Guardians of the West

that bad." Barak shrugged as the wind tossed his red beard.
    "That's not what I meant. I thought that after Torak died, I could live out my life in peace."
    "You got lucky," Barak told him.
    "Are you trying to be funny?"
    "All anybody ever got out of peace was a fat behind and cobwebs in his head," the big man said sagely. "Give me a nice friendly little war any time."
    When they were some leagues at sea, a detachment of ships separated from the fleet to sail due east toward Sendar, bearing with them King Fulrach, General Brendig, the Earl of Seline, and the heavily sedated Queen Layla.
    "I hope Brendig gets to Darine on time," Anheg said, standing at the rail. "I'm really going to need those ships during the search."
    "Where do you plan to start?" Queen Porenn asked him.
    "The cult's largely concentrated on the west coast," he replied. "If Prince Geran's abductors went to Cherek, they'd most likely head for a cult stronghold. I'll start along the coast and work my way inland."
    "That seems like sound strategy." she agreed. "Deploy your men and sweep the area."
    "Porenn," he said with a pained look, "I love you like a sister, but please don't use military terms when you talk to me. It sets my teeth on edge to hear that sort of language in a woman's mouth."
    The passage through the Cherek Bore delayed them for two days. Although Greldik and a few other hardy souls were willing -even eager- to attempt the Great Maelstrom in the heavy seas that were the aftermath of the storm, cooler and more prudent heads prevailed.
    "I'm sure the sea will quiet down in a bit," Barak shouted across to his friend, "and Rheon isn't going anyplace. Let's not lose any ships if we don't have to."
    "Barak," Greldik shouted back, "you're turning into an old woman."
    "Anheg said the same thing just before Jarviksholm," Barak noted.
    "He's a wise king."
    "It isn't his ship."
    After they passed the Bore and entered the calmer waters of the Gulf of Cherek, King Anheg took a sizeable portion of the fleet and sailed northward toward Val Alorn. Before making the transfer to one of Anheg's ships, Belgarath stood on deck, talking quietly with Garion and Polgara. "As soon as I finish at Val Alorn, I'll go on down to Mar Terrin," he told them. "If I don't get back before you arrive at Rheon, be careful. The cult's pretty fanatic, and this war they've started is directed at you personally, Garion."
    "I'll watch out for him, father," Polgara assured him.
    "I can more or less take care of myself, Aunt Pol," Garion told her.
    "I'm sure you can, dear." she replied, "but old habits die hard."
    "How old am I going to have to be before you realize that I'm grown up?"
    "Why don't you check back with me in a thousand years or so?" she said. "Maybe we can talk about it then."
    He smiled, then sighed. "Aunt Pol," he said, "I love you."
    "Yes, dear," she replied, patting his cheek, "I know, and I love you, too."
    At Kotu, the ship carrying Hettar and his wife and parents turned south toward Aldurford. "I'll meet you at Rheon in about three weeks," the hawk-faced Algar called across to the Seabird. "Save a little bit of the fighting for me."
    "Only if you hurry." Lelldorin shouted back blithely.
    "I'm not sure which are worse," Polgara murmured to Ce'Nedra, "Arends or Alorns."
    "Could they possibly be related?" Ce'Nedra asked.
    Aunt Pol laughed, then wrinkled her nose as she looked at the wharves of Kotu. "Come, dear," she said, "let's go below. Harbors always have the most distressing odors about them."
    The fleet passed Kotu and filed into the mouth of the Mrin River. The current was sluggish, and the fens lay green and soggy on either side. Garion stood near the bow of the Seabird, idly watching the gray-green reeds and scrubby bushes slide by as the oarsmen pulled steadily upstream.
    "Ah, there you are, Garion," Queen Porenn said, coming up behind him. "I thought we might talk for a few minutes."
    "Of course." He had a rather special feeling for this small, blonde woman, whose courage and devotion bespoke at once an enormous affection and an iron-clad resolve.
    "When we reach Boktor, I want to leave Kheva at the palace. I don't think he's going to like it very much, but he's just a little young for battles. If he gets stubborn about it, could you order him to stay behind?"
    "Me?"
    "You're the Overlord of the West, Garion," she reminded him. "I'm only his mother."
    "Overlord of the West is an over-rated title, I'm afraid." He tugged absently at one ear. "I wonder