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

I could have saved myself – and a large number of other people – a great deal of trouble if I’d paid closer attention to what Fleet-foot said. We didn’t have time to pursue the question, though, because it was just about then that the messenger Pol had sent found us.

‘Lord Riva,’ he said to my son-in-law, ‘Lady Polgara says that you’re supposed to come now.’

Riva stood up quickly. ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

The messenger was a bearded Alorn warrior, and he seemed a little offended by his errand. Polgara tends to ignore rank, and when she needs something, she’ll send the first person she sees to get it. ‘Everything seems normal to me,’ the messenger replied, shrugging. ‘The women are all running around with pails of hot water, and your wife’s yelling.’

‘Yelling?’ Riva’s eyes got wild.

‘Women always yell when they’re having babies, my Lord. My wife’s had nine, and she still yells. You’d think they’d get used to it after a while, wouldn’t you?’

Riva pushed past him and went down the stairs four at a time.

It was the first time that Pol had officiated at a birth, so she was probably just a bit premature about summoning Riva. Beldaran’s labor continued for about another four hours, and Iron-grip was definitely in the way the whole time. I think my daughter learned a valuable lesson that day. After that, she always invented something for the expectant father to do during his wife’s labor – usually something physical and a long way away from the birthing chamber.

In the normal course of time, Beldaran delivered my grandson, a red-faced, squirming boy with damp hair that dried to sandy blond. Polgara emerged from the bedroom with the small, blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms and a strange, almost wistful look on her face. ‘Behold the heir to the Rivan throne,’ she said to us, holding out the baby.

Riva stumbled to his feet. ‘Is he all right?’ he stammered.

‘He has the customary number of arms and legs, if that’s what you mean,’ Pol replied. ‘Here,’ she thrust the baby at his father. ‘Hold him. I want to help my sister.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘She’s fine, Riva. Take the baby.’

‘Isn’t he awfully small?’

‘Most babies are. Take him.’

‘Maybe I’d better not. I might drop him.’

Her eyes glinted. ‘Take the baby, Riva.’ She said it slowly, emphasizing each word. Nobody argues with Polgara when she takes that tone.

Riva’s hands were shaking very badly when he reached out to take his son.

‘Support his head,’ she instructed.

Riva placed one of his huge hands behind the baby’s head. His knees were visibly trembling.

‘Maybe you’d better sit down,’ she said.

He sank back into his chair, his face very pale.

‘Men!’ Polgara said, rolling her eyes upward. Then she turned and went back into the bedroom.

My grandson looked at his father gravely. He had very blue eyes, and he seemed much calmer than the trembling giant who was holding him. After a few minutes, Iron-grip began that meticulous examination of his new-born off-spring that all parents seem to feel is necessary. I’m not sure why people always want to count fingers and toes under those circumstances. ‘Would you look at those tiny little fingernails!’ Riva exclaimed. Why are people always surprised about the size of babies’ fingernails? Are they expecting claws, perhaps?

‘Belgarath!’ Riva said then in a choked voice. ‘He’s deformed!’

I looked down at the baby. ‘He looks all right to me.’

‘There’s a mark on the palm of his right hand!’ He carefully opened those tiny fingers to show me.

The mark wasn’t very large, of course, hardly more than a small white spot. ‘Oh, that,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s supposed to be there.’

‘What?’

‘Look at your own hand, Riva,’ I said patiently.

He opened that massive right hand of his. ‘But that’s a burn mark. I got it when I picked up the Orb for the first time – before it got to know me.’

‘Did it hurt when it burned you?’

‘I don’t remember exactly. I was a little excited at the time. Torak was right in the next room, and I wasn’t sure he’d stay asleep.’

‘It’s not a burn, Riva. The Orb knew who you were, and it wasn’t going to hurt you. All it did was mark you. Your son’s marked the same way because he’s going to be the next keeper of the Orb. You might as well get used to that mark. It’s going to be in your family for a long time.’

‘What an amazing thing. How did you find out about this?’

I shrugged. ‘Aldur told me,’ I replied. It was the easy thing to say, but it wasn’t true. I hadn’t known about the mark until I saw it, but as soon as I did, I knew exactly what it meant. Evidently a great deal of information had been passed on to me while I’d been sharing my head with that peculiar voice that had guided us to Cthol Mishrak. The inconvenient part of the whole business lies in the fact that these insights don’t rise to the surface until certain events come along to trigger them. Moreover, as soon as I saw that mark on my grandson’s palm, I knew there was something I had to do.

That had to wait, however, because Polgara came out of the bedroom just then. ‘Give him to me,’ she told Riva.

‘What for?’ Iron-grip’s voice had a possessive tone to it.

‘It’s time he had something to eat. I think Beldaran ought to take care of that – unless you want to do it.’

He actually blushed as he quickly handed the baby over.

I wasn’t able to attend to my little project until the following morning. I don’t think the baby got very much sleep that night. Everybody wanted to hold him. He took it well, though. My grandson was an uncommonly good-natured baby. He didn’t fuss or cry, but just examined each new face with that same grave, serious expression. I even got the chance to hold him once – for a little while. I took him in my hands and winked at him. He actually smiled. That made me feel very good, for some reason.

There was a bit of an argument the next morning, however. ‘He needs to get some sleep,’ Polgara insisted.

‘He needs to do something else first,’ I told her.

‘Isn’t he a little young for chores, father?’

‘He’s not too young for this one. Bring him along.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To the throne room. Just bring him, Pol. Don’t argue with me. This is one of those things that’s supposed to happen.’

She gave me a strange look. ‘Why didn’t you say so, father?’

‘I just did.’

‘What’s happening here?’ Riva asked me.