The Morindim fled, screaming in terror. The magician, I noticed, led the flight. He was young, and he ran very fast.

Then I resumed my own form and returned to the shack.

‘Just who are you, Garath?’ Rablek demanded in a trembling voice as I came through the splinters of our door.

‘I’m your partner, Rablek. That’s all you really need to know, isn’t it? You and I came up here to get rich. Why don’t we get at that before we lose any more daylight?’

He started to shake violently. ‘Where’s my mind been for all these months? I should have recognized the name. You’re not just Garath. You’re Belgarath, aren’t you?’

‘It’s no great thing, partner,’ I tried to calm him. ‘It’s only a name, after all, and I haven’t done anything to harm you, have I?’

‘Well - not yet, I guess.’ He didn’t sound very convinced. ‘I’ve heard a lot of stories about you, though.’

‘I can imagine. Most of them are just Grolim propaganda, partner. I’ve had occasion to disrupt Grolim schemes now and then in the past, and they’ve had to invent some very wild stories to explain their failures.’

‘Are you really as old as they say you are?’

‘Probably older.’

‘What are you doing in Gar og Nadrak?’

I grinned at him. ‘Getting rich, I hope. Isn’t that why we’re both out here in this wilderness?’

‘You’ve got that part right.’

‘We’re still partners then?’

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way, Belgarath. Did you just conjure up all this gold we’ve been finding?’

‘No. It’s a natural deposit of real gold, and it’s just lying there waiting for us to pick it up.’

He grinned back at me. ‘Well, then, partner, why don’t we get back to picking?’

‘Why don’t we?’ I agreed.

Chapter 46

There’s a kind of irresistible lure about gold - and I’m not just talking about the red-tinted gold of Angarak which the Grolims use to buy the souls of men like the Earl of Jarvik. By midsummer, Rablek and I had accumulated more gold than our horses could carry, but we still lingered beside that tumbling mountain stream ‘for just one more day.’

I finally managed to clamp a lid on my own hunger for more, but it took me another week to persuade my partner that it was time to leave. ‘Be reasonable, Rablek,’ I told him. ‘You’ve already got more gold than you can possibly spend in a lifetime, and if you’re really all that desperate, you know how to find this place again. You can come back and dig up more, if you really want to.’

‘I just hate to leave any behind,’ he replied.

‘It’s not going to go anyplace, Rablek. It’ll be here forever, if you happen to need it.’

I know that it sounds unnatural, but I liked my Nadrak partner. He was a bit crude and rough-hewn, but I’m no angel myself, so we got along well together. He wasn’t afraid of work, and when the sun went down and we’d laid aside our tools, he could talk for hours, and I didn’t mind listening. He’d been a little wild-eyed and standoffish after our encounter with the Morindim, but he got over that, and the pair of us went back to just being a couple of fellows out to make our fortunes. We both forgot about the fact that we were supposed to be natural enemies and concentrated instead on getting rich.

Anyway, we tore down our shack, concealed the traces of our diggings as best we could, and started back to Yar Gurak. ‘What do you plan to do with all your money?’ I asked my partner on the night before we reached the shabby mining camp.

‘I think I’ll go into the fur trade,’ he replied. ‘There’s a lot of money to be made there.’

‘You’ve already got a lot of money.’

‘Money doesn’t mean very much unless you put it to work for you, Belgarath. I’m not the sort to just lay around getting fat, and I know some fur traders who double their money every year or two.’

‘If you’ve already got more than you can spend, why bother?’

‘It’s the game, Belgarath,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Money’s just a way of keeping score. I’m going into the fur trade for the sake of the game, not for the money.’

That opened my eyes and gave me a profound insight into the Nadrak character. At last I understood why Nadraks dislike Murgos so much.

Never mind. It’s much too complicated to explain.

Rablek and I parted company on the outskirts of Yar Gurak. I saw no real reason to go back into that ugly place. Moreover, I had a great deal of gold in my pack-saddle, and I didn’t want any curious people rifling through it while I was asleep.

‘It was fun, wasn’t it, Belgarath?’ Rablek said just a bit wistfully as we were saddling our horses.

‘That it was, my friend.’

‘If you ever get bored, look me up. The mountains’ll always be there, and I can be ready to go again any time you say the word.’

‘Be well, Rablek,’ I said, clasping his hand warmly.

