Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress: 2-Book Collection. David Eddings

passed through six or eight people. From what I understand, the Murgos have been moving south into the lands of the western Dals. They almost had to, I guess. The Thulls have started to lose interest in feeding their former masters, and nothing grows around Rak Goska. The Murgos had to either move or starve.’

      ‘Maybe they’ll wander off the southern end of the continent,’ Algar said. ‘The notion of watching the Murgos marching out to sea sort of appeals to me.’

      ‘Has there been any word about Ctuchik?’ I asked.

      ‘I think he’s left Rak Goska,’ Riva replied. ‘They say that he’s building a city at a place called Rak Cthol. It’s supposed to be on top of a mountain somewhere.’

      ‘It’d be consistent,’ I said. ‘Ctuchik’s a Grolim, and the Grolims have been in mourning ever since Korim sank into the sea. They adore temples on top of mountains, for some reason.’

      ‘They wouldn’t get too much worship out of me in a place like that,’ Anrak said. ‘I’ll go to church if it’s not too much trouble, but I don’t think I’d want to climb a mountain to get there.’ He looked at me. ‘Have you ever met this Ctuchik?’

      ‘I think so,’ I replied. ‘I think he was the one who was chasing us after we stole the Orb. Ctuchik more or less ran things at Cthol Mishrak. Torak was concentrating all his attention on the Orb, so he left the day-to-day details to Ctuchik. I know that the one leading the pursuit was either Urvon or Ctuchik, and I hear Urvon didn’t go to Cthol Mishrak unless Torak summoned him.’

      ‘What does Ctuchik look like?’

      ‘A dog, last time I looked,’ Algar murmured.

      ‘A dog?’

      ‘One of the Hounds of Torak,’ I explained. ‘Certain Grolims took on the form of Hounds so that they could guard the place.’

      ‘Who’d want to go near a place like Cthol Mishrak?’

      ‘We did,’ Algar told him. ‘There was something there we wanted.’ He looked at me. ‘Has Beldin heard anything about where Zedar might be?’ he asked.

      ‘Not that he mentioned.’

      ‘I think maybe we ought to keep an eye out for him. We know that Urvon’s at Mal Yaska and Ctuchik’s at Rak Cthol. We don’t know where Zedar is, and that makes him dangerous. Urvon and Ctuchik are Angaraks. If either one of them comes after the Orb, he’ll come with an army. Zedar’s not an Angarak, so he might try something different.’

      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