The One With The Serpent Tongue
Shadow of an Echo
Chapter Two
A New World
(Time has moved forward by about five generations since the last chapter; a generation is roughly 25 years)
Western Kingdoms: Ulgoland: Prolgu: Poledra's Den
Galahad had learned a lot about the world around him under Poledra's careful instruction. He learned that his initial suspicions that his host was a wolf were well founded, unlike Remus who was born a man and was changed into a wolf; Poledra had been born a wolf. She had run across Belgarath in his favorite form of a silver wolf while he was on a mission and she stuck with him. When he turned down her advances while she was in her wolf form, and later her snowy owl, she changed into the form of the women Poledra and won Belgarath in that form. That explained her strange mode of speech. In a wolf pack there is no concept similar to the word I, each member is just 'one' of many. The term yours and mine only applied to members of a different pack. She had learned to use possessive terms in her time as a human but never felt the need to learn the concept of I.
He also learned the reason she was not living with her family. They believed her dead. It was a necessary part of the Prophecies; she wasn't supposed to interfere until the proper time came. He knew she felt anger for Belgarath's choice in how to morn his wife's death. Galahad supposed he would have some problems too if he found out his supposedly grieving spouse was drowning his sorrows in poor ale and loose women for a good eight years before someone stepped in and stopped him. He found out her daughter Polgara had hated her father for this very same reason at first, but because she had a mental connection to Poledra, her mother was able to smooth ruffled feathers, at the appropriate time of course.
That mental connection was one of the more unusual things he had encountered thus far. Poledra had given birth to twin girls and they shared a mental link from birth. Her daughters were the only ones permitted to know of their mother's on going life.
He had been grieved to find out that only those gifted with the Will and the Word had an extended life and her one daughter, Beldaran, had not been given that power. Instead, she had married the first protector of the Orb, the newly crowned King of Riva. She had died early, even for a human, from a lung disease. Both Poledra and Polgara felt the loss greatly, and Belgarath had yet another death to morn but he threw himself into his tasks instead of other, less savory, methods.
Riva Irongrip and his descendants were the only ones capable of touching the Orb without the Orb burning them, unless the other happened to be a complete innocent. Galahad learned the Alorn kingdoms had been broken apart to protect the Orb. Cherek Bearshoulders had been the original king of Aloria, his three sons each became king of a part of Aloria and they named the kingdoms after the sons, Algar Fleetfoot and Dras Bullneck were the two others besides Riva. Galahad found the old custom of adding a descriptive word to a man's name once they turned of age was kind of cool, but he was glad that changed because he didn't really want puny added to his name.
Galahad had filled out under Poledra's careful eye but he will always be incredibly lean and small. He didn't like to dwell on what happened to him on his home world, but he would always carry physical reminders of it. He had some scars that refused to fade and his stature was not what it should be considering his family history. Poledra had commented that he was built like a lone wolf, but he still felt tiny.
He also noted that he didn't seem to age. While the amount of time passing was only measured in times of sleeping and waking he knew he had been here long enough to have a few lines on his face, but he appeared to be no older than the age he had been when he left his world. With a glamour he could advance his appearance to be in his mid-twenties. Poledra had explained that Polgara had stopped aging at the age of twenty-five so he fit in with her while under his glamour. Whatever their tasks would be in the future, they would appear the right age and size to achieve the desired outcome.
He had learned to use his Will to get things done. It hadn't taken him long to become proficient because, as Poledra told him, if he was strong enough to be mentioned in a prophecy then he was strong enough to learn what he needed to know. She had spent the majority of the time teaching him the finer control needed to specialize in mind magic. Polgara knew how to heal and get information from a person with her mind. Galahad was learning how to kill and control. Polgara was using fear to get what she needed; he was going to use pain. He did not like it one tiny bit, but he had to learn it.
The best thing he had learned along the lines of mind magic was how to communicate to another sorcerer with thoughts alone. Whole conversations could take place with out a single person other then his target overhearing it, unless they were actively trying to, and if they did that, you had bigger problems. Poledra had taught him how to shield his thoughts from prying minds, and he was far better at that than the feeble attempts he had made at learning Occlumency.
Poledra and Galahad were relaxing at the end of a long day of practice when they felt a familiar Presence. UL was paying them a visit.
"It is time," The ancient God warned cryptically.
"I have to leave here soon don't I?" Galahad asked without surprise. He knew this day had been coming, but he hadn't known when it would occur.
"Yes, you need to learn more about this world before joining my son Aldur. I suggest doing some traveling, and when the time comes you will feel a pull at your senses, don't fight this pull, it will lead you home." UL instructed.
"Home," Galahad whispered softly. It was a strange word to him. He really didn't have a home before he came here, and this was Poledra's home, here he was essentially a guest.
"The Vale of Aldur will be your home for as long as you are here." UL reassured, knowing what he had been thinking.
