the carcass of the
'•'-. dragon, drinking ale. Sadi's expression was polite, but it 
none-


theless revealed that he was consuming the bitter brew more out


of politeness than from any sense of gusto. Unrak was explor-


i ing, and close on his heels was Nathel, the slack-faced young


I' King of the Thulls. The Archduke Otrath stood alone near the


$ now-sealed portal to the grotto, his face filled with apprehensive


v dread. Kal Zakath had not yet seen fit to discuss certain matters


With his kinsman, and Otrath was obviously not looking forward


to their conversation. Eriond was talking quietly with Aunt Pol,


Dumik, Belgarath, and Poledra. The young God had a strange



; .^nimbus of pale light about him. Silk was nowhere in sight.


And then the little man came around the shoulder of the pyramid. 
Behind him, on the far side of the peak, rose a column of dark smoke. 
He came down the stairway to the floor of the amphitheater and 
crossed to where Garion was sitting.


"What were you doing?" Garion asked him. ;*'• "I set out a signal 
for Captain Kresca," Silk replied. "He i; knows the way back to 
Perivor, and I Ve seen Barak navigate in | confined waters before. 
Seabird's meant for the open sea, not I for close quarters."


^ "You'll hurt his feelings if you tell him that, you know." £*: 
"I wasn't planning to tell him." The rat-faced little man i sprawled 
on the stones beside Garion and his family, v "Did Liselle have 
that little chat with you as yet?" Garion | asked.


;•' "I think she's saving it up. She wants to have plenty of un-; 
interrupted time for it. Is marriage always like this? I mean, do you 
always live in perpetual apprehension, waiting for these 
conversations?"


"It's not uncommon. You're not married yet, though."


"I'm closer to it than I ever thought I'd be."


"Are you sorry?"


"No, not really. Liseile and I are suited for each other. We


316


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


317


have a great deal in common. I just wish she wouldn't keep tilings 
hanging over my head is all." Silk looked sourly around the 
amphitheater. "Does he have to glow like that?" he asked, pointing at 
Eriond.


"He probably doesn't even know he's doing it. He's new at this. He'll 
get better at it as he goes along.''


"Do you realize that we're sitting around criticizing a God?"


' 'He was a friend first, Silk. Friends can criticize us without 
giving offense."


"My, aren't we philosophical this morning? My heart almost stopped 
when he touched Belgarath and Poledra with the Orb, though.''


' 'Mine, too,'' Garion admitted,' 'but it appears he knew what he was 
doing." He sighed.


"What's the problem?"



"It's all over now. I think I'm going to miss it—at least I will just 
as soon as I get caught up on my sleep."


"It has been a little hectic for the past few days, hasn't it? I 
suppose that if we put our heads together, we can come up with 
something exciting to do."


"I know what I'm going to be doing," Garion told him.


"Oh? What's that?"


"I'm going to be very busy being a father."


"Your son won't stay young forever, Garion."


"Geran isn't going to be an only child. My friend up here in my head 
warned me to expect large numbers of daughters."


"Good. It might help to settle you down a bit. I don't want to seem 
critical, Garion, but sometimes you're awfully flighty. Hardly a year 
goes by when you're not running off to some corner of the world with 
that burning sword in your hand.''


"Are you trying to be funny?"


"Me?" Silk leaned back comfortably. "You're not going to have all 
that many daughters, are you? What I'm getting at is that women are 
only of childbearing age for just so long."


"Silk," Garion said pointedly, "do you remember Xbell, that Dryad we 
met down near the River of the Woods in southern Tolnedra?"


"The one who was so fond of men—all men?"


"That's the one. Would you say that she's still of childbearing age?"


"Oh, my yes."


"Xbell is over three hundred years old. Ce'Nedra's a Dryad, too, you 
know."


•,. "Well, maybe you'll get too old to—" Silk broke off and ^looked 
at Belgarath. "Oh, dear," he said. "You have got a bit &of a problem, 
haven't you?"
A It was almost noon when they boarded the Seabird. Barak lad agreed, 
although somewhat reluctantly, to follow Captain :fe';-Kresca to 
Perivor. After the two men had met and inspected ff each other's 
ships, however, things went more smoothly. Kresca vf.'had been lavish 
in his praise of Seabird, and that was always a /.-way to get on the 
good side of Barak.


I As they weighed anchor, Garion leaned on the starboard rail |; 
gazing at the strange-looking pyramid sticking out of the sea 1 with 
a pillar of greasy smoke rising from the amphitheater on I its north 
side.



f "I'd have given a great deal to have been there," Hettar said S 
quietly, leaning his elbows on the rail beside Garion. ' 'How was


l:it?"


•;| "Noisy," Garion told him.
•: "Why did Belgarath insist on burning that dragon?"
"He felt sorry for her." ,„ "Belgarath's funny sometimes."
"i . "He is indeed, my friend. How are Adara and the children?" ^ 
"Fine. She's with child again, you know." " "Again? Hettar, you 
two are almost as bad as Relg and : Taiba."
"Notquite," Hettar said modestly. "They're still a few ahead


• trfus."Hefrownedcritically,hishawklikefaceoutlinedagainst ^ (he 
sun. "I think somebody's cheating, though. Taiba keeps
•;, having babies in twos and threes. That makes it very hard for ^ 
Adara to keep up.''
y, "I wouldn't want to point any fingers, but I'd suspect that
'; .Mara's been interfering there. It's going to take awhile to
$ repopulate Maragor." He looked over to where Unrak stood
in the bow with his shadow, Nathel, just behind him. "What's
that all about?" he asked.
; *Tm not sure," Hettarsaid. "Nathel's a pathetic sort of boy, 
and I think Unrak feels sorry for him. I gather diere hasn't been too 
much kindness in Nathel's life, so he'll even accept pity. He's been 
following Unrak around like a puppy ever since we picked him up." The 
tall Algar looked at Garion. "You look tired," he said. "You should 
get some sleep."


"I'm exhausted," Garion admitted, "but I don't want to get my days 
and nights turned around. Let's go talk with Barak. He seemed just a 
bit surly when he came ashore."


318
SEERESS OF KELL
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
319
"You know how Barak is. Missing a fight always makes him discontent. 


Tell him some stories. He likes a good story almost as much as he 


likes a good fight."
It was good to be back among his old friends again. There had been a 
sort of emptiness in Garion since he had left them behind at Rheon. 



The absence of their burly self-confidence had been part of it, of 
course, but even more than that, perhaps, had been the camaraderie, 
that sense of good-natured friendship that lay under all the apparent 
bickering. As they started aft to where Barak stood with one beefy 
hand on the tiller, Garion saw Zakath and Cyradis standing on the lee 
side of a-longboat. He motioned to Hettar to stop and laid one finger 
to his lips.


"Eavesdropping isn't very nice, Garion," the tall Algar whispered.


' 'It's not exactly eavesdropping,'' Garion whispered back. ' 'I just 
need to be sure that I won't have to take steps."


"Steps?"


"I'll explain later."


"And what will you do now, Holy Seeress?" Zakath was asking the slim 
girl, his heart in his voice.


"The world lies open before me, Kal Zakath," she replied a little 
sadly. "The burden of my task hath been lifted, and thou needst no 
longer address me as 'Seeress,' for, indeed, that burden hath also 
been lifted. Mine eyes are now fixed on the plain, ordinary light of 
day, and I am now no more than a plain, ordinary woman."


"Hardly plain, Cyradis, and far from ordinary."


"Thou art kind to say so, Kal Zakath."


"Let's drop that 'Kal,' shall we, Cyradis? It's an affectation. It 
means King and God. Now that I Ve seen real Gods, I know just how 
presumptuous it was of me to encourage its use. But let's return to 
the point. Your eyes have been bound for years, haven't they?"


"Yes."


"Then you haven't had occasion to look into a mirror lately, have 
you?"


"Neitheroccasion nor inclination."


Zakath was a very shrewd man and he fully realized when the time had 
come for extravagance. "Then let mine eyes be thy mirror, Cyradis," 
he said. "Look into them and see how fair thou art."


Cyradis blushed. "Thy flattery doth quite catch my breath away, 
Zakath-"


;>,• "It's not exactly flattery, Cyradis," he said clinically, 
lapsing into his usual speech. "You're by far the most beautiful I Ve 
ever met, and the thought of having you go back to Jtell—-or anywhere 
else, for that matter—leaves a vast emptiness & my heart. YouVe lost 
your guide and your friend. Let me Become both for you. Return with 
me to Mal Zeth. WeVe got jfttuch to discuss, and it may take us the 
rest of our lives." tt Cyradis turned her pale face away slightly, 
and the faintly



*$tiumphant smile which touched her lips said quite clearly that /Jhe 
saw a great deal more than she was willing to reveal. She : gamed 
back to the Mallorean Emperor, her eyes innocently wide. y*Wouldst 
thou indeed take some small pleasure in my com-%J»ny?" she asked. 
"£'; "Thy company would fill my days, Cyradis," he said.


*>/. "Then gladly will I accompany thee to Mal Zeth," she said, ;
^forthou art now my truest friend and dearest companion." ^' Garion 
motioned with his head, and he and Hettar went on aft.


"What were we doing?" Hettar asked. "That seemed like a


private conversation." |^"It was," Garion told him. "I just needed to 
be sure that it |p0k place, that's all. I was told that it was going 
to happen, but


*lflce a little verification now and then."


; Hettar looked puzzled.


"Zakath's been the loneliest man in the world," Garion told ^him. 
"That's what made him so empty and soulless—and so ^dangerous. That's 
changed now. He isn't going to be lonely imymore, and that should 
help him with something he has to


* "Garion, you're being awfully cryptic. All I saw was a young 
lady rather skillfully wrapping a man around her finger.'' 1 "It 
did sort of look that way, didn't it?"
Early the next morning, Ce'Nedra bolted from her bed and nm up the 
stairs to the deck. Alarmed, Garion followed her. "Excuse me," she 
said to Polgara, who was leaning out over the rail. Then she took her 
place beside the ageless woman, and the two of them stood for some 
time retching over the side. "You, too?" Ce'Nedra said with a wan 
smile. Polgara wiped her lips with a kerchief and nodded. Then the 
two of them embraced each other and began to laugh.


"Are they all right?" Garion asked Poledra, who had just


320


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


321


come up on deck with the ubiquitous wolf pup again at her side 
"Neither one of them ever gets seasick."


"They aren't seasick, Garion," Poledra said with a mysteri ous smile.


"But why are they—"


' 'They're just fine, Garion. More than fine. Go on back down to your 
cabin. I '11 take care of this-''


Garion had just awakened, and his mind was a little foggy. So it was 



that it was not until he was halfway down the stairs before it slowly 
dawned on him. He stopped, his eyes very wide. "Ce'Nedra?" he 
exclaimed. "And Aunt Pol?" Then he, too, began to laugh.


The appearance of Sir Mandorallen, the invincible Baron of Vo Mandor, 
in the court of King Oldorin caused an awed silence. Because of 
Perivor's remote location, Mandorallen's towering reputation had not 
reached the island, but his very presence—that overpowering sense of 
his nobility and perfection—stunned the king's court. Mandorallen was 
the ultimate Mimbrate, and it showed.


Garion and Zakath, once again in full armor, approached the throne 
with the stupendous knight between them. "Your Majesty," Garion said 
with a bow, "it pleaseth me beyond measure to announce that our quest 
hath come to a happy .and successful conclusion. The beast which 
plagued thy shores is no more, and the evil which beset the world is 
quelled for good and all. Fortune, which sometimes doth bestow 
blessings with open-handed generosity, hath also seen fit to reunite 
my companions and me with old and well-loved friends—most of whom I 
shall present to thee anon. A keen awareness, however, of a fact 
that, me-thinks, will be of supreme importance to thee and to thy 
court doth impell me to present at once a puissant knight from far-
off Arendia, who doth ever stand at the right hand of his Majesty, 
King Korodullin, and who, doubtless, will greet thee in kinship and 
love. Your Majesty, I have the honor to present Sir Mandorallen, 
Baron of Vo Mandor and the paramount knight in all the world."


"You're getting better at that," Zakath said quietly.


"Practice," Garion said deprecatingly.


"Lord King," Mandorallen said in his resonant voice, bowing to the 
throne, "gladly do I greet thee and the members of thy court, and 
dare to call ye all kinsmen. I presume to bear thee warmest greetings 
from their Majesties, King Korodullin and Queen Mayaserana, monarchs 
of well-loved Arendia, for,


doubtless, as soon as I return to Vo Mimbre and reveal that those who 
were once lost are now joyfully found again, their Majesties' eyes 
will fill to overflowing with tears of thanksgiving, and they shall 
embrace thee from afar, if needs be, as a brother, and, as great 
Chaldan gives me strength, shall I presently return to thy 
magnificent city with missives top-filled with their regard and 
affection which shall, methinks, presage a soon-to-be accomplished 
reunion—may I dare even hope, a reunification—of the dissevered 
branches of the holy blood of sacred Arendia."


"He managed to say all that in one sentence?" Zakath murmured to 
Garion with some awe.


"Two, I think," Garion murmured back. " Mandorallen's in his element 
here. This is liable to take awhile—two or three days, I'd imagine."


It did not take quite that long, but almost. The speeches of the 
nobles of Perivor were at first somewhat rudimentary, since the 
members of King Oldorin's court had been taken by surprise by 
Mandorallen's sudden appearance and had been rendered almost tongue-
tied by his eloquence. A sleepless night spent in fevered 



composition, however, remedied that. The following day was given over 
to flowery speeches, an extended banquet, and assorted 
entertainments. Belgarath was prevailed upon to present an only 
slightly embellished account of the events that had transpired on the 
reef. The old man rather judiciously avoided references to some of 
the more incredible incidents. The sudden appearance of divinities in 
the middle of an adventure story sometimes stirs skepticism in even 
the most credulous audience.


Garion leaned forward to speak quietly to Eriond, who sat across the 
banquet table from him. "At least he protected your anonymity,'' he 
said quietly.


"Yes," Eriond agreed. "I'll have to think of some way to thank him 
for that,"


"Restoring Poledra to him is probably all the thanks he can handle 
right now. It's going to come out eventually though, you know—your 
identity, I mean."


"I think it's going to need a bit of preparation, though. I'll need 
to have a long talk with Ce'Nedra, I think."


"Ce'Nedra?"


"I want some details on how she got started when she raised the army 
she took to Thull Mardu. It seems to me she began on a small scale 
and then worked her way up. That might be the best way to go at it-''


SEERESS OF KELL


"Your Sendarian background is starting to show, Eriond." Garion 
laughed. "Durnik left his mark on both of us, didn't he?" Then he 
cleared his throat a little uncomfortably. "You're doing it again," 
he cautioned.


"Doing what?"


"Glowing."


"Does it show?"


Garion nodded. "I'm afraid so."


"I'll have to work on that."


