Sorceress of Darshiva

farm for quite some time. It seemed to be deserted. He ran forward and slunk cautiously through the open gate. The compound was quite nearly as large as Faldor's farm, half a world away. He slipped through an open shed door and stood inside with one forepaw slightly raised as his nose and ears intently sought for any evidence that he was not alone. The farmstead was silent, save for the complaining moan of an udder-heavy cow lowing to be milked in the barn across the central yard. The smells of people were here, of course, but they were all many days old.
    Garion slipped out of the shed and trotted cautiously from door to door, opening each in turn by twisting the handle with his jaws. The place in many respects was so strikingly familiar that it brought him a sharp pang of a homesickness he thought he had long since put behind him. The storage rooms were all almost the same as at Faldor's. The smithy was so like Durnik's that Garion could almost hear the steely paring of his friend's hammer on the anvil. He was quite certain that he could close his eyes and pad unerringly across the yard to the kitchen.
    Methodically, he entered each room around the lower floor of the farmstead, then scrambled up the stairs leading to the gallery with his toenails scratching at the wooden steps.
    All was deserted.
    He returned to the yard and poked an inquiring nose into the barn. The cow bawled in panic, and Garion backed out through the door to avoid causing her further distress.
    "Aunt Pol," he sent his thought out.
    "Yes, dear?"
    "There's nobody here, and it's a perfect place."
    "Perfect is an extravagant word, Garion."
    "Wait until you see it."
    A few moments later, Belgarath trotted through the gateway, sniffed, looked around, and blurred into his own form. "It's like coming home, isn't it?" He grinned.
    "I thought so myself," Garion replied.
    Beldin came spiraling in. "It's about a league to the river," he said even as he changed. "If we move right along, we can make it by dark."
    "Let's stay here instead," Belgarath said. "The river banks might be patrolled, and there's no point in creeping around in the dark if we don't have to."
    The hunchback shrugged. "It's up to you."
    Then Polgara, as pale and silent as a ghost, drifted over the wall, settled on the tailgate of a two-wheeled cart in the center of the yard, and resumed her own form. "Oh, my," she murmured, stepping down and looking around. "You were right, Garion. It is perfect." She folded her cloak across her arm and crossed the yard to the kitchen door. About five minutes later, Durnik led the others into the yard. He also looked around, then suddenly laughed. "You'd almost expect Faldor himself to come out that door," he said. "How's it possible for two places so far apart to look so much alike?"
    "It's the most practical design for a farm, Durnik," Belgarath told him, "and sooner or later, practical people the world over are going to arrive at it. Can you do something about that cow? We won't get much sleep if she bawls all night long."
    "I'll milk her right away." The smith slid down from his saddle and led his horse toward the barn.
    Belgarath looked after him with an affectionate expression. "We may have to drag him away from here in the morning," he noted.
    "Where's Polgara?" Silk asked, looking around as he helped Velvet down from her horse.
    "Where else?" Belgarath pointed toward the kitchen. " Getting her out of there may be even harder than dragging Durnik out of the smithy."
    Velvet looked around with a slightly dreamy expression on her face. The drug Sadi had given her the previous night had not yet entirely worn off, and Garion surmised that Polgara was keeping her under rigid control. "Very nice," she said, leaning involuntarily toward Silk. "Sort of homey."
    Silk's expression was wary, like that of a man about ready to bolt. They ate well again that evening, sitting around a long table in the beamed kitchen with the golden light of wax candles filling the room and winking back from the polished copper bottoms of kettles hung on the wall. The room was •snug and warm, even though the storm which had been building up all afternoon raged outside, filling the night with thunder and wind and driving rain. Garion felt oddly at peace, a peace he had not known for more than a year now, and he accepted this time of renewal gratefully, knowing that it would strengthen him in the climactic months ahead.
    "Oh, my goodness!" Sadi exclaimed. After he had finished