Guardians of the West

yet no evidence that the Drasnian pikemen under General Haldar were coming up from the rear.
    When they stopped for a hasty midday meal on that second day, Polgara approached him gravely. Her blue cloak seemed to whisper through the tall grass as she came, and her familiar fragrance came to him on the vagrant breeze. "Let's walk a bit, Garion," she said quietly. "There's something we need to discuss."
    " All right." His reply was short, even curt.
    She did something then that she had rarely done in the past several years. With a kind of solemn affection, she linked her arm in his, and together they walked away from the army and the rest of their friends, moving up a grassy knoll.
    "You've grown very grim in the past few weeks, dear," she said as they stopped at the crest of the knoll.
    "I think I've got reason enough, Aunt Pol."
    "I know that you've been hurt deeply by all of this, Garion, and that you're filled with a great rage; but don't let it turn you into a savage."
    "Aunt Pol, I didn't start this," he reminded her. "They tried to kill my wife. Then they murdered one of my closest friends and tried to start a war between me and Anheg. And now they've stolen my son. Don't you think that a little punishment might be in order?"
    "Perhaps," she replied, looking directly into his face, "but you must not allow your sense of outrage to run away with you and make you decide to start wading in blood. You have tremendous power, Garion, and you could very easily use it to do unspeakable things to your enemies. If you do that, the power will turn you into something as vile as Torak was. You'll begin to take pleasure in the horrors you inflict. In time, that pleasure will come to own you."
    He stared at her, startled by the intensity in her voice and by the way the single white lock at her brow seemed to blaze up suddenly.
    "It's a very real danger, Garion. In a peculiar way, you're in more peril right now than you were when you faced Torak."
    "I'm not going to let them get away with what they've done," he said stubbornly. "I'm not just going to let them go."
    "I'm not suggesting that, dear. We'll be at Rheon soon, and there'll be fighting. You're an Alorn, and I'm sure that you'll be very enthusiastic about the fighting. I want you to promise me that you won't let that enthusiasm and your sense of outrage push you over the line into wanton slaughter."
    "Not if they surrender," he replied stiffly.
    "And what then? What will you do with your prisoners?"
    He frowned. He hadn't really considered that.
    "For the most part, the Bear-cult is composed of the ignorant and the misguided. They're so obsessed with a single idea that they can't even comprehend the enormity of what they've done. Will you butcher them for stupidity? Stupidity is unfortunate, but it hardly deserves that kind of punishment."
    "What about Ulfgar?" he demanded.
    She smiled a bleak little smile. "Now that," she said, "is another matter."
    A large, blue-banded hawk spiraled down out of the murky sky. "Are we having a little family get-together?" Beldin asked harshly, even as he shimmered into his own form.
    "Where have you been, uncle?" Aunt Pol asked him quite calmly. "I left word with the twins for you to catch up with us."
    "I just got back from Mallorea," he grunted, scratching at his stomach. "Where's Belgarath?"
    "At Val Alorn," she replied, "and then he's going on to Mar Terrin. He's trying to follow the trail that's supposed to be hidden in the mysteries. You've heard about what's happened?"
    "Most of it, I think. The twins showed me the passage that was hidden in the Mrin Codex, and I heard about the Rivan Warder and Belgarion's son. You're moving against Rheon, right?"
    "Naturally." she answered. "That's the source of the infection."
    The hunchback looked speculatively at Garion. "I'm sure you're an expert tactician, Belgarion," he said, "but your reasoning escapes me this time."
    Garion looked at him blankly.
    "You're moving to attack a superior force in a fortified city, right?"
    "I suppose you could put it that way."
    "Then why is more than half your army camped at the shallows of the Mrin, two days behind you? Don't you think you might need them?"
    "What are you talking about, uncle?" Aunt Pol asked sharply .
    "I thought I was speaking quite plainly. The Drasnian army's camped at the shallows. They don't show signs of planning to move at any time in the near future. They're even fortifying their positions."
    "That's impossible."
    He shrugged.