Sorceress of Darshiva

get killed."
    "Are you and Zakath going to have a war, then?"
    It was a troubling question, and Garion wasn't sure he knew the answer. "I don't really know," he admitted.
    "He wants to rule the world," Eriond pointed out, "and you don't want him to. Isn't that the sort of thing that starts a war?"
    "It's awfully hard to say," Garion replied sadly. "Maybe if we hadn't left Mal Zeth when we did, I might have been able to bring him around. But we had to leave, so I lost the chance." He sighed. "I think it's finally going to be up to him. Maybe he's changed enough so that he'll abandon the whole idea—but then again, maybe he hasn't. You can never tell with a man like Zakath. I hope he's given up the notion. I don't want a war—not with anybody; but I'm not going to bow to him, either. The world wasn't meant to be ruled by one man—and certainly not by somebody like Zakath."
    "But you like him, don't you?"
    "Yes, I do. I wish I could have met him before Taur Urgas ruined his life." He paused, and his face grew set. "Now there's a man I'd have rather cheerfully gone to war with. He contaminated the whole world just by living in it."
    "But it wasn't really his fault. He was insane, and that excuses him."
    "You're a very forgiving young man, Eriond."
    "Isn't it easier to forgive than to hate? Until we learn how to forgive, that sort of thing is going to keep on happening." He pointed at the tall pillars of smoke rising to the north. "Hate is a sterile thing, Belgarion."
    "I know." Garion sighed. "I hated Torak, but in the end I guess I forgave him—more out of pity than anything else. I still had to kill him, though."
    "What do you think the world would be like if people didn't kill each other any more?"
    "Nicer, probably."
    "Why don't we fix it that way then?"
    "You and I?" Garion laughed. "All by ourselves?"
    "Why not?"
    "Because it's impossible, Eriond."
    "I thought you and Belgarath had settled the issue of impossible a long time ago."
    Garion laughed again. "Yes, I suppose we did. All right, let's drop impossible. Would you accept extremely difficult instead?"
    "Nothing that's really worthwhile should be easy, Belgarion. If it's easy, we don't value it; but I'm certain we'll be able to find an answer." He said it with such shining confidence in his face that for a moment Garion actually believed that the wild notion might indeed be feasible.
    Then he looked out at the ugly columns of smoke again, and the hope died. "I suppose we should go back and let the others know what's happening out there," he said.
    It was about noon when Beldin returned. "There's another detachment of troops about a mile ahead," he told Belgarath. "A dozen or so."
    "Are they going toward that battle to the north?"
    "No, I'd say this particular group is running away from it. They look as if they were fairly well mauled recently.''
    "Could you tell which side they're on?"
    "That doesn't really matter, Belgarath. A man gives up his allegiances when he deserts."
    "Sometimes you're so clever you make me sick."
    "Why don't you have Pol mix you up something to cure it?"
    "How long has that been going on?" Velvet asked Polgara.
    "Which was that, dear?"
    "That constant wrangling between those two?"
    Polgara closed her eyes and sighed. "You wouldn't believe it, Liselle. Sometimes I think it started at about the beginning of time.''
    The soldiers they encountered were wary, even frightened. They stood their ground, however, with their hands on their weapons. Silk made a quick motion to Garion, and the two of them rode forward at an unthreatening walk.
    "Good day, gentlemen," Silk greeted them conversationally. "What in the world is happening around here?’’
    "You mean you haven't heard?" a wiry fellow with a bloody bandage around his head asked.
    "I haven't found anybody to tell me," Silk replied. "What happened to all the people who used to live in this part of Peldane? We haven't seen a soul in the last four days."
    "They all fled," the bandaged man told him. "The ones who were still alive did, at any rate."
    "What were they fleeing from?"
    "Zandramas," the fellow replied with a shudder. "Her army marched into Peldane about a month ago. We tried to stop them, but they had Grolims with them, and ordinary troops can't do much against Grolims."
    "That's the truth, certainly. What's all that smoke up to the north?"
    "There's a big battle going on." The soldier sat down on the ground and began to unwind the bloodstained bandage from around his