Pawn of Prophecy

Cherek knows. An augurer was called in when I was born - it is the custom here. Most of the time the auguries don't show anything at all, and nothing special is going to happen during the child's life. But sometimes the future lies so heavily on one of us that almost anyone can see the Doom."
    "That's just superstition," Garion scoffed. "I've never seen any fortune-teller who could even tell for sure if it's going to rain tomorrow. One of them came to Faldor's farm once and told Durnik that he was going to die twice. Isn't that silly?"
    "The augurers and soothsayers of Cherek have more skill," Barak said, his face still sunk in melancholy. "The Doom they saw for me was always the same - I'm going to turn into a beast. I've had dozens of them tell me the same thing. And now it's happened. I've been sitting here for two days now, watching. The hair on my body's getting longer, and my teeth are starting to get pointed."
    "You're imagining things," Garion said. "You look exactly the same to me as you always have."
    "You're a kind boy, Garion," Barak said. "I know you're just trying to make me feel better, but I've got eyes of my own. I know that my teeth are getting pointed and my body's starting to grow fur. It won't be long until Anheg has to chain me up in his dungeon so I won't be able to hurt anyone, or I'll have to run off into the mountains and live with the trolls."
    "Nonsense," Garion insisted.
    "Tell me what you saw the other day," Barak pleaded. "What did I look like when I changed into a beast?"
    "All I saw were stars from banging my head on that tree," Garion said again, trying to make it sound true.
    "I just want to know what kind of beast I'm turning into," Barak said, his voice thick with self pity. "Am I going to be a wolf or a bear or some kind of monster no one even has a name for?"
    "Don't you remember anything at all about what happened?" Garion asked carefully, trying to blot the strange double image of Barak and the bear out of his memory.
    "Nothing," Barak said. "I heard you shouting, and the next thing I remember was the boar lying dead at my feet and you lying under that tree with his blood all over you. I could feel the beast in me, though. I could even smell him."
    "All you smelled was the boar," Garion said, "and all that happened was that you lost your head in all the excitement."
    "Berserk, you mean?" Barak said, looking up hopefully. Then he shook his head. "No, Garion. I've been berserk before. It doesn't feel at all the same. This was completely different." He sighed.
    "You're not turning into a beast," Garion insisted.
    "I know what I know," Barak said stubbornly.
    And then Lady Merel, Barak's wife, stepped into the room through the still-open door. "I see that my Lord is recovering his wits," she said.
    "Leave me alone, Merel," Barak said. "I'm not in the mood for these games of yours."
    "Games, my Lord?" she said innocently. "I'm simply concerned about my duties. If my Lord is unwell, I'm obliged to care for him. That's a wife's right, isn't it?"
    "Quit worrying so much about rights and duties, Merel," Barak said. "Just go away and leave me alone."
    "My Lord was quite insistent about certain rights and duties on the night of his return to Val Alorn," she said. "Not even the locked door of my bedchamber was enough to curb his insistence."
    "All right," Barak said, Hushing slightly. "I'm sorry about that. I hoped that things might have changed between us. I was wrong. I won't bother you again."
    "Bother, my Lord?" she said. "A duty is not a bother. A good wife is obliged to submit whenever her husband requires it of her - no matter how drunk or brutal he may be when he comes to her bed. No one will ever be able to accuse me of laxity in that regard."
    "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Barak accused.
    "Enjoying what, my Lord?" Her voice was light, but there was a cutting edge to it.
    "What do you want, Merel?" Barak demanded bluntly.
    "I want to serve my Lord in his illness," she said. "I want to care for him and watch the progress of his disease-each symptom as it appears."
    "Do you hate me that much?" Barak asked with heavy contempt. "Be careful, Merel. I might take it into my head to insist that you stay with me. How would you like that? How would you like to be locked in this room with a raging beast?"
    "If you grow unmanageable, my Lord, I can always have you chained to the wall," she suggested, meeting his enraged glare with cool unconcern.
    "Barak," Garion said uncomfortably, "I