Rivan Codex Series Page 7

  It was Belzedar who went down to the north side of Korim to observe the Angaraks. Isn't it funny how things turn out? What he saw in those mountains troubled him very much. Torak always had an exaggerated notion of his significance in the overall scheme of things, and he encouraged his Angaraks to become excessive in their worship. They'd raised a temple to him in the High Places of Korim where the Grolim priesthood ecstatically butchered their fellow Angaraks by the hundreds while Torak looked on approvingly.

  The religious practices of the various races of man were really none of our business, but Belzedar found cause for alarm in the beliefs of the Angaraks. Torak made no secret of the fact that he considered himself several cuts above his brothers, and he was evidently encouraging his people to feel the same way about themselves.

  "It's just a matter of time, I'm afraid," Belzedar concluded somberly.

  "Sooner or later, they're going to try to impose their notion of their own superiority on the rest of mankind, and that won't work. If someone doesn't persuade Torak to stop filling the heads of the Angaraks with that obscene sense of superiority, there's very likely going to be war in the South."

  Then Belsambar told us that the Morindim and the Karands had become demon-worshipers but that they posed no real threat to the rest of mankind, since the demons devoted themselves almost exclusively to eating the magicians who raised them.

  Beldin reported that the Arends had grown even more stupid--if that's possible--and that they all lived in a more or less perpetual state of war.

  Belmakor had passed through the lands of the Nyissans on his way to Melcena, and he reported that the Snake People were still fearfully primitive.

  No one's ever accused the Nyissans of being energetic, but you'd think they might have at least started building houses by now. The Melcenes, of course, did build houses--probably more than they really needed--but it kept them out of mischief. On his way back, he passed through Kell, and he told us that the Dals were much involved in arcane studies--astrology, necromancy, and the like. The Dals spend so much of their time trying to look into the future that they tend to lose sight of the present. I hate mystics! The only good part of it was that they were so fuzzy-headed that they didn't pose a threat to anybody else.

  The Alorns, of course, were an entirely different matter. They're a noisy, belligerent people who'll fight at the drop of a hat. Beltira and Belkira looked in on their fellow Alorns. Fortunately for the sake of world peace, the Alorns, like the Arends, spent most of their time fighting each other rather than doing war on other races, but the twins strongly suggested that we keep an eye on them. I have been doing just that for the past five thousand years. It was probably that more than anything else that turned my hair white. Alorns can get into more trouble by accident than other people can on purpose--always excepting the Arends, of course. Arends are perpetually a catastrophe waiting to explode.

  Our Master considered our reports carefully and concluded that the world outside the Vale was generally peaceful and that only the Angaraks were likely to cause trouble. He told us that he'd have a word with his brother Torak about that particular problem, pointing out to him that if any kind of general war broke out, the Gods themselves would inevitably be drawn in, and that would be disastrous.

  "Methinks I can make him see reason," Aldur told us. Reason? Torak? Sometimes my Master's optimism got the better of him.

  As I recall, he had been absently fondling that strange grey stone of his as we made our reports. He'd had the thing for so long that I don't think he even realized that it was in his hand. Over the years since he'd spoken with UL about it, I don't think he'd once put it down, and it somehow almost became a part of him.

  Naturally it was Belzedar who noticed it. I wonder how everything might have turned out if he hadn't.

  "What is that strange jewel. Master?"

  he asked. Better far that his tongue had fallen out before he asked that fatal question.

  "This Orb?" Aldur replied, holding it up for all of us to see.

  "In it lies the fate of the world." It was then for the first time that I noticed that the stone seemed to have a faint blue flicker deep inside of it. It was, as I think I've mentioned before, polished by a thousand years or more of our Master's touch, and it was now, as Belzedar had so astutely noticed, more a jewel than a piece of plain, country rock.

  "How can so small an object be so important, Master?" Belzedar asked. That's another question I wish he'd never thought of. If he'd just been able to let it drop, none of what's happened would have happened, and he wouldn't be in his present situation. Despite all of our training, there are some questions better left unanswered.

  Unfortunately, our Master had a habit of answering questions, and so things came out that might better have been left buried. If they had, I might not currently be carrying a load of guilt that I'm not really strong enough to bear. I'd rather carry a mountain than carry what I did to Belzedar. Garion might understand that, but I'm fairly sure none of the rest of my savage family would. Regrets? Yes, of course I have regrets.

  I've got regrets stacked up behind me at least as far as from here to the moon. But we don't die from regret, do we? We might squirm a little, but we don't die.

  And our Master smiled at my brother Belzedar, and the Orb grew brighter. I seemed to see images flickering dimly within it.

  "Herein lies the past," our Master told us, "and the present, and the future, also. This is but a small part of the virtue of the Orb. With it may man--or earth herself--be healed or destroyed. Whatsoever man or God would do, though it be beyond even the power of the Will and the Word, with this Orb may it come to pass."

  "Truly a wondrous thing, Master," Belzedar said, looking a bit puzzled, "but still I fail to understand. The jewel is fair, certainly, but in fine it is yet but a stone."

  "The Orb hath revealed the future unto me, my son," our Master replied sadly.

