Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress: 2-Book Collection

Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Six: Garion (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Map (#ulink_13f635ec-404a-5b2d-875b-05f98932869a)

Prologue (#ulink_725b6277-2e58-567a-a9de-a015bbf6d526)

It was well past midnight and very cold. The moon had risen, and her pale light made the frost crystals lying in the snow sparkle like carelessly strewn diamonds. In a peculiar way it seemed to Garion almost as if the snow-covered earth were reflecting the starry sky overhead.

‘I think they’re gone now,’ Durnik said, peering upward. His breath steamed in the icy, dead-calm air. ‘I can’t see that rainbow any more.’

‘Rainbow?’ Belgarath asked, sounding slightly amused.

‘You know what I mean. Each of them has a different-colored light. Aldur’s is blue, Issa’s is green, Chaldan’s is red, and the others all have different colors. Is there some significance to that?’

‘It’s probably a reflection of their different personalities,’ Belgarath replied. ‘I can’t be entirely positive, though. My Master and I never got around to discussing it.’ He stamped his feet in the snow. ‘Why don’t we go back?’ he suggested. ‘It’s really cold out here.’

They turned and started back down the hill toward the cottage, their feet crunching in the frozen snow. The farmstead at the foot of the hill looked warm and comforting. The thatched roof of the cottage was thick with snow, and the icicles hanging from the eaves glittered in the moonlight. The outbuildings Durnik had constructed were dark, but the windows of the cottage were all aglow with golden lamplight that spread softly out over the mounded snow in the dooryard. A column of blue woodsmoke rose straight and unwavering from the chimney, rising, it seemed, to the very stars.

It had probably not really been necessary for the three of them to accompany their guests to the top of the hill to witness their departure, but it was Durnik’s house, and Durnik was a Sendar. Sendars are meticulous about proprieties and courtesies.

‘Eriond’s changed,’ Garion noted as they neared the bottom of the hill. ‘He seems more certain of himself now.’

Belgarath shrugged. ‘He’s growing up. It happens to everybody – except to Belar, maybe. I don’t think we can ever expect Belar to grow up.’

‘Belgarath!’ Durnik sounded shocked. ‘That’s no way for a man to speak about his God!’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘What you just said about Belar. He’s the God of the Alorns, and you’re an Alorn, aren’t you?’

‘Whatever gave you that peculiar notion? I’m no more an Alorn than you are.’

‘I always thought you were. You’ve certainly spent enough time with them.’

‘That wasn’t my idea. My Master gave them to me about five thousand years ago. There were a number of times when I tried to give them back, but he wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘Well, if you’re not an Alorn, what are you?’

‘I’m not really sure. It wasn’t all that important to me when I was young. I do know that I’m not an Alorn. I’m not crazy enough for that.’

‘Grandfather!’ Garion protested.

‘You don’t count, Garion. You’re only half Alorn.’

They reached the door of the cottage and carefully stamped the snow off their feet before entering. The cottage was Aunt Pol’s domain, and she had strong feelings about people who tracked snow across her spotless floors.

The interior of the cottage was warm and filled with golden lamplight that reflected from the polished surfaces of Aunt Pol’s copper-bottomed pots and kettles and pans hanging from hooks on either side of the arched fireplace. Durnik had built the table and chairs in the center of the room out of oak, and the golden color of the wood was enhanced by the lamplight.

The three of them immediately went to the fireplace to warm their hands and feet.

The door to the bedroom opened, and Poledra came out. ‘Well?’ she said, ‘did you see them off?’

‘Yes, dear,’ Belgarath replied. ‘They were going in a generally northeasterly direction the last time I looked.’

‘How’s Pol?’ Durnik asked.

‘Happy,’ Garion’s tawny-haired grandmother replied.

‘That’s not exactly what I meant. Is she still awake?’

Poledra nodded. ‘She’s lying in bed admiring her handiwork.’

‘Would it be all right if I looked in on her?’