Unfinished Tales

& Other Stories

By

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

DAVID EDDINGS FANFICTION

The Belzandramanian - UNFINISHED

A Lost Child on the Streets of Camaar

Life in Upper Gralt

The Thieves of Upper Gralt

The Bronze Falcon

Stuck in Erat

A Proud Son of Sendaria

HUGH COOK FANFICTION

The Wyvvern and the Warlock – UNFINISHED

The Wordguild and the Warsmiths

The Wild and the Wrathful

J R R TOLKIEN FANFICTION

The Hand of Eternity – UNFINISHED

The Fate of Dagolas

J K ROWLING FANFICTION

Lucy Potter (Lucy Smith) and the Golden Sovereigns

Lucy Potter (Lucy Smith) and the Sprite of Chakola

JULIAN MAY FANFICTION

Seasons of Life

The Golden Dragon

‘The Belzandramanian’

Volume One

‘Wrath of the Mad God Torak’

by

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

http://davideddingsfanfiction.angelfire.com

http://noahidebooks.angelfire.com

© 2010-02-28

Dedicated to

David Eddings – The Master

Prologue

Excerpt from the sacred, holy and hidden text ‘The Heart of Creation’, revealed to the High Priest of the Ulgos, from the face of Ul, after the smiting of ‘Sardius’.

…Before the beginning of things, Ul was alone. He existed in solitude, in perfect peace, in harmony with himself. And then new life and creation entered the heart and mind of Ul, and he foresaw what would be.

The Seven ‘Gods’ were to be the heart of Creation, yet rivalry and war were inevitable….. A sacred stone divided them, and Ul split the stone asunder for purposes he would not speak of. Yet, in the fullness of time, such stones would see their destiny, and the fate of life would be chosen one way or another. The Seven gods were part of the making of many worlds, yet on one world they settled their hearts, and it became the centre of their attention and the heart of their desires.

Torak strove with Aldur, yet ‘Yaska’ smote him in its judgement, as Ul knew it would, for such had been his forethoughts. Yet ‘Sardius’ lusted after Torak’s purposes, and fell to earth in Zamad to achieve his aims. For ‘Sardius’ had long striven with ‘Yaska’, and in them the embodiment of goodness found home in ‘Yaska’ and the embodiment of evil found home in ‘Sardius’. And these were the two primal and opposing forces of the ‘One Stone’. Yet they were not alone, for 70 divisions of the stone had come forth, even if the power of the other 68 could not rival the fame and grandeur of ‘Sardius’ and ‘Yaska’. Yet these ‘Starstones’ as Ul had called them were to be instrumental in the future and destiny of the world.

With the defeat and smiting of ‘Sardius’ by ‘Yaska’, peace prevailed at last. But in the nature of life conflict does not simply cease, for life is a turmoil of emotion and vibrancy, and destiny always answers in the most unexpected ways. And, soon, Yaska shall be alive in flesh, as she has long desired, but ‘Sardius’ will be born anew, retreating to its prior host before the fateful choice was made, and seeking her will, in time, to be born alive into the future of the world. But such a reawakening is for a time to come.

Yet, before the ‘One Stone’ was formed, there were two principles established from which the ‘One Stone’ found its balance. ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’. Yet they were not a ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’ of moral nature, but ones of the natural order, preceding such morals, by which life was undertaken. And the ‘Sunstone’ of light was chosen to guard a particular people, and the ‘Moonstone’ was chosen to guard yet others. And these greater and lesser lights would serve man and be the way in which he would see and live his life.

Yet the Doomsayers would one day seek their destiny, coming from the earlier worlds of Ul’s creation, and they would come to the world, and seek its judgement after the fateful battle between Yaska and Sardius had taken place. For they would judge the world for the good and evil it had done.

Only the guardian of the Moonstone, ‘The Oracle of Justice’, could speak in the worlds defense, yet he would only do so should ‘Sardius’ choice show signs of remorse. And, nay, only if Sardius prior choice likewise soften in heart. And then, in such repentance and sorrow, Sardius would be forgiven and reborn, and he would know the heart of Yaska, and the world divided would be again as one.

