Polgara the Sorceress

‘I didn’t exactly follow that, Anrak.’

‘She’ll wash off your melancholy. She’s very good at that.’

‘She? She who?’

‘The sea, Pol. No matter how bad things get, she always takes the sorrow away and clears your head. Landsmen don’t understand that, but we do.’

‘You love the sea, don’t you, Anrak?’

‘Of course. She surprises me sometimes, and she’s occasionally bad-tempered, but most of the time she and I get along fairly well. I love her, Pol. She’s all the wife I’ve ever needed.’

I always remind myself of that conversation when I’m obliged to have dealings with that rogue, Captain Greldik. Greldik and Anrak, though separated by three thousand years, are cut from the same bolt of cloth, viewing the sea as a living thing with a personality all her own.

I bought a horse named Baron in Camaar. Baron was a good, sensible bay who was old enough to have outgrown that silliness so characteristic of younger horses, and he and I got along well. I wasn’t really in any hurry, so I didn’t push him, and Baron seemed to approve of that. We more or less strolled across the neat fields of southern Sendaria toward Muros. We stayed at village inns along the way, and when no inn was available, we slept outdoors. With the exception of that peculiarly cosmopolitan port at Camaar, southern Sendaria was in the domain of the Wacite Arends in those days, and I found the lilting brogue of the Wacite peasants rather charming. I didn’t find the repeated warnings of innkeepers and stablemen about robbers and outlaws on the road very entertaining, though. ‘But, me Lady,’ one officious village innkeeper warned when I told him that I was traveling alone, ‘ ‘tis fearful dangerous for a woman alone out there. Robbers be wicked men who’ll most likely want t’ take advantage of th’ fact that y’ have no protection, don’t y’ know.’

‘I can deal with them, good master innkeeper,’ I told him quite firmly. These continual warnings were starting to make me tired.

The River Camaar branched about half-way to Muros, and the land beyond that fork in the river was as thickly forested as northern Arendia now is. For most people in the modern era the term ‘primeval forest’ has a poetic sound to it, calling up images of park-like surroundings inhabited by fairies, elves, and occasional trolls. The reality was far more gloomy. If you leave a tree to its own devices for fifteen hundred or so years, it just keeps growing. I’ve seen trees eighteen to twenty feet thick at the base, trees that go up a hundred and fifty feet before they sprout a limb. The limbs of that tree and its neighboring trees interlock to form a roof high overhead that blocks out the sun and sky and creates a permanent damp green twilight on the forest floor. The undergrowth is dense in most places, and wild creatures abound in the dim light – and wild men as well.

The Wacite Arends had brought the melancholy institution of serfdom with them when they’d migrated north of the Camaar River, and a serf who lives near a forest always has an option available to him if serfdom becomes too tedious. Once he’s taken up residence in the woods, however, the only occupation available to him is banditry in most cases, and travelers are his natural prey.

The two that I met on the muddy forest road to Muros late one afternoon were shabby, unshaven, and about half-drunk. They stepped out of the bushes bordering the road brandishing rusty butcher-knives. ‘I’ll be after takin’ th’ horse, Ferdish,’ one rogue said to the other.

‘Fair enough, Selt,’ Ferdish replied, scratching vigorously at one armpit and leering at me, ‘an’ I’ll be after takin’ th’ woman herself, don’t y’ know.’

‘Y’ always do, Ferdish,’ Selt noted. ‘Y’ve got quite an eye ferth’ ladies, I’ve noted.’

There were any number of things I could have done, of course, but I didn’t really care for their proprietary attitude, and I thought a bit of education might be in order here. Besides, there was something I wanted to try out – just to see if it’d actually work. ‘It’s all settled, then, gentlemen?’ I asked them rather casually.

‘All settled, me darlin’,’ Ferdish smirked at me. ‘Now, would y’ be so good as t’ get down so that Selt here kin try out his new mount whilst me an’ you have a bit of a frolic?’

‘You’re sure this is what you really want?’ I pressed.

‘It’s what we’re goin’ t’ have, Lady-o,’ Selt laughed coarsely.

‘Oh, good,’ I said. ‘My beast and I are hungry, and we’ve been wondering who we were going to have for supper.’

The ragged pair stared at me uncomprehendingly.

‘I do want to thank you two for coming along just when my stomach was starting to rumble.’ I looked at them critically. ‘A bit scrawny, perhaps,’ I noted, ‘but travelers have to get used to short rations, I guess.’

Then I released my Will slowly to give them every opportunity to enjoy the transformation taking place before their very eyes. Baron, who’d been idly cropping at a clump of grass by the side of the road, raised his head, and his neck began to elongate even as scales, claws, wings, and other dragonish appurtenances started to appear. My own transformation was every bit as slow. My shoulders expanded, my arms grew longer, fangs started to protrude from between my lips, and my face took on an Eldrakish overcast. When the alteration was completed, my pair of shabby outlaws stood frozen in terror, gaping at a monstrous ogress with blazing eyes and clawed hands sitting astride a huge, smoking dragon. ‘Feeding time, Baron,’ I rasped in a harsh, guttural voice. ‘What do you think? Should we kill them first, or should we eat them alive?’

Ferdish and Selt, still frozen stock-still in horror, clung to each other, screaming.

Then Baron belched, and a great cloud of sooty fire came billowing out of his mouth.

‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’ I growled. ‘What a wonderful idea, Baron. Go ahead and cook them a little before we eat them. It’s evening, after all, and we’ll both sleep better with a hot meal in our bellies.’

Ferdish and Selt must have suddenly remembered a pressing engagement elsewhere, because they left without even saying goodbye. As I remember, there was a lot of screaming, stumbling, crashing in the brush, and the like, in their departure.

‘Shall we press on then, Baron?’ I suggested, and he and I continued our ambling stroll through the damp, gloomy forest.