The banquets and entertainments lasted well into the night for 
several days, but since nobles are not customarily early risers, this 
left the mornings free for Garion and his friends to discuss all that 
had happened since they had separated at Rheon. The accounts of those 
who had remained at home were filled with domesticity—children, 
weddings, and affairs of state. Gar-ion was quite pleased to hear 
that Brand's son Kail was managing the Kingdom of Riva probably at 
least as well as he might have himself. Moreover, since the Murgos 
were preoccupied with the Mallorean presence in southeastern Cthol 
Murgos, peace by and large prevailed among the western kingdoms, and 



trade flourished there. Silk's nose began to twitch at that 
information.


"This is all well and good," Barak rumbled. "But could we possibly 
skip over what's happening back home and get down to the real story? 
I'm dying of curiosity."


And so they began. No attempt to gloss things over was permitted. 
Every detail was savored.


"Did you really do that?" Lelldorin asked Garion at one point after 
Silk had luridly described their first encounter with Zandramas, who 
had assumed the form of the dragon in the hills above the Arendish 
plain.


"Well," Garion replied modestly, "not her whole tail, only about four 
feet of it. It seemed to get her attention, though."


"When he gets home, our splendid hero here is going to look into die 
career opportunities available in the field of dragon-molesting. '' 
Silk laughed.


' 'But there aren't any more dragons, Kheldar,'' Velvet pointed out.


"Oh, that's all right, Liselle." He grinned. "Maybe Eriond can make a 
few for him.''


"Never mind," Garion told him.


Then, at a certain point in the narrative, they all had to see


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


Zith, and Sadi rather proudly displayed his little green snake and 
her wriggling brood.


"She doesn't look all that dangerous to me," Barak grunted.
"Go tell that to Harakan." Silk grinned. "Liselle threw the little 
dear into his face at Ashaba. Zith nipped him a few times and 
absolutely petrified him."


"Was he dead?" the big man asked.
"I've never seen anybody any deader."
' 'You're getting ahead of the story,'' Hettar eluded.
"There's no way we're going to be able to tell you about everything 


that happened in one morning, Hettar," Durnik said.


"That's all right, Durnik," Barak said. "It's a long way back home. 
We'll have plenty of time at sea."
That afternoon, by more or less popular demand, Beldin was obliged to 


repeat the performance he had given prior to their departure for the 



reef. Then, simply to demonstrate some of the gifts of his 
companions, Garion suggested that they adjourn to the tournament 
grounds to give them more room. Lelldorin showed the king and his 
court some of the finer points of archery, culminating the 
demonstration by showing them an entirely new way to pick plums from 
a distant tree. Barak bent an iron bar into something resembling a 
pretzel, and Hettar put them into a state verging on stunned 
amazement by a dazzling display of horsemanship. The culmination of 
the affair did not come off too well, however. When Relg walked 
through a solid stone wall, many ladies fainted, and some of the 
younger members of the audience fled screaming.


"They don't seem to be ready for that yet," Silk said. Silk had 
resolutely turned his back when Relg had approached the wall. "I know 
I'm not," he added.


About noon a few days later, two ships entered the harbor from 
different directions. One of the ships was a familiar Cherek war 
boat, and General Atesca and Bureau Chief Brador disembarked from the 
other. Greldik led King Anheg and Emperor Varana down the gangway of 
the war boat.


' 'Barak!'' Anheg roared as he came down the gangway. ' 'Can you 
think of any reason I shouldn't take you back to Val Alorn in 
chains?"


"Testy, isn't he?" Hettar observed to the red-bearded man.


"He'll calm down after I get him drunk." Barak shrugged.


"I^n sorry, Garion," Anheg said in a booming voice. "Varana and I 
tried to catch him, but that big scow of his moves faster than we 
thought."


SEERESS OF KELL


"Scow?" Barak protested mildly.


"It's all right, Anheg," Garion replied. "They didn't arrive until 
after everything was finished."


"You got your son back, then?"


"Yes."


"Well, trot him out, boy. We all invested a lot of effort in trying 
to find him for you."


Ce'Nedra came forward carrying Geran, and Anheg enfolded them both in 
a bear hug. "Your Majesty," he greeted the Rivan Queen, "and you, 
your Highness." He grinned and tickled the little boy. Geran giggled.


Ce'Nedra tried a curtsy.


"Don't do that, Ce'Nedra," Anheg told her. "You'll drop the baby."



Ce'Nedra laughed and then smiled at Emperor Varana. "Uncle," she 
said.


"Ce'Nedra," the silvery-haired emperor replied. "You're looking 
well." He squinted at her. "Is it my imagination, or are you putting 
on a little weight?"


"It's just temporary, uncle," she replied. "I'll explain later."


Brador and Atesca approached Zakath. "Why, your Imperial Majesty," 
Atesca said to his emperor in feigned surprise. "Imagine meeting you 
here—of all places."


"General Atesca," Zakath said to him, "don't we know each other well 
enough to ignore these subterfuges?"


"We were worried about you, your Majesty," Brador said. "Since we 
were in the vicinity anyway . . ." The bald man spread his hands.


"And just what were you two doing in this vicinity? Didn't I leave 
you back on the banks of the Magan?"


"Something came up, your Majesty," Atesca put in. "Ur-von's army fell 
all apart, and the Darshivans seemed to be distracted. Brador and I 
seized the opportunity to bring Peldane and Darshiva back into the 
empire, and weVe been pursuing the remnants of the Darshivan army all 
over eastern Dalasia."


"Very good, gentlemen," Zakath approved. "Very, very good. I should 
take a vacation more often."


"Tfcis was his idea of a vacation?" Sadi murmured.


"Of course," Silk replied. "Fighting dragons can be very 
invigorating."


Zakath and Varana had been eyeing each other speculatively.


"Your Imperial Majesties," Garion said politely, "I should probably 
introduce you. Emperor Varana, this is his Imperial


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


Majesty, Kal Zakath of Mallorea. Emperor Zakath, this is his Imperial 
Majesty, Ran Borune XXTV of the Tolnedran Empire."


"Just Varana will do, Garion," the Tolnedran said. "We've all heard a 
lot about you, Kal Zakath," he said, extending his hand.


"None of it good, I'm sure, Varana." Zakath smiled, shaking the other 
emperor's hand warmly.


"Rumors are seldom accurate, Zakath."


"We have much to discuss, your Imperial Majesty," Zakath said.



"Indeed we do, your Imperial Majesty."


King Oldorin of Perivor appeared to be in a state verging on nervous 
prostration. His island kingdom, it seemed, was quite suddenly awash 
with royalty. Garion made the introductions as gently and, he hoped, 
as painlessly as possible. King Oldorin mumbled a few greetings, 
almost forgetting his thees and thous. Garion drew him to one side. 
"This is a momentous occasion, your Majesty," he said. "The presence 
in one place of Zakath of Mallorea, Varana of Tolnedra, and Anheg of 
Cherek doth presage the possibility of tremendous steps toward that 
universal peace for which the world hath longed for eons. *'


"Thine own presence doth not diminish the occasion, Bel-garion of 
Riva."


Garion bowed his acknowledgment. "Though the courtesy and hospitality 
of thy court are the marvel of the known world, your Majesty," he 
said, "it were foolish of us not to seize this opportunity in so 
noble a cause. Thus I implore thee that my friends and I may closet 
separately for some time to explore the possibilities of this chance 
meeting, although it seemeth to me that chance hath had but small 
part in this coming to pass. Surely the Gods themselves have had a 
hand in it."


"I am certain of it, your Majesty," Oldorin agreed. "There are 
council chambers on the topmost floor of my palace, King Belgarion. 
They are at the immediate disposal of thyself and thy royal friends. 
I have no doubt that momentous things may emerge from this meeting, 
and the honor I shall accrue that it is to take place beneath my roof 
doth overwhelm me quite."


It was an impromptu meeting that was held in the upper chambers of 
the palace. Belgarath, by common consent, presided. Garion agreed to 
look after the interests of Queen Porenn, and Durnik to those of King 
Fulrach. Relg spoke for Ulgo—and Maragor. Mandorallen represented 
Arendia, and Hettar spoke


SEERESS OF KELL


for his father. Silk stood in for his brother, Urgit. Sadi spoke for 
Salmissra, and Nathel spoke for the Thulls, although very seldom. No 
one was particularly interested in taking the part of Drosta lek Thun 
of Gar og Nadrak.


Right at the outset there was, to Varana's obvious disappointment, an 
agreement that matters of trade be excluded from the discussion, and 
then they got down to business.


About midway through the second day, Garion leaned back in his chair, 
only half listening as Silk and Zakath haggled incessantly over a 
peace treaty between Mallorea and Cthol Mur-gos. Garion sighed 
pensively. Only a few days ago, he and his friends had witnessed—and 
participated in—the most momentous Event in the history of the 
universe, and now they sat around a table deeply involved in the 
mundane matters of international politics. It seemed so anticlimacttc 
somehow, and yet Garion knew that most of the people in the world 



would be tar more concerned about what happened around this table 
than what had happened at Korim—for a while, anyway.


Finally, the Accords of Dal Perivor were reached. They were 
tentative, to be sure, and couched in broad generalities. They were 
subject, of course, to ratification by those monarchs not actually 
present. They were tenuous and based more qn goodwill than on the 
rough give-and-take of true political negotiation. They were 
nonetheless, Garion felt, the last, best hope of mankind. Scribes 
were summoned to copy from Beldin's copious notes, and it was decided 
that the document should be issued over the seal of King Oldorin of 
Perivor as host monarch.


The ceremony of the signing was stupendous. Mimbrates are very good 
at stupendous ceremonies.


Then, on the following day, came the good-byes. Zakath, Cyradis, 
Eriond, Atesca, and Brador were to depart for Mal Zeth while the rest 
of them were to board the Seabird for the long voyage home. Garion 
spoke at some length with Zakath. They both promised to correspond 
and, when affairs of state permitted it, to visit. The correspondence 
would be easy, they both knew. The visits, however, were far more 
problematical.


Then Garion joined his family while they took their leave of Eriond. 
Garion then walked the young and as-yet-unknown God of Angarak down 
to the quay where Atesca's ship waited. " WeVe come a long way 
together, Eriond," he said.


"Yes," Eriond agreed.


"You've got alot ahead of you, you know."


"Probably more than you can even imagine, Garion."


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


"Are you ready?"


"Yes, Garion, lam."


"Good. If you ever need me, call on me. I'll come to wherever you are 
as quickly as I can."


"I'll remember that."


"And don't get so busy that you let Horse get fat."


Eriond smiled. "No danger of that," he said. "Horseandl still have a 
long way to go."


"Be well, Eriond."


"You, too, Garion."


They clasped hands and then Eriond went up the gangway to his waiting 



ship.


Garion sighed and made his way to where Seabird was moored. He went 
up the gangway to join the others as they watched Atesca's ship sail 
slowly out of the harbor, veering slightly around Greldik's ship, 
which waited with the impatience of a leashed hound.


Then Barak's sailors cast off all lines and rowed out into the 
harbor. The sails were raised, and Seabird turned her prow toward 
home.


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


329


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


The weather held clear and sunny, and a steady breeze filled 
Seabird's sails to drive her northwesterly in the wake of Greldik's 
patched and weatherbeaten war boat. At Unrak's insistence, the two 
vessels were making a side trip to Mishrak ac Thull to deposit Nathel 
in his own kingdom.


The days were long and filled with sunshine and the sharp smell of 
brine. Garion and all his friends spent most of those days in the 
sunny main cabin. The story of the quest to Korim was long and 
involved, but those who had not been with Garion and the others 
wanted as much in the way of detail as they could possibly get. Their 
frequent interruptions and questions led to extended digressions, and 
the story jumped back and forth hi time, but it proceeded, albeit at 
a frequently limping pace. There was much in the story that an 
average listener might have found incredible. Barak and the others, 
however, accepted it. They had spent enough time with Belgarath, 
Polgara, and Garion to


328


know that almost nothing was impossible. The only exception to this 
rule was Emperor Varana, who remained adamantly skeptical—more on 
philosophical grounds, Garion suspected, than from any real 
disbelief.


Unrak gave Nathel some very extended advice before the King


of the Thulls was deposited in a seaport town in his own king-


, dom. The advice had to do with the need for Nathel to assert


himself and to break free of the domination of his mother. Unrak


didn't look all that optimistic after the young Thull departed.


The Seabird turned her course southward then, still following 
Greldik's wake as they ran along the barren, rocky coast of Goska in 
northeastern Cthol Murgos. "That's disgraceful, you know that?'' 
Barak said to Garion one day, pointing at Greldik's vessel. "It looks 
like a floating shipwreck."



"Greldik uses his ship rather hard," Garion agreed. "I've sailed with 
him a few times.''


"The man has no respect for the sea," Barak grumbled, ' 'and he 
drinks too much.''


Garion blinked. "I beg your pardon?" he said.


"Oh, I'll be the first to admit that I take a tankard of ale now and 
then, but Greldik drinks at sea. That's revolting, Garion. I think it 
might even be irreligious."


"You know more about the sea than I do," Garion admitted.


Greldik's ship and Seabird sailed through the narrow strait between 
the Isle of Verkat and the southern coasts of Hagga and Gorut. Since 
it was summer in the southern latitudes, the weather continued fair 
and they made good time. After they had passed through the dangerous 
cluster of rocky islets strung down from the tip of the Urga 
penninsula, Silk came up on deck. "You two have taken to living up 
here," he observed to Garion and Barak.


"I like to be on deck when we're in sight of land," Garion said. 
"When you can see the shoreline slipping by, it gives you the sense 
that you're getting somewhere. What's Aunt Pol doing?"


"Knitting." Silk shrugged. "She's teaching Ce'Nedra and Liselle how 
it's done. They're creating whole heaps of little garments."


"I wonder why," Garion said with a perfectly straight face.


"I've got a favor to ask, Barak," Silk said.


* 'What do you need? *'
"I'd like to stop at Rak Urga. I want to give Urgit a copy of those 
accords, and Zakath made a couple of proposals at Dal Perivor that my 
brother really ought to know about."
330
SEERESS OF KELL
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
331
"Will you help chain Hettar to the mast while we're in port?'' Barak 


asked him.
Silk frowned slightly, then he seemed to suddenly understand. "Oh," 


he said. "I'd sort of forgotten that. It wouldn't be a very good idea 
to take Hettar into a city full of Murgos, would it?"
"A bad idea, Silk. Disastrous might come even closer."
"Let me talk with him," Garion suggested. "Possibly I can calm him 


down a bit."



"If you can manage that, I'll have you come up on deck and talk to 
the next gale we run into," Barak said. "Hettar's almost as 
reasonable as the weather where Murgos are concerned."