And if such came to pass, the guardian of the Sunstone would consent to dwell with the children of men, for such would be the fate of the ‘Oracle of Love’.

And then, in time, the destiny of the other 68 ‘Starstones’ would manifest, throughout the ages of men, and chart their eternal destiny in the plans of Ul, the one who is…

Part One

‘The Doomsayers’

Chapter One

Prologue

Torak Brooded. Ul had chided him again and again, yet the god of destruction paid no heed. He cared not. His slaying had been the ultimate act of humiliation, unable to escape the prophecy of destiny that Ul had been mastermind behind. And now he brooded, caught up in a deathly afterlife, tormented by his father, unable to see any of his brethren.

And then, the gods took council, and forgave Torak, deeming he had learned his lesson. But Ul knew more wisely.

Sitting in the abode of darkness, beyond all light, Torak looked at the helpless figure, caught up in her wickedness. And an idea permeated his mind, and idea of revenge, wrath and delusion. And the Mad God Torak looked upon this figure and the name ‘Belzandramas’ entered his head. And then he chuckled with a most evil chuckle, and a new prophecy began forming in the mind of Ul, the eternal God.

* * * * *

Belgarion studied the Mrin Codex. Ce Nedra, in the background, was busily at work, as had become her manner, preparing the nightly meal. It was simple now, Belgarian thought to himself. Very simple. Here he was, living on Faldor’s farm, away from the limelight of Riva and Kingship, which had been turned over to Belgeran. For he had, in a way, abdicated to choose the simple life. The life he had been brought up with, when things were innocent and new. When, perhaps, he had been a more naïve lad, unaware of prophecies and orbs and Mad god’s called Torak.

He had craved this for so long, living in Riva, with all his responsibilities. And, while for so long it had seemed as if the glory of Kingship would be a glory to last forever, something had seemed lacking. And so, Ce Nedra in tow, he had returned to Sendaria, purchased the land and farm, and reclaimed his lost youth. And he had never, really, been happier.

In fact, he was Garion again. He had made a decision, a simple decision, that Garion was who he was, and that the power of Bel did not need to claim his heart. Garion was his name, and that would suffice.

He looked over at the orb, sitting on the mantelpiece, glowing calmly and happily. It was like that these days, radiating warmth and friendliness. Teaching him, in his dreams and waking hour’s simpler things of life. Simpler things which took over from the grand epics of glory. And he was content in these simpler things, happily residing with Ce Nedra, occasionally partaking of visitors of his old friends.

Mr Wolf came every now and again, and Aunt Polgara. They came, chatting about this and that, often in heated disputation. But that was the charming life he knew in those two and, seemingly, things would never change.

He left off his studies and walked to the window, looking out at the farm. He remembered those days long ago, of bokking chickens and mooing cows. And how simple and easy life had been under Faldor’s guidance and Durnik’s steady walk. And thinking how good those simpler things were, a knock came to the door, and destiny intruded once more on the life of Garion, son of Geran.

Taking the message from the deliverer, Garion re-entered the house, and sat down to read it.

‘Things of life are never seen to eyes in shadowy realm,

By this it seems I truly mean the dark is where I dwell.

Your life is forfeit, deathly foe, my vengeance will be sure,

When death’s dark blade of purest might comes knocking on your door.’

An excerpt from the ‘Chronicle of Torak’

And that was all the message read.

‘Who was at the door, Garion?’

‘Uh, just a message Ce Nedra.’

‘For me?’

‘I don’t think so.’

He looked at the message again and considered its origin. It was a prank, surely. Surely a prank. He had never heard of the Chronicle of Torak and believed it some fraud, the product of a grudge from an old enemy of the king. Surely that was all it was. But he would show it to Belgarath when he next visited and ask his grandfathers opinion. He would not be too hasty to throw out this message – life had taught him caution, and ignoring threats was not always the best and wisest course of action.