"Thank you," Galahad said reverently.
"You must first face a long journey. Travel light and learn as much as you can. No knowledge should be forsaken. Take the time to get to know this place. You will need to know it for your task." UL advised.
"I will remember that Lord UL. I will do as you have advised." Galahad responded, dropping into a slight bow to him.
To his surprise, the father of the gods bowed his head to him and faded out of sight. To say he was unnerved would be an understatement. For UL to think that highly of him, something big must be hanging over him.
Poledra didn't seem to find anything odd in UL's actions. "You will need a change of clothes, any money you have, and a good map." She said crisply, "Anything above that you can acquire on your journey."
Shaking himself out of his stupor Galahad took Poledra's advice and collected his only spare set of clothing, the gold galleons that he had found in the pockets of his tatty wizarding robes he had arrived here in, and the map Poledra had drawn him to teach him the geography of this world. The map was a simple black and white chart with neat labels, perfect for his purpose of general location and distance.
"We shall meet again." Poledra said in lieu of goodbye, and Galahad appreciated that, he never was good at saying goodbye.
"We shall," He agreed before drawing in his Will, and turning it inward to morph his body into the shape of a small black wolf.
Leaving the safety of Poledra's den, he entered the dark tunnels beyond. In the time he had been living with the wolf woman, they had spent countless hours running through the tunnels of the mountain known as Prolgu. The mountain was home to the Ulgos, when the madness took over the formerly docile creatures that shared the valleys with the Ulgos, the monsters created from the madness drove the people under the mountain. Galahad didn't think anyone could possibly know every tunnel in Prolgu, but he knew most of the paths.
Thus as he loped easily through tunnels and caverns any Ulgos he came across were only surprised at the lack of a female tawny wolf running beside him. Poledra and Galahad didn't come around on a regular basis, but it was often enough the Ulgos knew of their presence, and weren't afraid of them. The Ulgos also knew that seeing one wolf running without the other meant something big had happened.
The Ulgos themselves were a very strange race. The race had large, very dark, eyes that needed little light to see, a feature gained from living underground for so long, and skin so pale as to put milk to shame. They were a race driven by propriety and morality; they thrived under a strict code of ethics. They were quiet by nature, except for the singing. A choir of religious leaders constantly filled the caverns and tunnels that made up their home with the words to an ancient hymn; the hymn paid homage to their god UL. They repeated the hymn every hour, on the hour, and the Ulgos would continue this tradition until there was no more Ulgos left to sing it.
Ulgos had once been amongst the Godless ones, or the tribes of humans left without a god when Aldur chose solitude. The forbearers of the current Ulgos, lead by a man called Gorim, beseeched the father of the Gods to take them as his people. Through the fortitude of Gorim, they succeeded in persuading UL to become their god. The Ulgos were eternally thankful to UL and turned religion into the corner stone of their society. The name of every one of their leaders was Gorim, in honor of the man who gave them a god, each Gorim lived as long as UL wanted them to. Galahad had met the current Gorim a few times and he held a deep respect for the holy man.
Galahad had to switch back into his human form to speak to the door guardians. Prolgu had one main exit and several minor tunnel exits. He had chosen to leave by the main door, and because there were guards at the entrance at all times to protect the Ulgos, he had to ask them to open the door for him. It had taken him awhile to learn the Ulgo language, but he found it worth the effort.
The door to the outside world was actually a flagstone in the floor of a ruined building. After blinking his eyes to get them used to the dim sunlight of early morning, he looked around. The building was part of the ancient city of Prolgu, the place the Ulgos lived before they were driven under the mountain.
In this valley of monsters, Galahad knew it was better to have a smaller form that drew less attention. To travel through Ulgo, he dropped the wolf guise, and adopted the form of a simple grass snake. He knew he would be able to see the countryside better if he flew, but the tunnels did not afford him the conditions needed to practice flying, too few birds had decent night vision. He was far better off staying firmly planted on the ground for the first part of his travels, he could practice flying in the down time.
Deciding to follow the path of the sun had him heading west, towards the Arendish border. He didn't rush his pace as the weather was fair and UL told him to take his time in getting to know the place. If he came over these countries again in the future he would recognize his path from the rock and dirt. His senses opened as wide as they could go to absorb every bit of information he could about the land. He had learned that due to his now extended life span his memory would stay as sharp and clear as it was the day he learned it. He could still forget things, but that was mostly due to inattention and lack of focus.
Western Kingdoms: Arendia: Arends: Mimbrate and Asturian
After some time Galahad decided to forgo traveling in alternate forms. Too long a time spent as a creature had a tendency to meld the creature's instincts with your own. While he liked snakes, he didn't particularly want their mindset to take over his own too much more than it already had. He already found he could speak Parseltongue any time he wanted to, without having to be near a live snake, and he began to react to situations more like a snake would. To remedy this progression he stopped at a small village and bought himself a horse. He still didn't know exactly how the galleons had changed into the money of this world when he went to pay for the horse, but he assumed UL had something to do with it.
