Guardians of the West

The herd master, a fierce-looking Algar warrior in black leather, looked at him speculatively. "Good horses are expensive, your Majesty ," he ventured, his eyes coming alight.

"That's beside the point. Please have them ready in a quarter of an hour -and throw some food in a saddlebag for me."

"Doesn't your Majesty even want to discuss the price?" The herd master's voice betrayed his profound disappointment.

"Not particularly," Garion told him. "Just add it all up, and I'll pay it."

The herd master sighed. "Take them as a gift, your Majesty," he said. Then he looked mournfully at the Rivan King. "You do realize, of course, that you've absolutely ruined my whole afternoon."

Garion gave him a tight, knowing grin. "If I had the time, good herd master, I'd haggle with you for the whole day -right down to the last penny- but I have urgent business in the south."

The herd master shook his head sadly.

"Don't take it so hard, my friend," Garion told him. "If you like, I'll curse your name to everyone I meet and tell them all how badly you cheated me."

The herd master's eyes brightened. "That would be extremely kind of your Majesty," he said. He caught Garion's amused look. "One does have a certain reputation to maintain, after all. The horses will be ready whenever you are. I'll select them for you myself."

Garion made good time as he galloped south. He kept his horses fresh and strong by changing mounts every two or three leagues. The long journey in quest of the Orb had taught him many ways to conserve the strength of a good horse, and he utilized them all. When a steep hill stood in his path, he slowed to a walk and made up the lost time on the long downhill slope on the other side. When he could, he went around rough terrain. He stopped for the night late and was on the move again at first light in the morning.

Steadily he moved south through the knee-high sea of waving prairie grass lying lush and green under the warm spring sun. He avoided the man-made mountain of the Algarian Stronghold, knowing that King Cho-Hag and Queen Silar, and certainly Hettar and Adara, would insist that he stop over for a day or so. Regretfully, he also passed a league or so to the west of Poledra's cottage. He hoped that there would be time later to visit Aunt Pol, Durnik, and Errand.

Right now he had to get to Belgarath with the passage of the Codex he had so carefully copied and which now rode in the inside pocket of his doublet.

When at last he arrived at Belgarath's squat, round tower, his legs were so tired that they trembled under him as he swung down from his lathered horse. He went immediately to the large, flat-faced rock that was the door to the tower.

"Grandfather!" he shouted at the windows above, "Grandfather, it's me!"

There was no answer. The squat tower loomed silently up out of the tall grass, etched sharply against the sky. Garion had not even considered the possibility that the old man might not be here. "Grandfather!" he called again. There was still no answer. A red-winged blackbird swooped in, landed atop the tower, and peered curiously down at Garion. Then it began to preen its feathers.

Almost sick with disappointment, Garion stared at the silent rock that always swung aside for Belgarath. Although he knew that it was a serious breach of etiquette, he pulled in his concentration, looked at the rock, and said, "Open."

The stone gave a startled little lurch and swung obediently aside. Garion went in and quickly mounted the stairs, remembering at the last instant to step up over the one where the loose stone still lay unrepaired. "Grandfather!" he called up the stairway.

"Garion?" the old man' s voice coming from above sounded startled. "Is that you?"

"I called," Garion said, coming up the cluttered, round room at the top of the stairs. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I was concentrating on something," the old man replied. "What's the matter? What are you doing here?"

"I finally found that passage," Garion told him.

"What passage?"

"The one in the Mrin Codex -the one that was missing."

Belgarath's expression grew suddenly tense, even wary. "What are you talking about, boy? There's no missing passage in the Mrin Codex."

"We talked about it at Riva. Don't you remember? It's the place where there's a blot on that page. I pointed it out to you."

Belgarath's look grew disgusted. "You came here and interrupted me over that?" His tone was scathing.

Garion stared at him. This was not the Belgarath he knew. The old man had never treated him so coldly before.

"Grandfather," he said, "what's wrong with you? This is very important. Somebody has somehow obscured a part of the Codex. When you read it, there's a part you don't see."

"But you can see it?" Belgarath said in a voice filled almost with contempt. "You? A boy who couldn't even read until he was almost grown? The rest of us have been studying that Codex for thousands of years, and now you come along and tell us that we've been missing something?"

"Listen to me, Grandfather. I'm trying to explain. When you come to that place, something happens to your mind. You don't pay any attention to it because, for some reason, you don't want to."

"Nonsense!" Belgarath snorted. "I don't need some rank beginner trying to tell me how to study."

"Won't you at least look at what I found?" Garion begged, taking the parchment out of his inside pocket and holding it out.

"No!" Belgarath shouted, slapping the parchment away. "Take that nonsense away from me. Get out of my tower, Garion!"

"Grandfather!"

"Get out of here!" The old man's face was pale with anger, and his eyes flashed.

Garion was so hurt by his Grandfather's words that tears actually welled up in his eyes. How could Belgarath talk to him this way? The old man became even more agitated. He began to pace up and down, muttering angrily to himself. "I have to work to do -important work- and you come bursting in here with this wild tale about something being missing. How dare you? How dare you interrupt me with this idiocy? Don't you know who I am?" He gestured at the parchment Garion had picked up and was holding again. "Get that disgusting thing out of my sight!"

And then Garion suddenly understood. Whatever or whoever it was that was trying to conceal the words hidden in that strange blot of ink was growing desperate, driving Belgarath into this uncharacteristic rage to keep him from reading the passage. There was only one way to break that strange compulsion not to see. Garion laid the parchment on a table, then coldly and deliberately unbuckled the heavy belt running across his chest, removed Iron-grip's sword from his back, and stood it against the wall. He put his hand to the Orb on the pommel of the sword and said, "Come off." The Orb came free in his hand, glowing at his touch.