‘Urgit’s not like any other Murgo you’ve ever met, Father,’ Hettar told him. ‘He wanted to thank you for killing Taur Urgas.’
‘That’s a novel sentiment coming from a son.’
Garion explained Urgit’s peculiar background, and the normally reserved King of Algaria burst out in peal after peal of laughter. ‘I knew Prince Kheldar’s father,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly the kind of thing he would have done.’
The ladies were gathered about Geran and about Adara’s growing brood of children. Garion’s cousin was at the ungainly stage of her pregnancy, and she sat most of the time now with a dreamy smile on her face as she listened to the inexorable changes nature was imposing on her body. The revelation of the dual pregnancies of Ce’Nedra and Polgara filled Adara and Queen Silar with wonder, and Poledra sat among them, smiling mysteriously. Poledra, Garion was sure, knew far more than she was revealing.
After about ten days, Durnik grew restless. ‘We’ve been away for a long while, Pol,’ he said one morning. ‘There’s still time to put in a crop, and I’m sure we’ll need to tidy up a bit – mend fences, check the roof, that sort of thing.’
‘Anything you say, dear,’ she agreed placidly. Pregnancy had notably altered Polgara. Nothing seemed to upset her now.
On the day of their departure, Garion went down to the courtyard to saddle Chretienne. Although there were plenty of Algar clansmen here in the Stronghold who would have been more than willing to have performed the task for him, he feigned a desire to attend to it himself. The others were engaged in extended farewells, and Garion knew that about one more goodbye right now would probably reduce him to tears,
‘That’s a very good horse, Garion.’
It was his cousin Adara. Her face had the serenity that pregnancy bestowed upon women, and looking at her convinced Garion once again just how lucky Hettar really was. Since he had first met her, there had always been a special bond and a special kind of love between Garion and Adara. ‘Zakath gave him to me,’ he replied. If they confined their conversation to the subject of horses, he was fairly certain that he’d be able to keep his emotions under control.
Adara, however, was not there to talk about horses. She put one hand gently to the back of his neck and kissed him. ‘Farewell, my kinsman,’ she said softly.
‘Goodbye, Adara,’ he said, his voice growing thick. ‘Goodbye.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
KING BELGARION OF RIVA, Overlord of the West, Lord of the Western Sea, Godslayer, and general all-round hero had an extended arguement with his co-ruler, Queen Ce’Nedra of Riva, Imperial Princess of the Tolnedran Empire and Jewel of the House of Borune. The subject of their discussion hinged on the question of just who should have the privilege of carrying Crown Prince Geran, Heir to the Throne of Riva, hereditary Keeper of the Orb and, until recently, The Child of Dark. The conversation lasted for quite some time as the royal pair rode with their family from the Stronghold of the Algars to the Vale of Aldur.
Ultimately, albeit somewhat reluctantly, Queen Ce’ Nedra relented. As Belgarath the Sorcerer had predicted, Queen Ce’Nedra’s arms had at last grown tired of continually carrying her young son, and she relinquished him with some relief.
‘Make sure he doesn’t fall off,’ she warned her husband.
‘Yes, dear,’ Garion replied, settling his son on Chretienne’s neck just in front of the saddle.
‘And don’t let him get sunburned.’
Now that he had been rescued from Zandramas, Geran was a good-natured little boy. He spoke in half-phrases, his small face very serious as he tried to explain things to his father. Very importantly, he pointed out deer and rabbits as they rode south, and he dozed from time to time, resting his blond, curly head against his father’s chest in absolute contentment. He was restive one morning, however, and Garion, without really thinking about it, removed the Orb from the pommel of his sword and gave it to his son to play with. Geran was delighted, and with a kind of bemused wonder he held the glowing jewel between his hands to stare with fascination into its depths. Often, he would hold it to his ear to listen by the hour to its song. The Orb, it appeared, was even more delighted than the little boy.
‘That’s really very disturbing, Garion,’ Beldin chided. ‘You’ve turned the most powerful object in the universe into a child’s plaything.’
‘It’s his, after all – or it will be. They ought to get to know each other, wouldn’t you say?’
‘What if he loses it?’
‘Beldin, do you really think the Orb can be lost?’
The game, however, came rather abruptly to an end when Poledra reined in her horse beside the Overlord of the West. ‘He’s too young to be doing this sort of thing, Garion,’ she said reprovingly. She reached out her arm and a curiously twisted and knotted stick appeared in her hand. ‘Put the Orb away, Garion,’ she said. ‘Give him this to play with instead.’
‘That’s the stick with only one end, isn’t it?’ he said suspiciously, remembering the toy Belgarath had once shown him in the cluttered tower – the toy which had occupied Aunt Pol’s mind during her babyhood.
Poledra nodded. ‘It should keep him busy,’ she said.
Geran willingly gave up the Orb for the new toy. The Orb, however, muttered complaints in Garion’s ear for the next several hours.
They reached the cottage a day or so later. Poledra looked rather critically down from the hill-top above it. ‘You’ve made some changes, I see,’ she said to her daughter.
‘Do you mind, mother?’ Aunt Pol asked.
‘Of course not, Polgara. A house should reflect the character of its owner.’
‘I’m sure there are a million things to do,’ Durnik said. ‘Those fences really need attention. We’ll have hundreds of Algar cows in the dooryard if I don’t mend them.’
‘And I’m sure the cottage needs a thorough cleaning,’ his wife added.
They rode down the hill, dismounted, and went inside. ‘Impossible,’ Polgara exclaimed, looking about in dismay at the negligibly thin film of dust lying over everything. ‘We’ll need some brooms, Durnik,’ she said.
‘Of course, dear,’ he agreed.
Belgarath was rummaging through the pantry.
‘None of that now, father,’ Polgara told him crisply. ‘I want you and Uncle Beldin and Garion to go out there and clear the weeds out of my kitchen garden.’