King of The Murgos

and he has vowed to watch over them in Maragor."
    Garion frowned. "But isn't their first-born son going to be Gorim someday?"
    The old man nodded. "Yes. His eyes are still as blue as sapphires. I was concerned myself at first, Belgarion, but I'm certain that UL will return Relg's son to the caves of Ulgo at the proper time."
    "How is Ce'Nedra this morning, Garion?" Polgara asked seriously.
    "She seems to be almost back to normal. Does that mean that she's all right?"
    "It's a good sign, dear, but it might be a little early to be sure. Why don't you go keep an eye on her?"
    "All right."
    "Just try not to be obvious. This is a rather critical time, and we don't want her getting the idea that we're spying on her."
    "I'll be careful, Aunt Pol." He went outside and began walking around the small island as if he were only stretching his legs. He cast frequent glances at the group on the far shore. The pale, white-gowned Ulgo women were clustered about Ce'Nedra. Her green robe and her flaming red hair stood out in sharp contrast in the midst of the group. A sudden image came into Garion's mind. With her vibrant coloring, Ce'Nedra looked very much like a single crimson rose growing in the midst of a bed of white lilies.
    After about a half an hour, Polgara came out of the house. "Garion," she said, "have you seen Errand this morning?"
    "No, Aunt Pol."
    "He's not in his room." She frowned slightly. "What is that boy thinking of? Go see if you can find him."
    "Yes, ma'am," he replied automatically. As he started across the causeway, he smiled to himself. In spite of all that had happened, he and Aunt Pol always returned to the same relationship they had shared when he was a boy. He was fairly certain that most of the time she did not even remember that he was a king, and so she often sent him on menial errands with no real awareness that they might be beneath his dignity. Moreover, he found that he did not really mind. To fall back into the pattern of immediately obeying her peremptory commands relieved him of the necessity of making difficult decisions and took him back to those days when he was just a simple farm boy with none of the cares and responsibilities that had come to him with the crown of Riva.
    Ce'Nedra and her friends were seated on rocks not far from the dim lake shore. Their conversation was subdued, and Ce'Nedra's face was somber again.
    "Are you all right?" he asked her as he approached them.
    "Yes," she replied. "We were just talking, that's all."
    He looked at her, but decided not to say anything more. "Have you seen Errand?" he asked instead.
    "No. Isn't he in the house?"
    He shook his head. "I think he's gone exploring. Aunt Pol asked me to find him."
    One of the young Ulgo women whispered something to Ce'Nedra.
    "Saba says that she saw him in the main gallery when she was coming here," Ce'Nedra told him. "It was about an hour ago."
    "Which way is that?" he asked.
    "Over there." She pointed toward an opening leading back into the rock.
    He nodded. "Are you warm enough?" he asked her.
    "I'm fine, Garion."
    "I'll be back in a bit," he said and walked toward the gallery she had pointed out. It made him uncomfortable to be forced to step around her this way, but the possibility that a chance remark might push her back into that bleak depression made him wary and half-afraid to speak at all. A purely physical ailment was one thing, but an illness of the mind was something horrifying.
    The gallery he entered, like all the caves and passageways in which the Ulgos lived out their lives, was faintly illuminated by the dim glow of phosphorescent rocks. The cubicles on either side of the gallery were scrupulously neat, and he saw entire families gathered about stone tables for their morning meal, apparently oblivious to the fact that the fronts of their quarters were open to scrutiny by anyone who chanced to pass this way.
    Since few of the Ulgos could speak his language, it was impossible for Garion to ask anyone if Errand had passed, and he soon found that he was wandering more or less aimlessly, hoping that he might chance across his friend. At the far end of the gallery, he emerged into the vast cavern where that flight of chiseled stairs led downward toward the dim reaches below.
    He considered the possibility that Errand might have gone down to visit his horse, but something seemed to tell him that he should turn instead to follow the broad ledge circling the edge of the chasm. He had gone no more than a few