Guardians of the West

nodded to Hettar. And then, with his detachment of troops jingling along behind him, he rode back toward Muros.
    "I'm going to have words with Fulrach about this," Belgarath said darkly to Hettar, "and with your father, too."
    "It's one of the prices of immortality, Belgarath," Hettar said blandly. "People tend to respect you -even when you'd rather they didn't. Shall we go?"
    The mountains of eastern Sendaria were not so high as to make travel across them unpleasant. With the fierce-looking Algar clansmen riding both to the front and to the rear of the wagon, they traveled at an easy pace along the Great North Road through the deep green forests and beside mountain streams. At one point, when they had stopped to rest their horses, Durnik stepped down from the wagon and walked to the edge of the road to gaze speculatively at a deep pool at the foot of a small, churning waterfall.
    "Are we in any particular hurry?" he asked Belgarath.
    "Not really. Why?"
    "I just thought that this might be a pleasant place to stop for our noon meal," the smith said artlessly.
    Belgarath looked around. "If you want, I suppose it's all right."
    "Good."
    With that same slightly absent look on his face, Durnik went to the wagon and took a coil of thin, waxed cord from one of the bags. He carefully tied a hook decorated with some brightly colored yarn to one end of the cord and began looking about for a slender, springy sapling. Five minutes later he was standing on a boulder that jutted out into the pool, making long casts into the turbulent water just at the foot of the falls.
    Errand drifted down to the edge of the stream to watch.
    Durnik was casting into the center of the main flow of the current so that the swiftly moving green water pulled his lure down deep into the pool.
    After about a half an hour, Polgara called to them. "Errand, Durnik, your lunch is ready"'
    "Yes, dear"' Durnik replied absently. "In a moment."
    Errand obediently went back up to the wagon, though his eyes yearned back toward the rushing water. Polgara gave him one brief, understanding look, then laid the meat and cheese she had sliced for him on a piece of bread so that he could carry his lunch back to the stream bank.
    "Thank you," he said simply.
    Durnik continued his fishing, his face still intent. Polgara came down to the water's edge. "Durnik," she called. "Lunch."
    "Yes," he replied, not taking his eyes off the water. "I'm coming." He made another cast.
    Polgara sighed. "Oh, well," she said. "I suppose every man needs at least one vice."
    After about another half-hour, Durnik looked baffled. He jumped from his boulder to the stream bank and stood scratching his head and staring in perplexity at the swirling water. "I know they're in there," he said to Errand. "I can almost feel them."
    "Here," Errand said, pointing down at the deep, slow moving eddy near the bank.
    "I think they'd be farther out, Errand," Durnik replied doubtfully.
    "Here," Errand repeated, pointing again.
    Durnik shrugged. "If you say so," he said dubiously, flipping his lure out into the eddy. "I still think they'd be out in the main current, though."
    And then his pole bent sharply into a tense, quivering bow. He caught four trout in rapid succession, thick, heavy-bodied trout with silvery, speckled sides and curved jaws filled with needlelike teeth.
    "Why did it take you so long to find the right spot?" Belgarath asked later that afternoon when they were back on the highway.
    "You have to work that kind of pool methodically, Belgarath," Durnik explained. "You start at one side and work your way across, cast by cast."
    "I see."
    "It's the only way to be really sure you've covered it all."
    "Of course."
    "I was fairly sure where they were lying, though."
    "Naturally."
    "It was just that I wanted to do it the right way. I'm sure you understand."
    "Perfectly," Belgarath said gravely.
    After they had passed through the mountains, they turned south, riding through the vast grasslands of the Algarian plain where herds of cattle and horses grazed in that huge green sea of grass that rippled and swayed under the steady easterly breeze. Although Hettar strongly urged them to stop by the Stronghold of the Algar clans, Polgara declined. "Tell Cho-Hag and Silar that we may visit later," she said, "but we really should get to the Vale. It's probably going to take most of the summer to make my mother's house habitable again."
    Hettar nodded gravely and then waved a brief salute as he and his