The tall Algar, however, did not, in fact go stony-faced and reach 
for his saber at the mention of the word "Murgo." They had told him 
about Urgit's real background during the voyage, and his hawklike 
face became alive with curiosity when Garion rather hesitantly told 
him of the plan to stop at Rak Urga. ' 'I '11 control my instincts, 
Garion," he promised. "I think I'd really like to meet this Drasnian 
who's managed to become the King of the Murgos."


Because of the hereditary and by now almost instinctive animosity 
between Murgos and Aloms, Belgarath advised caution in Rak Urga. 
"Things are quiet now," he said. "Let's not stir them up. Barak, run 
up a flag of truce, and when we get to within hailing distance of the 
wharves, I'll send for Oskatat, Urgit's Seneschal."


"Can he be trusted?" Barak asked dubiously.


"I think so, yes. We won't all trek up to the Drojim, though. Have 
Seabird and Greldik's ship pull back out into the harbor after we go 
ashore. Not even the most rabid Murgo sea captain would attack a pair 
of Cherek war boats in open water. I'll keep in touch with Pol, and 
we'll send for help if the occasion arises."


It took some fairly extensive shouting between ship and shore to 
persuade a Murgo colonel to send to the Drojim Palace for Oskatat. 
The colonel's decision may have been tipped in that direction when 
Barak ordered his catapults loaded. Rak Urga was not a very 
attractive town, but the colonel quite obviously didn't want it 
burned to the ground.


"Are you back already?" Oskatat bellowed across the intervening water 
when at last he arrived on the wharf.


"We were in the vicinity and we thought we'd pay a call," Silk said 
lightly. "We'd like to speak with his Majesty if possi-


ble. We'll control these Alorns if you can keep your Murgos leashed."


Oskatat gave a number of very abrupt commands that were accompanied 
by some fairly grisly threats, and Garion, Belgarath, and Silk took 
to Seabird's longboat. They were accompanied by Barak, who had left 
Unrak in charge, and by Hettar and , Mandorallen.


"How did it go?" Oskatat asked Silk as the party, accompanied by a 
contingent of King Urgit's black-robed household guard, rode up from 
the harbor to the Drojim.


"Things turned out rather well," Silk smirked.


"His Majesty should be pleased to hear that."


They entered the garish Drojim Palace, and Oskatat led them down a 
smoky, torch-lit hall toward the throne room. "His Majesty has been 
expecting these people," Oskatat said harshly to the guards. "He will 



see them now. Open the door."


One of the guards seemed to be new. "But they're Alorns, Lord 
Oskatat," he objected.
"So? Open the door."
"But—"
Oskatat coolly drew his heavy sword. "Yes?" he said hi a deceptively 


mild tone.
"Ah—nothing, my Lord Oskatat," the guard repeated. "Nothing at all."
"Why is the door still closed then?"
The door was quickly snatched open.
"Kheldar!" It was a ringing shout, and it came from the far end of 


the throne room. King Urgit bolted down the steps of the dais, 
flinging his crown over one shoulder as he ran. He caught Silk in a 
rough embrace, laughing uncontrollably. "I thought you were dead," he 
crowed.


"You're looking well, Urgit," Silk said to him.
Urgit made a slight face. "I'm married now, you know," he said.
"I was afraid Praia might get you eventually. I'm getting married 


myself shortly."


"The blond girl? Praia told me about how she felt about you. Imagine 
that, the invincible Prince Kheldar, married at last."
"Don't make any large wagers on it just yet, Urgit," Silk told his 


brother. "I may still decide to fall on my sword instead. Are we sort 
of alone here? WeVe got some things to tell you, and our time's a bit 
short.''


332
SEERESS OF KELL
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
333
"Mother and Praia are here," Urgittold him, "and my stepfather here, 


of course."
' 'Stepfather? " Silk exclaimed, looking at Oskatat in surprise.
"Mother was getting lonely. She missed all the playful abuse Taur 


Urgas used to bestow on her. I used my influence to marry her off to 
Oskatat. I'm afraid he's been a terrible disappointment to her, 
though. So far as I know, he hasn't knocked her down a single flight 
of stairs or kicked her in the head even once.''



"He's impossible when he's like this," Oskatat apologized for his 
king.


"Just brimming over with good spirits, Oskatat." Urgit laughed. "By 
Tbrak's boiling eye, I've missed you, Kheldar." Then he greeted 
Garion and Belgarath and looked inquiringly at Barak, Mandorallen, 
and Hettar.


"Barak, Earl of Trellheim," Silk introduced the red-bearded giant.


"He's even bigger than they say he is," Urgit noted.


"Sir Mandorallen, Baron of Vo Mandor," Silk went on.


"The Gods' own definition of the word 'gentleman,' " Urgit said.


"And Hettar, son of King Cho-Hag of Algaria."


Urgit shrank away, his eyes suddenly fearful. Even Oskatat took a 
step backward.


"Not to worry, Urgit," Silk said grandly. "Hettar came all the way 
through the streets of your capital, and he didn't kill even one of 
your subjects.''


"Remarkable," Urgit murmured nervously. "You've changed, Lord 
Hettar," he said. "You're reputed to.be a thousand feet tall and to 
wear a necklace of Murgo skulls."


"I'm on vacation," Hettar said dryly.


Urgit grinned. "We aren't going to be unpleasant to each other, are 
we?" he asked, still slightly apprehensive.


"No, your Majesty," Hettar told him, "I don't think we are. For some 
reason, you intrigue me."


"That's a relief," Urgit said. "If you find yourself getting edgy, 
though, be sure to let me know. There are still a dozen or so of my 
father's generals lurking about the Drojim. Oskatat hasn't found a 
reason to have them beheaded yet. I'll send for them, and you can 
settle your nerves. They're just a bother to me anyway." He frowned. 
"I wish I'd known you were coming," he said. "I've wanted to send 
your father a present for years now."


Hettar looked at him, one eyebrow raised.


"He did me the greatest service any man can ever do for another. He 
ran his saber through Taur Urgas' guts. You might tell him that I 
tidied up for him afterward."


"Oh? My father doesn't usually need to be tidied up after."


"Oh, Taur Urgas was dead enough all right," Urgit assured


him, "but I didn't want some Grolim to come along and acci-


, dentally resurrect him, so I cut his throat before we buried him.' 



*


"Cuthis throat?" Even Hettar seemed startled by that.


"From ear to ear," Urgit said happily. "I stole a little knife when I 
was about ten, and I spent the next several years sharpening it. 
After I slit his weasand, I drove a stake through his heart and 
buried him seventeen feet deep—head down. He looked better than he 
had in years with just his feet sticking up out of the dirt. I paused 
to enjoy that sight while I was resting from all the shoveling."


"You buried him yourself?" Barak asked.


"I certainly wasn't going to let anybody else do it. I wanted to be 
sure of him. After I had him well planted, I stampeded horses across 
his grave several times to conceal the spot. As you may have guessed, 
my father and I were not on the best of terms. I take some pleasure 
in knowing that not a single living Murgo knows exactly where he's 
buried. Why don't we go join my queen and my mother? Then you can 
tell me your splendid news—whatever it is. Dare I hope that Kal 
Zakath rests in the arms of Torak?"


"I wouldn't think so."


"Pity," Urgit said.


As soon as they found out that Polgara, Ce'Nedra, and Velvet were 
still on board Seabird, Queen Praia and Queen Mother Tamazin excused 
themselves and left the throne room to renew old acquaintances.


"Find seats, gentlemen," Urgit said after they had left. He sprawled 
on his throne with one leg cocked up over the arm. "What are these 
things you wanted to tell me, Kheldar?"


Silk sat down on the edge of the dais and reached inside his tunic.


"Please don't do that, Kheldar," Urgit told him, shying away. "I know 
how many daggers you carry."


"Not a dagger this time, Urgit," Silk assured him. "Only this." He 
handed over a folded parchment packet.


Urgit opened it and scanned it quickly. "Who's Oldorin of Perivor?" 
he asked.


334


SEER ESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


335


' 'He's the king of an island off the south coast of Mallorea,'' 
Garion told him. "A group of us met in his palace."


"Quite a group, I see," Urgit said, looking over the signatures. He 
frowned. "I also see that you spoke for me," he said to Silk.



"He protected your interests rather well, Urgit," Belgarath assured 
him. "The details we hammered out are mostly generalities, you'll 
notice, but it's a start."


"It is indeed, Belgarath," Urgit agreed. "I notice that no one spoke 
for Drosta."


"The King of Gar og Nadrak was unrepresented, your Majesty," 
Mandorallen told him.


"Poor old Drosta." Urgit chuckled. "He always seems to get left out. 
This is all very nice, gentlemen, and it might even insure a decade 
or so of peace—provided you promised to let Zakath have my head on a 
plate to decorate some unimportant room in his palace at Mal Zeth 
with."


"That's the main thing we came to discuss with you," Silk told him. 
"Zakath returned to Mal Zeth when we all left Peri-vor, but I talked 
with him for quite a while before we separated, and he finally agreed 
to accept peace overtures."


"Peace?" Urgit scoffed. "The only peace Zakath wants is eternal 
peace—for every living Murgo, and I'm at the top of his list."


"He's changed a bit," Garion told him. "He has something more 
important on his mind right now than exterminating Mur-gos."


"Nonsense, Garion. Everybody wants to exterminate the Murgos. Even / 
want to exterminate them, and I'm their king.''


"Send some ambassadors to Mal Zeth," Silk advised him. "Give them 
enough power to negotiate in good faith."


' 'Give a Murgo power? Kheldar, are you out of your mind?' *


"I can find some trustworthy men, Urgit," Oskatat assured him.


"In Cthol Murgos? Where? Under some damp rock?"


"You're going to have to start trusting people, Urgit," Belgarath 
told him.


"Oh, of course, Belgarath," Urgit said with heavy sarcasm. "I sort of 
have to trust you, but that's because you'll turn me into a frog if I 
don't."


"Just send your ambassadors to Mal Zeth, Urgit," Silk said patiently. 
"You may be pleasantly surprised at the outcome."


"Any outcome that doesn't leave me without my head would


be pleasant." Urgit squinted shrewdly at his brother. "YouVe got 
something else on your mind, Kheldar," he said. "Go ahead and spit it 
out."


"The world's right on the verge of breaking out in a bad case of 
peace," Silk told him. "My partner and I have been on a wartime 



footing for years now. Our enterprises are very likely to collapse if 
we don't find new markets—and markets for peacetime goods. Cthol 
Murgos has been at war for a generation now."


"Longer than that, actually. Technically, weVe been at war since the 
ascension of the Urga Dynasty—which I have the distinct displeasure 
of representing."


"There must be quite a hunger for peacetime amenities in your kingdom 
then—little things, like roofs for the houses, pots to cook in, 
something to cook in them—things tike that."


"I'd imagine so, yes."


"Good. Yarblek and I can ship goods to Cthol Murgos by sea and turn 
Rak Urga into the largest commercial center on the southern half of 
the continent.''


"Why would you want to? Cthol Murgos is bankrupt."


"The bottomless mines are still there, aren't they?"


"Of course, but they're all in territories controlled by the 
Malloreans."


"But if you conclude a peace treaty with Zakath, the Malloreans will 
be leaving, won't they? We'll have to move fast on this, Urgit. As 
soon as the Malloreans withdraw, you'll have to move in, not only 
with troops, but also with miners."


"What do I get out of it?"


"Taxes, brother mine, taxes. You can tax the gold miners, you can tax 
me, and you can tax my customers. You'll be rolling in money in just 
a few years."


"And the Tolnedrans will swindle me out of all of it in just a few 
weeks."


"Not too likely." Silk smirked. "Varana's the only Tolne-dran in the 
world who knows about this, and he's on Barak's ship out in the 
harbor right now. He won't get back to Tol Honeth for several 
weeks.''


"What difference does that make? Nobody can make a move of any kind 
until I conclude a peace treaty with Zakath, can they?"


"That^ not entirely true, Urgit. You and I can draw up an agreement 
guaranteeing me exclusive access to Ihe Murgo market. I'll pay you 
handsomely for it, of course, and the agreement will be


SEERESS OF KELL,


perfectly legal—and ironclad. IVe drawn up enough trade agreements to 
be able to see to that. We can hammer out the details later, but the 
important thing right now is to get something down in writing with 



both our names on it. And then, when peace breaks out, the Tolnedrans 
will swarm down here. You can show them the document and send them 
all home again. If IVe got exclusive access, we'll make millions. 
Millions, Urgit, millions!"


Both of their noses were twitching violently now.


"What sort of provisions would we want to put in this agreement of 
exclusivity?" Urgit asked cautiously.


Silk grinned broadly at him and reached inside his doublet again. 
"IVe taken the liberty of drawing up an interim document," he said, 
pulling out another parchment, "just.to save time, of course."


Sthiss Tor was still a very unattractive city, Garion noticed as 
Barak's sailors moored Seabird to the familiar wharf in the Dras-nian 
trade enclave. The hawsers were no sooner tied oif than Silk leaped 
across to the wharf and hurried up the street. ' 'Is he likely to 
have any trouble?" Garion asked Sadi.


"Not too likely," Sadi, who was crouched down behind a longboat, 
replied. "Salmissra knows who he is, and I know my queen. Her face 
doesn't show any emotion, but her curiosity is very strong. IVe spent 
the last three days composing that letter. She'll see me. I can 
practically guarantee that. Could we go below, Garion? I'd really 
rather not have anybody see me."


It was perhaps two hours later when Silk returned accompanied by a 
platoon of Nyissan soldiers. The platoon leader was familiar.


"Is that you, Issus?" Sadi called out through the porthole of the 
cabin in which he was hiding. "I thought you'd be dead by now."


"Hardly," the one-eyed assassin said.


"You're working at the palace now?"


"Yes."


"For the queen?"


"Among others. I take on a few odd jobs for Javelin now and then."


"Does the queen know about that?"


"Of course. All right, Sadi. The queen's agreed to a two-hour amnesty 
for you. We'd better hurry. I'm sure you'll want to be gone from here 
before those two hours run out. The queen's


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


fangs start to itch every time she hears your name, so let's go— 
unless you'd like to reconsider and start running right now."


"No," Sadi said. "I'll be right up. I'm bringing Polgara and 
Belgarion with me, if that's all right."



"That's up to you," Issus said with an indifferent shrug.


The palace was still infested with snakes and with dreamy-eyed 
eunuchs. A pimply-faced official with broad hips and a grotesquely 
made-up face met them at the palace door. "Well, Sadi," he said in a 
piping soprano voice, "I see youVe returned."


"And I see youVe managed to stay alive, Y'sth," Sadi replied coldly. 
"That's a shame, really."


Y'sth's eyes narrowed with undisguised hatred. "I'd be a little 
careful about what I say, Sadi," he squeaked. "You're not Chief 
Eunuch anymore. As a matter of fact, I may soon hold that position 
myself."


