‘What did you do that for?’ I demanded.
‘Just me quaint way o’ leavin’ me callin’ card, don’t y’ know,’ he replied in that tired old Wacite brogue he was so fond of. ‘Old Burnt-face might come back someday, an’ I’d like fer him t’ know that we stopped by.’
‘I think you’re getting senile.’
‘Well, you’re the expert on that. Let’s go inside.’
We went through the shattered gate, crossed the courtyard, and warily approached a huge, nail-studded black door surmounted by the inevitable polished steel mask. Evidently Torak had felt that any house he lived in was by definition a temple.
‘Be my guest,’ Beldin offered, pointing at the door.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I took hold of the massive iron door-handle, twisted it, and opened the door.
The house of Torak had an entryway that was about the size of a grand ballroom, and there was a majestic staircase just opposite the door.
‘Should we start down here?’ Beldin asked me.
‘No, let’s go up to the top and work our way down. You would recognize Old Angarak script if you saw it, wouldn’t you?’
‘I think so. It looks kind of spidery, doesn’t it?’
‘More or less. We’ll split up. Look into any book you find in a language you can read, and gather up any in Old Angarak script. I’ll sort through them later.’
The place was vast - more for show, I think, than out of any real need for that much room. Many of the chambers on the upper floors didn’t even have furniture in them. It still took us weeks to thoroughly investigate the house, though, since it was at least as big as Anheg’s palace at Val Alorn.
At first, Beldin grew very excited each time he found a book or scroll written in Old Angarak, but most of them turned out to be nothing more than copies of the Book of Torak. Most of the people at Ashaba had been Grolims, and every Grolim in the world owns a copy of the holy book of the Angaraks. After the first few times he came running down a hallway waving one of those books in the air, I sat him down and patiently gave him some instruction in the Old Angarak alphabet. After that he was able to recognize copies of The Book of Torak and to discard them.
We finally found Torak’s library on the second floor of the castle, and it was there that we spent so much time. There might be more books at the University of Tol Honeth or the one in Melcene, but not very many.
A pair of ordinary scholars would have taken decades to examine all those books, but Beldin and I have certain advantages. We can identify the content of a book without too great an exertion.
Finally, after we’d worked our way through the last shelf, way back in one of the corners, Beldin hurled a book across the room and swore for about a quarter of an hour. ‘This is ridiculous!’ He roared. ‘There has to be a copy here!’
‘There might be,’ I agreed, ‘but I don’t think we’re going to find it. Zedar was the one who ultimately wound up taking down Torak’s ravings, and Zedar’s a master at hiding things. For all we know, the Oracles are concealed inside some other book - or inside dozens of other books, a page here and a page there. There could be a complete copy someplace, but I don’t think it’ll be right out in the open. It might even be hidden under the floor or in the wall of some room we’ve already searched. I don’t think we’re going to have any luck, brother. We can check out the ground floor if you want, but I think we’re just wasting our time. If there does happen to be a copy here and Zedar’s the one who hid it, we aren’t going to find it. He knows you and me well enough to have thought up a way to counteract anything we might come up with to locate it.’
‘I guess you’re right, Belgarath,’ he admitted glumly. ‘Let’s rip the ground floor apart and then go home. This place stinks, and I need some fresh air.’
And so we abandoned our search and went home. For the time being, at least, we were going to have to rely on our own prophecies without any help from Torak’s.
I took that vacation I’d been promising myself, but after a month or so, I started to get bored. I went on over to Sendaria to check in with Polgara and to tell her about the little expedition to Ashaba. She’d set Gelane up in business as a cooper in the town of Seline in northern Sendaria, and the heir to Iron-grip’s throne spent most of his time making barrels and kegs. When he wasn’t doing that, he was ‘walking out’ with a pretty little blonde girl, the daughter of a local blacksmith.
‘Are you sure she’s the right one?’ I asked Pol.
She sighed. ‘Yes, father,’ she replied in that long-suffering tone of voice.
