Guardians of the West

part that says that blind choice might make the decision, though. That's the sort of thing that makes me very nervous."
    "Who is the Beloved and Eternal?"
    "Probably me."
    Garion looked at him.
    Belgarath shrugged. "It's a little ostentatious," he admitted, "but some people do call me 'the Eternal Man' and when my Master changed my name, he added the syllable 'Bel' to my old one. In the old language 'Bel' meant 'beloved'. He smiled a bit sadly. "My master had a way with words sometimes."
    "What are these mysteries it talks about?"
    "It's an archaic term. In the old days they used the word 'mystery' instead of 'prophecy'. As cryptic as some of them are, it sort of makes sense, I guess."
    "Ho! Garion! Belgarath!" The voice came to them from outside the tower.
    "Who's that?" Belgarath asked. "Did you tell anybody you were coming here?"
    "No," Garion frowned, "not really." He went to the window and looked down. A tall, hawk-faced Algar with a flowing back scalp lock sat astride a lathered and exhausted looking horse. "Hettar!" Garion called down to him. "What's the matter?"
    "Let me in, Garion," Hettar replied. "I have to talk with you."
    Belgarath joined Garion at the window. "The door's around on the other side," he called down. "I'll open it for you. Be careful of the stone on that fifth step," he cautioned, as the tall man started around the tower. "It's loose."
    "When are you going to fix that, Grandfather?" Garion asked. He felt the faint, familiar surge as the old man opened the door.
    "Oh, I'll get to it one of these days."
    Hettar's hawk-like face was bleak as he came up into the round room at the top of the tower.
    "What's all the urgency, Hettar?" Garion asked. "I've never seen you ride a horse into the ground like that."
    Hettar took a deep breath. "You've got to go back to Riva immediately, Garion," he said.
    "Is something wrong there?" Garion asked, a sudden chill coming over him.
    Hettar sighed. "I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, Garion, but Ce'Nedra sent word for me to get you as fast as I possibly could. You've got to go back to Riva al once."
    Garion steeled himself, a dozen dreadful possibilities arising in his imagination. "Why?" he asked quietly.
    "I'm sorry, Garion -more sorry than I can possibly say- but Brand has been murdered."

PART THREE – ALORIA



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    Lieutenant Bledik was one of those sober-minded young Sendarian officers who took everything very seriously. He arrived at the Lion Inn in the port city of Camaar promptly on time and was escorted upstairs by the aproned innkeeper. The rooms in which Garion and the others were staying were airy and well furnished and looked out over the harbor. Garion stood at the window holding aside one of the green drapes and looking out as if it might be possible to penetrate all those leagues of open water and see what was happening at Riva.
    "You sent for me, your Majesty?" Bledik asked with a respectful bow.
    "Ah, Lieutenant, come in," Garion said, turning from the window. "I have an urgent message for King Fulrach. How fast do you think you can get to Sendar?"
    The lieutenant considered it. One look at his sober face told Garion that the young man always considered everything. Bledik pursed his lips, absently adjusting the collar of his scarlet uniform. "If I ride straight through and change horses at every hostel along the way, I can be at the palace by late tomorrow afternoon."
    "Good," Garion said. He handed the young officer the folded and sealed letter to the Sendarian king. "When you see King Fulrach, tell him that I've sent Lord Hettar of Algaria to all of the Alorn Kings to tell them that I'm calling a meeting of the Alorn Council at Riva and that I'd like to have him there as well."
    "Yes, your Majesty."
    "And tell him that the Rivan Warder has been murdered."
    Bledik's eyes widened, and his face went pale. "No!" he gasped. "Who was responsible?"
    "I don't know any of the details yet, but, as soon as we can hire a ship, we're going across to the island."
    "Garion, dear," Polgara said from her chair by the window, "you explained everything in the letter. The lieutenant has a long way to go, and you're delaying him."
    "You're probably right, Aunt Pol," he admitted. He turned back to Bledik. "Will you need any money or anything?" he asked.
    "No, your Majesty."
    "You'd better get started then."
    "At once, your Majesty." The lieutenant saluted and went out.
    Garion began to pace up and down on the costly Mallorean carpet