Galahad followed his chosen course over the border to Arendia. The northern part of the country was mostly thick forest. This was the territory of the Asturian Arends. After meeting a few of these men, Galahad had come to some conclusions about them. They were perfectly suited to living in the woods, their mode of dress was simple greens and browns to blend in with the trees, and they were some of the best archers in the world; unfortunately, he also found out the race as a whole was, umm... not quite bright.
They weren't necessarily stupid, they were just rash and impulsive, overly loyal, and lacked a certain common sense. The Asturians also fostered a fierce rivalry between themselves and their southern cousins the Mimbrates. He had only met one or two of the Mimbrate Arends, but he found that while they shared the same mind set as the Asturians, that was where the similarities ended. Mimbrates still used the archaic 'thee and thou' mode of speech, and they dressed in King Arthur type suits of armor. Their favorite weapon was by far the lance as they fought mostly on horseback, but they were no lightweights when it came to swordplay either. Mimbrates also had the tendency to believe they were invincible.
There was one practice they both employed that turned Galahad's stomach. There was a class of people called serfs. They were slaves with the illusion of freedom. They were attached to the land and 'belonged' to the landowner. It was up to the owner of the land how much of the food and goods the serfs produced actually went to the serfs. Some owners were generous, and their serfs were well fed and cared for, but the vast majority lived in squalor.
All in all Galahad found himself more drawn to the Asturians. He was interested in learning how to use a bow properly. They also had the upper hand when it came to stealth in the forests. That was what had lead him to find the former capital of the Asturian duchy. In a battle that occurred right before Galahad arrived in this world Arendia was forced to unify under a single crown; the former capital of the Asturian duchy was called Vo Astur.
He was able to use his youthful appearance to his advantage during his times with the Arends. All it took was a little sympathy in the right places; he was an orphan with no family to care for him and no home to call his own. He was able to go from teacher to teacher in the city and learn as much as he could from each one. They taught him what he needed to know in exchange for his help doing the menial day-to-day tasks. Galahad thought he was getting the better end of the deal here but didn't say that aloud.
He took to the bow like a duck to water. His lithe but surprisingly strong frame was perfect for handling a bow. He quickly caught up to his teachers in skill. This was finally something he had a natural affinity for, just as he had been a natural on a broomstick back on earth.
After his stay with the Asturians, he moved on to the Mimbrates. Using the same tactics with them as he used on the Asturians, he received lessons. Galahad found out he was passable with a lance, but was horrible with a large sword. The kinds of swords the Mimbrates preferred dwarfed him; he could barely lift it, let alone use it. He stayed long enough to learn how to speak in the archaic mode, and moved on, not spending nearly as much time with the Mimbrates as he had the Asturians.
Riding his horse out of Arendia, he left with his very own bow and quiver full of hand made arrows, plus the knowledge of how to function amongst these men when he had to return in the future. Heading south, he forded the river Arend and on the other side was Tolnedra.
Western Kingdoms: Tolnedra: Tolnedrans, Dryads, and Marags
The Tolnedran people were a military based society guided by an Emperor. The Tolnedran legions were some of the best-trained and well-equipped armies in the world. They were also the first society to build inter-continental highways, which webbed their way throughout the west and south.
There was only one thing that rose above the military in terms of interest to a Tolnedran mind, and that was money. They set the standards for the mining and minting of money. Their coins were of the purest concentrations, and they had the toughest laws for counterfeiters. Any important committee member or businessmen could be bought for a decent bribe. Checkpoint and customs officers could be paid to look the other way for the right price. The richer the family, the more prominence they had in society.
The only thing Galahad learned here was how to haggle down an exorbitant price. A useful skill to have, but he couldn't help but feel somewhat let down over their single mindedness towards gold. He even found out that the reason the Marags were wiped out was because the Tolnedrans found out their country was rich with gold, but since the Marags were not interested in trade the Tolnedrans couldn't get to it.
As several Tolnedran gold hunters found out the hard way, the Marags did not care for trespassers. They had a strange quirk to their society. Some priest in ancient times misread a religious text and turned the residents of Maragor into ritualistic cannibals. It was by no means a staple in their diet, but when someone trespassed onto their land, they were fair game. The Tolnedrans wiped out their entire race over that, the cannibalism was only a front; the real reason was all the gold.
The dead race haunted Maragor; the ghosts will drive any one going in there thinking of gold mad. A race died, and now no one had the gold. Galahad made the decision not to go into Maragor on this journey. He didn't care about the gold but he had seen enough death, the ghosts would not be a good thing for his mental health.