He put it away, in a drawer, and went off to dinner. But it was on his mind all that night – most definitely on his mind.

* * * * *

Unreal. Unalive. Unbeing. Unknown. Undead. But now, suddenly, aware. Aware of herself and a name – a name which, somehow, was not quite what it had been, but was now something new. Born again, as it where, from a spirit of unbeing to a spirit of power, madness and wrath. Most definitely a spirit of wrath.

Belzandramas surveyed her surroundings. They looked familiar yet not. A mountain, a large mountain, covered with grass and trees. Yet, looking down to the base, ice everywhere. Nothing but ice as far as she could see. And then, turning her head, she surveyed the entire circumference of the mountain – a neverending parade of ice, in all directions. She was stranded. Yet, quickly, the instincts came to the fore. Finely tuned survival instincts, from a spirit of life carefully guided to the fulfilment of darkness, as she knew so truly. And then, a thought. A boy. A Man. A King. Belgarion, yes, that was his name. And another, a seeress. A seeress who had made a dreadful choice and vanquished her as a result. And then, peering into her own heart, she found the secret. The dreadful, wicked secret, some being had placed there.

‘Don’t be so obvious’, it had said. ‘Don’t be so obvious.’ And then she delighted in the dark, amazing evil in her soul. And vengeance seemed so pleasant. So deliciously pleasant.

* * * * *

‘How far you have fallen, Kheldar. How far you have fallen.’

‘Don’t call me that. It’s Silk, okay. Like the old days.’

Barak nodded. ‘So, what’s next for the prince of thieves? What next?’

‘I have business in Mallorea. Up north. There is a merchantman who has an item, a particular item, which is of interest to myself.’

‘What item.’

‘A Scroll. A scroll, just emerged. Beldin mentioned it. Said it is a new one, but an old one. Gave me some confusing explanation. Wants me to obtain it – said he’d make it worth my while.’

‘Then to Mallorea it is. Oh, and can we avoid going through Thull like the last time. I don’t want to run into Jandok. His threats were not nice, Silk. Not nice.’

‘The prettiness of Thullian maidens if often hard to resist, dear Barak, especially for one as smooth as myself. And now that I am alone again, well, she was willing and wanting and I could not say no.’

‘As befits a prince of your kind,’ said Barak, a grin on his face.

‘Oh, shut up.’

‘Where in Mallorea?’

‘Just across from the land bridge, up near the coast. A small village, Lameth. This merchantmen trades in pearls and gold and silver, but has interest in things religious and prophetical. Apparently he acquired the scroll from a mad priest, dressed in brown robes, muttering something about the end of the world. A ‘Doomsayer’ he called him.’

‘Doomsayer? What is all that about?’

‘No idea Barak,’ responded Silk. ‘But I surmise we will find out soon enough.’

‘Then to Mallorea it is. Are you paying for the ale?’

Silk gave him a look, was about to suggest something rather rude as to Barak’s current lack of funds, but went and paid for the ale. Exiting the inn from somewhere in southern Arendia they returned to their horses, and got under way. Looking at the sun, which was late in sky, Silk thought over his life. He was ageing, now. Much older. But adventure was still in the heart of Kheldar and he sensed with this scroll something new in the air. Something that was fundamental to all Alorns and Angaraks as well. Something quite fundamental.

* * * * *

Polgara sat on the donkey as her father led it carefully through the dark, enchanted forest. ‘I don’t think I have been to this part of Karanda before. Are you sure this is the right place?’

‘You keep asking, Pol. Have a little faith. Beldin insisted that the monastery, as they call it, was around here somewhere. Deep into the forest.’

‘Alright, I’ll trust you. I don’t like it, but for once old fool I will give you a break.’

‘Very funny.’

They travelled on through the dark twilight. Somehow, despite it being bright and sunny outside the forest, they seemed to have entered a twilight realm. A realm beyond Mallorea, almost otherlike. Yet, presumably, always having been there. He remembered what Beldin said.