  "It shall be the cause of much contention and great suffering and vast destruction. Its power reaches from where it now lies to blow out the lives of men yet unborn as easily as thou wouldst snuff out a candle."

  "It's an evil thing then, Master," I said, and Belsambar and Belmakor agreed.

  "Destroy it, Master," Belsambar pleaded, "before it can bring its evil into the world."

  "That may not be," our Master replied.

  "Blessed be the wisdom of Aldur," Belzedar said, his eyes glittering strangely.

  "With us to aid him, our Master may wield this wondrous jewel for good instead of ill. It would be monstrous to destroy so precious a thing." Now that I look back at everything that's happened, I suppose I shouldn't really blame Belzedar for his unholy interest in the Orb. It was a part of something that absolutely had to happen. I shouldn't blame him for it--but I do.

  "I tell ye, my sons," our Master continued,

  "I would not destroy the Orb even were it possible. Ye have all just returned from looking at the world in its childhood and at man in his infancy. All living things must grow or they will die. Through this jewel shall the world be changed and man shall achieve that state for which he was made. The Orb is not of itself evil. Evil is a thing that lies only in the hearts and minds of men-and of Gods, also." And then our Master fell silent, and he sighed, and we went away and left him in his sad communion with the Orb.

  We saw little of our Master in the centuries that followed. Alone in his tower he continued his study of the Orb, and he learned much from it, I think. We were all saddened by his absence, and our work had little joy in it.

  I think it was about twenty centuries after I came to serve my Master when a stranger came into the Vale. He was beautiful as no being I have ever seen, and he walked as if his foot spurned the earth.

  As was customary, we went out to greet him.

  "I would speak with my brother, thy Master, Aldur," he told us, and we knew that we were in the presence of a God.

  As the eldest, I stepped forward.

  "I shall tell my Master you have
come," I said politely. I wasn't certain which God he was, but something about this over pretty stranger didn't sit very well with me.

  "That is not needful, Belgarath," he told me in a tone that irritated me even more than his manner.

  "My brother knows I am here. Convey me to his tower."

  I turned and led the way without trusting myself to answer.

  When we reached the tower, the stranger looked me full in the face.

  "A bit of advice for thee, Belgarath," he said, "by way of thanks for thy service. Seek not to rise above thyself. It is not thy place to approve or to disapprove of me. For thy sake I hope that when next we meet, thou wilt remember this instruction and behave in a more seemly manner." His eyes seemed to bore directly into me, and his voice chilled me.

  But, because I was still who I was and not even the two thousand years and more I had lived in the Vale had entirely put the wild, rebellious boy in me to sleep, I answered him somewhat tartly.

  "Thank you for the advice," I told him.

  "Will you require anything else?" It wasn't up to me to tell him where the door was or how to open it. I waited, watching hopefully for some hint of confusion.

  "Thou art pert, Belgarath," he observed.

  "Perhaps one day I shall give myself leisure to instruct thee in proper behavior and customary respect."

  "I'm always eager to learn," I replied. As you can see, Torak and I got off on the wrong foot almost immediately. You'll notice that I'd deduced his identity by now.

  He turned and gestured, and the stone door of the tower opened.

  Then he went inside.

  We never knew exactly what passed between our Master and his brother. They spoke together for hours, then a summer storm broke above our heads, so we were forced to take shelter and thus missed Torak's departure.

  When the storm had cleared, our Master called us to him, and we went up into his tower. He sat at the table where he had labored so long over the Orb. There was a great sadness in his face, and my heart wept to see it. There was also a reddened mark on his cheek that I didn't understand.

  But Belzedar saw what I hadn't almost at once.

  "Master!" he said with a note of panic in his voice.

  "Where is the jewel? Where is the Orb of power?" I wish I'd paid closer attention to the sound of his voice. I might have been able to avert a lot of things if I had.

  "Torak, my brother, hath taken it away with him," our Master replied, and his voice had almost the sound of weeping in it.

  "Quickly!" Belzedar exclaimed.

  "We must pursue him and reclaim the Orb before he escapes us! We are many, and he is but one!"

  "He is a God, my son," Aldur said.

  "Numbers mean nothing to him."

  "But, Master," Belzedar said desperately, "we must reclaim the Orb!

  It must be returned to us!" And I still didn't realize what was going on in Belzedar's mind. My brains must have been asleep.

  "How did thy brother obtain thine Orb from thee, Master?" Beltira asked.

  "Torak conceived a desire for the jewel," Aldur said, "and he besought me that I should give it to him. When I would not, he smote me and took the Orb and ran."

  That did it! Though the jewel was wondrous, it was still only a stone.

  The fact that Torak had struck my Master, however, brought flames into my brain. I threw off my cloak, bent my will into the air before me, and forged a sword with a single word. I seized the sword and leapt to the window.

  "No!" my Master said, and the word stopped me as if a wall had been placed before me.

  "Open!" I commanded, slashing at that unseen wall with the sword I'd just made.

  "No!" my Master said again, and the wall wouldn't let me through.

  "He hath struck thee, Master!" I raged.

  "For that I will kill him though he be ten times a God!"