Overall, he left Tolnedra with a bad taste lingering on his tongue. The only bright point had been when he headed south once more and arrived in a large old forest. A humanoid type of creature called Dryads lived in those trees. These were living beings spiritually tied to a single tree growing in the forest. They would only die when their tree was dead. Oak trees had a way of living for centuries, giving these devious females a deceptively youthful appearance. They were the only creature he had come across without a male half of the species. They interbred with humans when that need arose, and no Dryad would ever give birth to a male child.
Western Kingdoms: Nyissa: Nyissans and Salmissra
Out of all the countries Galahad traveled through on his first journey on this world, he stayed in Nyissa the longest. He didn't stay out of an affinity for any of the places he found, or most of the people he met, what kept him here was the fact there was a reason the God Issa had the totem of a snake.
The countryside was crawling with snakes. He spent more time as a snake learning about Nyissa and its people from the local serpents than was really good for him, but it was time well spent in his opinion.
The Nyissans were fond of certain, how do I put this, pharmaceutical enhancements. They had competent healers but that wasn't the area of the drug market they expanded on; they had a larger selection of recreational drugs and deadly poisons than anywhere else did on this strange world.
Swampy jungles covered the country providing the perfect conditions for exotic and rare plants to flourish. With the Nyissans' reverence for snakes, they allowed the serpentine members of the community free rein inside the cities. These hardly noticed snakes were gathering a wide range of knowledge on exactly how the people used the exotic plants. Most of the serpents he came across didn't want to share information about their findings, but he managed to find a few talkative ones, and they told him some very useful things.
He spent some time as a human there, just to see how the humans really did interact. He found them to be the only human race ruled by a singular female. When the Gods were still on the world Issa had taken a handmaiden called Salmissra, when Issa went to sleep leaving the world like his brothers had, he had forgotten to bestow immortality onto Salmissra and the original handmaiden had aged and died. The Nyissan people remedied this situation by going into each generation of young girls with a portrait of Salmissra and selected twenty girls baring a strong likeness to the original. They raised the girls in the jungle to be an exact replica of the original. When the current Salmissra died, they chose the new Salmissra from among the twenty prospects, and then they killed the rest of the girls. The chosen one would move to the palace, she would officially take the name Salmissra, and then she drank a cocktail of strange elixirs that both preserved her youth and beauty, but sped up her death. Salmissra could count herself lucky if she lived to be sixty-five.
He spent quite a bit of time learning about as many of the poisons and drugs as he could. He stayed away from the healing spectrum, and the more virulent poisons, as that was Polgara's domain; but there was still plenty left to study. He didn't use a lot of them himself, as he was on unfamiliar ground, with unknown people around him; it was not the time to have his head stuffed with butterflies.
The one bad part about his time in Nyissa was all the bugs. The sky and ground were teaming with the tiny insect vermin. They got absolutely everywhere on him. He understood the custom of the males all shaving their heads; it cut down on the burrowing bugs. Spending the majority of his time as a snake left him with the ability to keep his long black hair in one piece. It was too much of a pain to grow it back out again. His wild black hair would never be entirely tamable, but if it was long, he could pull it back and not have to worry about it sticking up everywhere.
When the wanderlust finally caught up to him once more, he kept heading south. Only to find he had run out of Western countries in this direction. He was now in the territory of the Angaraks.
Angarak Territories: Cthol Murgos: Murgos, Thulls, and Grolims
There was only one country to the south of the Western kingdoms, and that was because of the sheer size of the place. Cthol Murgos stretched from sea to sea and took up a little over half the continent. The largest portion of the country was scorched desert. Although he knew this country hadn't always been as dry as evidenced by the large sea serpent carcasses scattered around the desert floor. This drying out had occurred when Torak had used the Orb of Aldur, he literally cracked the world with it, and a deluge of water filled the crack creating the Sea of the East and leaving Cthol Murgos dry as a bone.
The Murgos were an unpleasant race. Galahad had thought the Tolnedrans were irritating, now that he knew these guys, the Tolnedrans looked a little better in his mind. They were big and menacing, as they were the warrior class of the Angaraks. Each Murgo had to offer a blood sacrifice to Torak when they came of age, before they could ever step foot in a temple, thus all Murgos had thick scars running down each cheek.
It was in these temples of Torak that he first encountered the priesthood called Grolims. They had the singular most repulsive religious act he had ever witnessed, and that included the Marags ritual cannibalism; at least the Marags killed cleanly. Two Grolims would bend a live Angarak over the altar and slowly cut out the heart of their human sacrifice. They dropped the heart on a brazier that burned eternally. They discarded the body; Torak didn't want the whole person, just the heart. They repeated this repulsive act every hour, to the sound of a large gong. They selected this sacrifice from the general population, but the majority by far of sacrifices were Thulls.
