Sorceress of Darshiva

I don't know the Book of Alorn, Grandfather," Garion objected.
    "Yes, you do. It's in your blood. You could have recited it letter-perfect in your cradle. Now get back up there before he gets completely out of hand."
    Garion swore and rode back to rejoin Zakath.
    "Trouble?" Silk asked him.
    "I don't want to talk about it."
    Beldin was waiting for them around the next bend in the road. "Well," the grotesque little hunchback said. "It seems to have worked, but why did you bring him along?"
    "Cyradis persuaded him to come with us," Belgarath replied. "What gave you the idea of going to her?"
    "It was worth a try. Pol told me about a few of the things she said to him back in Cthol Murgos. She seems to have some sort of interest in him. I didn't really think he was supposed to join us, though. What did she say to him?"
    "She told him that he'd die if he didn't come with us."
    "I imagine that got his attention. Hello, Zakath."
    "Do we know each other?"
    "I know you—by sight, anyway. I’v seen you parading through the streets of Mal Zeth a few times."
    "This is my brother Beldin," Belgarath introduced the misshapen dwarf.
    "I didn't know you had any brothers."
    "The relationship's a bit obscure, but we serve the same Master, so that makes us brothers in a peculiar sort of way. There used to be seven of us, but there are only four of us left now."
    Zakath frowned slightly. "Your name rings a bell, Master Beldin," he said. "Aren't you the one whose picture is posted on every tree for six leagues in any direction from Mal Yaska?"
    "I believe that's me, all right. I make Urvon a little nervous. He seems to think that I want to split him up the middle."
    "Do you?"
    "I've thought about it a time or two. I think what I'd really like to do, though, is yank out his guts, hang them on a thorn bush, and invite in some vultures. I'm sure he'd find watching them eat very entertaining."
    Zakath blanched slightly.
    "Vultures have to eat, too." The hunchback shrugged. "Oh, speaking of eating. Pol, do you have anything decent around? All I've had in the last few days was a very scrawny rat and a nest full of crow's eggs. I don't think there's a rabbit or a pigeon left in the whole of Darshiva."
    "This is a very unusual fellow," Zakath said to Garion.
    "He gets more unusual the more you get to know him." Garion smiled slightly. "He frightened Urvon almost into sanity at Ashaba."
    "He was exaggerating, wasn't he—about the vultures, I mean?"
    "Probably not. He fully intends to gut Torak's last Disciple like a butchered hog."
    Zakath's eyes grew bright. "You think he might want some help?" he asked eagerly.
    "Were any of your ancestors possibly Arendish?" Garion asked suspiciously.
    "I don't understand the question."
    "Never mind." Garion sighed.
    Beldin squatted in the dirt at the roadside, tearing at the carcass of a cold roast chicken. "You burnt it, Pol," he accused.
    "I didn't cook it, uncle," she replied primly.
    "Why not? Did you forget how?"
    "I have a wonderful recipe for boiled dwarf," she told him. "I'm almost sure I could find someone willing to eat that sort of thing."
    "You're losing your edge again, Pol," he said, wiping his greasy fingers on the front of his ragged tunic. "Your mind's getting as flabby as your bottom."
    Garion restrained Zakath with one hand when the Mallorean Emperor's face grew outraged. "It's a personal thing," he cautioned. "I wouldn't interfere. They've been insulting each other for thousands of years. It's a peculiar kind of love, I think."
    "Love?"
    "Listen," Garion suggested. "You might learn something. Alorns aren't like Angaraks. We don't bow very often and we sometimes hide our feelings with jokes."
    "Polgara is an Alorn?" Zakath sounded surprised.
    "Use your eyes, man. Her hair's dark, I'll grant you, but her twin sister was as blond as a wheat field. Look at her cheekbones and her jaw. I rule a kingdom of Alorns and I know what they look like. She and Liselle could be sisters."
    "Now that you mention it, they do look a bit alike, don't they? How is it I never saw that before?"
    "You hired Brador to be your eyes," Garion replied, shifting his mail shirt. "I don't trust other peoples' eyes all that much."
    "Is Beldin an Alorn, too?"
    "Nobody knows what Beldin is. He's so deformed that you can't put a name to him."
    "Poor fellow."
    "Don't waste your pity on Beldin," Garion replied. "He's six thousand years old and he could turn you into a frog if he felt like it. He can make it snow or rain, and