King of The Murgos

startled.
    "This is Nyissa," she reminded him. "Salmissra rules here, and her authority over her people is the most absolute in all the world. If she came here at some time in the past and told the people to leave, they'd have left."
    He shook his head disapprovingly. "That's wrong," he said.
    "Yes, dear," she agreed. "I know."
    They made camp in the abandoned ruins, and the next morning they continued to ride in a generally southeasterly direction. As they pushed deeper and deeper into the Nyissan jungle, there was a gradual change in the vegetation. The trees loomed higher, and their trunks grew thicker. The underbrush became more dense, and the all-pervading reek of stagnant water grew stronger.
    Then, shortly before noon, a slight, vagrant breeze suddenly brought another scent to Garion's nostrils. It was an odor of such overpowering sweetness that it almost made him giddy.
    "What is that lovely fragrance?" Velvet asked, her brown eyes softening.
    Just then they rounded a bend, and there, standing in glory at the side of the road, rose the most beautiful tree Garion had ever seen. Its leaves were a shimmering gold, and long crimson vines hung in profusion from its limbs. It was covered with enormous blossoms of red, blue, and vivid lavender, and among those blossoms hung rich-looking clusters of shiny purple fruit that seemed almost ready to burst. An overwhelming sense of longing seemed to come over him as the sight and smell of that glorious tree touched his very heart.
    Velvet, however, had already pushed past him, her face fixed in a dreamy smile as she rode toward the tree.
    "Liselle!" Polgara's voice cracked like a whip. "Stop!"
    "But—" Velvet's voice was vibrant with longing.
    "Don't move," Polgara commanded. "You're in dreadful danger."
    "Danger?" Garion said. "It's only a tree, Aunt Pol."
    "Come with me, all of you," she commanded. "Keep a tight rein on your horses, and don't go anywhere near that tree." She rode slowly forward at a walk, holding her horse's reins firmly in both hands.
    "What's the matter, Pol?" Durnik asked.
    "I thought that all of those had been destroyed," she muttered, looking at the gorgeous tree with an expression of flinty hatred.
    "But—" Velvet objected, "why would anyone want to destroy something so lovely?"
    "Of course it's lovely. That's how it hunts."
    "Hunts?" Silk said in a startled voice. "Polgara, it's only a tree. Trees don't hunt."
    "This one does. One taste of its fruit is instant death, and the touch of its blossoms paralyzes every muscle in the body. Look there." She pointed at something in the high grass beneath the tree. Garion peered into the grass and saw the skeleton of a large-sized animal. A half-dozen of the crimson tendrils hanging from one of the flower-decked branches had poked their way down into the animal's rib cage and interwoven themselves into the mossy bones.
    "Do not look at the tree," Polgara told them all in a deadly tone. "Do not think about the fruit, and try not to inhale the fragrance of its flowers too deeply. The tree is trying to lure you to within range of its tendrils. Ride on and don't look back." She reined in her horse.
    "Aren't you coming, too?" Durnik asked with a worried look.
    "I'll catch up," she replied. "I have to attend to this monstrosity first."
    "Do as she says," Belgarath told them. "Let's go."
    As they rode on past that beautiful, deadly tree, Garion felt a wrench of bitter disappointment; as they moved farther down the road away from it, he seemed to hear a silent snarl of frustration. Startled, he glanced back once and was amazed to see the crimson tendrils hanging from the branches writhing and lashing at the air in a kind of vegetative fury. Then he turned back quickly as Ce'Nedra made a violent retching sound.
    "What's the matter?" he cried.
    "The tree!" she gasped. "It's horrible! It feeds on the agony of its victims as much as upon their flesh!"
    As they rounded another bend in the road, Garion felt a violent surge, and there was a huge concussion behind them, followed by the sizzling crackle of a fire surging up through living wood. In his mind he heard an awful scream filled with pain, anger, and a malevolent hatred. A pall of greasy black smoke drifted low to the ground, bringing with it a dreadful stench.
    It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when Polgara rejoined them. "It will not feed again," she said with a note of satisfaction in her voice. She smiled almost wryly. "That's one of the few things