Thulls were a mulish and stupid race, they were the fenced in sheep of the Angarak world. They spent their whole lives trying to avoid the Grolims' knives. Men could purchase slaves as a substitution, and many saved money from childhood on just to buy a slave. Women had a slightly easier time avoiding the knife. The Grolims would not sacrifice a pregnant woman as it confused their count. Thull women attempted to stay pregnant at all times. That would explain how the Grolims could take so many for sacrifices and still be overrun with Thulls.
Galahad watched these senseless deaths while being consumed with hate for Grolims, and followers of Torak in general. More than one Grolim found himself with an arrow between the eyes while Galahad was in Cthol Murgos. He knew he had to be careful with that though. There were three general classes of Grolims. If they had a green lining in their black robes, they did not possess the Will and the Word, or were a novice at using it. Any other color and he was running the risk of fighting a moderate to expert user of Will. The most dangerous color to come up against was purple. The black robes of the Grolims reminded him dangerously of Death Eaters; he felt no guilt as he took these monsters down one-by-one.
He had little doubt he could win the fight. With Poledra's decades long instruction he was a very good sorcerer, and Grolims were too busy sacrificing people to practice as much as he did. The problem lay that in a fight of Will, any other sorcerer in the area is going to hear the fight, and know there is a foreign sorcerer in the area. It was much easier to kill a Grolim when they were not watching their step. It was also quiet a bit more satisfying to do it with his bow.
The only bit of sorcery Galahad let himself use was to shift forms, which was mostly internal and didn't make much noise to start with, and to call his arrows back to him after he planted them in a Grolim's skull. He slowly made his way across the county killing the vile priests as he went.
To the north of Cthol Murgos, and to the east of Algaria and Maragor, was Mishrak Ac Thull. He did not linger in the kingdom of the Thulls, well except to kill a Grolim or two. The sheer stupidity and sheepdom of the race made him move on as quickly as possible.
Then he found, to the north of Mishrak Ac Thull, the most confusing race of Angaraks by far, the Nadraks.
Angarak Territories: Gar Og Nadrak: Nadraks and Morindim
The Nadraks were the least religious out of all the Angaraks. They managed to get on Galahad's good side because of their odd tendency to kill off their priests. A Nadrak was far more likely to kill off their cousin race rather then westerners. They took a kind of satisfaction in decorating Murgos with daggers right between the shoulder blades as well.
There was one incredibly interesting facet of their society, and it was their attitude towards women. They were bought and sold like slaves, but if you ever called a Nadrak woman a slave, or tried something untoward, you quickly found yourself at the end of a sharp dagger. The selling of females was an equal opportunity venture because the woman got half the money paid for her. If women played their cards right they could die very wealthy. Not to mention Nadrak women were far from helpless, a part of their standard dress was at least two daggers, and most carried four.
Galahad thought he could really get to like this race. He even fit in looks wise. Most of that race had dark hair and pale skin. His emerald eyes were a little unusual but they were by no means unique. After acquiring some of the local clothing, he blended in with the crowds.
During his time with the Nadraks, Galahad learned that his limitation with a sword does not apply to daggers. Watching the female Nadraks use them with cold accuracy taught him the style. Since he refused to buy a female to teach him the ways, he settled for watching and general tips. Some of the girls were willing to give him pointers just because he was a fairly well mannered man and kept his hands to himself. Their time together was short though due to the owners of the females being a bit territorial.
Galahad thought the attitude frightfully resembled the trading of thoroughbreds. He would have found the concept of ownership distasteful if it weren't for the fact the females didn't mind the situation at all. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Traveling north through the country, complete with his own set of four daggers, he soon left the heavily settled area and reached the mountains. For the most part the Nadraks were merchants, the trappers and prospectors up in the mountains made this trading profitable. Galahad spent some time in the mountains and even managed to find some gold. It was just a modest vein but it was enough he felt financially stable for the rest of his trip. Poledra had informed him on one of their many long conversations of the large vein Belgarath had found on his trip into the mountains, his was tiny compared to that, but he figured he shouldn't badmouth free gold.
What he found beyond the mountains intrigued him more than gold did. He had finally found a tribe of Godless ones called Morindim. To fill the void left by having no god the Morindim had turned to the worship of demons.
The dimension of Hell was a completely different place, and with the right incantations and a strong enough Will, a demon could be summoned from this dimension and forced to assume the form and function dictated by the summoner. The demons were incredibly dangerous, because if the summoner made even one mistake with the incantations the demon could break free, revert to its original form, and devour its summoner. Once the summoner was dead, it would be free to terrorize the populace in its natural form.
Naturally, the danger and mystery drew Galahad like a moth to a flame. Using the skills learned from Poledra, he was able to absorb the information on summoning directly from their minds. Normally he would be against this form of extreme tampering, but the alternative would be to take a Master and learn from him. That was a life of literal slavery to the Master and the only thing that released the student from the Master was the death of the old one. Galahad didn't relish the thought of going through that so he cheated.