The Nadrak border was still unguarded, and I entered Drasnia with a certain sense of relief. I was a bit surprised to discover that my sudden riches had made me nervous and apprehensive. What a peculiar thing! When I was no more than a poor vagabond, I’d been willing to go anywhere without a second thought. Now that I was rich, my whole attitude had changed.

I rode on down through Algaria at the tag end of the summer of the year 4881, and I reached the Vale just as autumn was turning all the leaves golden. The color suited my mood and reflected the cargo in my pack-saddle. Rablek and I had put the fruits of our labors into stout canvas bags, and I had forty of those bags. It took me hours to carry them all up into my tower.

The next day I built a makeshift kind of forge and cast my gold into bars. Forty bags of gold sounds like a lot, but gold’s so heavy that the bars weren’t really all that big, and when I’d stacked them all in one corner, the pile was disappointingly small. I sat looking at it, idly wondering if I could catch up with Rablek before he left Yar Gurak. There was still a lot of gold left in our creek up there near the border of Morindland, after all.

Well, of course I was greedy. I’ve told you about the kind of person I was before I entered my Master’s service, and some things never change. I’ve thought about that a lot over the years. Every so often, I get a powerful urge to return to that nameless little stream. Then, however, usually in the cold grey light of morning, rationality rears its ugly head. What on earth does a man in my situation need with money? If I really want something, I can usually get it somehow, or I can magic it up, and in the long run, that’d be much easier than digging gold out of the ground. But gold’s so pretty to look at, and so exciting when you find it.

Over the years, I’ve spent a few bars of my horde, but not very many. Most of it’s still around here - someplace.

Excuse me a moment. I think I’ll root around and see if I can find it.

About a year after I’d returned from Gar og Nadrak, Pol sent word to me that Gelane’s wife, Enalla, had finally given birth to a son. They’d been married for about twenty years at that point, and Gelane was approaching his fortieth birthday. Enalla’s childlessness had caused all of us quite a bit of concern. In the light of the significance of that particular family, I’m sure you can see why. Considering the forces at work, we probably shouldn’t have worried, but we did all the same. I journeyed on up to Cherek to have a look at my new grandson, and I found that he looked very much as his father had as a baby - another indication of those forces I just mentioned.

I’m sure you noticed that in my own mind I’d long since discarded all those tedious ‘great-great’s. To me, that long string of sandy-haired little boys were simply grandsons. I loved them all in just about the same way.

Polgara, however, loved each of them a bit differently, some more, some less. For any number of reasons, she was particularly close to Gelane, and she was devastated when he was killed in an accident in the year 4902, exactly nine hundred years after the murder of King Gorek. The twins felt the date to be highly significant, and they tore the Mrin apart trying to find something hinting at what it meant. Garion’s silent friend, however, had remained just that - silent.

I don’t think any of us fully realized just how much Polgara had suffered during those seemingly endless centuries and losses. My primary concern had been with the line, not the individuals. My relationship with those heirs had been sketchy at best, and their passings hadn’t really touched me all that much. I could be fairly philosophical about it. I’d grown used to the fact that people are born, they grow up, and then they die. Everybody loses a few family members if he lives long enough, but Pol’s situation was unique. She’d been intimately involved with all those little boys, and she’d lost them by the score in the course of those nine centuries; grief’s not something you’re ever going to get used to.

I went back to Cherek after Gelane died and took a long, hard look at his son. Then I sighed and went away. He wasn’t the one we’d been waiting for.

The years continued their stately, ordered procession, and things were quiet in the west for a change. That disastrous defeat at Vo Mimbre had subdued the Angaraks, and they largely left us alone. Chamdar was still lurking around somewhere, but he wasn’t making enough noise to attract my attention, and I was fairly certain that he wasn’t going to appear in Cherek to give Polgara any problems. Chereks are, almost by definition, the most primitive, archetypal Alorns. Drasnians have established a somewhat wary relationship with the Nadraks, and Algars can tolerate the Thulls, but Chereks steadfastly maintain a stiff-necked racial prejudice against all Angaraks. I’ve occasionally tried to explain to any number of Chereks why prejudice isn’t particularly commendable, but I don’t believe I’ve ever gotten through to any of them, largely because I think that Belar got to them first. Don’t get me wrong here, I liked Belar, but, ye Gods, he was stubborn! I sometimes think that the Cherek hatred of all Angaraks is divinely inspired. It suited our purposes during those years, however, since it most definitely kept Chamdar away from Polgara.