"May the heavens defend poor Nyissa then," Sadi murmured,


"You've heard of the queen's command that Sadi be given safe 
conduct?" Issus asked the eunuch.


"Not from her own lips."


"Salmissra doesn't have lips, Y'sth, and you've just heard about 
it—from me. Now, are you going to get out of our way? Or am I going 
to have to slit you up the middle?"


Y'sth backed away. "You can't threaten me, Issus."


"I wasn't threatening you. I was just asking a question." Then the 
assassin led die way up the polished stone corridor leading to the 
throne room.


The room they entered was unchanged and probably unchangeable. 
Thousands of years of tradition had seen to that. Salmissra, her 
coils stirring restlessly and her blunt, crowned head weaving 
sinuously in front of her mirror, occupied the throne.


"Sadi the eunuch, my Queen," Issus announced with a bow. Issus, 
Garion noted, did not prostrate himself before the throne as did 
other Nyissans.


"Ah," Salmissra hissed, "and the beautiful Polgara and King 
.Belgarion. You've fallen in with important people since you left nay 
service, Sadi."


. , "Pure.chance, my Queen," Sadi lied glibly. ^ "What is this 
vital matter that impelled you to risk your life by coming into my 
presence again?''


"'>' "Only this, Eternal Salmissra," Sadi replied. He set his red 
leather case on the floor, opened it, and removed a folded parch-


SEERESS OF KELL


ment. He casually kicked a groveling eunuch in the ribs. "Take this 



to the queen," he commanded.


"You're not enhancing your popularity here, Sadi," Garion


cautioned quietly.


"Ilm not running for public office, Garion. I can be as disagreeable 
as I choose to be."


Salmissra quickly perused the Accords of Dal Perivor. "Interesting," 
she hissed.


"Ifai sure your Majesty can see the opportunities implicit in those 
accords," Sadi said. "I felt it was my responsibility to make you 
aware of them.''


"Of course I can see what's involved, Sadi," she said. "I'm a snake, 
not a cretin.''


"Then I'll bid you good-bye, my Queen. IVe performed my


last duty to you."


Salmissra's eyes had gone flat with concentration. "Not just yet, my 
Sadi," she said in a whisper that was almost a purr. "Come a little 
closer."


"You gave your word, Salmissra," he said apprehensively.


"Oh, do be sensible, Sadi," she said. "I'm not going to bite you. It 
was all a ploy, wasn't it? You had discovered the possibility that 
these accords might be in the making and you deliberately set out to 
have yourself disgraced so that you could pursue them. Your 
negotiations on my behalf were brilliant, I must say. You have done 
very well, Sadi—even if your actions involved deceiving me. I am well 
pleased with you. Would you consent to resume your former position 
here in the palace?"


"Consent, my Queen?" he blurted almost boyishly. "I'd be overjoyed. I 
live but to serve you."


Salmissra swiveled her head around to regard the prostrated eunuchs. 
"You will all leave me now," she commanded them. ' 'I want you to go 
throughout the palace and spread the word that Sadi has been 
rehabilitated and that IVe reinstated him. If anyone cares to dispute 
my decision, send him to me, and I'll explain it to him."


They stared at her, and Garion noticed that not a few faces were 
filled with chagrin,


"How tiresome," Salmissra sighed. "They're too delighted to move. 
Please drive them out, Issus."


* 'As my Queen desires,'' Issus said, drawing his sword.' 'Did you 
want them all to survive?"
"A few of them, Issus—the more nimble ones."



The throne room was vacated almost immediately.
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


"I cannot sufficiently thank your Majesty," Sadi said.


"I'll think of a way, my Sadi, First of all, we'll both pretend that 
the motives I suggested a moment ago were genuine, won't we?"
"I understand perfectly, Divine Salmissra."
"After all," she added, "we must protect the dignity of the throne. 


You will assume your former duties and your former quarters. We'll 
think of suitable honors and rewards later." She paused. "I've missed 
you, my Sadi. I don't think anyone can ever know how much." Her head 
moved slowly around, and she regarded Polgara. "And how did your 
encounter with Zan-dramas go, Polgara?" she asked.


"Zandramas is no longer with us, Salmissra."


"Splendid. I never really liked her. And is the universe restored 
again?"
"It is, Salmissra."
"I think I'm glad of that. Chaos and disruption are irritating to a 


snake, you know. We're partial to calm and to order."
Garion noticed that a small green snake had slithered out from under 
Salmissra's throne to approach Sadi's red leather case, which lay 


open and forgotten on the marble floor. The little snake reared up to 
regard the earthenware bottle. He was purring seductively.
"And did you recover your son, your Majesty?" Salmissra asked Garion.
' 'We did, your Majesty.''
"Congratulations. Give my regards to your wife."
"I will, Salmissra."
"We must leave now," Polgara said. "Good-bye, Sadi."
"Good-bye, Lady Polgara." Sadi looked at Garion. "Goodbye, Garion," 


he said. "It's been a lot of fun, hasn't it?"
"Yes, it has," Garion agreed, shaking the eunuch's hand.
"Say good-bye to the others for me. I rather imagine we'll all see 


each other from time to time on state business, but it won't be 


exactly the same, will it?"
"No, probably not." Garion turned to follow Aunt Pol and Issus from 
the throne room.


"A moment, Polgara," Salmissra said.



"Yes?"


"YouVe changed many things here. At first, I was very angry with you, 
but now IVe had time to reconsider. Everything's turned out for the 
best after all. You have my thanks."


Polgara inclined her head.


SEERESS OF KELL


"Congratulations on your forthcoming blessing," Salmissra added.


Polgara's face gave no hint of surprise at the Serpent Queen's 
perception of her condition. "Thank you, Salmissra," she said.


They stopped off in Tbl Honeth to deliver Emperor Varana to the 
palace. The heavy-shouldered professional soldier seemed a bit 
abstracted, Garion noticed. He spoke briefly with a palace 
functionary as the group moved toward his quarters, and the official 
scurried away.


Their farewells were brief, almost abrupt. Varana was, as always, the 
soul of courtesy, but he obviously had other things on his mind.


Ce'Nedra was fuming as they left the palace. She was, as she almost 
always was now, carrying her young son and was absently running her 
fingers through his blond curls. "He was almost rude," she said 
indignantly.


Silk looked down the broad marble drive leading up to the palace. 
Spring was approaching in these northern latitudes, and the leaves 
were beginning to appear on the huge old trees lining the drive. A 
number of richly dressed Tolnedrans was almost running up the drive 
toward the palace.' 'Your uncle—or brother, whichever you want to 
call him—has something very important to attend to just now," the 
little man told Ce'Nedra.


* 'What could possibly be more important than common courtesy?"
"Cthol Murgos, at the moment."


"I don't understand."


"If Zakath and Urgit work out a peace treaty, there'll be all sorts 
of commercial opportunities in Cthol Murgos."


"I understand that," she said tartly.


"Of course you do. You're a Tolnedran, after all."


"Why aren't you doing something about it?"


"I already have, Ce'Nedra." He smiled, polishing a large ring on the 
front of his pearl-gray doublet. ' 'Varana may be very cross with me 
when he finally finds out what IVedone to him."



"What exactly did you do?"


"I'll tell you once we're back out to sea. You're still a Borune and 
you might have some residual family loyalties. I wouldn't want you to 
spoil the surprise for your uncle.


They sailed north along the west coast, and then up the River Arend 
to the shallows a few leagues west of Vo Mimbre. Then


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


they took to horse and rode through spring sunshine to the fabled 
city of the Mimbrate Arends.


The court of King Korodullin was thunderstruck by Mandor-allen's 
announcement that Mimbrate Arends had been discovered on the for side 
of the world. Courtiers and functionaries were sent scurrying off to 
various libraries to compose suitable replies to the greetings sent 
from King Oldorin.


The copy of the Accords of Dal Perivor delivered to the throne by 
Lelldorin, however, evoked troubled expressions on the faces of 
several of the more seasoned members of the court. "I do fear me, 
your Majesties," one elderly courtier observed to Korodullin and 
Mayaserana, "that our poor Arendia hath once more fallen behind the 
rest of the civilized world. Always in the past have we taken some 
comfort in the well-nigh eternal strife between Alorn and Angarak and 
the more recent conflict between Mallorean and Murgo, thinking 
perhaps that their discord in some measure excused ours. This scant 
comfort, methinks, will not be available to us. Shall we let it be 
said that only in this most tragic of kingdoms doth rancor and rude 
war still prevail? How may we hold up our heads in a peaceful world 
so long as childish bickering and idiotic intestine war do mar our 
relationships with each other?"


"I find thy words highly offensive, my Lord," a stiff-necked young 
baron denounced the old man. "No true Mimbrate could ever refuse to 
heed the stem urgings of honor."


"I speak not of Mimbrates only, my Lord," the old man replied mildly. 
"I speak of all Arends, Asturians as well as Mimbrates."


"Asturians have no honor," the baron sneered.


Lelldorin immediately went for his sword.


"Nay, my young friend," Mandorallen said, restraining the impetuous 
youth. "The insult hath been delivered here—on Mimbrate soil. Thus it 
is my responsibility—and pleasure—to answer it." He stepped forward. 
"Thy words were perhaps hasty, my Lord," he said politely to the 
arrogant baron. "I pray thee, reconsider them."


' 'I have said what I have said, Sir Knight,'' the young hothead 
declared.



"Thou hast spoken discourteously to a revered counselor of the 
king," Mandorallen said firmly, "and thou hast delivered a mortal 
insult unto our brethren of the north.''


"I have no Asturian brethren," the knight declared. "I do not deign 
to acknowledge kinship with miscreants and traitors."


Mandorallen sighed. "I pray thee, forgive me, your Maj-


SEERESS OF KELL


esty," he apologized to the king. "Mayhap thou wouldst have the 
ladies withdraw, for I propose to speak bluntly."


No force on earth, however, could have dragged the ladies of the 
court from the throne room at that time.


Mandorallen turned back toward the insolently sneering baron. "My 
Lord," the great knight said distantly, "I find thy face apelike and 
thy form misshapen. Thy beard, moreover, is an offense against 
decency, resembling more closely the scabrous fur which doth decorate 
the hinder portion of a mongrel dog than a proper adornment for a 
human face. Is it possible that thy mother, seized by some wild 
lechery, did dally at some time past with a randy goat?"


The baron went livid and he spluttered, unable to speak.


"Thou seemeth wroth, my Lord," Mandorallen said to him in that same 
deceptively mild tone, "or mayhap thine unseemly breeding hath robbed 
thy tongue of human speech." He looked critically at the baron. "I do 
perceive, my Lord, that thou art afflicted with cowardice as well as 
lack of breeding, for, in truth, no man of honor would endure such 
deadly insult as those which I have delivered unto thee without some 
response. Therefore, I fear I must goad thee further." He removed his 
gauntlet.


As all the world knew, it was customary to hurl one's gauntlet to the 
floor when issuing a challenge. Mandorallen somehow missed the floor. 
The young baron staggered backward, spitting teeth and blood. "Thou 
art no longer a youth, Sir Mandorallen," he raged. "Long hast thou 
used thy questionable reputation to avoid combat. Methinks it is time 
for thee to be truly tried."


"It speaks," Mandorallen said with feigned astonishment. "Behold this 
wonder, my Lords and Ladies—a talking dog."


The court laughed at that.


"Let us proceed to the lower court, my Lord of Fleas," Mandorallen 
continued. "Mayhap a pass at arms with so elderly and feeble a knight 
shall give thee entertainment."


The next ten minutes were very long for the insolent young baron. 
MandoraUen, who could undoubtedly have split him down the middle with 
one stroke, toyed with him instead, inflicting numerous painful and 
humiliating injuries. None of the bones the great knight broke were 



absolutely essential, however, and none of the cuts and contusions 
were incapacitating. The baron reeled about, trying desperately to 
protect himself as Mandorallen skillfully peeled his armor off him in 
chunks and pieces. Finally, apparently growing bored with the whole 
business, the champion


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM 343


of Arendia broke both of the young man's shinbones with a single 
stroke. The baron howled with pain as he fell.


"Prithee, my Lord," Mandorallen chided, "modulate thy shrieks of 
anguish, lest thou alarm the ladies. Groan quietly, an it please 
thee, and keep this unseemly writhing to a minimum." He turned 
sternly to a hushed and even frightened crowd. " And," he added,' 
'should any other here share this rash youth's prejudices, let him 
speak now, ere I sheath my sword, for truly, it is fatiguing to draw 
the weapon again and again." He looked around. "Let us proceed then, 
my Lords, for this foolishness doth weary me, and presently I shall 
grow irritable."


Whatever their views were, the knights of the royal court chose at 
that point to keep them to themselves.


Ce'Nedra gravely stepped out into the courtyard. "My knight," she 
said proudly to Mandorallen. Then her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I 
do perceive that thy prowess doth remain undiminished even though 
cruel eld doth palsy thy limbs and snow down silvery hair upon thy 
raven locks."


"Eld?" Mandorallen protested.


"I'm only teasing, Mandorallen." She laughed. "Put away your sword. 
No one else wants to play with you today."


They bade farewell to Mandorallen, Lelldorin, and Relg, who intended 
to return to Taiba and their children in Maragor from Vo Mimbre.


"Mandorallen!" King Anheg bellowed as they rode away from the city. 
"When winter gets here, come up to Val Alorn, and we'll take Barak 
and go boar-hunting."


"I surely will, your Majesty," Mandorallen promised from the 
battlements.


"I like that man," Anheg said expansively.


They took ship again and sailed north to the city of Sendar to advise 
King Fulrach of the Accords of Dal Perivor. Silk and Velvet were to 
sail north on Seabird with Barak and Anheg, and the rest of them 
planned a leisurely ride across the mountains to Algaria and from 
thence down into the Vale.


The farewells at wharfside were brief, in part because they would all 
see each other again shortly, and in part because none of mem wanted 
to appear overemotional. Garion took his leave of Silk and Barak in 
particular with a great deal of reluctance. The two oddly matched men 
had been his companions for more than half his life, and the prospect 



of being separated from them


344


SEERESS OF KELL


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


345


caused him an obscure kind of pain. The earthshaking adventures were 
over now, and things would not ever really be the same.


"Do you think you can stay out of trouble now?" Barak asked him 
gruffly, obviously feeling the same way. "It upsets Mere! when she 
wakes up in the morning to find that she's been sharing her bed with 
a bear.''


"I'll do my best," Garion promised.


"Do you remember what I told you that time just outside Winold—when 
it was so frosty that morning?" Silk asked.


Garion frowned, trying to remember.


"I said that we were living in momentous times, and that now was the 
time to be alive to share in those events."


"Oh, yes, now I remember."


"IVe had some time to think about it, and I believe I'd like to 
reconsider." Silk grinned suddenly, and Garion knew that the little 
man did not mean one word he said.