The only thing he couldn't absorb directly into his mind was the tattoos. To correctly summon a demon, intricate designs had to go on the skin. If you were only an occasional summoner you could get away with drawing the symbols on with permanent ink, but with that, you ran the risk of making a small crucial mistake that let you die. Galahad wanted something more permanent, and much more reliable.
He remembered the glamour spells he had been using to age his appearance. Combining certain components of that spell, backing it up with his Will, he could now create the necessary summoning designs with a single thought. This meant ink was not permanently placed into his skin, and he wasn't sure that was such a good idea as some of his preexisting scars could interfere with the specific designs, but with repetition and his new memory, he would always have them just below the surface ready to be brought out as needed.
He did not spend that a long time with the Morindim, there was always the threat of being eaten, therefore he got the information he needed and moved on. It was time to go meet the Alorns.
Western Kingdoms: Aloria: Drasnia: Drasnians
The Drasnians were the single-handedly most underhanded thieving populace in the world. They were cultured and polite, but don't trust one within ten feet of your purse, and Galahad was an apt pupil. These thieves were also the best spies in the world, with more people in the most obscure of places then any other force. They even had a complicated sign language that was made up purely of hand movements. You could convey frustration or sarcasm with just a tilt of a hand. Galahad's slim form came in handy once more, as thin nimble fingers were the best for this very delicate art.
He had a very good instructor that taught him all of the Drasnian specialties. He would later learn this person was the head of the Drasnian spy network, and that was not the first time on this trip he felt something had been guiding his steps. He had blamed it on UL in the beginning, but now he wasn't so sure. An instinctual part of him let him know where to stop and what to learn.
He didn't just learn the fancy hand language or how to observe someone without being seen. He also expanded his array of daggers. The Nadraks still heavily influenced his fighting technique, but the Drasnians had the added skill of throwing knives. With his accuracy and aim finely honed by his skill with a bow it didn't take him long to learn this deadly art.
The Drasnians spoke to his inner Slytherin and asked it to come out and play. Add that to the decidedly serpentine cast to his thoughts from the overlong time spent in Nyissa and even Galahad noticed he was being guided in an intriguing direction. He was not trained to be a warrior he was being trained to be an assassin and the two things were very different. Warriors jumped into any fight with brute strength and perseverance. Assassins chose their targets carefully and executed them with logic and skill. He had long ago stopped fighting the darker side to his nature, instead embraced it, and controlled it.
He would be the killer this world needed. He would do the job right and do it well. He would make sure every kill would have a purpose and would be clean. He still had some morals, he wouldn't torture unless the situation called for it. Those Grolims deserved every ounce of pain but most of those kills had been clean ones anyway.
Drasnia was good for him in many ways. It definitely opened his eyes up to his own potential that's for sure. Strengths were only good to you if you were confidant enough to use them.
Now with the Chereks, that was an entirely different story.
Western Kingdoms: Aloria: Cherek: Chereks
Chereks were the muscle of the Alorn world just as the Murgos were the muscle of the Angaraks. They were fierce warriors, moderately intelligent, and loyal to their own. The country had been involved in its fair share of civil wars, not quite to the point Arendia had, but still quite a bit more than the other Alorn kingdoms.
They also really liked their ale. A Cherek in his prime could drink his way to the bottom of an ale barrel and still be able to fight another battle. Galahad drank it due to accessibility, but he preferred the richer mead or the sweeter wine to the slightly bitter ale.
They were predominantly sword fighters and therefore did not have much to teach to Galahad except how to function in their society. This was one case where looking like an Angarak, even a relatively harmless kind, definitely counted against him. Chereks held tight to the fact the Angaraks took the rap for the splitting of the Alorn nations. There was a price on the head of any Murgo, and by extension Grolim, caught in the kingdom so Galahad thought he was lucky to look like a Nadrak rather then a Murgo.
His stay in Cherek lasted a tad bit longer than Mishrak Ac Thull but not by much.
He did have one compliment about the Chereks; they were definitely the best sailors.
Western Kingdoms: Aloria: Isle of the Winds: Rivans
Taking a Cherek boat to get to Riva helped him gain access to the city. The Rivans were a little touchy about letting foreigners onto their island. Galahad knew the reason why, and he thought the Rivans had a good point, so he didn't press the issue.
The Rivan king had been assassinated by a foreign presence on the isle. The attack did not come from an Angarak. The assassins were Nyissan, paid to perform their deadly arts, and they did their job well. Most people believed the entire line had been slaughtered in one day, but Galahad knew better, the persistent rumors about a survivor drove Polgara, and by a small extension Poledra, crazy. It was hard enough hiding from the bad guys, you didn't want to have to hide from the good ones as well if you could avoid it.
Heading into the city, he found it to be the perfect set up for defense. The citadel alone was an opposing fortress that Galahad had little doubt could hold out against the strongest of onslaughts. He did not enter inside knowing an unknown vagrant would not be welcomed inside warmly.