‘When you cross beyond the edge of nothing, remember you will find darkness there. A darkness which Torak himself feared. So beware.’

Belgarath laughed to himself. High drama was not always the way of Beldin, but something had happened to him just recently. An encounter with Ul which had changed him. A dark, dramatic encounter, in which the Father God had given him portents of destruction to chill the bones.

As they walked along, the leaves rustling in the wind, both of them feeling as if dark eyes were watching them, eyes set on malevolence, eyes foreboding trouble, eyes with no good will. But perhaps they were just whispers of darkness, and perhaps that is all they were. Belgarath was old, now, ancient in many ways. But here, beyond the edge of nothing, he sensed something he had never quite encountered. A spirit, an aura, which could perhaps be only called evil. Or haunting at the very least.

He thought back to younger years, years encountering dark wizards and evil sorcerers. Years in which his knowledge, skill and talents had been put to the test. Yet somehow, in this dark place, his faith in his abilities had vanished, and it was with tender treading of foot that this warrior wizard walked onwards, carefully guiding the donkey, hoping not to disturb those dark whispers who wanted no disturbance.

And then, a clearing, and safety. For there, rising up in front of them, apparently what could only be the monastery and a lake beside it, with the most beautiful garden of trees.

‘Thank the orb,’ said Polgara, as they came out of the dark into the light.

‘This, then, looks like the place,’ said Belgarath.’

‘I would surmise as much myself, father.’

They continued to walk on, coming to the monastery itself, with large wooden doors. Belgarath looked around. ‘We knock I suppose.’

‘I would consider that a good idea,’ said Polgara sarcastically.

Belgarath knocked and they waited. After 5 minutes of patience, no response forthcoming, he knocked again, but still no answer. Frustrated he came to sit down next to Polgara who had just returned with 2 pieces of fruit from the garden, and handing one to her father, began eating.

‘Perhaps they are busy, or absent at the moment.’

‘Should we enter?’ inquired Polgara.

‘I’m not sure. They might consider that rude. Karandan’s are always difficult to understand.’

‘If they are Karandan’s. We don’t know were these doomsayers come from – they are so different, so other, to anything I have ever encountered.’

‘They come from Karadarak, and speak of ‘Auarii’,’ responded Belgarath. I have conversed with one in some detail. This is the next chosen ‘Realm’ as they call it to suffer the ‘Testing’.

‘What are you speaking of old man?’

‘They are now Karandan’s by choice, so they claim. But they are other in origin. An origin not of our world. The place, ‘Karadarak’ is on another world, another planet, were a testing took place. A testing in which the inhabitants came through on their faith. They passed the testing and the ‘Doomsayers’ have now come here. For we are the next world on their agenda.’

‘Why have you not shared this with me before?’

‘The time is right now, daughter. You did not need to know previously.’

She looked at him, thought of arguing, but then thought better of it. ‘So, what was it that Beldin asked of Silk?’

‘He is acquiring a scroll for us. Part of a new Chronicle. A new Chronicle which is part of an ancient Chronicle. Something beyond time and space.’

‘You speak in riddles. Become clear to me father.’

‘Beldin speaks of words Ul shared with him, but will say nothing more than that which I have said. Nothing much more, that is.’

She looked at him, just shook her head, and took another bite of her fruit.

‘Besides, you are still young daughter. Not ready, I think, for such things as I would speak of. For I fear your impetuosity in confronting that which you are not ready for.’

‘I am near as old as you, old man. Do not speak to me like a child.’

He came over, held her by the shoulders, and spoke softly. ‘But you are my child, Polgara. You have always been as such, and I love you dearly. And I would not lose you for your headstrong attitudes. I would not lose you.’

Polgara softened, and looked at him. ‘Yes, I understand.’