  "No. Torak would crush thee as easily as thou wouldst crush an insect that annoyed thee. I love thee much, mine eldest son, and I would not lose thee so."

  "There must be war, Master," Belmakor said. That should give you some idea of how seriously we took the matter. The word "war" was the last I'd have ever expected to hear coming from the ultra-civilized Belmakor.

  "The blow and the theft must not go unpunished. We will forge weapons, and Belgarath shall lead us. We will make war on this thief who calls himself a God."

  "My son," Aldur said with a kind of gentle sorrow, "there will be war enough to glut thee of it before thy life ends. Gladly would I have given the Orb to Torak, save that the Orb itself hath told me that one day it would destroy him. I would have spared him had I been able, but his lust for the jewel was too great, and he would not listen." He sighed and then straightened.

  "There will be war, Belmakor. It is unavoidable now. My brother hath the Orb in his possession, and with its power he can do great mischief. We must reclaim it or alter it before Torak can subdue it and bend it to his will."

  "Alter?" Belzedar said, aghast.

  "Surely, Master, surely thou wouldst not weaken this precious thing!" It seemed that was all he could think about, and I still didn't understand.

  "It may not be weakened, Belzedar," Aldur replied, "but will retain its power even unto the end of days. The purpose of our war shall be to press Torak into haste, that he will attempt to use it in a way that it will not be used."

  Belzedar stared at him. He evidently had thought that the Orb was a passive object. He hadn't counted on the fact that it had its own ideas about things.

  "The world is inconstant, Belzedar," our Master explained, "but good and evil are immutable and unchanging. The Orb is an object of good and not merely some bauble or toy. It hath understanding, not such as thine, but understanding nonetheless. And it hath a will. Beware of it, for its will is the will of a stone. It is, as I say, a thing of good. If it be raised to do evil, it will strike down whoever would so use it--be he man or be he God." Aldur obviously saw what I did not, and this was his way to try to warn Belzedar. I don't think it worked, though.

  Our Master sighed, then he rose to his feet.

  "We must make haste,"

  he told us.

  "Go ye, my disciples. Go ye even unto mine other brothers and tell them that I bid them come to me. I am the eldest, and they will come out of respect, if not love. The war we propose will not be ours alone. I do fear me that all of mankind shall be caught up in it. Go, therefore, and summon my brothers that we may consider what must be done."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "A word with you, Belgarath?"

  Belmakor said when we reached the foot of our Master's tower.

  "Of course."

  "I really don't think we should leave the Master alone," he suggested gravely.

  "You think Torak might come back and hit him again?"

  "I rather doubt it, and I'm fairly certain that the Master could take care of himself if that happened."

  "He didn't the last time," I replied bleakly.

  "That was probably because Torak took him by surprise. You don't normally expect a brother to hit you."

  "Why all this concern, then?"

  "Didn't you feel the Master's grief? And I'm not just talking about the loss of the Orb. Torak betrayed him and hit him, and now there's going to be a war. I think a couple of us should stay here to comfort the Master and to care for him."

  "Do you want to stay?"

  "Not me, old boy. I'm at least as angry about this as you are. Right now I'm so angry that I could bite rocks and spit sand."

  I considered it. There were seven of us, and we had to reach only five Gods, so we could certainly afford to leave a couple behind.

  "How about the twins, then?" I suggested.

  "Neither one of them could function if we separated them anyway, and they don't have the temperament to deal with any confrontations that might turn up."

  "Excellent suggestion, old boy," he approved.

  "Of course, that means that someone else will have to go north to speak
with Belar."

  "I'll do that," I volunteered.

  "I think I can probably deal with the Alorns."

  "I'll go to Nedra, then. I've met him before, and I know how to get his attention. I'll bribe him if I have to."

  "Bribe? He's a God, Belmakor."

  "You've never met him, I gather. The Tolnedrans come by their peculiarities honestly."

  "Take Belzedar with you," I suggested.

  "He's obsessed with the Orb, so I don't think we should just turn him loose. He might decide to go after Torak on his own. When you get to the lands of the Tolnedrans, send him up into Arendland to talk with Chaldan. If he tries to argue with you, tell him that I ordered him to do it. I'm the eldest, so that might carry some weight with him. Don't let him go south. I don't want him getting himself killed. Our Master's got enough grief to deal with already."

  He nodded gravely.

  "I'll take the others along as well. We'll split up once we reach the Tolnedrans. Belsambar can go talk with Mara, and Beldin should be able to find Issa."

  "That's probably the best plan. Warn Beldin and Belsambar about Belzedar. Let's all keep an eye on him. Sometimes he's a little impulsive."

  "Do we want to involve the Dals or the Melcenes?"

  I squinted up at the sky. The summer storm had blown off, and only a few puffy white clouds remained.

  "The Master didn't mention them," I replied a little dubiously.

  "You might want to warn them, though. They probably wouldn't care to participate in a religious war--considering the fact that they don't have a God--but you should probably suggest that they stay out of the way."

  He shrugged.

  "Whatever you think best. Will you talk with the twins?"

  "Why don't you do that? I've got a long way to go, and the Alorns are spread out all over the north. It might take me quite a little while to find Belar."