The city was different though. The climate of the island was cold and wet, thus the standard issue clothing was a long gray hooded cloak. The cloaks were made of sturdy waterproof wool, but that which made it waterproof also prevented the cloth from accepting dyes. To compensate the inside of the dwellings, even his small room at the waterfront inn, was decorated with warmth and color.
Paintings and tapestries hung on the walls with vibrant colors. Quilts and blankets put any rainbow to shame. Plus the music, never forget the music. Long harsh winters meant a lot of time to practice, and some of the best music in the world was produced in these tiny sitting rooms on the weather beaten isle.
A very accommodating family ran the inn he stayed at. Galahad had managed to catch one of the last ships to enter port before winter made crossing the seas a harsh and risky venture. Thus, Galahad was wintering on the island and the innkeepers treated all there over winter guests like additions to their families. The simple hospitality of the people greatly impressed Galahad.
That winter Galahad picked up the first non-essential skill since he started this long journey. He learned to play a simple wooden flute. The flute was the perfect traveling instrument it could be slipped in a saddlebag, or in a pocket, and be drawn out whenever the fancy struck. He found out he had a moderately good singing voice, he wouldn't be able to sustain a hearty lifestyle on it alone, but it was agreeable enough to be a pleasant way to while away the hours.
When spring came and the instinctual urge to move on came upon him, he was surprised to feel somewhat attached to this place. He liked the company and the weather wasn't far off from the English and Scottish weather he had known before. He would not be amiss to returning to this place in his future wanderings, even as he had made plans to return to Nyissa and Gar Og Nadrak. If he stopped off to kill a Grolim or twenty in Cthol Murgos every once in a while it would barely be noticed.
He hopped aboard another ship, and this one was traveling to the last of the non-Alorn western kingdoms.
Western Kingdoms: Sendaria: Sendars: interracial
Sendaria was a simple farming country nestled in the midst of the Alorn and Arendia kingdoms. The Sendars were simple, honest, hardworking people. This was the cultural melting pot of the western world. There was no singular race called Sendars, there was a mindset, and a general outlook that a person developed in a few generations of living in the country.
The people were a mix of all races and gods. To make it simple to worship they did not chose one god over another, but instead worshiped all gods equally.
It was this country that reminded the few bits of Galahad that had not been trained into the part of a killer of the simple things an honest man needs to survive, perseverance and hard work heavily seasoned with honesty. He didn't think he could easily melt into the background of this society anymore, but he could have at a point in time in the past, and at a reasonable level now, he could come and go without leaving too lasting of an impression on the locals.
Sendaria had one thing hidden within its borders no other country had. The pull at his senses that had been guiding him on his journey had lead him to a moderate sized village in the countryside. In this village, Galahad met the first of his soon to be Master's Disciples he would find in the world outside Poledra's den.
Poledra's daughter, Polgara, was here within the village. He had nearly forgotten about the connection between Poledra and her daughter, and he had a sneaking suspicion the wolf woman had been monitoring him as well, until he was sitting at the back of the humble village inn and the doors opened to reveal an intriguingly familiar figure.
The woman was tall, easily as tall as most of the men of the era, and thus dwarfing Galahad. She had long black hair with a single streak of white on her left temple. She was also a near mirror perfect reflection of Poledra. There was no doubt in Galahad's mind who this woman was, especially as she purposefully made her way to his out of the way corner table.
He stood to greet her, taking her pale hand in his, "You look just like your mother." He told her softly and knowing she was in hiding but unsure of which name she had used here, he asked. "I am Galahad. Could you do me the honor of putting a name to such beauty?"
"Mother did not warn me of such charm, I am called Pol in this time and place." She answered back in a soft tone that managed to convey power and knowledge without being overstated.
"I have learned a few things since leaving her side." He answered with an easygoing smile and a small bow.
She laughed then, a simple little laugh that showed genuine amusement, as he lead her to the chair across from the one he was just sitting in. Once he had seated himself, he found himself on the receiving end of a measuring look. She took in the obvious signs of weapons, like the dagger handles in his belt, the bow strapped in place across his back, and the quiver full of his finely crafted arrows. She also noticed the odd mix of Nadrak and Drasnian style clothing.
It wasn't just with her eyes that she attempted to evaluate him. He felt the feather light touch of her mind in his own, and he relaxed his barriers just enough to let her see he was not a threat to her, or the secret she protected. He also let her see a bit of his power and some of the useful things he had learned. He tried to wall off the areas dealing with the darker side of his training. They both knew it was there but he didn't feel like confronting it on a first meeting.
"You have learned well," She finally said in an approving voice. He couldn't help the sigh of relief he let loose at that comment. He felt like her opinion counted a little more then the other Disciples of Aldur simply because of the close relationship to his mentor. If he could not get approval from Polgara than he felt he let Poledra's time teaching him go to waste.