"We'll see you at the Alorn Council later this summer, Gar-ion," 
Anheg shouted across the rail as Seabird prepared to de-pan. "It's at 
your place this year. Maybe if we work on it, we can teach you to 
sing properly."


They left the city of Sendar early the next morning and took the high 
road to Muros. Although it was not, strictly speaking, necessary, 
Garion had decided to see his friends al! home. The gradual eroding 
of their company as they had sailed north had been depressing, and 
Garion was not quite ready yet to be separated from all of them.


They rode across Sendaria in late-spring sunshine, crossed the 
mountains into Algaria, and reached the Stronghold a week or so 
later. King Cho-Hag was overjoyed at the outcome of the meeting at 
Korim, and startled at the results of the impromptu conference at Dal 
Perivor. Because Cho-Hag was far more stable than the brilliant but 
sometimes erratic Anheg, Belgarath and Garion went into somewhat 
greater detail about the astonishing elevation of Eriond.


' 'He always was a strange boy,' * Cho-Hag mused in his deep, quiet 
voice when they had finished, "but then, this entire series of events 
had been strange. WeVe been privileged to live in important times, my 
friends."



"We have indeed," Belgarath agreed. "Let's hope that things quiet 
down now—for a while, at least."


' 'Father," Hettar said then,' 'King Urgit of the Murgos asked me to 
convey his appreciation to you."


"You met the Murgo King? And we're not at war?" Cho-Hag was amazed.


"Urgit's not like any other Murgo youVe ever met, Father," Hettar 
told him. "He wanted to thank you for killing Taur Urgas."


"That's a novel sentiment coming from a son."


Garion explained Urgit's peculiar background, and the normally 
reserved King of Algaria burst out in peal after peal of laughter. "I 
knew Prince Kheldar's father," he said. "That's exactly the kind of 
thing he would have done."


The ladies were gathered about Geran and about Adara's growing brood 
of children. Garion's cousin was at the ungainly stage of her 
pregnancy, and she sat most of the time now with a dreamy smile on 
her face as she listened to the inexorable changes nature was 
imposing on her body. The revelation of the dual pregnancies of 
Ce'Nedra and Polgara filled Adara and Queen Silar with wonder, and 
Poledra sat among them, smiling mysteriously. Poledra, Garion was 
sure, knew far more than she was revealing.


After about ten days, Durnik grew restless. "WeVe been away from home 
a long while, Pol," he said one morning. "There's still time to put 
in a crop, and I'm sure we'll need to tidy up a bit—mend fences, 
check the roof, that sort of thing."


"Anything you say, dear," she agreed placidly. Pregnancy had notably 
altered Polgara. Nothing seemed to upset her now.


On the day of their departure, Garion went down to the courtyard to 
saddle Chretienne. Although there were plenty of Algar clansmen here 
in the Stronghold who would have been more than willing to have 
performed the task for him, he feigned a desire to attend to it 
himself. The others were engaged in extended farewells, and Garion 
knew that about one more goodbye right now would probably reduce him 
to tears.


"That's a very good horse, Garion."


It was his cousin Adara. Her face had the serenity that pregnancy 
bestows upon women, and looking at her convinced Garion once again 
just how lucky Hettar really was. Since he had first met her, there 
had always been a special bond and a special kind of love between 
Garion and Adara. "Zakath gave him to me," he replied. If they 
confined their conversation to the subject of horses, he was fairly 
certain that he'd be able to keep his emotions under control.


Adara, however, was not there to talk about horses. She put one hand 
gently to the back of his neck and kissed him. "Farewell, my 
kinsman," she said softly.


"Good-bye, Adara," he said, his voice growing thick. "Good-bye."



1


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


347


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


King Belgarion of Riva, Overlord of the West, Lord of the Western 
Sea, Godslayer, and general all-round hero, had an extended argument 
with his co-ruler, Queen Ce'Nedra of Riva, Imperial Princess of the 
Tolnedran Empire and Jewel of the House of Borune. The subject of 
their discussion hinged on the question of just who should have the 
privilege of carrying Crown Prince Geran, Heir to the Throne of Riva, 
hereditary Keeper of the Orb, and, until recently, the Child of Dark. 
The conversation lasted for quite some time as the royal pair rode 
with their family from the Stronghold of the Algars to the Vale of 
Aldur.


Ultimately, albeit somewhat reluctantly, Queen Ce'Nedra relented. As 
Belgarath the Sorcerer had predicted, Queen Ce'Nedra's arms had at 
last grown tired of continually carrying her young son, and she 
relinquished him with some relief.


"Make sure he doesn't fall off," she warned her husband.


346


"Yes, dear," Garion replied, settling his son on Chretienne's ;;neck 
just in front of the saddle.


"And don't let him get sunburned."


Now that he had been rescued from Zandramas, Geran was a good-natured 
little boy. He spoke in half phrases, his small fece very serious as 
he tried to explain things to his father. Very importantly, he 
pointed out deer and rabbits as they rode south, and he dozed from 
time to time, resting his blond, curly head against his father's 
chest in absolute contentment. He was restive one morning, however, 
and Garion, without really thinking about it, removed the Orb from 
the pommel of his sword and gave it to his son to play with. Geran 
was delighted, and with a kind of bemused wonder he held die glowing 
jewel between his hands to stare with fascination into its depths. 
Often he would hold it to his ear to listen by the hour to its song. 
The Orb, it appeared, was even more delighted than the little boy.


"That's really very disturbing, Garion," Beldin chided. "YouVe turned 
the most powerful object in the universe into a child's plaything."


"It's his, after all—or it will be. They ought to get to know each 
other, wouldn't you say?"


"What if he loses it?"


"Beldin, do you really think the Orb can be lost?"


The game, however, came rather abruptly to an end when Poledra reined 



in her horse beside the Overlord of the West.


"He's too young to be doing this sort of thing, Garion," she said 
reprovingly. She reached out her arm and a curiously twisted and 
knotted stick appeared in her hand. "Put the Orb away, Garion," she 
said. "Give him this to play with instead."


"That's the stick with only one end, isn't it?" he said suspiciously, 
remembering the toy Belgarath had once shown him in the cluttered 
tower—the toy that had occupied Aunt Pol's mind during her babyhood.


Poledra nodded. "It should keep him busy," she said.


Geran willingly gave up the Orb for the new toy. The Orb, however, 
muttered complaints in Garion's ear for die next several hours.


They reached the cottage a day or so later. Poledra looked rather 
critically down from the hUltop above it. "You've made some changes, 
I see," she said to her daughter.


"Do you mind, mother?" Aunt Pol asked.


"Of course not, Polgara. A house should reflect the character of its 
owner."


SEERESS OF KELL


"I'm sure there are a million things to do," Durnik said. "Those 
fences really need attention. We'll have hundreds of Algarcows in the 
dooryard if I don't mend them."


"And I'm sure the cottage needs a thorough cleaning," his wife added.


They rode down the hill, dismounted, and went inside. "Impossible," 
Polgara exclaimed, looking about in dismay at the negligibly thin 
film of dust lying over everything. "We'll need some brooms, 
Durnik," she said.


"Of course, dear," he agreed.


Belgarath was rummaging through the pantry.


"None of that now, father," Polgara told him crisply. "I want you and 
Uncle Beldin and Garion to go out there and clear the weeds out of my 
kitchen garden."


' 'What?'' he demanded incredulously.


"I'll want to plant tomorrow," she told him. "Open the ground for me, 
father."


Garion, Beldin, and Belgarath rather disconsolately went out to the 
lean-to where Durnik kept his tools.


Garion looked with a sense of defeat at Aunt Pol's kitchen garden, 
which seemed quite large enough to provide food for a small army.



Beldin gave the ground a iew desultory chops with his hoe. "This is 
ridiculous!" he burst out. He threw down his hoe and pointed one 
finger at the ground. As he moved the finger, a neat furrow of 
freshly plowed earth moved resolutely across the garden.


"Aunt Pol will be angry," Garion warned the hunchback.


"Not if she doesn't catch us," Beldin growled, looking at the cottage 
where Polgara, Poledra, and the Rivan Queen were busy with brooms and 
dustcloths. "Your turn, Belgarath," he said. "Try to keep the furrows 
straight."


"Let's see if we can coax some ale from Pol before we rake it," 
Beldin suggested when they had finished. "This is hot work—even doing 
it this way."


As it happened, Durnik had also returned to the house briefly to 
refresh himself before returning to the fence line. The ladies were 
busily wielding their brooms, stirring up the dust, which, Garion 
observed, stubbornly settled back on places already swept. Dust was 
like that sometimes.


"Where's Geran?" Ce'Nedra suddenly exclaimed, dropping her broom and 
looking around in dismay.


Polgara's eyes went distant. "Oh, dear," she sighed. "Dur-


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


nik," she said quite calmly, "go fish him out of the creek, please."


"What?" Ce'Nedra almost screamed as Dumik, moving rapidly, went 
outside.


"He's all right, Ce'Nedra," Polgara assured her. "He just fell into 
the creek, that's all."


"That's all?" Ce'Nedra's voice went up another octave. -


"It's a common pastime for Hide boys," Polgara told her. "Garion did 
it, Eriond did it, and now Geran's doing it. Don't ,worry. He swims 
rather well, actually."


"How did he learn to swim?"


"I haven't the faintest idea. Maybe little boys are bom with the 
ability—some of them, anyway. Garion was the only one who tried 
drowning.''


"I was starting to get the hang of swimming, Aunt Pol," he objected, 
"before I came up under that log and hit my head." |j Ce'Nedra 
stared at him in horror, and then she quite suddenly /'broke down and 
began to cry.


Dumik was carrying Geran by the back of his tunic when he returned. 



The little boy was dripping wet, but seemed quite happy, nonetheless. 
"He's really very muddy, Pol," the smith noted. "Eriond used to get 
wet, but I don't think he ever got this muddy."


"Take him outside, Ce'Nedra," Polgara instructed. "He's dripping mud 
on our clean floor. Garion, there's a washtub in the lean-to. Put it 
in the dooryard and fill it." She smiled at \ Geran's mother. "It's 
about time for him to have a bath anyway. For some reason, little 
boys always seem to need bathing. Gar-; ion used to get dirty even 
while he was asleep." \ On one perfect evening, Garion joined 
Belgarath just outside j the cottage door. "You seem a bit pensive, 
Grandfather. What's r the problem?"


"IVe been thinking about living arrangements. Poledra's going to be 
moving back into my tower with me."


"So?"


"We're probably going to become involved in a decade or so of 
cleaning—and hanging window curtains. How can a man took out at the 
world with window curtains in his way?"


"Maybe she won't make such an issue of it. Back on Perivor, Ac said 
that wolves aren't as compulsively tidy as birds are."


"She lied, Garion. Believe me, she lied." TVra guests rode up a few 
days later. Despite the fact that it was almost summer now, Yarblek 
still wore his shabby felt over-


SEERESS OF KELL


coat, his shaggy fur hat, and a disconsolate expression. Vella, the 
overwhelmingly sensual Nadrak dancer, wore her usual tight-fitting 
black leather.


"What are you up to, Yarblek?" Belgarath asked Silk's partner.


"This wasn't my idea, Belgarath. Vella insisted."


"All right," Vella said in a commanding voice, "I haven't got all 
day. Let's get on with this. Get everybody oat of the house. I want 
witnesses to this."


"What exactly are we witnessing, Vella?" Ce'Nedra asked the dark-
haired girl.


"Yarblek's going to sell me."


"Vella!" Ce'Nedra exclaimed, outraged. "That's revolting'- ''


"Oh, bother that," Vella snapped. Bother was not precisely


the word Vella used. She looked around. "Are we all here?"


"That's everybody," Belgarath told her.



"Good." She slid down from her saddle and sat cross-legged 
onthegrass. "Let's get down to business. You—Beldin, or Feld-egast, 
or whatever you want to call yourself—one time back in Mallorea, you 
said you wanted to buy me. Were you serious?"


Beldin blinked. "Well—" he floundered. "I suppose I was, sort of."
"I want a yes or a no, Beldin," she said crisply.
"All right then, yes. You're not a bad-looking wench, and you curse 


and swear rather prettily."
"Good. What are you prepared to offer for me?"
Beldin choked, his face going suddenly red.
"Don't dawdle, Beldin," she told him. "We haven't got all day for 


this. Make Yarblek an offer."
'*Are you serious?" Yarblek exclaimed.
"IVe never been more serious in my life. How much are you willing to 


pay for me, Beldin?"
"Vella," Yarblek protested, "this is absolute nonsense."
"Shut up, Yarblek. Well, Beldin? How much?"
"Everything I own," he replied, his eyes filled with a kind of 


wonder.


"That's a little unspecific. Give me a number. We can't haggle 
without a number,"
Beldin scratched at his matted beard. "Belgarath," he said, ' 'have 


you still got that diamond you found in Maragor that time before the 
Tolnedran invasion?''
"I think so. It's somewhere in my tower, I believe."
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM


"So's half the clutter in the world."


"It's in the bookcase on the south wall," Poledra supplied, "'behind 
that rat-chewed copy of the Darine Codex."
"Really?" Belgarath said. "How did you know about that?"
"Remember what Cyradis called me at Rheon?"
"The woman who watches?"
"Does that answer your question?"
"Would you lend it to me?" Beldin asked his brother. "I suppose 



'give' would be a better word. I doubt that I'll ever be in a 


position to repay you."
"Certainly, Beldin," Belgarath said. "I wasn't really using it 
anyway.''


"Could you get it for me?"
Belgarath nodded, and then he concentrated, holding out his band.
The diamond that suddenly appeared in his hand was almost like a 


chunk of ice, except that it had a definite pinkish cast to it.
It was also somewhat larger than an apple.
"Torak's teeth and toenails!" Yarblek exclaimed.
"An" would th' two of ye, consumed with greed though ye may be, 


consider this triflin' thing a suitable price fer this be-guilin' 
wench yer both so set on sellin'?" Beldin said, lapsing into 
Feldegast's brogue and pointing at the stone resting on Belgarath *s 
hand.


"That's worth a hundred times more than has ever been paid for any 


woman since time began," Yarblek said in an awed tone.
"Then that ought to be about the right price," Velta said 
triumphantly. "Yarblek, when you get back to Gar og Nadrak, I want 
you to spread that word around. I want every woman in the kingdom for 
the next hundred years to cry herself to sleep every night just 
thinking about the price I brought."


"You're a cruel woman, Vella." Yarblek grinned.
"It's a question of pride," she said, tossing her blue-black hair. 
"There, now, that didn't take too long at all, did it?" She rose to 


her feet and dusted off her hands. "Yarblek," she said, "have you got 
my ownership papers?"
"Yes."
"Get them and sign me over to my new owner."
"We have to divide up the price first, Vella." He looked mournfully 


at the pink stone. "It's really going to be a shame to split that 
beauty," he said.
"Keep it," she said indifferently. "I don't need it."
352
SEERESS OF KELL
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
353
"Are you sure?"



