Author's note: By popular demand...namely cause everyone jumped down my throat for it...I have given chapter 9 a title. I was hoping for a short fic but I guess I'm going to have to come up witha lot of witty titles. sigh
Chapter 10
The next day they turned from the trees and the dangers that lurked there. They headed straight north. After a few miles they crested a rolling hill and Sparhawk got his first look at the Stronghold.
"Are we that close?" he asked Belgarath incredulously.
"No. We're still two days away."
"You're not serious!" Berit exclaimed. He had slipped his arm out of the sling Sephrenia had cautioned him to wear and now the band of cloth hung ineffectually around his neck.
"I couldn't be more."
"God, it's huge," Bevier breathed. "You say that's their entire capital city contained in that?"
"It's their only city."
"Internal food and water supplies?"
"Of course."
"I could hold that for…" He did some calculations in his head.
"Eight years," Belgarath told him. "Probably a lot longer than that, but that's how long it took Torak to give up." The old man's voice changed then to a rather stuffy-sounding monotone. "The Stronghold of the Algars is one of the most unassailable land fortresses in all the world, not because of any difficulty in the surrounding terrain, but simply because of the unbelievable height and the thickness of its walls. Because those walls reach higher then the tallest trees, scaling ladders cannot be built to permit assault over the top of them, and because the walls are thirty feet thick, no siege engine can breach them."
"That was enlightening," Sparhawk said sardonically.
"The History of the Empire of Tolnedra, the Third Borune Dynasty. The Tolnedrans were excellent historians. A bit biased in some respects, but dependable."
They seemingly crawled on toward the man-made mountain for the rest of the day. The next morning they continued. It was about midday when another strange occurrence greeted them. A hawk with bright gold bands across its tail glided in and landed in front of them. Belgarath held up his hand and they all halted. "Hello, Durnik," he said to the hawk. The bird shimmered for a moment, then standing in its place was a rather nondescript man with plain brown hair and a ruddy brown face. "I take it Pol got my message."
"Yes. I was watching for you from the top of the stronghold." He looked startled. "You have wounded."
"We ran into some Hrulgin that strayed from Ulgoland on our way here," Belgarath told him. "Nothing too serious. I don't think you need to bother Pol with it." Durnik nodded. "This is Sir Sparhawk, the one I told you about. The lovely blonde girl there is his wife, Queen Ehlana, and that is their daughter Danae." Durnik bowed somewhat stiffly. Belgarath introduced the others.
"Pol would have come down herself," Durnik apologized, "but she and Queen Silar had to stay."
"How is Cho-Hag?" Belgarath asked him as they pushed their horses into a walk.
"Not very good. He's very weak, and his heart is giving out. Pol says he's just too old."
"That's one of the drawbacks of age."
"If you'll excuse me, I'd better tell Pol you're here." He shimmered again and the hawk rose into the air with a swirl of wings.
"Does everyone here turn into an animal?" Sparhawk demanded.
"Actually we're relatively few in number. You just have the pleasure of meeting us all at once," Belgarath said. "We can pick up the pace a bit."
They moved at a trot now, the stone walls of the Stronghold looming closer with each passing minute. It took them only an hour more to reach the great doors, which stood open. As they entered the vaulted opening, Sparhawk could see that it was more of a tunnel than an actual archway, a massive stone tube. He almost forgot they were actually still outside.
At the end of the tunnel- like entrance two people were there to greet them. The man, Durnik, and a raven-haired woman. Sparhawk was struck to the core by her. She was very tall, and one lock at her left brow was snowy white, a sharp contrast to the rest of her jet-black hair. He looked more closely at her, and his breath caught in his throat. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He was ashamed to admit it, but she struck him as almost more beautiful than Ehlana. It wasn't that she was more handsome; it was that she carried her great beauty in an entirely different way. This woman had a grace that had been worn for what seemed like many centuries. And her eyes - they were like no eyes he had ever before seen. They surpassed blue. They were not the simple azure of her gown, but something deeper, a violet that now seemed as wild as the night sky when savage spirits would have their way, when storms threatened, when lightening flared and thunder crashed. Indeed, they were eyes to challenge even the mighty gods, eyes that new no threat of mortality, eyes that defied and dared, that cried out their own victory.
