There was a stir at the door, and a guard entered. "The priest of Belar!" he announced in a loud voice, and a tall man in a white robe strode into the room, followed by four men dressed in shaggy furs. The four walked with a peculiar shuffling gait, and Garion instantly recognized them as Bear-cultists, indistinguishable from the Cherek members of the same group he had seen in Val Alorn.

"Your Majesty," the man in the white robe boomed.

"Hail, Cho-Hag," the cultists intoned in unison, "Chief of the ClanChiefs of the Algars and guardian of the southern reaches of Aloria."

King Cho-Hag inclined his head briefly. "What is it, Elvar?" he asked the priest.

"I have come to congratulate your Majesty upon the occasion of your great victory over the forces of the Dark God," the priest replied.

"You are most kind, Elvar," Cho-Hag answered politely.

"Moreover," Elvar continued, "it has come to my attention that a holy object has come into the Stronghold of the Algars. I presume that your Majesty will wish to place it in the hands of the priesthood for safekeeping."

Garion, alarmed at the priest's suggestion, half rose from his seat, but stopped, not knowing how to voice his objection. Errand, however, with a confident smile, was already walking toward Elvar. The knots Durnik had so carefully tied were undone, and the child took the Orb out of the pouch at his waist and offered it to the startled priest. "Errand?" he said.

Elvar's eyes bulged and he recoiled from the Orb, lifting his hands above his head to avoid touching it.

"Go ahead, Elvar," Polgara's voice came mockingly from the doorway. "Let him who is without ill intent in the silence of his soul stretch forth his hand and take the Orb."

"Lady Polgara," the priest stammered. "We thought - that is - I -"

"He seems to have some reservations," Silk suggested dryly. "Perhaps he has some lingering and deep-seated doubts about his own purity. That's a serious failing in a priest, I'd say."

Elvar looked at the little man helplessly, his hands still held aloft.

"You should never ask for something you're not prepared to accept, Elvar," Polgara suggested.

"Lady Polgara," Elvar blurted, "we thought that you'd be so busy caring for your father that " He faltered.

"-That you could take possession of the Orb before I knew about it? Think again, Elvar. I won't allow the Orb to fall into the hands of the Bear-cult." She smiled rather sweetly at him. "Unless you happen to be the one destined to wield it, of course. My father and I would both be overjoyed to hand the burden over to someone else. Why don't we find out? All you have to do is reach out your hand and take the Orb."

Elvar's face blanched, and he backed away from Errand fearfully.

"I believe that will be all, Elvar," King Cho-Hag said firmly.

The priest looked about helplessly, then turned and quickly left the hall with his cultists close behind him.

"Make him put it away, Durnik," Polgara told the smith. "And see if you can do something about the knots."

"I could seal them up with lead," Durnik mused. "Maybe that would keep him from getting it open."

"It might be worth a try." Then she looked around. "I thought you might all like to know that my father's awake," she told him. "The old fool appears to be stronger than we thought."

Garion, immediately alert, looked at her sharply, trying to detect some hint that she might not be telling them everything, but her calm face was totally unreadable.

Barak, laughing loudly with relief, slapped Hettar on the back. "I told you he'd be all right," he exclaimed delightedly. The others in the room were already crowding around Polgara, asking for details.

"He's awake," she told them. "That's about all I can say at the moment - except that he's his usual charming self. He's already complaining about lumps in the bed and demanding strong ale."

"I'll send some at once," Queen Silar said.

"No, Silar," Polgara replied firmly. "He gets broth, not ale."

"He won't like that much," Silk suggested.

"Isn't that a shame?" She smiled. She half turned, as if about to go back to the sickroom, then stopped and looked rather quizzically at Garion who sat, relieved, but still apprehensive about Belgarath's true condition, beside Adara. "I see that you've met your cousin," she observed.

"Who?"

"Don't sit there with your mouth open, Garion," she advised him. "It makes you look like an idiot. Adara's the youngest daughter of your mother's sister. Haven't I ever told you about her?"

It all came crashing in on him. "Aunt Pol!" he protested. "How could you forget something that important?"

But Adara, obviously as startled by the announcement as he had been, gave a low cry, put her arms about his neck and kissed him warmly. "Dear cousin!" she exclaimed.

Garion flushed, then went pale, then flushed again. He stared first at Aunt Pol, then at his cousin, unable to speak or even to think coherently.

Chapter Seven

IN THE DAYS that followed while the others rested and Aunt Pol nursed Belgarath back to health, Garion and his cousin spent every waking moment together. From the time he had been a very small child he had believed that Aunt Pol was his only family. Later, he had discovered that Mister Wolf-Belgarath - was also a relative, though infinitely far removed. But Adara was different. She was nearly his own age, for one thing, and she seemed immediately to fill that void that had always been there. She became at once all those sisters and cousins and younger aunts that others seemed to have but that he did not.She showed him the Algar Stronghold from top to bottom. As they wandered together down long, empty corridors, they frequently held each others' hands. Most of the time, however, they talked. They sat together in out-of the-way places with their heads close together, talking, laughing, exchanging confidences and opening their hearts to each other. Garion discovered a hunger for talk in himself that he had not suspected. The circumstances of the past year had made him reticent, and now all that flood of words broke loose. Because he loved his tall, beautiful cousin, he told her things he would not have told any other living soul.

Adara responded to his affection with a love of her own that seemed as deep, and she listened to his outpourings with an attention that made him reveal himself even more.

"Can you really do that?" she asked when, one bright winter afternoon, they sat together in an embrasure high up in the fortress wall with a window behind them overlooking the vast sea of winter-brown grass stretching to the horizon. "Are you really a sorcerer?"