"It's yours. Get those papers, Yarblek."
"Are you really sure about all this, Vella?" he asked her again.
"IVe never been more sure of anything in my life."
"But he's so ugly—sorry, Beldin, but it's the truth. Vella, what 


could possibly have made you choose Aim?"
"Only one thing," she said.
"What's that?"
"He can fly." Her tone was filled with a kind of wonder.
Yarblek shook his head and went to his saddlebag. He brought back the 


ownership papers and signed them over to Beldin.
"An' what would I be wantin' with these?" Beldin asked. The brogue, 


Garion realized, was a way to hide emotions so deep that the 
hunchback was almost afraid of them.
"Keep them or throw them away." Vella shrugged. "They don't have any 


meaning for me anymore.'' '
"Very well then, me darlin'," he said. He crumpled the papers up into 
a ball and held the ball out on the palm of his hand. The wad of 
paper burst into flame and burned down to ashes. "There," he said, 


blowing the ashes away. "Now they won't be troublin' us anymore. Is 
that it? Is that all there is to it?"
4 'Not quite,'' she said. She bent and removed the two daggers from 


her boot tops. Then she took the other two from her belt. "Here," she 
said, her eyes now very soft, "I won't be needing these anymore." She 
handed the daggers to her new owner.


"Oh," Polgara said, her eyes filling with tears.
' 'What is it, Pol?'' Durnik asked, his face filled with concern.
"That's the most sacred thing a Nadrak woman can do," Pofgara 


answered, touching at her eyes with the hem of her apron. "She just 


totally surrendered herself to Beldin. That's just beautiful."
*'An' what would I be needin' knives fer?" Beldin asked with a gentle 
smile. One by one he tossed the daggers into the air, where they 
vanished in little puffs of smoke. He turned. "Goodbye, Belgarath," 
he said to the old sorcerer. "WeVe had some fun, haven't we?"


"IVe enjoyed it." Belgarath had tears in his eyes.


"And Durnik," Beldin said, "it looks as if you're here to replace 
me."
"You talk like a man about to die," Durnik said.
"Oh, no, Durnik, I'm not going to die. I'm just going to change a 



bit. You two say good-bye to the twins for me. Explain


things to them. Enjoy your good fortune, Yarblek, but I still think I 
got the better of that bargain. Garion, try to keep the world 
running."


"Eriond's supposed to take care of that."


"I know, but keep an eye on him. Don't let him get into trouble."


Beldin didn't say anything to Ce'Nedra. He simply kissed her rather 
noisily. Then he also kissed Poledra. She regarded him fondly, her 
golden eyes filled with love.


"Good-bye, old cow," he said at last to Polgara, slapping her 
familiarly on the bottom. He looked meaningfully at her waist. "I 
told you that you were going to get fat if you kept eating all those 
sweets.''


She kissed him then with tears in her eyes.


"An' now, me darlin'," he said to Vella, "let's be walkin' a bit 
apart. There's much t' be said before we leave.'' Then the two of 
them walked hand in hand up toward the top of the hill. When they 
reached it, they stopped and spoke together for a while. Then they 
embraced and exchanged a long, fervent kiss, and then, while they 
were still locked in each other's arms, they shimmered and seemed 
almost to dissolve.


The one hawk was very familiar. The bands on his wings were electric 
blue. The other hawk, however, had lavender bands on her wings. 
Together, they thrust themselves into the air and rose in an 
effortless spiral up and up through the glowing air. Higher and 
higher they spun in that formal wedding dance until they were no more 
than a pair of specks winging up and out over the Vale,


And then they were gone, never again to return.


Garion and the others remained at the cottage for another two weeks. 
Then, noting that Polgara and Durnik were beginning to show signs of 
wanting to be alone, Poledra suggested that the rest of them go on to 
the Vale. Promising to return that evening, Garion and Ce'Nedra took 
their son and the nearly grown wolf pup and accompanied Belgarath and 
Poledra down into the heart of the Vale.


They reached Belgarath's familiar squat tower about noon and started 
up the stairway to the circular room at the top. "Watch that step," 
the old man said absendy as they climbed. This time, however, Garion 
stopped, letting the rest go on ahead. He reached down, heaved up the 
stone slab that was the step, and looked under it. A round stone 
about the size of a hazelnut lay


SEERESS OF KELL


under the stab. Garion removed the stone, put it in his pocket, and 
replaced the slab. He noticed that the other steps were worn in the 



center, but this one was not, and he wondered just how many 
centuries—or eons—the old man had been stepping over it. He went on 
up, feeling rather pleased with himself.


"What were you doing?" Belgarath asked him.


"Fixing that step," Garion replied. He handed the old man the round 
pebble. "It was rocking because this was under it. It's steady now."


"I'm going to miss that step, Garion," his grandfather complained. He 
stared at the pebble, frowning. "Oh," he said, "now I remember. I put 
this under die step on purpose."


"Whatever for?" Ce'Nedra asked him.


"It's a diamond, Ce'Nedra." Belgarath shrugged. "I wanted to find out 
how long it would take to grind it down to a powder.''


"A diamond?" she gasped, her eyes widening.


"You can have it, if you'd like," he said, tossing it to her.


Then, taking into account her Tolnedran heritage, Ce'Nedra performed 
an act of sheer unselfishness. "No, thanks, Belgarath," she said. "I 
wouldn't want to separate you from an old friend. Garion and I can 
put it back where it was when we leave."


Belgarath laughed.


Geran and the young wolf were playing together near one of the 
windows. There was a fair amount of maiding involved in their play, 
and the wolf was cheating outrageously, seizing every chance to lick 
Geran's neck and face, which always sent the little boy into 
uncontrolled giggling.


Poledra was looking around at die cluttered circular room. "It's good 
to be home," she said. She was fondly caressing the back of the owl-
clawed chair. "I spent almost a thousand years perched on this 
chair," she told Garion.


"What were you doing, Grandmother?" Ce'Nedra asked her. Ce'Nedra had 
begun, perhaps without realizing it, to mimic Garion's customary 
forms of address.


"Watching him," the tawny-haired woman replied. "I knew that 
eventually he'd get around to noticing me. I didn't really think it 
would take him all that long, though. I really had to do something 
out of the ordinary to get his attention.''


"Oh?"


"I chose this form," Poledra said, touching one hand to her breast. 
"He seemed more interested in me as a woman than he did when I was an 
owl—or a wolf."


THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM



"There was something I always meant to ask you,'' Belgarath said. 
"There weren't any other wolves around when we met. What were you 
doing out there?"


"Waiting for you."


He blinked. "You knew I was coming?"


"Of course."


"When was that?" Ce'Nedra asked.


"Just after Torak stole the Orb from Aldur," Belgarath replied, his 
mind obviously on something else. "My Master had sent me north to 
advise Belar of what had happened. I took the form of the wolf to 
make better time. Poledra and I met somewhere in what's now northern 
Algaria." He looked at his wife. "Who told you I was coming?" he 
asked her.


"No one had to tell me, Belgarath," she replied. "I was born knowing 
you'd come—someday. You certainly took your time about it, though." 
She looked around critically. "I think we should tidy up a bit 
here," she suggested, "and those windows definitely need some 
curtains."


"See?" Belgarath said to Garion.


There were kisses and embraces and handshakes and a few 
tears—although not really very many of those. Then Ce'Nedra picked up 
Geran, and Garion the wolf, and they started down the stairs.


"Oh," Garion said when they were halfway down, "give me the diamond. 
I'll put it back where it belongs."


"Wouldn't an ordinary pebble work just as well, Garion?" Her eyes 
were suddenly calculating.


"Ce'Nedra, if you want a diamond so badly, I'll buy you one."


"I know, Garion, but if I keep this one I'll have two."


He laughed, firmly took the diamond from her tightly clenched little 
fist, and returned it to its place under the step.


They mounted their horses and rode slowly away from the tower in the 
bright sunshine of a spring noon. Ce'Nedra held Geran, and the wolf 
scampered alongside, dashing out from time to time to chase rabbits.


After they had gone a little way, Garion heard a familiar whisper of 
sound. He reined Chretienne in. "Ce'Nedra," he said, pointing back at 
the tower, "look."


She looked back. "I don't see anything."


"Wait. They'll be out in a moment."


"They?"



"Grandmotherand Grandfather. There they come now."
"W-
356
SEERESS OF KELL
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
357
Two wolves bounded out through the open door of the tower and ran 


across the grassy plain, matching stride for stride as they ran. 
There was a kind of unbridled freedom and an intense joy in the way 
they ran.


"I thought they were going to get started with the cleaning," 
Ce'Nedra said.


"This is more important, Ce'Nedra. Much, much more important."
They reached the cottage just as the sun was going down. Durnik was 
still busy in the fields, and they could hear Polgara singing softly 
in the kitchen. Ce'Nedra went inside, and Garion and the wolf crossed 
the field to join Durnik.


The meal that evening consisted of a roast goose and everything that 
went with it: gravy, dressing, three kinds of vegetables, and freshly 
baked bread, still hot from the oven and dripping with butter.


"Where did you get the goose, Pol?" Durnik asked.
"I cheated," she admitted calmly.
"Pol!"
"I'll explain it some other time, dear. Let's eat it before it all 


gets cold."
After supper they sat near the fire. They didn't really need a 
fire—indeed, the doors and windows were even open—but fire and hearth 


were a part of home, sometimes necessary even when not, strictly 
speaking, needed.
Polgara held Geran, her cheek against his curls and a dreamy look of 


contentment on her face. "Just practicing," she said quietly to 


Ce'Nedra.
"There's no way you could ever forget that, Aunt Pol," the Rivan 
Queen said. "You've raised hundreds of little boys."


"Well, not quite that many, dear, but it never hurts to keep one's 


hand in."
The wolf lay sound asleep on the hearth before the fire. He was 
making small yipping noises, however, and his feet were twitching.



"He's dreaming." Durnik smiled.


"I wouldn't be surprised," Garion said. ' 'He spent the whole time 
while we were coming back from Grandfather's tower chasing rabbits. 
He didn't catch any, though. I don't think he was really trying."


"Speaking of dreaming," Aunt Pol said, rising to her feet. "You two 
and your son and your puppy will want an early start in the morning. 
Why don't we all go to bed?"


They arose at first light the next morning, ate a hearty breakfast, 
and then Durnik and Garion went out to saddle the horses.


The farewells were not prolonged. There was no real need for extended 
farewells among these four, because they would never really be apart. 
There were a few brief words, a few kisses, and a gruff handshake 
between Durnik and Garion, and then the Rivan King and his family 
rode up the hill.


Halfway to the top, Ce'Nedra turned in her saddle. "Aunt Pol," she 
called, "I love you."


"Yes, dear," Polgara called back, "I know. I love you, too."


And then Garioii led the way on up the hill and toward home.


EPILOGUE


It was raid-autumn. The Alorn Council had taken place at Riva late 
that summer, and it had been boisterous, even rowdy. It had been 
attended by many who would not normally have been present. Non-Alorn 
rulers—and their queens—had virtually outnumbered the Alorn monarchs. 
Ladies from all over the west had descended upon Ce'Nedra and 
Polgara, showering them with congratulations, and young children had 
gathered about Geran, attracted by his sunny disposition—and by the 
fact that the little boy had somehow discovered a long-unused route 
to the pastry kitchen and all the treasures contained therein. If the 
truth were to be known, there was very little in the way of business 
conducted that year. And then, as always, a series of late-summer 
storms announced that the meetings were at an end and it was time for 
the visitors to begin thinking seriously about going home. This had 
always been the advantage of holding the council in Riva. Although 
guests might prefer to linger, the


358


EPILOGUE


359


steady march of the seasons persuaded them mat it was time to depart.


Affairs had settled down in Riva. There had been a wild celebration 
when the king and his wife had at last returned with Crown Prince 
Geran, but no people, no matter how emotional, could celebrate 
forever, and after a few weeks things had returned to normal.



Garion spent most days closeted with Kail now. Many decisions had 
been made in his absence. Although, almost without exception, he 
approved of Kail's handling of those matters, he still needed to be 
briefed on them and some of those decisions needed to be ratified by 
the royal signature.


Ce'Nedra's pregnancy was proceeding along expected lines. The little 
queen bloomed and swelled and became increasingly short-tempered. The 
peculiar hungers for exotic foods that sometimes beset ladies in that 
delicate condition were not nearly as much fun for the Rivan Queen as 
they were for most other ladies. There has long been a suspicion in 
the male half of the population that these gastronomical yearnings 
are nothing more than a peculiar form of entertainment for their 
wives. The more exotic and unobtainable a given food might be and the 
more extreme the lengths to which a doting husband must go to put his 
hands on it, the more the ladies would insist that they would 
absolutely die if it were not provided in abundance. Gar-ion 
privately suspected that the whole business involved little more than 
a desire for reassurance. If a husband proved willing to disassemble 
the known world to obtain strawberries out of season or strange 
seafoods normally found only in waters half a world away, it was a 
sure sign that he still loved his wife, despite her disappearing 
waistline. It was not nearly as much fun for Ce'Nedra, because each 
time she made a seemingly impossible request, Garion simply stepped 
into the next room, created the foodstuff in question on the spot, 
and presented it to her— usually on a silver platter. Ce'Nedra grew 
increasingly sulky about the whole business and finally gave up on it 
entirely.


And then late on a very frosty autumn evening, an ice-coated 
Mallorean ship entered the harbor, and her captain delivered a packet 
of neatly folded parchment bearing the seal of Zakath of Mallorea. 
Garion thanked the seaman profusely, offered him and his crew the 
hospitality of the Citadel, and then immediately carried Zakath's 
letter to the royal apartment. Ce'Nedra was sitting by the fire, 
knitting. Geran and the young wolf were lying togetheron the hearth, 
both of them dozing and twitching slightly


SEERESS OF KELL


as they dreamed. The two always slept together. Ce'Nedra had finally 
given up the idea of trying to keep them separate at night, since no 
door in the world could be effectively locked from both sides.


"What is it, dear?" she asked as Garion entered.


*'We just received a letter from Zakath," he replied.


"Oh? What does he say?"


"I haven't read it yet."


"Open it, Garion. I'm dying to find out what's happening in Mal 
Zeth."


Garion broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. "For his Majesty, 



King Belgarion of Riva," he read aloud, "Overlord of the West, 
Godstayer, Lord of the Western Sea, and for his revered Queen, 
Ce'Nedra, co-ruler of the Isle of the Winds, Princess of the 
Tolnedran Empire, and Jewel of the House of Borune—from Zakath, 
Emperor of all of Angarak.


"I hope this finds you both in good health and I send greetings to 
your daughter, whether she has already arrived or if her birth be 
still impending. (I have not, I hasten to assure you, become suddenly 
clairvoyant. Cyradis said once that she was no longer blessed with 
her vision. I have come to suspect that she was not entirely truthful 
on that score.)


