Sorceress of Darshiva

galloped past, going toward the city with uncharacteristic haste. Silk began to laugh after the man had passed them.
    "Who was that?" Durnik asked.
    "A member of the Consortium," Silk replied gaily. "It appears that Viscount Esca's called an emergency session. ''
    "Is this something I ought to know about?" Belgarath asked.
    "Not unless you're interested in the market price of beans."
    "Will you keep your mind on what we're here for and stop playing?"
    "It was sort of necessary, Grandfather," Garion came to his friend's defense. "The Viscount stopped us in the street while we were looking for the trail. He'd have talked all day if Silk hadn't sent him off on a fool's errand."
    "Did he say anything at all that might be what we're looking for?"
    "No. He just talked about beans."
    "Did you meet anybody else today? Share these little encounters with us, Garion."
    "We ran into one of Brador's secret policemen. I'd imagine that his messenger is already on the way to Mal Zeth."
    "Did he say anything?"
    "He made a few veiled threats, is all. I guess Emperor Zakath's a little unhappy with us. The policeman recognized me, but I suppose that's only natural. Silk was going to kill him, but I said no."
    "Why?" Beldin asked bluntly.
    "We were in the middle of a busy street for one thing. Killing somebody's the sort of thing you ought to do in private, wouldn't you say?"
    "You were a much nicer boy before you developed this clever mouth," Beldin snapped.
    Garion shrugged. "Nothing ever stays the same, uncle."
    "Be polite, Garion," Polgara called from behind.
    "Yes, ma'am."
    A black carriage rattled by. The team of white horses drawing it was moving at a dead run and they were flecked with foam.
    "Another bean buyer?" Belgarath asked.
    Silk smirked and nodded.
    Durnik had been looking around. "I don't see any signs that this land is being farmed," he said.
    Silk laughed. "Land in Melcena's too valuable to be wasted on farming, Durnik. The people here import all their food from the mainland. About all we'll find out here are the estates of the very wealthy—retired businessmen, nobles, that sort of thing. The whole countryside's one huge park. Even the mountains have been landscaped."
    "That doesn't seem very practical," Durnik said disapprovingly.
    "The people who live on the estates spent a great deal of money for them, so I guess they can do what they like with the land."
    "It still seems wasteful."
    "Of course it is. That's what rich people do best—waste things."
    The green hills to the north of the city were gently rolling and were dotted with artistically placed groves of trees. Many of the trees had been carefully pruned to accentuate their pleasing shapes. Garion found this tampering with nature somehow offensive. It appeared that he was not alone in this feeling. Ce'Nedra rode with a stiff look of disapproval on her face and frequently made little sounds of disgust, usually at the sight of a well-trimmed oak tree.
    They moved into a canter, following the trail north along a road surfaced with gleaming white gravel. The road curved gently from hillside to hillside and in level spots it frequently made wide bends, evidently for no other purpose than to relieve the monotony of long straight stretches. The houses set far back from the road were universally constructed of marble and were usually surrounded by parks and gardens.
    It was a sunny autumn day, and the prevailing breeze carried with it the smell of the sea, a smell Garion found very familiar. He suddenly felt a sharp pang of homesickness for Riva. As they cantered past one estate, a large number of gaily dressed people crossed the road ahead of them at a gallop, chasing after a pack of barking dogs. The people jumped fences and ditches with what appeared to be reckless abandon.
    "What are they doing?" Eriond called to Silk.
    "Fox hunting."
    "That doesn't really make any sense, Silk," Durnik objected. "If they don't farm, they don't raise chickens. Why are they worried about foxes?"
    "It makes even less sense in view of the fact that the fox isn't native to these islands. They have to be imported."
    "That's ridiculous!"
    "Of course it is. Rich people are always ridiculous, and their sports are usually exotic—and often cruel."
    Beldin gave an ugly little chuckle. "I wonder how sporting they'd find chasing a pack of Algroths—or maybe an Eldrak or two."
    "Never mind," Belgarath told him.
    "It wouldn't really take much effort to raise a few, Belgarath," The hunchback