‘Just exactly how do you know, Pol? There’s nothing in the Mrin or the Darine that identifies these girls - at least nothing I’ve ever come across.’
‘I’m getting instructions, father.’
I wandered around in the western kingdoms for the next couple years, looking in on the assorted families I’d been nurturing for centuries. The Angarak invasion of Algaria and the wholesale slaughter of the Algarian cattle herds had brought the kingdoms of the west to the verge of an economic disaster. It was generations before there were any more cattle-drives to Muros. The Tolnedrans went into deep mourning, but the always practical Sendars came up with a partial solution. All of Sendaria turned into one vast pig-ranch. Pork has certain advantages over beef. I suppose you could smoke and cure beef if you really wanted to, but the Algars didn’t bother. It might have been because there weren’t that many trees in Algaria, so the wood-chips required to smoke meat weren’t readily available. The Sendars didn’t have that problem, and wagon-loads of cured hams and bacon and sausages were soon trundling along every Tolnedran highway in all the western kingdoms.
There was a tentative, nervous kind of peace in Arendia when I came back through there on my way north after a visit to Tol Honeth where I’d presented my apologies for Polgara’s bad manners to Ran Borune and General Cerran. I reached Vo Mandor in the autumn of 4877, and I spent a pleasant winter with my friend, the baron. I really liked Mandor. He had a rudimentary sense of humor, a rarity in Arendia, and he set a very nice table. I put on a few pounds during that visit.
In the spring of the following year, Baron Wildantor came down from Asturia to visit. The friendship that had sprung up between the two of them during the Battle of Vo Mimbre had deepened, and they were now almost like brothers. The addition of the boisterous, red-haired Wildantor turned our little reunion into an extended party, and I was enjoying myself immensely. Then one evening when we’d stayed up late savoring our reminiscences, Beldin finally located me. It was a glorious spring night, and I’d thrown open the windows of my third-floor bedroom to let in the flower-scented spring breeze. The familiar blue-banded hawk appeared out of the night, settled on my window-sill and shimmered back into my ugly little brother. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you,’ he rasped.
‘I’ve been right here for six months. Is there something I ought to know about?’
‘I’ve found out where Zedar’s got Torak’s body hidden is about all.’
‘About all? That’s fairly momentous, Beldin. Where is it?’
‘Southern Cthol Murgos - about fifty leagues south of Rak Cthol. There’s a cave in the side of a mountain down there, and Zedar’s got Torak tucked away inside of it.’
‘He’s that close to Ctuchik? Is he insane?’
‘Of course he’s insane. He always has been. Ctuchik doesn’t know he’s there, though.’
‘Ctuchik’s a Grolim, Beldin. He can sense Zedar’s presence.’
‘No, actually he can’t. Zedar’s using some of the tricks you taught him before he turned bad on us. That’s what makes Zedar so dangerous. He’s the only one of the lot us who’s had instruction from two Gods.’
‘How did you find him, then?’
‘Sheer luck. He came out of the cave for firewood when I just happened to be flying over.’
‘Are you sure Torak’s inside?’
‘Well, of course I am, Belgarath! I went into the cave to make sure.’
‘You did what?’
‘Don’t get excited. Zedar didn’t know I was there. He was even nice enough to carry me inside.’
‘How did you manage that?’
He shrugged. ‘I used a bug - a flea, actually.’ He laughed. ‘That’s really challenging. You wouldn’t believe what that kind of compression does to your innards. Anyway, Zedar’s none too clean these days, so he’s pretty well flea-bitten, and he’s got lice as well. I hopped onto his head and burrowed into his hair while he was bent over picking up some sticks for his fire. He took me inside, and there was old Burnt-face all laid out on a flat rock with ice all around him. Zedar’s put the mask back on him - probably because Torak’s face makes him as sick as it makes the rest of humanity. I stayed where I was until Zedar went to sleep. Then I bit him a few times and hopped on out of the cave.’
I suddenly burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You bit him?’