"A great deal has happened here since we parted. The imperial court, 
I suspect, was more than a little pleased by the alteration in my 
personality which was the direct result of our journey to Korim and 
by what happened there. I must have been an impossible ruler to deal 
with. This is not to suggest that all here in Mal Zeth has become a 
fairy tale of good feeling and felicity. The general staff was 
mightily upset when I declared my intention to conclude a peace 
treaty with King Urgit. You know how generals are. If you take their 
favorite war away from them, they snivel and complain and pout like 
spoiled children. I had to step on a few necks quite firmly. 
Incidentally, I recently promoted Atesca to the position of 
commander-in-chief of the armies of Mallorea. This also enraged the 
other members of the general staff, but no one can please everybody.


' 'Urgit and I have been in communication with each other, and I find 
him to be a rare fellow—quite nearly as droll as his brother. I think 
we'll get on well together. The bureaucracy very nearly went into 
collective apoplexy when I announced the autonomy of the Dalasian 
Protectorates. It's my feeling


EPILOGUE


that the Dais must be permitted to go their own way, but many members 
of the bureaucracy have vested interests there, and they sniveled and 
complained and pouted almost as much as the generals did. That came 
to an abrupt halt however, when I announced my intention to have 
Brador conduct a thorough audit of the affairs of every bureau chief 
in the government. The sound of a massive divestiture of all holdings 
in the protectorates was well-nigh deafening.


"Rather surprisingly, an ancient Grolim arrived at the palace shortly 
after we returned from Dal Perivor. I was about to send him away, but 
Eriond insisted rather firmly that he remain. The old fellow had some 
unpronounceable Grolim name, but Eriond changed it to Pelath for some 
reason. The old boy has a sweet disposition, but he sometimes speaks 
very strangely. The language he uses sounds very much like that of 
the Ashabine Oracles or the Mallorean Gospels of the Dais. Very 
peculiar."


"I'd almost forgotten that," Garion interrupted his reading.


"What's that, dear?" Ce'Nedra asked him, looking up from her 
knitting.



"Do you remember that old Grolim we met in Peldane? That night when 
the chicken bit you?"


"Yes. He seemed like a very nice old man."


"He was more than that, Ce'Nedra. He was also a prophet, and the 
Voice told me that he was going to become Eriond's first disciple."


"Eriond has a very long arm, hasn't he? Keep reading, Garion."


"Cyradis, Pelath, and I have conferred extensively with Eriond and 
we've all agreed that his status should remain concealed for the time 
being at least. He is such an innocent that I don't want to expose 
him to the depths of human depravity and chicanery just yet. Let's 
not discourage him so early in his career. We all remembered Torak 
and his overpowering hunger for worship, but when we offered to 
worship Eriond, he just laughed at us. Did Polgara perhaps leave 
something out when she was raising him?


"We did make one exception, however. A group of us, accompanied by 
the third, seventh, and ninth armies, visited Mal Yaska. The Temple 
Guardmen and Chandim attempted to flee, but Atesca rather effectively 
rounded them up. I waited


SEERESS OF KELL


until Eriond was off for his morning ride on that unnamed horse of 
his and spoke quite firmly with the assembled Gro-lims. I didn't want 
to cause Eriond any distress, but I indicated to the Grolims that I 
would be most unhappy if they did not change their religious 
affiliation forthwith. Atesca stood at my side, playing with his 
sword, so they immediately got my drift. Then, with no warning at 
all, Eriond appeared in the Temple. (How does that horse of his move 
so fast? The last time he had been observed that morning, he had been 
more than three leagues from the city.) He told them that black robes 
were not really all that attractive and that white ones would become 
them much more. Then, wim no more than a faint smile, he actually 
changed the color of every Grolim robe in the temple. So much for his 
anonymity in that part of Mallorea, I'm afraid. Next he told them 
that they'd no longer need their knives, and every dagger in the 
place disappeared. Then he extinguished the fires in the sanctum and 
decorated the altar with flowers. I have since been advised that 
these trifling modifications are universal here in Mallorea. Urgit is 
presently investigating to determine if similar conditions prevail in 
Cthol Murgos. Our new God, I think, will take a bit of getting used 
to.


' 'To make it short, the Grolims all fell down on their faces. I 
still suspect that at least some of those conversions may have been 
fraudulent, so I 'm not contemplating a demobilization of the army 
just yet. Eriond told them to get back on their feet and go out and 
care for the sick, the poor, the orphaned, and the homeless.


"On our way back to Mal Zeth, Pelath pulled his horse in beside mine, 
smiled that sickeningly sweet smile of his at me, and said, 'My 



Master believes that it's time for you to change your status, Emperor 
of Mallorea.* That gave me a bit of a turn. I was about half afraid 
that Eriond might suggest that I abdicate and take up sheepherding or 
something. Then Pelath went on. 'My Master believes that youVe 
delayed something for quite long enough.'


"Oh?" I said cautiously.


' 'The delay is causing the Seeress of Kell a certain distress. My 
Master strongly suggests that you ask her to marry you. He wants that 
settled before anything comes along to interfere."


' 'So, when we got to Mal Zeth, I made what I thought was a very 
sensible proposal—and Cyradis turned me down flat!


EPILOGUE


I thought my heart would stop. Then our mystic little Seeress waxed 
eloquent. She told me—at great length—what she thought of sensible. 
I've never seen her behave that way before. She was actually 
passionate, and some of the words she used, though archaic, were 
hardly flattering. I had to look some of them up, they were so 
obscure."


"Good for her," Ce'Nedra said fiercely.


"Just to make peace," the letter went on, "I fell to my knees and 
made a fatuous and embarrassingly gushy proposal, and she was moved 
by my eloquence to relent and accept me."


"Men!" Ce'Nedra snorted.


"The cost of die wedding very nearly bankrupted me. I even had to 
borrow money from one of Kheldar's business associates—at an 
outrageous rate of interest. Eriond officiated, of course, and having 
a God perform the ceremony really nailed down the lid on my coffin. 
At any rate, Cyradis and I were married last month, and I can truly 
say that I've never been happier in my life."


"Oh," Ce'Nedra said with that familiar catch in her voice, 'dial's 
just lovely." She went to the handkerchief. "There's more," Garion 
told her. "Keep going," she said, dabbing at her eyes.


"The Angarak Malloreans were not really pleased that I had chosen to 
marry a Dal, but they're wisely keeping their displeasure to 
themselves. I *ve changed a great deal, but not thai much. Cyradis is 
having some difficulty adapting to her new status, and I simply 
cannot convince her that jewels are a necessary adornment for an 
empress. She wears flowers instead, and the slavish imitation of the 
ladies of the .court has caused universal despair in the hearts of 
the jewelers here in Mal Zeth.


"I. was going to have my distant cousin, the Archduke Otrath, 
shortened by the length of his head, but he's such a pathetic foot 
that I discarded the idea and sent him home instead. Following a 
suggestion your friend Beldin made in Dal Perivor, I ordered the 



cretin to set his wife up in a palace in the City of Melcene and 
never to go near her again for the


364


SEERESS OF KELL


EPILOGUE


365


rest of his life. I understand that the lady is something of a 
scandal in Melcene, but she probably deserves some recompense for 
putting up with that silly ass for all those years.


"That's about all from here, Garion. We're really hungry for news of 
all our friends and we send them our warmest greetings and affection.


"Sincerely, "JCstf Zakath and Empress Cyradis


"Note that I'm deleting that ostentatious prefix. Oh, by the way, my 
cat was unfaithful to me again a few months ago. Would Ce'Nedra like 
a kitten?—or maybe one for your new daughter? I can send two, if 
you'd like. "Z"


In the early winter of that year, the Rivan Queen grew increasingly 
discontent, a discontentment and a waspish temper almost in direct 
proportion to her increasing girth. Some ladies might be uniquely 
suited for pregnancy; the Rivan Queen was uniquely not. She was 
snippy with her husband; she was short with her son; and on one 
occasion she even made an awkward attempt to kick the un-offending 
young wolf. The wolf nimbly dodged the kick, then looked with some 
puzzlement at Garion. "Has one somehow given offense?" he asked.


"No," Garion told him. "It is only that one's mate is in some 
distress. The time of her whelping is approaching, and this always 
makes the shes of the man-things uncomfortable and short-tempered. ''


"Ah," the wolf said. "The man-things are very strange."


"Truly," Garion agreed.


It was Greldik, naturally, who delivered Poledra to the Isle of the 
Winds in the middle of a howling blizzard.


"How did you find your way?" Garion asked the fur-clad seaman as the 
two of them sat before the fire in the low-beamed dining hall with 
tankards of ale in their hands.


"Belgarath's wife pointed the way." Greldik shrugged. "That's a 
remarkable woman, do you know that?"


"Oh, yes."


"Do you know that not one man in my whole crew, took a single drink 
while we were at sea? Not even me. For some reason, we just didn't 
want any.''



' * My grandmother has strong prejudices. Will you be all right here? 
I want to go up and have a chat with her."


"That's all right, Garion." Greldik grinned, patting the nearly full 
ale keg affectionately. "I'll be just fine." Garion went upstairs to 
the royal apartments. The tawny-haired woman sat by the fire, idly 
stroking the young wolf's ears. Ce'Nedra was sprawled rather 
awkwardly on a divan.


"Ah, there you are, Garion," Poledra said. She sniffed the air rather 
delicately. "I notice you've been drinking." Her tone was 
disapproving.


"I had one tankard with Greldik."


* 'Would you please sit over there on the other side of the room 
then? One's sense of smell is quite acute, and the odor of ale turns 
one's stomach."
"Is that why you disapprove of drinking?"


"Of course. What other reason could there be?" 1 "I think Aunt 
Pol disapproves on some sort of moral grounds."


"Polgara has some obscure prejudices. Now then," she went on 
seriously. "My daughter is in no condition to travel just now, so I'm 
here to deliver Ce'Nedra's baby. Pol gave me all sorts of 
instructions, most of which I intend to ignore. Giving birth is a 
natural process, and the less interference the better. When it 
starts, I want you to take Geran and this young wolf here and go to 
the extreme far end of the Citadel. I'll send for you when it's all 
over."


"Yes, Grandmother."


"He's a nice boy," Poledra said to the Rivan Queen.


"I rather like him."


"I certainly hope so. All right, then, Garion, just as soon as the 
baby's born and we're sure everything's all right, you and I are 
going to return to the Vale. Polgara's a few weeks behind Ce'Nedra, 
but we really don't have too much time to waste. Pol wants you to be 
there when she gives birth."


"You have to go, Garion," Ce'Nedra said. "I only wish / could."


Garion was a bit dubious about leaving his wife so soon after she was 
delivered, but he definitely did want to be in the Vale when Aunt Pol 
had her baby.


It was three nights later. Garion was having a splendid dream that 
involved riding down a long, grassy hill with Eriond. "Garion," 
Ce'Nedra said, nudging him in the ribs. "Yes, deaf?" He was still 
about half asleep.



SEERESS OF KELL


"I think you'd better go get your grandmother."


He was fully awake immediately. "Are you sure?"


"I've been through this before, dear," she told him.


He rolled quickly out of bed.


"Kiss me before you go," she told him.


He did that.


"And don't forget to take Geran and the puppy when you go off to the 
other end of the building. Put Geran back to bed when you get there."


"Of course."


A strange expression came over her face. ' 'I think you'd better 
hurry, Garion," she suggested.


Garion bolted.


It was nearly dawn when the Queen of Riva was delivered of a baby 
girl. The infant had a short crop of deep-red hair and green eyes. As 
it had for so many centuries, the Dryad strain bred true. Poledra 
carried the blanket-wrapped baby through the silent halls of the 
Citadel to the rooms where Garion sat before a fire and Geran and the 
wolf slept in a tangle of arms, legs, and paws on a divan.


"Is Ce'Nedra all right?" Garion asked, coming to his feet.


"She's fine," his grandmother assured him, "a little tired is all. It 
was a fairly easy delivery."


Garion heaved a sigh of relief, then turned back the corner of the 
blanket to look at the small face of his daughter. "She looks like 
her mother," he said. People the world over always make that first 
observation, pointing out the similarities of a newborn to this 
parent or that as if such resemblances were somehow remarkable. 
Garion gently took the baby in his arms and looked into that tiny red 
face. The baby looked back at him, her green-eyed gaze.unwavering. It 
was a familiar gaze. "Good morning, Beldaran," Garion said softly. He 
had made that decision quite some time ago. There would be other 
daughters, and they would be named after a fair number of female 
relatives on both sides of the family, but it somehow seemed 
important that his first daughter should be named for Aunt Pol's 
blond twin sister, a woman who, though Garion had seen only her image 
and then only once, was still somehow central to all their lives.


"Thank you, Garion," Poledra said simply.


"It seems appropriate somehow," Garion told her.


Prince Geran was not too impressed with his baby sister, but boys 
seldom are. "Isn't she awfully little?" he asked when his father woke 
him to introduce them. •



EPILOGUE


"It's the nature of babies to be little. She'll grow."


"Good." Geran looked at her gravely. Then, apparently feeling that he 
should say something nice about her, headded, "She has nice hair. 
It's the same color as mother's, isn't it?"


"I noticed that myself."


The bells of Riva pealed out that morning in celebration, and the 
Rivan people rejoiced, although there were some, many perhaps, who 
secretly wished that the royal infant might have been another boy, 
just for the sake of dynastic security. The Rivans, kingless for so 
many centuries, were nervous about that sort of thing.


Ce'Nedra, of course, was radiant. She expressed only minimal 
dissatisfaction with Garion's choice of a name for then-daughter. Her 
Dryad heritage felt rather strongly the need for a name beginning 
with the traditional "X." She worked with it a bit, however, and came 
up with a satisfactory solution to the problem. Garion was fairly 
certain that in her own mind she had inserted an "X" somewhere in 
Beldaran's name. He decided mat he didn't really want to know about 
it.


The Rivan Queen was young and healthy, and she recovered from her 
confinement quickly. She remained in bed for a few days—largely for 
the dramatic effect on the stream of Rivan nobility and foreign 
dignitaries who filed through the royal bedchamber to view the tiny 
queen and the even tinier princess.


After a few days, Poledra spoke with Garion. "That more or less takes 
care of business here,'' she said,' 'and we really should get started 
back to th$ Vale. Polgara's time is coming closer, you know."


Garion nodded. "I asked Greldik to stay," he told her. "He'll get us 
back to Sendaria faster than anybody else can."


"He's a very undependable man, you know."


"Aunt Pol said exactly'the same thing. He's still the finest sailor 
in the world. I'll make arrangements to have horses put on board his 
ship.''


"No," she said shortly. "We're in a hurry, Garion. Horses would only 
slow us down."


"You want to run all the way from the coast of Sendaria to the 
Vale?" he asked her, a little startled.