Have you been reading bad Lamork poetry again, Father? he heard Danae say mockingly in his mind. The raven haired woman took one look at them all, then turned her eyes on Belgarath. "What have you been up to, Father?" Her tone was so similar to Danae's that Sparhawk blinked.
"Me?" Belgarath protested mildly.
A tall, rangy man in black leather strode up to them. "These must be the people you told us about, Belgarath." The man's head was shaved, except for a flowing black scalp lock tied at the end with a beaded leather thong.
"No, Hettar, they're somebody different. Who else would they be?"
"They look like Arends."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Kalten demanded.
"You can leave your horses here," Belgarath told them, dismounting. They all followed suit and more fierce, leather-clad men appeared. The one called Hettar reached for Faran's reigns then suddenly stopped.
"Oh no you don't, my old man," he said to the horse. Faran looked startled. "Try it and you'll find I bite back." He led him away.
Belgarath turned to the raven haired woman. "This is my daughter, Polgara. You've already met her husband, Durnik."
Sparhawk and the others bowed respectfully. "Please follow me," she said, politely, but curtly."This is not a good time, but I hope we can get to the bottom of things as quickly as possible." She led them to a side passage that turned into a staircase.
Sparhawk looked back. "Who was that?" he asked Belgarath as they followed Polgara through one of the doors.
"Who?"
"The one who took my horse."
"Hettar is Cho-Hag's and Silar's adopted son."
"I don't know what you think I'm going to do, Father," Polgara said as they walked up more stairs.
"This is very important, Pol, as well as very dangerous."
"Well, I'm rather busy now with something of extreme importance to me and most of the known world. Although when has that ever mattered to you when you wanted something. Ah Adara," Polgara said to a radiant brown-haired woman in the hallway at the top of the stairs. "Could you please take the ladies somewhere they can rest comfortably? They all look a bit travel weary."
"Of course, Lady Polgara," she said. She held out her hand to Ehlana, Danae, and Sephrenia.
They all appeared hesitant. Sephrenia made to protest but Vanion cut her off. "Go ahead, dear," he said. "You do look a little drained."
"We all need rest," Sparhawk said to Ehlana. "We can talk later."
Belgarath looked around when the ladies had left. "Let's find somewhere a bit less public." He led them into a comfortable chamber draped in rich green and brown.
"What exactly is going on?" Polgara asked him. "You certainly got out of your lazy summer setting in a hurry."
"You've heard about the Bear Cult stirring in the northern kingdoms again?"
"Is that all you're worried about? You bothered me with this? I wouldn't loose any sleep over them. They're still the same mindless bumpkins who were at it before."
"Yes, but this time they have Angarak bumpkins."
"That's absurd. The entire ideal of the Bear Cult is anti-Angarak."
"Show her the pictures, Sparhawk."
Sparhawk produced the sketches. Her eyes widened as she looked at them. "This can't be." She looked up at Sparhawk. "How do you fit into all of this?" she asked him.
He told her of the assassination attempt and of the search. "Then about a week ago, we woke up to find ourselves in the Vale, as I now know it to be called."
She looked back at the sketch of the claw markings and glanced sideways at Sparhawk, noting his black hair and angular features. "It could be a clever Angarak ruse," she said darkly. "But it seems too far-fetched."
"They have five bearskin tunics, and he carried red gold."
She shook her head. "This is unexpected, mainly because it's impossible."
"Nothing is impossible, Pol, you know that."
She put the sketches down and sighed. "Why me?" she said in a small voice.
"What was that, Pol?" Belgarath asked, grinning viscously.
She glared at him. "I have a very urgent problem on my hands gentlemen, and here you come with another. I think your problem can wait," she said to Sparhawk. "I apologize for any inconvenience."
"I have no wish to cause you undo hassle. We will gladly stay out of your way," Sparhawk told her. He hoped his wife and daughter would be as accommodating.