They sat there, after a while taking a drink from the well, and having a look around. The building was quite large, like Belgarath’s own tower, and similar in spirit in some ways. But after they gently tried opening the front doors, which appeared to be the only way in, and finding them locked, they were becoming quite frustrated. And then Belgarath noticed a button of sorts, a metallic button near the door. Coming over to it he pushed it, and with some effort it went in and immediately a bell inside the door began ringing.

‘We should have known that,’ said Polgara.

‘Perhaps we are just getting old,’ responded Belgarath.

Within a few moments they heard footfalls on the other side of the door, and a window opened with a man looking at them. He gazed at them, said nothing though, and then closed the window. Shortly though the door opened and he came out to greet them, dressed in long brown robes.

‘I am Napier. Are you the wizard? Are you Beldin?’

‘Close,’ responded Belgarath. ‘I am Belgarath, his associate.’

Napier nodded. ‘Good, good. Then please come in. We would have words with you, Belgarath. We would have words with you.’ With those words said Napier turned and entered the monastery, and Belgarath, giving Polgara a cautious look, followed Polgara into the unknown.

* * * * *

Silk looked at the ship. ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’

‘It might be old, but I am sure it will get us there. Don’t worry Silk. Don’t worry.’

‘Yes, don’t worry.’ They boarded the ‘Old Warrior’, as the ship was called, and Juntarr the captain gave them a nod, happy to have paying customers. The ship set sail a few hours later, and as they made their way towards Mallorea, the sea air in his lungs, Silk considered the future. Dark times lay ahead, it seemed, for the world. Dark times in which many would fear and worry. Common souls, not given over to concerns of prophecies and mad gods. Common souls, caught up in a frenzy of fear. This is what Beldin spoke of, what the doomsayers spoke of. A time of testing, a time of worry. As they sailed along, Barak handing him a leg of chicken and a mug of apple cider, Silk gave quiet thought to his own view on what Beldin had raised. Ul was approaching a new time in the realm of the gods, and choices were being made. Choices of life and death. There was a place prepared for the Alorns and the Angaraks and the Malloreans. And a place prepared for those of the other continents, Yulenthea and Junissa. But a testing was to come – a testing from these dread doomsayers. And to gain that place in the life hereafter, only those whose faith was sure would see the testing through. And this testing of faith, which Beldin spoke of, coming from the eldest god, was to sort them out. To make men of them. To bring forth a new world, unlike the old one, the one passing away, the one to be gone forever. Silk trusted Ul, though he knew him not, but the new world dawning. What that spoke of? Well, time would tell.

He sat down, drinking his mug of ale, smiling to himself. Life was good again, now. He was old, but felt young. Felt young in his spirit, alive to life. A quiet joy was in his heart, and things were good again. The vigour of youth was still in his bones, and Barak, as always, a brave companion through which he saw the struggles of life. Yes life was good, but the testing was at hand. And a quiet prayer to Ul was upon him later that night as he prepared for the trials of the heart.

* * * * *

Belzandramas found the cave after a week of eating berries and drinking snow. It led for a lengthy mile, illuminated by glowing rock. In the heart of the mountain she found the well. A pool, crystal clear, with liquid bluey green in colour. It wasn’t water. It wasn’t something she was at all familiar with. But it seemed to be all that this mountain had to offer and so, not thinking any thing could possibly go wrong, put her hand in the pool and stirred the water, almost instinct-like. And then something happened. Voices began speaking, quickly, many of them, mostly female, but the occasional male. And then, suddenly, springing up out of the pool little boxes of light, boxes in which faces were seen. And then, after a while, these faces were the voices speaking. They danced through the cave, some chasing each other, some having fun and laughing, some buzzing around over Belzandramas’ head. And then, seemingly satisfied, they came and hovered over Belzandramas, and looked at her. A male spoke. ‘Bellie, bellie, bellie. You do look pretty, don’t you.’ Belzandramas remained silent. ‘Well, no matter. No matter.’

A female spoke. ‘So, what next Belzandramas? Do you know?’

Belzandramas spoke. ‘Vengeance.’