"It's not really all that far, Garion." She smiled.


"What about supplies?"


She gave him an amused look, and he suddenly felt very foolish.



Garion's good-byes to his family were emotional, though


SEERESS OF


brief. "Be sure to dress warmly," Ce'Nedra instructed. "It's winter, 
you know."
He decided not to tell her exactly how he and his grandmother 


intended to travel.


"Oh," she said, handing him a parchment sheet, "give this to Aunt 
Pol."
Garion looked at the sheet. It was a rather fair artist's sketch, in 


color, of his wife and daughter.
"It's quite good, isn't it?" Ce'Nedra said.
"Very good," he agreed.
"You'd better run along now," she said. "If you stay much longer, I 


won't let you go at all."
"Keep warm, Ce'Nedra," he said, "and look after the children."
"Naturally. I love you, your Majesty."
"I love you, too, your Majesty." He kissed her and his son and 


daughter and quietly left the room.
The weather at sea ^fejjlustery, but the militantly impetuous Greldik 
paid almost no atpntion to weather, no matter how foul. His patched 
and decidedly scruffy-looking ship ran before the wind across a 
stormy sea under far more sail than even a marginally prudent sea 


captain would have crowded onto his masts, and two days later, they 
reached'the coast of Sendaria.
"Any empty beach will do, Greldik," Garion told him. "We're in sort 


of a hurry, and if we stop at Sendar, Fulrach and Layla will tie us 


up with congratulations and banquets."
"How do you propose to get off a beach without horses?" Greldik asked 
bluntly.


"There are ways," Garion told him.
"More of that sort of thing?" Greldik said with a certain distaste.
Garion nodded.
"That's unnatural, you know."
"I come from an unnatural sort of family.''
Greldik grunted disapprovingly and ran his ship in close to a 



windswept beach bordered on its upper edge with die rank grass of a 
salt flat. "Does this one suit you?" he asked.


"It's just fine," Garion said.


Garion and his grandmother waited on the windy beach with their 
cloaks whipping around them until Greldik was well out to sea. "I 
suppose we can get started now," Garion said, shifting his sword into 
a more comfortable position.


"I don't know why you brought that," Poledra said.


EPILOGUE


"The Orb wants to see Aunt Pol's baby." He shrugged.


"That may just be the most irrational thing IVe ever heard anyone 
say, Garion. Shall we go?"


They shimmered and blurred, and then two wolves loped up the beach to 
the bordering grass and ran smoothly inland.


It took the two of them a little more than a week to reach the Vale. 
They stopped only rarely to hunt and even more infrequently to rest. 
Garion learned a great deal about being a wolf during that week. 
Belgarath had given him a certain amount of instruction in the past, 
but Belgarath had come into wolf hood when he had been full grown. 
Poledra, on the other hand, was the genuine article.


They crested the hill overlooking the cottage one snowy evening and 
looked down at the tidy farmstead with its fence lines half buried in 
snow and the windows of the cottage glowing a warm, welcoming yellow.


"Are we in time?" Garion asked the golden-eyed wolf beside him. -j| 
-


"Yes," Poledra replied. "On^-suspects, however, that the decision not 
to burden ourselves with the beasts of the man-things was wise. The 
time is very close. Let us go down and find out what is happening."


They loped on down the hill through swirling snowflakes and changed 
back into their own forms in the dooryard.


The interior of the cottage was warm and bright. Polgara, more than a 
little ungainly, was setting places for Garion and her mother at the 
table. Belgarath sat near the fire, and Durnik was patiently mending 
harness.


"I saved some supper for you," Aunt Pol told Garion and Poledra. 
"WeVe already eaten."


"You knew we'd get here this evening?" Garion asked.


"Of course, dear. Mother and I always stay more or less in constant 
contact. How's Ce'Nedra?"



"She and Beldaran are just fine." He said it in an offhand sort of 
way. Aunt Pol had surprised him often enough in the past. Now it was 
his turn.


She almost dropped a plate, and her glorious eyes grew wide. "Oh, 
Garion," she said, embracing him suddenly.


"Does the name please you? Just a little?"


"More than you could ever know, Garion."


"How are you feeling, Polgara?" Poledra asked, removing her cloak.


"Fine—I think." Aunt Pol smiled. "I know about the pro-


SEERESS OF KELL


cedure, of course, but this is the first time IVe experienced it 
personally. Babies spend a great deal of time kicking at this stage, 
don't they? A few minutes or so ago, I think mine kicked me in three 
separate places at once."


"Maybe he's punching, too," Durnik suggested.


"He?" She smiled.


"Well—the word's just for the sake of convenience, Pol."


"If you'd like, I could have a look and tell you if it's a he or a 
she," Belgarath offered.


"Don't you dare!" Polgara told him. "I want to find out for myself."


The snow let up shortly before daybreak, and the clouds blew off by 
midmoming. The sun came out, and it glittered brightly on the new-
fallen blanket of white around the cottage. The sky was intensely 
blue, and, though it was cold that day, the bitter chill of midwinter 
had not yet set in.


Garion, Durnik, and Belgarath had been banished from the house at 
dawn, and they wandered about with that odd sort of uselessness men 
usually feel in such circumstances. At one point they stopped on the 
bank of the small stream that threaded its way through the farmstead. 
Belgarath looked down into the clear water, noting a number of dark, 
slim shapes just below the surface. "Have you had time to do any 
fishing?" he asked Durnik.


' 'No,'' Durnik said a bit sadly,' 'and I don't seem to have the 
enthusiasm for it I used to."


They all knew why, but none of them mentioned it.


Poledra brought their meals to them, but firmly insisted that they 
remain outside. Late in the afternoon, she put them to work boiling 
water over Durnik's forge, which sat in the toolshed.



"I've never seen any reason for this," Durnik confessed, lifting 
another steaming kettle from his forge. "Why do they always need 
boiling water?"


"They don't," Belgarath told him. Belgarath was comfortably sprawled 
on a woodpile and was examining the intricately carved cradle Durnik 
had built. "It's just a way to keep the menfolk out from underfoot. 
Some female genius came up with the idea thousands of years ago, and 
women have been honoring the custom ever since. Just boil water, 
Durnik. It makes the women happy, and it's not that big a chore."


The moon had been rising late, but the stars touched the snow with a 
fairy light, and all the world seemed somehow bathed in a gentle 
blue-white glow. It was, of all nights, among the closest


EPILOGUE


to perfect Garion had ever seen, and all of nature seemed to be 
holding its breath.


Garion and Belgarath, noting Durnik's increasing edginess, suggested 
that they walk to the top of the hill to settle their suppers. They 
had both observed in the past that Dumik usually banished 
uncomfortable emotions by keeping busy.


The smith looked up at the night sky as they trudged through the snow 
toward the top of the hill. "It's really a special sort of night, 
isn't it?" He laughed a little sheepishly. "I suppose I'd feel that 
way even if it were raining," he said.


"I know I always do," Garion said. Then he, too, laughed, his breath 
steaming in the chill night air. "I don't know mat twice qualifies as 
much of an always, though," he conceded, "but I know what you mean. I 
was feeling sort of the same way myself earlier." He looked beyond 
the cottage across the snowy plain lying white and still beneath the 
icy stars. "Does it seem very, very quiet to you two, as well?"


"There's not a hint of a breeze," Durnik agreed, "and the snow 
muffles all the sound." He cocked his head. "Now that you mention it, 
though, it does seem awfully quiet, and the stars are really bright 
tonight. There's a logical explanation for it, I suppose."


Belgarath smiled at them. "There's not a single ounce of romance in 
either one of you, is there? Didn't it ever occur to you that this 
might just be a very special night?"


They looked at him oddly. '


"Stop and think about it," he said. "Pol's devoted most of her life 
to raising children that weren't hers. IVe watched her do it, and I 
could feel an obscure kind of pain in her each time she took a new 
baby in her arms. That's going to change tonight, so in a very real 
sense this is a special night. Tonight Polgara's going to get a baby 
of her very own. It may not mean all that much to the rest of the 
world, but I think it does to us."



"It does indeed," Durnik said fervently. Then a thoughtful expression 
came into the good man's eyes. "I've been sort of working on 
something lately, Belgarath."


"Yes. I've heard you."


"Doesn't it seem to you that we're all sort of coming back to the 
places where we started? It's not exactly the same, of course, but 
things sort of feel familiar.''


"IVe been thinking sort of the same thing," Garion admitted. "I keep 
getting this strange feeling about it."


"It's only natural for people to go home after they Ve been on


SEERESS OF KELL


a long journey, isn't it?" Belgarath said, kicking at a lump of snow 
with one foot.


"I don't think it's that simple, Grandfather."


"Neither do I," Durnik agreed. "This seems more important for some 
reason."


Belgarath frowned. "I think it does to me, as well," he admitted. "I 
wish Beidin were here. He could explain it in a minute. Of course 
none of us would understand the explanation, but he'd explain it all 
the same." He scratched at his beard. "IVe found something that might 
explain it," he said a bit dubiously.


"What's that?" Durnik asked him.


"Garion and I have had an extended conversation over the last year or 
so. He'd noticed that things kept happening over and over again. You 
probably heard us talking about it."


Dumik nodded.


"Between us, we came up with the notion that things kept repeating 
themselves because the accident made it impossible for the future to 
happen."


"That makes sense, I guess."


"Anyhow, that's changed now. Cyradis made her Choice, and the effects 
of the accident have been erased. The future can happen now."


"Then why is everybody going back to the place where he started?" 
Garion asked.


"It's only logical, Garion," Durnik toid him quite seriously. "When 
you're starting something—even the future—you almost have to go back 
to the beginning, don't you?"


"Why don't we just assume that's the explanation," Belgarath said. 



"Things got stopped. Now they're moving again, and everybody got what 
he deserved. We got the good things, and the other side got the bad 
ones. It sort of proves that we picked the right side, doesn't it?"


Garion suddenly laughed.


"What's so funny?" Durnik asked him.


"Just before our baby was born, Ce'Nedra got a letter from 
Velvet—Liselle. She's managed to push Silk into naming a day. It's 
probably what he deserves, all right, but I imagine his eyes get a 
little wild every time he thinks about it."


"When's the wedding?" Durnik asked.


"Next summer sometime. Liselle wants to be sure that everybody can be 
in Boktor to witness her triumph over our friend."


"That's a spiteful thing to say, Garion," Durnik reproved.


EPILOGUE


"It's probably the truth, though." Belgarath grinned. He reached 
inside his tunic and drew out an earthenware flagon. "A touch of 
something to ward off the chill?" he offered. "It's some of that 
potent UIgo brew."


"Grandmother won't like that," Garion warned.


"Your grandmother isn't here right now, Garion. She's a little busy 
at the moment.''


The three of them stood atop the snowy hill looking down at the 
farmstead. The thatched roof was thick with snow, and icicles hung 
like glittering jewels from the eaves. The small panes of the windows 
glowed with golden lamplight that fell softly out over the gently 
mounded snow in the dooryard, and the ruddy glow from the forge where 
the menfolk had spent the afternoon boiling unneeded water came 
softly from the shed. A column of blue woodsmoke rose straight and 
unwavering from the chimney, reaching so high that it seemed almost 
to be lost among the stars.


A peculiar sound filled Canon's ears, and it took him awhile to 
identify it. It was the Orb, and it was singing a song of unutterable 
longing.


The silence seemed almost palpable now, and the glittering stars 
seemed to draw even closer to the snowy earth.


And then from the cottage there came a single cry. It was an infant 
voice, and it was not filled with that indignation and discomfort so 
common in the cries of most newboms but rather with a kind of wonder 
and ineffable joy.


A gentle blue light suddenly came from the Orb, and the longing in 
its note turned to joy.



As the song of the Orb faded, Durnik drew in a deep breath. "Why 
don't we go down?" he said.


"We'd better wait a bit," Belgarath suggested. "There's always some 
cleaning up to do at this point, and we should give Pol a chance to 
brush her hair.''


"I don't care if her hair's a little mussed," Dumik said.


"She does. Let's wait."


Strangely, the Orb had renewed its yearning melody. The silence 
remained as palpable as before, broken now only by the thin, joyous 
wail of Polgara's baby.


The three friends stood on the hilltop, their breath steaming in the 
cold night air as they listened to that distant, piping song.


"Good healthy lungs," Garion complimented the new father.


Durnik grinned briefly at him, still listening to the cry of his 
child.


SEERESS OF KELL


And then that single cry was not alone. Another voice joined in.


This time the light that burst from the Orb was a sudden blaze of 
blue that illuminated the snow around them, and its joyous song was a 
triumphant organ note. -"I knew it!" Belgarath exclaimed with 
delight.


"TWo?" Durnik gasped. "Twins?"


"It's a family trait, Durnik." Belgarath laughed, catching the smith 
in a rough embrace.


"Are they boys or girls?" Durnik demanded.


"What difference does it make right now? But we might as well go on 
down there and find out, I suppose."


But as they turned, they saw that something seemed to be happening in 
the vicinity of the cottage. They stared at the single shaft of 
intensely blue light descending from the starry sky, a shaft that was 
soon joined by one of a paler blue. The cottage was bathed in their 
azure light as the two lights from the heavens touched the snow. Then 
those lights were joined by other lights,. red and yellow and green 
and lavender and a shade Garion could not even put a name to. Last, 
the lights from the sky were joined by a single shaft of blinding 
white. Like the colors of the rainbow, the lights stood in a 
semicircle in the dooryard, and the brilliant columns from which they 
had descended rose above them to fill the night sky with a pulsing 
curtain of many-hued, shifting light.



And then the Gods were there, standing in the dooryard with their 
song joining with that of the Orb in a mighty benediction.


Eriond turned to look up the hill at them. His gentle face glowed 
with a smile of purest joy. He beckoned to them. "Join us," he said,


"Now it is complete." UL's voice was also joyous. "All is well now."


Then, with the God-light bathing their faces, the three friends 
started down from the snowy hilltop to view that miracle, which, 
though it is most commonplace, is a miracle nonetheless.


And so, my children, the time has come to close


the book. There will be other days and other stories,


but this tale is finished.


About the Author


David Eddings was born in Spokane, Washington, in 1931 and was raised 
in the Puget Sound area north of Seattle. He received a Bachelor of 
Arts degree from Reed College in Portland, Oregon, in 1954 and a 
Master of Arts degree from the University of Washington in 1961. He 
has served in the United States Army, worked as a buyer for the 
Boeing Company, has been a grocery clerk, and has taught English. He 
has lived in many parts of the United States.


His first novel, High Hunt (published by Putnam in 1973), was a 
contemporary adventure story. The field of fantasy has always been of 
interest to him, however, and he turned to The Belgariad in an effort 
to develop certain technical and philosophical ideas concerning that 
genre.


Eddings currently resides with his wife, Leigh, in the Southwest.