Sorceress of Darshiva

across the sparkling lake. There was a grove of aspens on the far side, their trunks the color of new snow. The leaves had begun to turn and they shimmered in the morning sun like beaten gold. The air was cool and slightly damp. Suddenly he wished that they could stay here for a few days. He sighed and walked over to join his grandfather and Silk near the fire. "Why the fancy clothes?" he asked the rat-faced little Drasnian.
    Silk shrugged. "We're moving into an area where I'm fairly well known," he replied.
    "We might be able to take advantage of that—as long as people recognize me. Are you absolutely sure the trail goes toward the southeast?"
    Garion nodded. "There was a little confusion right at first, but I got it sorted out."
    "Confusion?" Belgarath asked.
    "The Sardion was here, too—a long time ago. For a few moments, the Orb seemed to want to follow both trails at the same time. I had to speak with it rather firmly about that." Garion draped the sword belt over his shoulder and buckled it. Then he shifted the scabbard slightly until it was more comfortable. The Orb on the pommel of the sword was glowing a sullen red color.
    "Why's it doing that?" Silk asked curiously.
    "Because of the Sardion," Garion told him. He looked over his shoulder at the glowing stone. "Stop that," he said.
    "Don't hurt its feelings," Silk warned. "We could be in a great deal of trouble if it decides to start sulking."
    "What lies off to the southeast?" Belgarath asked the little man.
    "Voresebo," Silk replied. "There isn't much there except some caravan tracks and a few mines up in the mountains. There's a seaport at Pannor. I land there sometimes on my way back from Melcena."
    "Are the people there Karands?"
    Silk nodded. "But they're even cruder than the ones back in the central kingdoms—if that's possible."
    The blue-banded hawk came spiraling out of a bright morning sky, flared, and shimmered into the form of Beldin as soon as the talons touched the ground. The hunchbacked little sorcerer was dressed in his usual rags tied on with bits of thong, and twigs and straw clung to his hair and beard. He shivered. "I hate to fly when it's cold," he grumbled. "It makes my wings ache."
    "It's not really that cold," Silk said.
    "Try it a couple thousand feet up." Beldin pointed toward the sky, then turned, and spat out a couple of soggy gray feathers.
    "Grazing again, uncle?" Polgara asked from her cook-fire.
    "Just a bite of breakfast, Pol," he replied. "There was a pigeon that got up too early this morning."
    "You didn't have to do that, you know." She tapped meaningfully on the side of her bubbling pot with a long-handled wooden spoon.
    Beldin shrugged. "The world isn't going to miss one pigeon."
    Garion shuddered. "How can you stand to eat them raw like that?"
    "You get used to it. I've never had much luck trying to build a cook-fire with my talons." He looked at Belgarath. "There's some trouble up ahead," he said, "a lot of smoke and groups of armed men wandering around."
    "Could you see who they were?"
    "I didn't get that close. There's usually a bored archer or two in any crowd like that, and I'd prefer not to have my tail feathers parted with an arrow just because some idiot wants to show off his skill."
    "Has that ever happened?" Silk asked curiously.
    "Once—a long time ago. My hip still aches in cold weather."
    "Did you do something about it?"
    "I had a chat with the archer. I asked him not to do it any more. He was breaking his bow across his knee when I left." He turned back to Belgarath. "Are we sure the trail goes on down to that plain?"
    "The Orb is."
    "Then we'll have to chance it." The little man looked around. "I thought you'd have struck the tents by now."
    "I decided it might not hurt to let everybody get some sleep. We've been traveling hard and we're going to have to do it some more, I think."
    "You always want to pick these idyllic spots for your rest stops, Belgarath," Beldin observed. "I think you're secretly a romantic."
    Belgarath shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."
    "Garion," Polgara called.
    "Yes, Aunt Pol?"
    "Why don't you wake the others? Breakfast's almost ready."
    "Right away, Aunt Pol."
    After breakfast, they broke camp and started out about midmorning with Beldin flying on ahead to scout out possible trouble. It was pleasantly warm now, and there was the pungent smell of evergreens in the air. Ce'Nedra was strangely quiet as she rode along beside Garion with her dark gray cloak pulled tightly around her.