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Authors: David Eddings
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light and shadow coming from the arched fireplace. "It's good to relax a bit," he said. "I don't think I've stopped moving since I left here last autumn."
"What is it that's so pressing, father?" Polgara asked him as she cleared away the supper dishes.
"Beldin and I had quite a long talk," the old man replied. "There are some things going on in Mallorea that I don't quite like."
"What earthly difference can it make now, father? Our interest in Mallorea ended at Cthol Mishrak when Torak died. You were not appointed caretaker of the world, you know."
"I wish it were that easy, Pol," he said. "Does the name 'the Sardion' mean anything to you? Or 'Cthrag Sardius' perhaps?"
She was pouring hot water from a kettle into the large pan in which she customarily washed the dishes, but she stopped, frowning slightly. "I think I heard a Grolim say something about 'Cthrag Sardius' once. He was delirious and babbling in old Angarak."
"Can you remember what he was saying?" Belgarath asked intently.
"I'm sorry, father, but I don't speak old Angarak. You never got around to teaching me, remember?" She looked at Errand and crooked one finger at him.
Errand sighed disconsolately, got up, and fetched a dishtowel.
"Don't make faces, Errand," she told him. "It doesn't hurt you to help clean up after supper." She looked back at Belgarath as she started to wash the dishes. "What's the significance of the 'Sardion' or whatever you call it?"
"I don't know," Belgarath replied, scratching at his beard in perplexity. "As Beldin pointed out, though, Torak called our Master's Orb 'Cthrag Yaska.' It's possible, I suppose, that 'Cthrag Sardius' might be connected in some way."
"I picked up a lot of 'possibles' and 'supposes' and 'mights' in there, father," she said. "I wonder if you aren't chasing after shadows out of habit -or just to keep busy."
"You know me well enough to know that I'm not all that enthusiastic about keeping busy, Pol," he said wryly.
"So I've noticed. Is anything else happening in the world?"
"Let's see," Belgarath leaned back and stared speculatively at the low-beamed ceiling. "The Grand Duke Noragon ate something that definitely didn't agree with him."
"Who is the Grand Duke Noragon? And why are we interested in his digestion?" Polgara asked.
"The Grand Duke Noragon was the candidate of the Honeth family to succeed Ran Borune on the Imperial Throne of Tolnedra," Belgarath smirked. "He was a complete and total jackass, and his ascension to the throne would have been an unmitigated disaster."
"You said was," Durnik noted.
"Right. Noragon's indigestion proved fatal. It is widely suspected that some splendid Horbite sympathizer used certain exotic condiments that come from the jungles of Nyissa to season the Grand Duke's last lunch. The symptoms, I understand, were quite spectacular. The Honeths are in total disarray, and the other families are gloating outrageously."
"Tolnedran politics are disgusting," Polgara declared.
"Our Prince Kheldar appears to be well on his way toward becoming the wealthiest man in the world," Belgarath continued.
"Silk?" Durnik looked a bit amazed. "Has he managed to steal that much already?"
"I gather that what he's doing is sort of legitimate this time," Belgarath said. "He and that rascal Yarblek have somehow managed to gain control of the entire Nadrak fur harvest. I wasn't able to get all the details, but the screams of anguish coming from the major commercial houses in Boktor would seem to indicate that our friends are doing rather well."
"I'm pleased to hear that," Durnik said.
"That's probably because you haven't been in the market for a fur cape lately " Belgarath chuckled. "The price has taken quite a jump, I understand." The old man rocked back in his chair. "In Cthol Murgos, your friend Kal Zakath is methodically butchering his way down the east coast. He's added Rak Cthan and Rak Hagga to the list of cities he's captured and depopulated. I'm not too fond of Murgos, but it's
"What is it that's so pressing, father?" Polgara asked him as she cleared away the supper dishes.
"Beldin and I had quite a long talk," the old man replied. "There are some things going on in Mallorea that I don't quite like."
"What earthly difference can it make now, father? Our interest in Mallorea ended at Cthol Mishrak when Torak died. You were not appointed caretaker of the world, you know."
"I wish it were that easy, Pol," he said. "Does the name 'the Sardion' mean anything to you? Or 'Cthrag Sardius' perhaps?"
She was pouring hot water from a kettle into the large pan in which she customarily washed the dishes, but she stopped, frowning slightly. "I think I heard a Grolim say something about 'Cthrag Sardius' once. He was delirious and babbling in old Angarak."
"Can you remember what he was saying?" Belgarath asked intently.
"I'm sorry, father, but I don't speak old Angarak. You never got around to teaching me, remember?" She looked at Errand and crooked one finger at him.
Errand sighed disconsolately, got up, and fetched a dishtowel.
"Don't make faces, Errand," she told him. "It doesn't hurt you to help clean up after supper." She looked back at Belgarath as she started to wash the dishes. "What's the significance of the 'Sardion' or whatever you call it?"
"I don't know," Belgarath replied, scratching at his beard in perplexity. "As Beldin pointed out, though, Torak called our Master's Orb 'Cthrag Yaska.' It's possible, I suppose, that 'Cthrag Sardius' might be connected in some way."
"I picked up a lot of 'possibles' and 'supposes' and 'mights' in there, father," she said. "I wonder if you aren't chasing after shadows out of habit -or just to keep busy."
"You know me well enough to know that I'm not all that enthusiastic about keeping busy, Pol," he said wryly.
"So I've noticed. Is anything else happening in the world?"
"Let's see," Belgarath leaned back and stared speculatively at the low-beamed ceiling. "The Grand Duke Noragon ate something that definitely didn't agree with him."
"Who is the Grand Duke Noragon? And why are we interested in his digestion?" Polgara asked.
"The Grand Duke Noragon was the candidate of the Honeth family to succeed Ran Borune on the Imperial Throne of Tolnedra," Belgarath smirked. "He was a complete and total jackass, and his ascension to the throne would have been an unmitigated disaster."
"You said was," Durnik noted.
"Right. Noragon's indigestion proved fatal. It is widely suspected that some splendid Horbite sympathizer used certain exotic condiments that come from the jungles of Nyissa to season the Grand Duke's last lunch. The symptoms, I understand, were quite spectacular. The Honeths are in total disarray, and the other families are gloating outrageously."
"Tolnedran politics are disgusting," Polgara declared.
"Our Prince Kheldar appears to be well on his way toward becoming the wealthiest man in the world," Belgarath continued.
"Silk?" Durnik looked a bit amazed. "Has he managed to steal that much already?"
"I gather that what he's doing is sort of legitimate this time," Belgarath said. "He and that rascal Yarblek have somehow managed to gain control of the entire Nadrak fur harvest. I wasn't able to get all the details, but the screams of anguish coming from the major commercial houses in Boktor would seem to indicate that our friends are doing rather well."
"I'm pleased to hear that," Durnik said.
"That's probably because you haven't been in the market for a fur cape lately " Belgarath chuckled. "The price has taken quite a jump, I understand." The old man rocked back in his chair. "In Cthol Murgos, your friend Kal Zakath is methodically butchering his way down the east coast. He's added Rak Cthan and Rak Hagga to the list of cities he's captured and depopulated. I'm not too fond of Murgos, but it's
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