Uvar was waiting for him. As it turned out, the months the King of Aloria had spent splitting wood paid off. Without so much as changing expression, Bent-beak lifted his axe and split the rebellious priest of Belar from the top of his head to his navel with one huge blow. Resistance more or less collapsed at that point, and the Bear-Cult went into hiding, while the rebellious clans suddenly became very fond of their king and renewed their vows of fealty.
Now do you see why war irritates me? It’s always the same. A lot of people get killed, but in the end, the whole thing is settled at the conference table. The notion of having the conference first doesn’t seem to occur to people.
The she-wolf’s observations were chilling. ‘One wonders what they plan to do with the meat,’ she said. That raised the hackles on the back of my neck, but I rather dimly perceived a way to end wars forever. If the victorious army had to eat the fallen, war would become much less attractive. I’d gone wolf enough to know that meat is flavored by the diet of the eatee, and stale beer isn’t the best condiment in the world.
Uvar was clearly in control now, so the twins, the wolf, and I went back to the Vale. The wolf, of course, left us when we reached Poledra’s cottage, and my wife was in my tower when I got there, looking for all the world as if she’d been there all along.
Belmakor had returned during our absence, but he’d locked himself in his tower, refusing to respond when we urged him to come out. The Master told us that our Melcene brother had gone into a deep depression for some reason, and we knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t appreciate any attempts to cheer him up. I’ve always been somewhat suspicious about Belmakor’s depression. If I could ever confirm those suspicions, I’d go back to where Belzedar is right now and put him someplace a lot more uncomfortable.
This was a painful episode, so I’m going to cut it short. After several years of melancholy brooding about the seeming hopelessness of our endless tasks, Belmakor gave up and decided to follow Belsambar into obliteration.
I think it was only the presence of Poledra that kept me from going mad. My brothers were dropping around me, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.
Aldur summoned Belzedar and Beldin back to the Vale, of course. Beldin had been down in Nyissa keeping an eye on the snake-people, and we all assumed that Belzedar had still been in Mallorea, although it didn’t take him long to arrive. He seemed peculiarly reluctant to join us in our sorrow, and I’ve always thought less of him because of his peculiar attitude. Belzedar had changed over the years. He still refused to give us any details about his scheme to retrieve the Orb – not that we really had much opportunity to talk with him, because he was quite obviously avoiding us. He had a strangely haunted look on his face that I didn’t think had anything to do with our common grief. It seemed too personal somehow. After about a week, he asked Aldur for permission to leave, and then he went back to Mallorea.
‘One notes that your brother is troubled,’ Poledra said to me after he’d gone. ‘It seems that he’s trying to follow two paths at once. His mind is divided, and he doesn’t know which of the paths is the true one.’
‘Belzedar’s always been a little strange,’ I agreed.
‘One would suggest that you shouldn’t trust him too much. He’s not telling you everything.’
‘He’s not telling me anything,’ I retorted. ‘He hasn’t been completely open with us since Torak stole the Master’s Orb. To be honest with you, love, I’ve never been so fond of him that I’m going to lose any sleep over the fact that he wants to avoid us.’
‘Say that again,’ she told me with a warm smile.
‘Say what again?’
‘Love. It’s a nice word, and you don’t say it very often.’
‘You know how I feel about you, dear.’
‘One likes to be told.’
‘Anything that makes you happy, love.’ I will never understand women.
Beldin and I spoke together at some length about Belzedar’s growing aloofness, but we ultimately concluded that there wasn’t very much we could do about it.
Then Beldin raised another issue that was of more immediate concern. ‘There’s trouble in Maragor,’ he told me.
‘Oh?’
‘I was on my way back from Nyissa when I heard about it. I was in a hurry, so I didn’t have time to look into it very deeply.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Some idiot misread one of their sacred texts. Mara must have been about half-asleep when he dictated it. Either that, or the scribe who was writing it down misunderstood him. It hinges on the word “assume”. The Marags are taking that word quite literally, I understand. They’ve taken to making raids across their borders. They capture Tolnedrans or Nyissans and take them back to Mar Amon. They have a big religious ceremony, and the captives are killed. Then the Marags eat them.’
‘They do what?’
‘You heard me, Belgarath. The Marags are practicing ritual cannibalism.’
‘Why doesn’t Mara put a stop to it?’
‘How should I know? I’m going back down there as soon as the Master allows me to leave. I think one of us had better have a long talk with Mara. If word of what’s going on gets back to Nedra or Issa, there’s going to be big trouble.’
‘What else can go wrong?’ I exploded in exasperation.
‘Lots of things, I’d imagine. Nobody ever promised you that life was going to be easy, did they? I’ll go to Mar Amon and see what I can do. I’ll send for you if I need any help.’
‘Keep me posted.’
‘If I find out anything meaningful. How are you and Poledra getting along?’
I smirked at him.
‘That’s disgusting, Belgarath. You’re behaving like some downy-cheeked adolescent.’
‘I know, and I’m enjoying every minute of it.’
‘I’m going to go call on the twins. I’m sure they’ll be able to put their hands on a barrel of good ale. I’ve been in Nyissa for the past few decades, and the Nyissans don’t believe in beer. They have other amusements.’
‘Oh?’
‘Certain leaves and berries and roots make them sooo happy. Most Nyissans are in a perpetual fog. Are you coming to visit the twins with me?’
‘I don’t think so, Beldin. Poledra doesn’t like the smell of beer on my breath.’
‘You’re hen-pecked, Belgarath.’
‘It doesn’t bother me in the slightest, brother.’ I smirked at him again, and he stumped away muttering to himself.
The Alorn clan wars re-erupted several times over the next few hundred years. The Bear-Cult was still agitating the outlying clans, but the kings of Aloria were able to keep things under control, usually by attacking cult strongholds and firmly trampling cult members into the ground. There’s a certain direct charm about the Alorn approach to problems, I suppose.
I think it was about the middle of the nineteenth century when I received an urgent summons from Beldin. The Nyissans had been making slave-raids into Maragor, and the Marags responded by invading the lands of the snake-people. I spoke extensively with Poledra and told her in no uncertain terms that I wanted her to stay in the Vale while I was gone. I asserted what minimal authority a pack-leader