Chapter 7

Sparhawk stood staring at the man, his sword half out of his sheath. He was not very impressive physically. He was rather old, though not infirm, and his clothes were obviously chosen for comfort rather than style. His shoes did not even match, Sparhawk noted. He had an attitude, however, that demanded respect. He had grayish brown eyes, the color of old oak, and grey hair so dark that strands of white gleamed in it like silver, and a lined face that had witnessed too many battles, too much hunger, too little kindness. This was definitely someone to be reckoned with.

"Well, I'm still waiting for an answer." The golden she-wolf growled at him softly. "No, I will not be more polite," he told her. "I demand to know what these Arends are doing down here in the Vale." The female actually rolled her eyes at him. Then she too shimmered into fog to be replaced by a tawny-haired fair woman with glowing golden eyes.

"You complicate matters too much," she said to him.

"They're Arends, dear."

"Excuse me, neighbor" Sparhawk said. "I think I should point out that I have no idea what you are talking about. I have never before heard of an Arend, but that really does not concern me. What concerns me is reaching the city of Megiddo to the north safely. We are on a search of utmost importance and would take kindly to not being delayed. If we have intruded upon your land, we apologize, but as Knights of the Church-"

"You're not Arends?"

"I thought I just said that."

"Megiddo, you said? I've never heard of it."

"Well, you don't look like the type who would do much traveling," Kalten put in.

The old man frowned and then laughed. "You mean you don't have a clue who I am?" The thought seemed to be the most unlikely thing to the old man.

"I have never seen you before in my life," Sparhawk told him, slightly irritated.

The old man glanced at the woman at his side. "Just who are you?" he asked them.

"I could ask you the same thing, but since you asked first…My name is Sir Sparhawk of the Pandion order, Prince Consort and Queen's Champion of the Kingdom of Elenia." He introduced the others.

"And you said you're not Arends?"

"That's right."

"I'm Belgarath." The man held out his hands expectantly. He was answered by blank stares. "This is my wife Poledra."

"Pleased to meet you." Sparhawk thought a minute. "We'd like to be on our way, but since we're here, would you mind answering a few questions for us?"

"Not at all. I have some questions for you as well."

"Have you ever seen anyone matching this description?" Sparhawk held out the picture of the man who had attacked him.

Belgarath's reaction was striking. He took one look at the picture and raised an eyebrow. "A Grolim!"

Sparhawk was startled. "You know who he is?"

"I know what he is," Belgarath said. "Perhaps we'd better go somewhere we can sit down." He turned to his wife. "Dear, would you round up the twins and meet me at the cottage?"

"We will be led by you in this matter," Sparhawk told him. "What we need most is information, which you seem to have."

Belgarath nodded.

It was mid-afternoon when they reached a rather extensive cottage that was actually larger than the name implied. Khalad looked at the structure and the surrounding buildings with appreciation. "Excellent craftsmanship," he commented to Sparhawk. "Whoever built this knew what he was doing."

"My son in law, Durnik," Belgarath told him. "He's a Sendar, and their attention to detail is like an epidemic."

As they picketed their horses outside, Sparhawk saw a small group of people approaching the house. Two saintly old men, identical in every way, were walking next to the tawny wolf he now knew to be the woman Poledra. The two children he had seen before were also with them. One sat on the back of the wolf as before, the other on the shoulders of one of the old men.

"These are my brothers, Beltira and Belkira, and the little ones are my grandchildren." Belgarath said. He introduced Sparhawk and the others. Sparhawk was surprised at the old man's recollection of their names. The saintly old men smiled at them. One reached out his hand to Ehlana and stroked the side of her face. "So beautiful," he said. "So like our little Beldaran."

"They seem very confused about something, and this one," Belgarath indicated Sparhawk, "has a picture of an Angarak."

"I carry other things as well," Sparhawk informed them, producing the other sketches. Tynian removed the bearskin tunics from his saddlebags. Belgarath frowned deeply. "Both the Angarak, as you called him, and this blonde man wore this brand on their foot," Sparhawk explained.

"Impossible," Belgarath insisted. "The Bear cult would have nothing to do with Angaraks. What else have you collected?"

"These letters."

Belgarath read them. His eyes widened slightly. "Anything else? Even money?" He seemed intent for some reason.

"They had some red gold," Sephrenia told him, looking at Sparhawk strangely. "I'm sure we'd be happy to give it to you if you can get more information out of it than we can."

"Yes, you'd better hand it over."

Sparhawk felt strangely attached to the gold. His honorable duty to obey Sephrenia's statement warred with his desire to keep the money. "I'll show it to you," he said, "but I really think I should keep it. It may be useful to us later."