"I had good teachers," he replied simply, trying to convey his gratitude for her mother.
"Good teachers can only get you so far, the rest has to come from you." She said almost sternly, and he had to admit that was the oddest phrased compliment he had ever received. He could tell she did have pride in her mother's work by the way her eyes had just subtly changed tone from calm gray to happy blue.
"Thank you," he replied honestly for the compliment.
"Have you met any of the others yet?" She asked conversationally.
"No, you are the first I have come across." He told her with a little smile on his face.
"The Old Wolf is going to be very interested in you, I can see that already." She commented evenly. Galahad knew the Old Wolf she had mentioned was her father Belgarath; he had heard Poledra use the same term a time or two.
"Why?" He asked curiously.
She thought about the answer for a moment, as if looking for the right words, before answering. "He was the one that got the job of training the majority of his brothers. You would be the first in a long while that trained outside of the Vale. He will want to know what the differences are."
Here Galahad began to worry, if that was how Belgarath was going to react what about the other people in the vale? With that in mind, he asked her, "What about the others?" He couldn't help but feel like a nervous child before the first day of school.
"Hmm... Uncle Beldin will want to debate with you for a while to see if you are a worthy conversationalist. He enjoys a good exchange of insults, but his mind is amazingly fast. Don't be surprised if you find yourself never winning a debate with Beldin, or if you do, count yourself lucky. Uncles Beltira and Belkira will want to feed you. You're as skinny as a rail, which will bring out their inner shepherds, and they will want to take care of you. Mother already told me you would be small, or I would be having the same reaction," With this admittance she smiled some more and Galahad scowled lightly at the thought of the over pampering.
"I'm not going to break." He told her firmly.
"I know this but that won't stop them, only time will get them to see that it won't work for you." She responded to his grumpiness with a cheery attitude that told Galahad she had spent a lot of time caring for petulant children.
"I can not stay here long. Something back home needs my attention. It is becoming more difficult to keep it secure." She said in a guarded tone that told him all he needed to know. The secret she was guarding needed to be kept under close surveillance, and it wouldn't be long before they would have to move on again.
"I will not keep you from your task then. I'm glad to have a few minutes to talk to you. I will let the Wolf know I saw you and how you are faring." He replied, letting her know he would tell Belgarath she might be relocating soon. He clasped her hand once more in good-bye, this time raising it to place a light kiss on the back of it. "May our next meeting be as fortuitous as this one has been." he said politely.
"I trust it shall." She replied positively, but there was an overcast of worry in her eyes that let Galahad know there was only a small hope that the next meeting wouldn't be for an emergency.
He watched her leave the Inn and wondered what would come of their future meetings.
Galahad headed out of Sendaria soon after his meeting with Polgara. He did not want to put her in danger by hanging around too long. Small towns had notorious gossip rings, they would talk about the handsome stranger hanging around town after meeting with Pol, and anyone looking for Polgara would notice the odd story and it might break Polgara's cover.
Western Kingdoms: Aloria: Algaria: Algars and The Tree
He headed east from Sendaria and entered Algaria the land of horses. This was the last of the Alorn kingdoms and the place where the best horses in the world were bred. The Algars were a nomadic people that followed their herds over the land.
Galahad made an important break through here, he found a sword he was able to use. Most other races used long swords in battle, but since the Algars were cavalry fighters, they had adapted swords. They used a thin slightly curved blade called a saber. It was designed to be used one handed while using the other on the reins of a horse.
Its small size and light weight made it perfect for Galahad. He spent a lot of time drifting from clan to clan improving both his riding skills and swordsmanship. His years of learning how to use his daggers left him a quick study with a saber.
He spent about a year there before he felt the pull again. It led him south towards the tip of the country. He forded a small river before reaching an area of land that felt different then the rest. It was even more peaceful and green then the rest of the world. Birds flew high above his head singing out their joy, deer were as docile as lambs and curious as cats, and endless plains of rich green grass were dotted with trees and shrubs. The snake in him noticed all manner of small furry creatures scurrying around.
Then he saw it, the single largest living thing he had ever seen, a gorgeous great tree. It spread its branches high, reaching out as if to touch the clouds. The trunk of the gigantic tree was filling the majority of the slight valley below. He could see all different kinds of birds and small mammals moving around on the large branches.
It was a beautiful sight and the tree drew him like a moth to a flame. The moment his hand touched the thick bark of the trunk he was lost in a world of the tree's creation. It spoke to him deep within his mind, sharing with him knowledge, and it bestowed upon him a gift. His mind was subtly altered, nothing terribly dramatic, that ancient tree simply reorganized a few sections. It helped clarify things that were cloudy and put some order into his chaotic mind. With the Will and the Word, the only real limitation was you couldn't do something your mind can't comprehend. With these minor changes within his mind, his potential for sorcery was increased.