Castle of Wizardry

meeting, and all mankind awaits the outcome."
    "Except me, Belgarath." She gave him a penetrating look. "The fate of mankind is a matter of only the mildest curiosity to me. I was excluded from mankind three hundred years ago, you'll remember."
    "Those people are all long dead, Vordai."
    "Their descendants are no different. Could I walk into any village in this part of Drasnia and tell the good villagers who I am without being stoned or burned?"
    "Villagers are the same the world over, madame," Silk put in. "Provincial, stupid, and superstitious. Not all men are like that."
    "All men are the same, Prince Kheldar," she disagreed. "When I was young, I tried to involve myself in the affairs of my village. I only wanted to help, but very soon not a cow died or a baby took colic without my being blamed for it. They stoned me finally and tried to drag me back to the village to burn me at the stake. They had quite a celebration planned. I managed to escape, though, and I took refuge here in the fens. After that I had very little interest in the affairs of men."
    "You probably shouldn't have displayed your talents quite so openly," Belgarath told her. "People prefer not to believe in that sort of thing. There's a whole catalogue of nasty little emotions curdling in the human spirit, and anything the least bit out of the ordinary raises the possibility of retribution."
    "My village learned that it was more than a possibility," she replied with a certain grim satisfaction.
    "What happened?" Garion asked curiously.
    "It started raining," Vordai told him with an odd smile.
    "Is that all?"
    "It was enough. It rained on that village for five years, King Belgarion just on the village. A hundred yards beyond the last house everything was normal, but in the village there was rain. They tried to move twice, but the rain followed them. Finally they gave up and left the area. For all I know, some of their descendants are still wandering."
    "You're not serious," Silk scoffed.
    "Quite serious." She gave him an amused look. "Your credulity appears selective, Prince Kheldar. Here you are, going about the world in the company of Belgarath the Sorcerer. I'm sure you believe in his power; but you can't bring yourself to accept the idea of the power of the witch of the fens."
    Silk stared at her.
    "I really am a witch, Prince Kheldar. I could demonstrate if you wish, but I don't think you'd like it very much. People seldom do."
    "That isn't really necessary, Vordai," Belgarath said. "What is it that you want exactly?"
    "I was coming to that, Belgarath," she replied. "After I escaped into the fens, I discovered my little friends here." She affectionately stroked the side of Poppi's furry little face, and Poppi nuzzled at her hand ecstatically. "They were afraid of me at first, but they finally grew less shy. They began bringing me fish - and flowers - as tokens of friendship, and I needed friends very badly at that time. I altered them a bit out of gratitude."
    "You shouldn't have, you know," the old man said rather sadly.
    She shrugged. "Should and shouldn't have very little meaning to me any more."
    "Not even the Gods would do what you did."
    "The Gods have other amusements." She looked directly at him then. "I've been waiting for you, Belgarath - for years now. I knew that sooner or later you'd come back into the fens. This meeting you spoke of is very important to you, isn't it?"
    "It's the most important event in the history of the world."
    "That depends on your point of view, I suppose. You need my help, though."
    "I think we can manage, Vordai."
    "Perhaps, but how do you expect to get out of the fens?"
    He looked at her sharply.
    "I can open the way for you to the dry ground at the edge of the swamp, or I can see to it that you wander around in these marshes forever - in which case this meeting you're concerned about will never happen, will it? That puts me in a very interesting situation, wouldn't you say?"
    Belgarath's eyes narrowed.
    "I discovered that when men deal with each other, there's usually an exchange of some kind," she added with a strange little smile. "Something for something; nothing for nothing. It seems to be a sensible arrangement."
    "Exactly what did you have in mind?"
    "The fenlings are my friends," she replied. "In a very special way, my children. But men look upon them as animals with pelts worth the taking. They trap them, Belgarath, and they kill them for their fur. The fine ladies in Boktor and Kotu dress