Belgarath looked at Sephrenia, seeming to sense the connection between her and Sparhawk, and shook his head slightly at her. Sephrenia stepped closer to Sparhawk. "Dear one, I really think it's a much better idea to give this man the gold. He can always give it back to you."

Reluctantly, with a shaking hand, he produced and dropped the gold in the old man's hand. Belgarath scowled at it and murmured a single word. The gold began to hiss, then melt. It ran from his outstretched hand like blood, falling to the ground and staining the grass a rusty color. Sparhawk reached to grab it, then blinked. He could now see how utterly foolish he had been about the gold, and began to have some suspicions.

"It's not a good idea to hold on to Angarak gold for very long. It has certain properties that make it's owner rather attached to it. It's very dangerous," Belgarath informed them. "Now that that's over, let's get to the bottom of this." He turned to Sparhawk once more, evidently identifying him as the leader. This old man was very shrewd, Sparhawk noted. "Where exactly are you from?"

"Like I said, we are from south of here in the Kingdom of Elenia. We set out to find the man or men behind certain assassination attempts we have seen. Our information was leading us to Megiddo, north of here." Sparhawk pulled out his map and pointed at the space of land north of the Styric River.

"You're map's all wrong," Belgarath told him. "The world looks nothing like that." He reached out his hand and a map appeared in it. "You, boy," he motioned at Talen. "Come hold this for me." Talen frowned, but did as instructed. Sparhawk gaped at the map. It was completely different. "We're here," the old man placed his finger on a region labeled "The Vale of Aldur." "The only thing north of here is the Algarian Stronghold." He moved his finger up to it.

"Something very bizarre is going on here," Sephrenia said, staring at the two wildly different maps.

Maybe your dream had something to do with it, Father? Sparhawk heard Danae's voice say in his mind. He looked to where she sat on the rail fence of the yard, looking intently at him. He had almost forgotten about the dream. He glanced back at the map, then turned his eyes once again to his daughter. He jumped. A young man sat on the fence beside her. Danae frowned at Sparhawk, then followed his gaze to her side. With a startled cry she sprang from the fence, looking at the sandy haired youth with surprise.

"Eriond!" Belgarath exclaimed.

"Hello, Belgarath," the young man said, hopping down from the fence and making his way toward the sorcerer. "I'm sorry I haven't been to visit lately. I've been pretty busy. I just stopped by to see what all the noise was. Something very odd's been going on, and the trails led here." He smiled at Sparhawk. "It seems you have company. Hello," he said politely.

"Eriond, this is Sparhawk," Belgarath introduced the knight..

"Pleased to meet you. I'm very sorry I can't stay longer and meet all of you." He turned back to Belgarath. "We must get word to Polgara and Durnik at once, and Belgarion." He thought for a moment. "It would be better for you to go to the Stronghold, though. I don't think it would be good for Polgara to leave Cho-Hag at this point. I will make sure Belgarion knows of this as well. It may be that we need him again," he smiled slightly, "and he would like to know besides."

"Wait a minute, Eriond," Belgarath told him. "Do you have a copy of these?" he asked Sparhawk, indicating the pictures.

"Not anymore. We had a few, but we haven't had a chance to make any more."

Belgarath grunted. Then he looked at the twins. "Can I borrow some parchment?"

"Just give us the drawing, Belgarath," one said. A few sheets of blank parchment appeared in his hand. Belgarath handed the sketches to the other. Both twins looked intently at their papers. Then on the blank sheet the image of the Angarak's face took form. When it was fully drawn, they repeated the procedure with the other sketches.

"Thanks," Belgarath said, taking one copy. He handed the sheets to Eriond. "Show these to Garion."

"Of course, Belgarath. I wish I could go with you to see Polgara and Durnik." Turning to all of them he said, "I hope to see you all again soon, under good circumstances." And he disappeared. Sparhawk stood blinking at the spot Eriond had been a second before.

"I wish he'd warn me before he does that," Belgarath muttered. He sighed "Well, it's getting late. You can stay here. There's room in the house for the ladies, and the rest of you get to stay in the loft. Stables are over there."

"Thank you," Sparhawk told him as the others began to find their beds. "I am sorry to impose on you like this, and to just show up unannounced in what is obviously a sacred place to you. I hope that this can be resolved quickly and your lives returned to normal."

The old sorcerer shrugged. "These are strange happenings, but not the strangest I've seen in my long life. Get some rest. You seem a little frazzled." Then he walked into the house.

Sparhawk decided that he liked this old man. He was obviously very powerful and very wise. There was something else about him that made Sparhawk like him all the more. Belgarath seemed to have no need of thought or plan, just will. He did not act on impulse, but on instinct. Sparhawk began to wonder which was the old sorcerer's true form: man or wolf.