Enchanter's End Game

your jaws," Belgarath told him.
    "You can be a very unpleasant old man when you set your mind to it, do you know that?"
    "The nights are getting longer, aren't they?" Garion said to head off any further wrangling.
    "The summer's winding down," Belgarath told him. "It will be autumn up here in another few weeks, and winter will be right on its heels."
    "I wonder where we'll be when winter comes," Garion said rather plaintively.
    "I wouldn't do that," Silk advised. "Thinking about it isn't going to help, and it's only going to make you nervous."
    "Nervouser," Garion corrected. "I'm already nervous."
    "Is there such a word as 'nervouser?' " Silk asked Belgarath curiously.
    "There is now," Belgarath replied. "Garion just invented it."
    "I wish I could invent a word," Silk said admiringly to Garion, his ferretlike little eyes gleaming mischievously.
    "Please don't poke fun at me, Silk. I'm having enough trouble as it is."
    "Let's get some sleep," Belgarath suggested. "This conversation isn't going anywhere, and we've got a long way to ride tomorrow."
    That night the whispering invaded Garion's sleep, and it seemed to convey its meaning in images rather than words. There was an offer of friendship - of a hand outstretched in love. The loneliness that had haunted his boyhood from the moment he had discovered that he was an orphan seemed to fade, to pass somehow behind him with that offer, and he found himself rather desperately wanting to run toward that hand reaching toward him.
    Then, very clearly, he saw two figures standing side by side. The figure of the man was very tall and very powerful, and the figure of the woman was so familiar that the very sight of her caught at Garion's heart. The tall, powerful man seemed to be a stranger, and yet was not. His face went far beyond mere human handsomeness. It was quite the most beautiful face Garion had ever seen. The woman, of course, was not a stranger. The white lock at the brow and the glorious eyes were the most familiar things in Garion's life. Side by side, the beautiful stranger and Aunt Pol reached out their arms to him.
    "You will be our son," the whispering voice told him. "Our beloved son. I will be your father, and Polgara your mother. This will be no imaginary thing, Child of Light, for I can make all things happen. Polgara will really be your mother, and all of her love will be yours alone; and I, your father, will love and cherish you both. Will you turn away from us and face again the bitter loneliness of the orphan child? Does that chill emptiness compare with the warmth of loving parents? Come to us, Belgarion, and accept our love."
    Garion jerked himself out of sleep, sitting bolt upright, trembling and sweating.
    "I need help, " he cried out silently, reaching into the vaults of his mind to find that other, nameless presence.
    "What's your problem now?" the dry voice asked him.
    "He's cheating, " Garion declared, outraged.
    "Cheating? Did somebody come along and make up a set of rules while I wasn't watching?"
    "You know what I mean. He's offering to make Aunt Pol my mother if I'll do what he says. "
    "He's lying. He can't alter the past. Ignore him."
    "How can I? He keeps reaching into my mind and putting his hand on the most sensitive spots "
    "Think about Ce'Nedra. That'll confuse him. "
    "Ce'Nedra?"
    "Every time he tries to tempt you with Polgara, think about your flighty little princess. Remember exactly how she looked when you peeked at her while she was bathing that time back in the Wood of the Dryads."
    "I did not peekl"
    "Really? How is it that you remember every single detail so vividly, then?"
    Garion blushed. He had forgotten that his daydreams were not entirely private.
    "Just concentrate on Ce'Nedra. It will probably irritate Torak almost as much as it does me. " The voice paused. "Is that all you can really think about?" it asked then.
    Garion did not try to answer that.
    They pushed on southward under the dirty overcast and two days later they reached the first trees, scattered sparsely at the edge of the grassland where great herds of antlered creatures grazed as placidly and unafraid as cattle. As the three of them rode south, the scattered clumps of trees became thicker, and soon spread into a forest of dark-boughed evergreens.
    The whispering blandishments of Torak continued, but Garion countered them with thoughts of his red-haired little princess. He could sense the irritation of his enemy each time he intruded these daydreams upon