King of The Murgos

the long swells sweeping in off the Great Western Sea. "From the day we were taken from our mothers, we lived a life of constant fear and senseless brutality. We were supposed to be perfect Murgos—strong, brave, insanely loyal, and absolutely dedicated to Torak. Each of us had a Grolim for a tutor, and we had to listen to hours of gibberish about the God of Angarak every day. It wasn't .what you might call a pleasant childhood."
    "Taur Urgas never showed any kind of affection?"
    "Not to me, he didn't. I was always the smallest, and he had a great deal of contempt for me. Murgos are supposed to be big and muscular. Even after I'd managed to work my way up to the point where I was heir apparent, he never had a civil word for me and he encouraged my younger brothers to try to murder me."
    "How did you manage to survive?"
    "By my wits—and by using a key I managed to steal."
    "A key?"
    "To the palace strong room. You'd be amazed at how much help a man with unlimited funds at his command can get—even in Cthol Murgos."
    Silk shivered. "It's getting definitely chilly out here on deck," he said. "Why don't we go inside and share a flagon of spiced wine?"
    "I don't drink, Kheldar."
    "You don't?" Silk sounded amazed.
    "I need to keep my wits about me. A man with his head stuck in a wine barrel can't see someone creeping up behind him with a knife, can he?"
    "You're quite safe with me, brother."
    "I'm not safe with anyone, Kheldar—particularly not with a brother. Nothing personal, you understand—just the result of a very nervous childhood."
    "All right," Silk said amiably. "Let's go inside, and you can watch me drink. I'm very good at it."
    "I can imagine. You're an Alorn, after all."
    "So are you, dear brother." Silk laughed. "So are you. Come along, and I'll introduce you to all the fun that goes with your heritage."
    Garion was on the verge of turning to follow them, but at that moment Belgarath came out on deck, stretching and yawning. "Is Pol up yet?" he asked Garion.
    Garion shook his head. "I talked with Durnik a little while ago. He said that she's very tired after what she did yesterday."
    Belgarath frowned slightly. "It really shouldn't have tired her all that much," he said. "It was spectacular, I'll admit, but hardly exhausting."
    "I don't think it's that kind of exhaustion, Grandfather. Durnik said she was troubled for about half the night."
    The old man scratched at his beard. "Oh," he said, "sometimes I lose sight of the fact that Pol's a woman. She can't seem to put things behind her, and sometimes her compassion gets the better of her."
    "That's not necessarily a bad trait, Grandfather."
    "Not for a woman, perhaps."
    "I seem to remember something that happened in the fens once," Garion told him. "Didn't you sort of go out of your way to do something for Vordai—more or less out of compassion?"
    Belgarath looked around guiltily. "I thought we agreed that you weren't going to mention that."
    "You know something, Grandfather?" Garion said with a faint smile. "You're a fraud. You pretend to be as cold as ice and as hard as a rock, but underneath you've got the same emotions as all the rest of us."
    "Please, Garion, don't bandy that about too much."
    "Does it bother you being human?"
    "Well, not really, but after all, I do sort of have a reputation to maintain."
    By late afternoon the coast line they had been following had grown even more jagged, and the surf boiled and thundered against the rocks. Silk and Urgit came up out of the aft companion way, and Garion noted that both were a trifle unsteady as they walked.
    "Hello there, Belgarion," Urgit said expansively. "How would you like to join us? Kheldar and I have decided that we'd like to sing for a bit."
    "Uh—thanks all the same," Garion replied carefully, "but I don't sing very well."
    "That doesn't matter, old boy. It doesn't matter in the slightest. I might not be very good at it myself. I can't say for sure, because I've never sung a note in my whole life." He giggled suddenly. "There are a lot of things I've never done before, and I think it might be time I tried a few."
    Ce'Nedra and the Murgo girl, Prala, came up on deck. Instead of her customary black, Prala was dressed in a stunning gown of pale rose, and her jet-black hair was caught in an intricate coil at the nape of her neck.
    "My ladies," Urgit greeted them with a formal bow, marred only slightly by an unsteady lurch.
    "Careful, old boy," Silk said, catching him by the elbow. "I don't