Gart squinted at the long, narrow ship alongside him. ‘That depends on how fast your ship goes,’ he replied. ‘It’s three hundred and fifty leagues or so, but you have to swing back out to sea again to get around the Turim reef. It’s very dangerous, I’m told, and no one tries to go through it.’
‘Peradventure we might be the first, My Lord,’ the armored man said gaily to his friend.
The giant sighed and covered his eyes with one huge hand. ‘No, Mandorallen,’ he said in a mournful voice. ‘If we rip out my ship’s bottom on a reef, we’ll have to swim the rest of the way, and you’re not dressed for it.’
The huge ship began to slide off into the fog.
‘What kind of a ship is that?’ Gart called after the disappearing vessel.
‘A Cherek war boat,’ the rumbled reply came back with a note of pride. ‘She’s the largest afloat.’
‘What do you call her?’ Gart shouted between his cupped hands.
‘Seabird,’ the reply came ghosting back to him.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WAS NOT a large city, but its architecture was at a level of sophistication Garion had never seen before. It nestled in a shallow valley near the foot of the vast white peak, looking somehow as if it were resting in the mountain’s lap. It was a city of slender white spires and marble colonnades. The low buildings spaced among the spires often had entire walls of glass. There were wide lawns around the buildings and groves of trees with marble benches beneath them. Formal gardens were spaced about the lawns – boxy hedges and beds of flowers lined by low, white walls. Fountains played in the gardens and in the courtyards of the buildings.
Zakath gaped at the city of Kell in stunned amazement. ‘I never even knew this was here!’ he exclaimed.
‘You didn’t know about Kell?’ Garion asked him.
‘I knew about Kell, but I didn’t know it was like this.’ Zakath made a face. ‘It makes Mal Zeth look like a collection of hovels, doesn’t it?’
‘Tol Honeth as well – and even Melcene,’ Garion agreed.
‘I didn’t think the Dals even knew how to build a proper house,’ the Mallorean said, ‘and now they show me something like this.’
Toth had been gesturing to Durnik.
‘He says that it’s the oldest city in the world,’ the smith supplied. ‘It was built this way long before the world was cracked. It hasn’t changed in almost ten thousand years.’
Zakath sighed. ‘They’ve probably forgotten how to do it then. I was going to press some of their architects into service. Mal Zeth could use a bit of beautifying.’
Toth gestured again, and a frown appeared on Durnik’s face. ‘I can’t have gotten that right,’ he muttered.
‘What did he say?’
‘The way I got it was that nothing the Dals have ever done has ever been forgotten.’ Durnik looked at his friend. ‘Is that what you meant?’ he asked.
Toth nodded and gestured again.
Durnik’s eyes went wide. ‘He says that every Dal alive today knows everything that every Dal who’s ever lived knew.’
‘They must have very good schools then,’ Garion suggested.
Toth only smiled at that. It was a strange smile, tinged slightly with pity. Then he gestured briefly to Durnik, slid down from his horse, and walked away.
‘Where’s he going?’ Silk asked.
‘To see Cyradis,’ Durnik replied.
‘Shouldn’t we go with him?’
Durnik shook his head. ‘She’ll come to us when she’s ready.’
Like all the Dals Garion had ever seen, the inhabitants of Kell wore simple white robes with deep cowls attached to the shoulders. They walked quietly across the lawns or sat in the gardens in groups of two or three engaged in sober discussion. Some carried books or scrolls. Others did not. Garion was somehow reminded of the University of Tol Honeth or the one at Melcene. This community of scholars, he was convinced, however, was engaged in studies far more profound than the often petty research which filled the lives of the professors at those exalted institutions.
The group of Dals who had escorted them to this jewel-like city led them along a gently curving street to a simple house on the far side of one of the formal gardens. An ancient, white-robed man leaned on a long staff in the doorway. His eyes were very blue, and his hair was snowy white. ‘We have long awaited your coming,’ he said to them in a quavering voice, ‘for the Book of Ages has fortold that in the Fifth Age the Child of Light and his company would come to us here at Kell to seek guidance.’
‘And the Child of Dark?’ Belgarath asked him, dismounting. ‘Will she also come here?’
‘No, Ancient Belgarath,’ the elderly man replied. ‘She may not come here, but will find direction elsewhere and in a different manner. I am Dallan, and I am bid to greet you.’
‘Do you rule here, Dallan?’ Zakath asked, also dismounting.
‘No one rules here, Emperor of Mallorea,’ Dallan said, ‘not even you.’
‘You seem to know us,’ Belgarath noted.
‘We have known you all since the book of the heavens was first opened to us, for your names are written large in the stars. And now I will take you to a place where you may rest and await the pleasure of the Holy Seeress.’ He looked at the oddly placid she-wolf at Garion’s side and the frolicking puppy behind her. ‘How is it with you, little sister?’ he asked in formal tones.
‘One is content, friend,’ she replied in the language of wolves.
‘One is pleased that it is so,’ he replied in her own tongue.
‘Does everyone in the whole world except me speak wolf?’ Silk asked with some asperity.
‘Would you like lessons?’ Garion asked.
‘Never mind.’
And then with tottering step the white-haired man led them across the verdant lawn to a large marble building with broad, gleaming steps at the front. ‘This house was prepared for you at the beginning of the Third Age, Ancient Belgarath,’ the old man said. ‘Its first stone was laid on the day when you recovered your Master’s Orb from the City of Endless Night.’
‘That was quite some time ago,’ the sorcerer observed.
‘The Ages were long in the beginning,’ Dallan agreed. ‘They grow shorter now. Rest well. We will attend to your mounts.’ Then he turned and, leaning on his staff, he went back toward his own house.