Belgarath the Sorcerer by David Eddings Page B

decide to practicethis art, be careful. To remain in a shape too long is to invite the very real possibility that when the time comes to go back to your own form, you may not want to. I’ll quite candidly admit that by the time the young she-wolf and I reached the realms of the Bear-God, I’d begun to give long thoughts to the pleasures of the den and the hunt, the sweet nuzzlings of puppies, and the true and steadfast companionship of a mate.
    At length we found a band of hunters near the edge of that vast primeval forest where Belar, the Bear-God, dwelt with his people. To the amazement of my companion, I resumed my own shape and approached them. ‘I have a message for Belar,’ I told them.
    â€˜How may we know this to be true?’ one burly fellow demanded truculently. Why is it that Alorns will go out of their way to pick a fight?
    â€˜You know it’s true because I say it’s true,’ I told him bluntly. ‘The message is important, so quit wasting time flexing your muscles and take me to Belar at once.’
    Then one of the Alorns saw my companion and threw his spear at her. I didn’t have time to make what I did seem natural nor to conceal it from them. I stopped the spear in mid-flight.
    They stood gaping at that spear stuck quivering in the air as if in the trunk of a tree. Then, because I was irritated, I flexed my mind and broke the spear in two. ‘Sorcery!’ one of them gasped.
    â€˜Amazing level of perception there, old boy,’ I said sarcastically, imitating Belmakor at his best. ‘Now, unless you’d all like to live out the rest of your lives as cabbages, take me to Belar at once. Oh, incidentally, the wolf’s with me. The next one of you who tries to hurt her is going to spend the rest of his life carrying his entrails around in a bucket.’ You have to be graphic to get an Alorn’s attention sometimes. I beckoned to the wolf, and she came to my side, baring her fangs at them. She had lovely fangs, long and curved and as sharp as daggers. Her display of themgot the Alorns’ immediate and undivided attention. ‘Nicely done,’ I snarled admiringly to her. She wagged her tail, her lip still curled menacingly at those thick-witted barbarians.
    â€˜Shall we go talk to Belar, gentlemen?’ I suggested in my most civilized manner on the theory that sometimes you have to beat Alorns over the head.
    We found the God Belar in a rude encampment some miles deeper into the forest. He appeared to be very young - scarcely more than a boy, though I knew that he was very nearly as old as my Master. I have my suspicions about Belar. He was surrounded by a bevy of busty, blonde-braided Alorn maidens, who all seemed enormously fond of him. Well, he was a God, after all, but the admiration of those girls didn’t seem to be entirely religious.
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    All right, Polgara, just let it lie, will you?
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    The Alorns in that crude encampment in the woods were rowdy, undisciplined, and - by and large - drunk. They joked boisterously with their Master with absolutely no sense of decorum or dignity.
    â€˜Well met, Belgarath,’ Belar greeted me, though we’d never met before and I hadn’t told any of those belligerent hunters my name. ‘How goes it with my beloved elder brother?’
    â€˜Not well, my Lord,’ I replied rather formally. Despite the tankard he held in one hand and the blonde he held in the other, he was still a God, so I thought it best to mind my manners. ‘Thy brother, Torak, came unto my Master and smote him and bore away a particular jewel which he coveted.’
    â€˜ What ?’ the young God roared, springing to his feet and spilling both tankard and blonde. ‘Torak hath the Orb?’
    â€˜I greatly fear it is so, my Lord. My Master bids me entreat thee to come to him with all possible speed.’
    â€˜I will, Belgarath,’ Belar assured me, retrieving his tankard and the