King of The Murgos

told him. "They're wolves."
    "Wolves?" Sadi exclaimed. "We must flee!"
    "Don't get excited, Sadi," the old man told him. "Wolves don't hunt people."
    "I'd rather not chance that, Belgarath," the eunuch said. "I've heard some very alarming stories."
    "That's all they were—stories. Believe me, I know wolves. No self-respecting wolf would even consider eating a human. Stay here, all of you. I'll go see what they want." He slid down out of his saddle.
    "Not too close to the horses, father," Polgara warned. "You know how horses feel about wolves."
    He grunted and went off into the forest.
    "What's he doing?" Sadi asked nervously.
    "You wouldn't believe it," Silk replied.
    They waited in the cool dampness of the forest, listening to the faint yelping sounds and an occasional bell-like howl echoing among the trees.
    When Belgarath returned some time later, he was swearing angrily.
    "Whatever is the matter, father?" Polgara asked him.
    ''Somebody' s playing games," he retorted angrily. "There aren't any wolves back there."
    "Belgarath," Sadi said, "I can hear them. They've been yapping and howling on our trail for the past half-hour."
    "And that's all there is back there—just the noise. There isn't a wolf within miles of here."
    "What's making all the noise, then?"
    "I told you. Somebody's playing games. Let's move on— and keep your eyes open."
    They rode warily now, with the phantom baying filling the woods behind them. Then there came a sudden, high-pitched bellow from somewhere in front of them.
    "What's that?" Durnik exclaimed, reaching for his axe.
    "It's an absurdity," Belgarath snapped. "Ignore it. It's no more real than the wolves were."
    But there was something swaying in the shadows beneath the spreading trees ahead—something gray and ponderously vast.
    "There! What is that thing?" Ce'Nedra's voice was shrill.
    "It's an elephant, dear," Polgara told her calmly. "They live in the jungles of Gandahar on the east coast of Mallorea."
    "How did it get here, then?"
    "It didn't. It's an apparition. Father was right. Someone in these woods has a very twisted sense of humor."
    "And I'm going to show this comedian exactly what I think of his little jokes," Belgarath growled.
    "No, father," Polgara disagreed. "I think that perhaps you should leave it to me. You're irritated, and that sometimes makes you go a little far with things. I'll take care of it."
    "Polgara—" he started angrily.
    "Yes, father?" Her look was cool and direct.
    He controlled himself with some effort. "All right, Pol " he said. "Don't take any chances, though. This funny fellow might have some other tricks in his bag."
    "I'm always careful, father," she replied. Then she moved her horse at a walk until she was several yards in advance of the rest of the party. "It's a very nice elephant," she called into the woods as she eyed the huge gray shape swaying menacingly in the shadows ahead of her. "Have you anything else you might like to show us?"
    There was a long pause.
    "You don't seem very impressed," a rusty-sounding voice growled from somewhere nearby.
    "Well, you did make a few mistakes. The ears aren't big enough, for one thing, and the tail is much too long."
    "The feet and tusks are about right, though," the voice in the woods snapped, "as you're about to find out."
    The gray shape raised its huge snout and bellowed. Then it lumbered forward directly toward Polgara.
    "How tiresome," she said, making a negligent-appearing gesture with one hand.
    The elephant vanished in mid-stride.
    "Well?" she asked.
    A figure stepped out from behind a tree. It was a tall, gaunt man with wild hair and a very long beard, with twigs and straw clinging to it. He was dressed in a filthy smock, and his bare legs were as white as fish bellies, with knobby knees and broken veins. In one hand he carried a slender stick.
    "I see that you have power, woman," he said to her, his voice filled with an unspoken threat.
    "Some," she admitted calmly. "You must be the hermit I've heard about."
    A look of cunning came into his eyes. "Perhaps," he replied. "And who are you?"
    "Let's just say that I'm a visitor."
    "I don't want any visitors. These woods are mine, and I prefer to be left alone."
    "That's hardly civil. You must learn to control yourself."
    His face suddenly twisted into an insane grimace. "Don't tell me what to do!" he screamed at her. "I am a God!"
    "Hardly that," she disagreed.
    "Feel the weight of my displeasure!" he roared. He raised the stick in his hand,