Guardians of the West

spent thousands of years being the most powerful woman in the world, Old Wolf," she replied. "Kings have been bowing to me for centuries, and I've lost track of all the titles. This is, however, the very first time I've ever married. You and I were always too busy for that. I've wanted to be married, though, and I've spent my whole life practicing. I know everything a good wife needs to know and I can do everything a good wife needs to do. Please don't criticize me, father, and please don't interfere. I've never been so happy in my life."
    "Making soap?"
    "That's part of it, yes."
    "It's such a waste of time," he said. He gestured negligently , and a cake of soap that had not been there before joined the ones she had already made.
    "Father!" she said, stamping her foot. "You stop that this minute!"
    He picked up two cakes of soap, one his and one hers. "Can you really tell me the difference between them, Pol?"
    "Mine was made with love; yours is just a trick."
    "It's still going to get clothes just as clean."
    "Not mine, it won't," she said, taking the cake of soap out of his hand. She held it up, balanced neatly on her palm. Then she blew on it with a slight puff, and it instantly vanished.
    "That's a little silly, Pol," he told her.
    "Being silly at times runs in my family, I think," she replied calmly. "Just go back to your own work, father, and leave me to mine."
    "You're almost as bad as Durnik is," he accused her.
    She nodded with a contented smile. "I know. That's probably why I married him."
    "Come along, Errand," Belgarath said to the boy as he turned to leave. "This sort of thing might be contagious, and I wouldn't want you to catch it."
    "Oh," she said. "One other thing, father. Stay out of my stores. If you want a jar of ale, ask me."
    Assuming a lofty expression, Belgarath strode away without answering. As soon as they were around the corner, however, Errand pulled a brown jar from inside his tunic and wordlessly gave it to the old man.
    "Excellent, my boy." Belgarath grinned. "You see how easy it is, once you get the hang of it?"
    Throughout that summer and well into the long, golden autumn which followed it, the four of them worked to make the cottage habitable and weathertight for the winter. Errand did what he could to help, though more often than not his help consisted primarily of providing company while keeping out from underfoot.
    When the snows came, the entire world seemed somehow to change. More than ever before, the isolated cottage became a warm, safe haven. The central room, where they took their meals and where they all sat in the long evenings, faced a huge stone fireplace that provided both warmth and light.
    Errand, whose time was spent out of doors on all but the most bitterly cold days, was usually drowsy during those golden, firelit hours between supper and bedtime and he often lay on a fur rug before the fire and gazed into the dancing flames until his eyes slowly closed. And later he waked in the cool darkness of his own room with warm, down-filled coverlets tucked up under his chin and he knew that Polgara had quietly carried him in and put him to bed. And he sighed happily and went back to sleep.
    Durnik made him a sled, of course, and the long hill which ran down into the valley was perfect for sledding. The snow was not deep enough to make the runners of the sled bog down, and Errand was able to coast amazing distances across the meadow at the bottom of the hill because of the terrific momentum built up as he slid down the slope.
    The absolute cap of the entire sledding season came late one bitingly cold afternoon, just after the sun had dropped into a bank of purple clouds on the western horizon and the sky had turned to a pale, icy turquoise. Errand trudged up the hill through the frozen snow, pulling his sled behind him.
    When he reached the top, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. The thatched cottage below nestled in the surrounding snowbanks with the light from its windows golden and the column of pale blue smoke rising from its chimney as straight as an arrow into the dead calm air.
    Errand smiled, lay down on his sled, and pushed off. The combination of circumstances was perfect for sledding.
    There was not even a breeze to impede his rapid descent, and he gathered astounding speed on his way down the hill.
    He flew across the meadow and in among the trees. The white-barked birches and dark, shadowy cedars flashed by as he sped through the woods. He might have