Aunt Pol looked at him gravely. "It's a beginning," she said without bothering to explain.
Garion was so caught up in the world that had just opened to him that he did not see the two silvery-haired men at first. They stood together beneath a tall tree, waiting as the party rode nearer. They wore identical blue robes, and their white hair was quite long, though they were clean-shaven. When Garion looked at them for the first time, he thought for a moment that his eyes were playing tricks. The two were so absolutely identical that it was impossible to tell them apart.
"Belgarath, our brother," one of them said, "it's been such-"
"-a terribly long time," the other finished.
"Beltira," Belgarath said. "Belkira." He dismounted and embraced the twins.
"Dearest little Polgara," one of them said then. "The Vale has been-" the other started.
"-empty without you," the second completed. He turned to his brother. "That was very poetic," he said admiringly.
"Thank you," the first replied modestly.
"These are my brothers, Beltira and Belkira," Belgarath informed the members of the party who had begun to dismount. "Don't bother to try to keep them separate. Nobody can tell them apart anyway."
"We can," the two said in unison.
"I'm not even sure of that," Belgarath responded with a gentle smile. "Your minds are so close together that your thoughts start with one and finish with the other."
"You always complicate it so much, father," Aunt Pol said. "This is Beltira." She kissed one of the sweet-faced old men. "And this is Belkira." She kissed the other. "I've been able to tell them apart since I was a child."
"Polgara knows-"
"-all our secrets." The twins smiled. "And who are-"
"-your companions?"
"I think you'll recognize them," Belgarath answered. "Mandorallen, Baron of Vo Mandor."
"The Knight Protector," the twins said in unison, bowing.
"Prince Kheldar of Drasnia."
"The Guide," they said.
"Barak, Earl of Trellheim."
"The Dreadful Bear." They looked at the big Cherek apprehensively. Barak's face darkened, but he said nothing.
"Hettar, son of Cho-Hag of Algaria."
"The Horse Lord."
"And Durnik of Sendaria."
"The One with Two Lives," they murmured with profound respect. Durnik looked baffled at that.
"Ce'Nedra, Imperial Princess of Tolnedra."
"The Queen of the World," they replied with another deep bow. Ce'Nedra laughed nervously.
"And this-"
"-can only be Belgarion," they said, their faces alive with joy, "the Chosen One." The twins reached out in unison and laid their right hands on Garion's head. Their voices sounded within his mind. "Hail, Belgarion, Overlord and Champion, hope of the world."
Garion was too surprised at this strange benediction to do more than awkwardly nod his head.
"If this gets any more cloying, I think I'll vomit," a new voice, harsh and rasping, announced. The speaker, who had just stepped out from behind the tree, was a squat, misshapen old man, dirty and profoundly ugly. His legs were bowed and gnarled like oak trunks. His shoulders were huge, and his hands dangled below his knees. There was a large hump in the middle of his back, and his face was twisted into a grotesque caricature of a human countenance. His straggly, iron-gray hair and beard were matted, and twigs and bits of leaves were caught in the tangles. His hideous face wore an expression of perpetual contempt and anger.
"Beldin," Belgarath said mildly, "we weren't sure you would come."
"I shouldn't have, you bungler," the ugly man snapped. "You've made a mess of things as usual, Belgarath." He turned to the twins. "Get me something to eat," he told them peremptorily.
"Yes, Beldin," they said quickly and started away.
"And don't be all day," he shouted after them.
"You seem to be in a good humor today, Beldin," Belgarath said with no trace of sarcasm. "What's made you so cheerful?"
The ugly dwarf scowled at him, then laughed, a short, barking sound. "I saw Belzedar. He looked like an unmade bed. Something had gone terribly wrong for him, and I enjoy that sort of thing."
"Dear Uncle Beldin," Aunt Pol said fondly, putting her arms around the filthy little man. "I've missed you so much."
"Don't try to charm me, Polgara," he told her, though his eyes seemed to soften slightly. "This is as much your fault as it is your father's. I thought you were going to keep an eye on him. How did Belzedar get his hands on our Master's Orb?"
"We think he used a child," Belgarath answered seriously. "The Orb won't strike an innocent."
The dwarf snorted. "There's no such thing as an innocent. All men are born corrupt." He turned his eyes back to Aunt Pol and looked appraisingly at her. "You're getting fat," he said bluntly. "Your hips are as wide as an ox cart."
Durnik immediately clenched his fists and went for the hideous little man.
The dwarf laughed, and one of his big hands caught the front of the smith's tunic. Without any seeming effort, he lifted the surprised Durnik and threw him several yards away. "You can start your second life right now if you want," he growled threateningly.
"Let me handle this, Durnik," Aunt Pol told the smith. "Beldin," she said coolly, "how long has it been since you've had a bath?"
The dwarf shrugged. "It rained on me a couple months ago."
"Not hard enough, though. You smell like an uncleaned pigsty."
Beldin grinned at her. "That's my girl." He chortled. "I was afraid the years had taken off your edge."
The two of them then began to trade the most hair-raising insults Garion had ever heard in his life. Graphic, ugly words passed back and forth between them, almost sizzling in the air. Barak's eyes widened in astonishment, and Mandorallen's face blanched often. Ce'Nedra, her face flaming, bolted out of earshot.
The worse the insults, however, the more the hideous Beldin smiled. Finally Aunt Pol delivered an epithet so vile that Garion actually cringed, and the ugly little man collapsed on the ground, roaring with laughter and hammering at the dirt with his great fists. "By the Gods, I've missed you, Pol!" he gasped. "Come here and give us a kiss."
She smiled, kissing his dirty face affectionately. "Mangy dog."