‘And why?’ asked the male.

Belzandramas was about to answer, but softened, and sat on the floor to think about that. After a few moments of contemplation she began to sense something changing in her mind, something from a new choice she had made. A wiser choice. ‘Power, then. Ruling all, being goddess of glory?’

‘Why?’ asked a female.

Again, she thought on the answer, the most obvious one, but then considered it.

‘Well, it would be mine to decide the fate of all who are. They could be crushed by my merest whim.’

‘Sounds good,’ said a voice, and flew away to look over the cave.

‘So that is what you want then?’ asked the woman again.

Belzandramas looked at her, softened again, and thought of something new.

‘Then what do you suggest I seek, spirits of wisdom?’

‘That really is up to you. But some things are better than others. Some things are wiser than others. Some things last longer than others. And a matter of the heart always rules over a matter of the head, dear Zandramas. Always.’

Zandramas looked through cold eyes, but softened again. ‘My name is Belzandramas. That is my new name. The old one is gone now, gone forever.’

‘As you see fit,’ said the woman. ‘As you see fit. Well, we do have a task for you. Complete this task and you will gain a reward. A reward we are sure you will enjoy.’

‘And the task?’

‘What you wanted anyway. Torak needs a consort, and we have chosen yourself. There is a destiny now, and 3 nations are part of that destiny. Torak desires to rule each, but your task is this. Betrothe him, wed him, marry him, and help him to accomplish all he desires. Yet prevent him, if you can, from his goals. Prevent him from ruling these 3 nations, and let not your heart betray yourself, or be given away. For if you can lead him down the destiny we have chosen, those 3 nations will belong to you. But if you fail, and he gains one, you will not have your reward. But there are certain terms. You must tell him to conquer these nations, encourage him to rule, to raise up Mallorea and conquer the west. To be king and god and ruler of all. For war is in his heart, in his blood, and you must aid him to conquer each Kingdom. But if he does, if you can not through your charms and cunning ways prevent him from doing so, by whatever means you so choose, then he will reign, and you shall not have your reward. But if you succeed, if he fails, then the reward will be great. Indeed eternal, Belzandramas. Indeed eternal.’

And then they all smiled at her, played around one last time, and disappeared back into the pool. And Belzandramas knew then her mission, and was away, headed out of the cave, headed for Mallorea, and her meeting with destiny.

* * * * *

Garion sat in front of the fire. Ce Nedra was lying against him, drifting off to sleep, seemingly not concerned about things. And then he heard the crowd. Rising to his feet he went to the window to see many people gathered outside, holding torches. He went to the door, opened it, and a group of fifty or so local villagers stood there, looking at him menacingly. And then a figure dressed in brown robes came forth from them, looked at him and yelled ‘Heretic. The wrath of Ul is on you. You are an abomination in his eyes.’ And the villagers, all fearing the man, just glared at Garion.

He looked a little nervous, thought of fetching the orb, but told himself to remain calm. Words of Belgarath echoed through his mind.

‘Under pressure, stay calm. Think carefully.’ He surveyed the man who continued to glare at him, dressed in the brown robes with a rope around the waist. His head was shaved in a circular fashion at the top, a deliberate bald spot, and he held a black, leather-bound book. Garion spoke slowly ‘Friend. I am no heretic, I assure you. I am King of the west, King Belgarion. I simply dwell here now and my son rules in my stead at Riva. What concerns you?’

The man glared at him, turned to the crowd, and opened his book. And then he began speaking. ‘Thus saith Ul, the god of god’s. Beware the power of the king, for in his pride he shall exalt his heart above menfolk, believing himself superior, believing himself the one. He lives only to rule you, not to care for you, not to heal you, not to bring you wealth or goodness. He lives for himself and his own glory. So tear down these pillars, and be as one. The word of Ul has spoken.’

The crowd nodded. ‘Yes brother,’ one of the villagers spoke. ‘We believe that Ul has spoken, and we will follow Ul our God.’

