King of The Murgos

Salmissra and I have ever agreed upon," she added. "There's no place in the world for that particular tree."
    They rode on down into Nyissa, following the weed-choked track of the long-abandoned highway. About noon of the following day, Eriond's chestnut stallion grew restive, and the blond young man pulled up beside Garion, who still rode in the lead with his sword on the pommel of his saddle. "He wants to run." Eriond laughed gently. "He always wants to run."
    Garion looked over at him. "Eriond," he said, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
    "Yes, Belgarion?"
    "When I was riding your horse to the beach back up there in the Wood of the Dryads, he did something that was sort of odd."
    "Odd? How do you mean?"
    "It should have taken nearly two days to reach the sea, but he did it in about a half an hour."
    "Oh," Eriond said, "that."
    "Can you explain how he does it?"
    "It's something he does sometimes when he knows that I'm in a hurry to get someplace. He kind of goes to another place, and when he comes back, you're much farther along than you were when he started."
    "Where is this other place?"
    "Right here—all around us—but at the same time, it's not. Does that make any sense?"
    "No. Not really."
    Eriond frowned in concentration. "You told me one time that you could change yourself into a wolf—the same way Belgarath does."
    "Yes."
    "And you said that when you do that, your sword is still with you, but at the same time it's not."
    "That's what Grandfather told me."
    "I think that's where this other place is—the same place where your sword goes. Distance doesn't seem to mean the same thing there as it does here. Does that explain it at all?''
    Garion laughed. "It doesn't even come close, Eriond, but I'll take your word for it."
    About mid afternoon the next day, they reached the marshy banks of the River of the Serpent where the highway turned toward the east, following the winding course of that sluggish stream. The sky had cleared, though the pale sunlight had little warmth to it.
    "Maybe I'd better scout on ahead," Silk said. "The road looks a bit more well traveled along this stretch, and we didn't exactly make a lot of friends the last time we were here." He spurred his horse into a brisk canter; in a few minutes he was out of sight around a bend in the weed-choked road.
    "We won't have to go through Sthiss Tor, will we?" Ce'Nedra asked.
    "No," Belgarath replied. "It's on the other side of the river." He looked at the screen of trees and brush lying between the ancient highway and the mossy riverbank. "We should be able to slip past it without too much trouble."
    An hour or so later, they rounded a bend in the road and caught a glimpse of the strange, alien-looking towers of the capital of the snake-people rising into the air on the far side of the river. There seemed to be no coherent pattern to Nyissan architecture. Some of the towers rose in slender spires, and others were bulky, with bulb like tops. Some even twisted in spirals toward the sky. They were, moreover, painted every possible hue—green, red, yellow, and even some in a garish purple. Silk was waiting for them a few hundred yards farther along the road. "There won't be any trouble getting past here without being seen from the other side," he reported, "but there's someone on up ahead who wants to talk to us."
    "Who?" Belgarath asked sharply.
    "He didn't say, but he seemed to know we were coming."
    "I don't like that very much. Did he say what he wants?"
    "Only that he's got a message of some kind for us."
    "Let's go find out about this." The old man looked at Garion. "You'd better cover the Orb," he suggested. "Let's keep it out of sight—just to be on the safe side."
    Garion nodded, took out a soft, tight-fitting leather sleeve arid pulled it down over the hilt of Iron-grip's sword.
    The shaven-headed Nyissan who awaited them was dressed in shabby, stained clothing and he had a long scar running from forehead to chin across an empty eye socket. "We thought you'd get here earlier," he said laconically as they all reined in. "What kept you?"
    Garion looked at the one-eyed man closely. "Don't I know you?" he asked. "Isn't your name Issus?"
    Issus grunted. "I'm surprised you remember. Your head wasn't too clear the last time we met."
    "It wasn't the sort of thing I'd be likely to forget."
    "Somebody in the city wants to see you," Issus said.
    "I'm sorry, friend," Belgarath told him, "but we're pressed for time. I don't think