Part 32 (1/2)

The queen looked at him seriously. ”When are you coming home, Kheldar?” she asked. ”When will you stop being this vagabond, Silk, and come back where you belong? My husband misses you very much, and you could serve Drasnia more by becoming his chief advisor than all this flitting about the world.”

Silk looked away, squinting into the bright wintry sun. ”Not just yet, your Highness,” he said. ”Belgarath needs me too, and this is a very important thing we're doing just now. Besides, I'm not ready to settle down yet. The game is still entertaining. Perhaps someday when we're all much older it won't be anymore - who knows?”

She sighed. ”I miss you too Kheldar,” she said gently.

”Poor, lonely little queen,” Silk said, half-mockingly.

”You're impossible,” she said, stamping her tiny foot.

”One does one's best.” He grinned.

Hettar had embraced his father and mother and leaped across to the deck of the small s.h.i.+p King Anheg had provided him. ”Belgarath,” he called as the sailors slipped the stout ropes that bound the s.h.i.+p to the quay, ”I'll meet you in two weeks at the ruins of Vo Wacune.”

”We'll be there,” Mister Wolf replied.

The sailors pushed the s.h.i.+p away from the quay and began to row out into the bay. Hettar stood on the deck, his long scalp lock flowing in the wind. He waved once, then turned to face the sea.

A long plank was run down over the side of Captain Greldik's s.h.i.+p to the snow covered stones.

”Shall we go on board, Garion?” Silk said. They climbed the precarious plank and stepped out onto the deck.

”Give our daughters my love,” Barak said to his wife.

”I will, my Lord,” Merel said in the same stiffly formal tone she always used with him. ”Have you any other instructions?”

”I won't be back for some time,” Barak said. ”Plant the south fields to oats this year, and let the west fields lie fallow. Do whatever you think best with the north fields. And don't move the cattle up to the high pastures until all the frost is out of the ground.”

”I'll be most careful of my husband's lands and herds,” she said.

”They're yours too,” Barak said.

”As my husband wishes.”

Barak sighed. ”You never let it rest, do you, Merel?” He said sadly.

”My Lord?”

”Forget it.”

”Will my Lord embrace me before he leaves?” she asked.

”What's the point?” Barak said. He jumped across to the s.h.i.+p and immediately went below.

Aunt Pol stopped on her way to the s.h.i.+p and looked gravely at Barak's wife. Then, without warning, she suddenly laughed.

”Something amusing, Lady Polgara?” Merel asked.

”Very amusing, Merel,” Aunt Pol said with a mysterious smile.

”Might I be permitted to share it?”

”Oh, you'll share it, Merel,” Aunt Pol promised, ”but I wouldn't want to spoil it for you by telling you too soon.” She laughed again and stepped onto the plank that led to the s.h.i.+p. Durnik offered his hand to steady her, and the two of them crossed to the deck.

Mister Wolf clasped hands with each of the kings on turn and then nimbly crossed to the s.h.i.+p. He stood for a moment on the deck looking at the ancient, snow-shrouded city of Val Alorn and the towering mountains of Cherek rising behind.

”Farewell, Belgarath,” King Anheg called.

Mister Wolf nodded. ”Don't forget about the minstrels,” he said.

”We won't,” Anheg promised. ”Good luck.”

Mister Wolf grinned and then walked forward toward the prow of Greldik's s.h.i.+p. Garion, on an impulse, followed him. There were questions which needed answers, and the old man would know if anyone would.

”Mister Wolf,” he said when they had both reached the high prow.

”Yes, Garion?”

He was not sure where to start, so Garion approached the problem obliquely. ”How did Aunt Pol do that to old Martje's eyes?”

”The Will and the Word,” Wolf said, his long cloak whipping about him in the stiff breeze. ”It isn't difficult.”

”I don't understand,” Garion said.

”You simply will something to happen,” the old man said, ”and then speak the word. If your will's strong enough, it happens.”

”That's all there is to it?” Garion asked, a little disappointed.

”That's all,” Wolf said.

”Is the word a magic word?”

Wolf laughed, looking out at the sun glittering sharply on the winter sea. ”No,” he said. ”There aren't any magic words. Some people think so, but they're wrong. Grolims use strange words, but that's not really necessary. Any word will do the job. It's the Will that's important, not the Word. The Word's just a channel for the Will.”

”Could I do it?” Garion asked hopefully.

Wolf looked at him. ”I don't know, Garion,” he said. ”I wasn't much older than you are the first time I did it, but I'd been living with Aldur for several years. That makes a difference, I suppose.”

”What happened?”

”My Master wanted me to move a rock,” Wolf said. ”He seemed to think that it was in his way. I tried to move it, but it was too heavy. After a while I got angry, and I told it to move. It did. I was a little suprised, but my Master didn't think it so unusual.”

”You just said, 'move?' That's all?” Garion was incredulous.

”That's all.” Wolf shrugged. ”It seemed so simple that I was suprised I hadn't thought of it before. At the time I imagined that anybody could do it, but men have changed quite a bit since then. Maybe it isn't possible anymore. It's hard to say, really.”

”I always thought that sorcery had to be done with long spells and strange signs and things like that,” Garion said.

”Those are just the devices of tricksters and charlatans,” Wolf said. ”They make a fine show and impress and frighten simple people, but spells and incantations have nothing to do with the real thing, It's all in the Will. Focus the Will and speak the Word, and it happens. Sometimes a gesture of sorts helps, but it isn't really necessary. Your Aunt has always seemed to want to gesture when she makes something happen. I've been trying to break her of that habit for hundreds of years now.”

Garion blinked. ”Hundreds of years?” he gasped. ”How old is she?”