Enchanter's End Game

with a kind of silly enthusiasm. It might be all ver well for the Orb to exult about the meeting with Torak, but it was Garion who was going to have to face the Dragon-God of Angarak, and it was Garion who was going to have to do all the bleeding. He felt that the unrelieved cheerfulness of the Orb was - all things considered - in very poor taste, to say the least.
    The border between Drasnia and Gar og Nadrak straddled the North Caravan Route in a narrow, rocky gap where two garrisons, one Drasnian and one Nadrak, faced each other across a simple gate that consisted of a single, horizontal pole. By itself, the pole was an insubstantial barrier. Symbolically, however, it was more intimidating than the gates of Vo Mimbre or Tol Honeth. On one side of the gate stood the West; on the other, the East. With a single step, one could move from one world into a totally different one, and Garion wished with all his being that he did not have to take that step.
    As Silk had predicted, Mulger said nothing about his suspicions to either the Drasnian pikemen or the leather-clad Nadrak soldiers at the border, and they passed without incident into the mountains of Gar og Nadrak. Once it passed the border, the caravan route climbed steeply up a narrow gorge beside a swiftly tumbling mountain stream. The rock walls of the gorge were sheer, black, and oppressive. The sky overhead narrowed to a dirty gray ribbon, and the clanging mule bells echoed back from the rocks to accompany the rush and pounding gurgle of the stream.
    Belgarath awoke and looked around, his eyes alert. He gave Silk a quick, sidelong glance that cautioned the little man to keep his mouth shut, then cleared his throat. "We want to thank you, worthy Mulger, and to wish you good luck in your dealings here."
    Mulger looked at the old sorcerer sharply, his eyes questioning. "We'll be leaving you at the head of this gorge," Belgarath continued smoothly, his face bland. "Our business is off that way." He gestured rather vaguely.
    Mulger grunted. "I don't want to know anything about it," he declared.
    "You don't, really," Belgarath assured him. "And please don't take Ambar's remarks too seriously. He has a comic turn of mind and he says things he doesn't always mean, because he enjoys irritating people. Once you get to know him, he's not quite so bad."
    Mulger gave Silk a long, hard look and let it pass without comment. "Good luck in whatever it is you're doing," he said grudgingly, forced to say it more out of courtesy than out of any genuine good feeling. "You and the young man weren't bad traveling companions."
    "We are in your debt, worthy Mulger," Silk added with mocking extravagance. "Your hospitality has been exquisite."
    Mulger looked directly at Silk again. "I don't really like you, Ambar," he said bluntly. "Why don't we just let it go at that?"
    "I'm crushed." Silk grinned at him.
    "Let it lie," Belgarath growled.
    "I made every effort to win him over," Silk protested.
    Belgarath turned his back on him.
    "I really did." Silk appealed to Garion, his eyes brimming with mock sincerity.
    "I don't believe you either," Garion told him.
    Silk sighed. "Nobody understands me," he complained. Then he laughed and rode on up the gorge, whistling happily to himself.
    At the head of the gorge, they left Mulger and struck off to the left of the caravan route through a jumble of rock and stunted trees. At the crest of a stony ridge, they stopped to watch the slow progress of the mules until they were out of sight.
    "Where are we headed?" Silk asked, squinting up at the clouds scudding past overhead. "I thought we were going to Yar Gurak."
    "We are," Belgarath replied, scratching at his beard, "but we'll circle around and come at the town from the other side. Mulger's opinions make traveling with him just a bit chancy. He might let something slip at the wrong time. Besides, Garion and I have something to take care of before we get there." The old man looked around. "Over there ought to do," he said, pointing at a shallow green dale, concealed on the far side of the ridge. He led them down into the dale and dismounted.
    Silk, leading their single packhorse, pulled up beside a small pool of spring water and tied the horses to a dead snag standing at its edge.
    "What is it that we have to do, Grandfather?" Garion asked, sliding out of his saddle.
    "That sword of yours is a trifle obvious," the old man told him. "Unless we want to spend the whole trip answering questions, we're going