Guardians of the West

"I don't suppose you have anything to eat stored anyplace?" Errand said wistfully. His stomach told him that it was definitely moving on toward suppertime.

Belgarath looked up from a parchment scroll he had just fished out from under one of the couches. "What?" he asked. "Oh yes. I'd almost forgotten. We'll go visit the twins. They're bound to have something on the fire."

"Do they know we're coming?"

Belgarath shrugged. "That doesn't really matter, Errand. You must learn that that's what friends and family are for -to be imposed upon. One of the cardinal rules, if you want to get through life without overexerting yourself, is that, when all else fails, fall back on friends and relations."

The twin sorcerers, Beltira and Belkira, were overjoyed to see them, and the "something on the fire" turned out to be a savory stew that was at least as good as one that might have emerged from Polgara's kitchen.

When Errand commented on that, Belgarath looked amused. "Who do think taught her how to cook?" he asked.

It was not until several days later, when the cleaning of Belgarath's tower had progressed to the point where the floor was receiving its first scrubbing in a dozen or more centuries, that Beldin finally stopped by.

"What are you doing, Belgarath?" the filthy, misshapen hunchback demanded. Beldin was very short, dressed in battered rags, and he was gnarled like an old oak stump. His hair and beard were matted, and twigs and bits of straw clung to him in various places.

"Just a little cleaning," Belgarath replied, looking almost embarrassed.

"What for?" Beldin asked. "It's just going to get dirty again." He looked at a number of very old bones lying along the curved wall. "What you really ought to do is render down your floor for soup stock."

"Did you come by to visit or just to be disagreeable?"

"I saw the smoke from your chimney. I wanted to see if anybody was here or if all this litter had just taken fire spontaneously."

Errand knew that Belgarath and Beldin were genuinely fond of each other and that this banter between them was one of their favorite forms of entertainment. He continued with the work he was doing even as he listened.

"Would you like some ale?" Belgarath asked.

"Not if you brewed it," Beldin replied ungraciously. "You'd think that a man who drinks as much as you do have learned how to make decent ale by now."

"That last batch wasn't so bad," Belgarath protested.

"I've run across stump water that tasted better."

"Quit worrying. I borrowed this keg from the twins."

"Did they know you were borrowing it?"

"What difference does that make? We all share everything anyway.

One of Beldin's shaggy eyebrows raised. "They share food and drink, and you share your appetite and thirst. I suppose that works out."

"Of course it does." Belgarath turned with a slightly pained look. "Errand, do you have to do that?"

Errand looked up from the flagstones he was industriously scrubbing "Does it bother you?" he asked.

"Of course it bothers me. Don't you know that it's terribly impolite to keep working like that when I'm resting?"

"I'll try to remember that. How long do you expect that you'll be resting?"

"Just put the brush down, Errand," Belgarath told him. "That patch of floor has been dirty for a dozen centuries at least, another day or so isn't going to matter all that much."

"He's a great deal like Belgarion was, isn't he?" Beldin said, sprawling in one of the chairs near the fire.

"It probably has something to do with Polgara's influence," Belgarath agreed, drawing two tankards of ale from keg. "She leaves marks on every boy she meets. I try to moderate the effects of her prejudices as much as possible, though." He looked gravely at Errand. "I think this one is smarter than Garion was, but he doesn't seem to have Garion's sense of adventure -and he's just a bit too well behaved."

"I'm sure you'll be able to work on that."

Belgarath settled himself into another chair and pushed his feet out toward the fire. "What have you been up to?" he asked the hunchback. "I haven't seen you since Garion's wedding."

" I thought that somebody ought to keep an eye on the Angaraks," Beldin replied, scratching vigorously at one armpit.

"And?"

"And what?"

"That's an irritating habit you've picked up somewhere. What are the Angaraks doing?"

"The Murgos are still all in little pieces about the death of Taur Urgas." Beldin laughed. "He was completely mad, but he kept them unified -until Cho-Hag ran his sabre through him. His son Urgit isn't much of a king. He's barely able to get their attention. The western Grolims can't even function any more. Ctuchik's dead, and Torak's dead, and about all the Grolims can do now is stare at the walls and count their fingers. My guess is that Murgo society is right on the verge of collapsing entirely."

"Good. Getting rid of the Murgos has been one of my main goals in life."

"I wouldn't start gloating just yet," Beldin said sourly. "After word reached 'Zakath that Belgarion had killed Torak, he threw off all pretenses about the fiction of Angarak unity and marched his Malloreans on Rak Goska. He didn't leave much of it standing."

Belgarath shrugged. "It wasn't a very attractive city anyway."

"It's a lot less attractive now. 'Zakath seems to think that crucifixions and impalings are educational. He decorated what was left of the walls of Rak Goska with object lessons. Every time he goes any place in Cthol Murgos, he leaves a trail of occupied crosses and stakes behind him."

"I find that I can bear the misfortunes of the Murgos with great fortitude," Belgarath replied piously.

"I think you'd better take a more realistic look at things, Belgarath," the hunchback growled. "We could probably match Murgo numbers if we really had to, but people don't talk about the uncountable hordes of boundless Mallorea for nothing. 'Zakath has a very big army, and he commands most of the seaports on the east coast, so he can ship in as many more troops as he wants. If he succeeds in obliterating the Murgos, he's going to be camped on our southern doorstep with a lot of bored soldiers on his hands. Certain ideas are bound to occur to him at about that time."

Belgarath grunted. "I'll worry about that when the time comes."

"Oh, by the way," Beldin said suddenly with an ironic grin, "I found out what that apostrophe is doing in his name."