‘Aye, we will,’ responded the crowd. The brother turned to Garion, a mad look of zeal on his face, seemingly satisfied with the victory of faith he had achieved. ‘You will come with us, now. And we will take you to judgement. You will taste fear, oh king. You will taste fear.’

Garion, looking at the villagers, knew they were serious. But he would have faith. ‘Let me kiss my wife, and I will come.’ The brother nodded, and Garion hastened inside. He grabbed the Mrin Codex, the orb, kissed Ce Nedra without waking her, and hastened outside. They took him then, brought him to a cart and placed him there, in chains, to lead him off. As they drove along Garion stayed calm. They would see reason, he knew as much in the end. The orb softly whispered as such to him. But for now he was concerned. Something was wrong in Sendaria, something was wrong. And he sensed, in the air, a new spirit had come forth. A new spirit which might, just might, not be for the good of everyone.

* * * * *

Errand was dead, gone. Gone to were he could not return. But another child had been born, born not far from Faldor’s farm, to an innocent Sendarian family, full of simple things and quiet joys. She was Gemma, a pleasant girl, now 12, full of life and love, friendly to all, with no enemies. And when she saw Garion being led away, she followed at a distance, hopeful to try and free him somehow, for she believed in her king, and new him to be a good man. They were wrong, the villagers, and the ‘Brother’ should not be listened to. There was something not right about him. Something in his eyes, in his manner, in the way he spoke to people. A sneering attitude. A pride which felt itself better than others, as if he was the special chosen one of Ul, which so he claimed. She didn’t believe him – she didn’t believe him at all. And if she had not known that her King had slain Torak, she would have believed the mad god risen from death.

As she followed along, the villagers began singing and praising Ul, and the brother seemed to grow in mad delight. Things were not good, now. Darkness was here, and it was not going away. But she had hope – she had hope. And with that hope she would persevere until the truth came forth, and the darkness left, left her land and left the west forever.

* * * * *

And then an hour of darkness befell the west, and the sun was dim for a while, and people fell to fear, and the doomsayers spread even more so, speaking of the final end of time, and the end of what was to be, and the final day of judgement.

Chapter Two

The three provinces long had a custom of infighting. But, hey, Yulenthean’s had never really given a damn about keeping peaceful ways, stuck down on the southern part of the world, away from the larger continents, in the cold extremes of the planet. Kmran, which never ceased to claim the founding of ‘Yulen’, always bragged of being the oldest of the three provinces, and suggested to the other two, quite often, they should show them the respect they deserved. Millennia of warfare, and occasional tribute, still had not brought such respect, but nobody cared that much in the end anyway. That was a Yulenthean spirit – not caring that much. The southern province, ‘Shrar’, liked to think itself superior due to its greater wealth. They had much gold and precious gems, and felt itself the true province of desire. Yet Braed, the eastern province, was the largest, and made its own boast based usually on this and other such arguments. They fought, it was Yulenthean civil war every century or so, but somehow, someway, in Yulen peace treaties eventually came forth and disputes were inevitably settled.

The city of Yulen lay at the crossroads, as it were, of the three provinces. Right in the heart of Yulenthea, on the coast of the main inlet of the continent, the provincial borders went northwards and eastwards, dividing the continent into three neat and even chunks. Yulen, for most Yulentheans, was usually were the action was, and home to over 20 million souls, divided evenly amongst each province as the provincial borders ran through the heart of the city. Right on the coast itself, right were the borders all lined up, sat the Palace of Yulenthea, the place of the Yulenthean Monarchy. As you may expect, it was a fractured monarchy much of the time, an endless parade of royal houses all usurping one another for a time period in traditional rules of combat and glory, claiming the throne, and ruling their world. Many a house had ruled more than once, some even three or four times. But that was the game, as it was called. The game of rulership, the monarchy of power, and no house really was given to quitting on that particular agenda.

The current house of glory were the Dalkindo’s, a traditional Braedan house. They had not ruled before, and had been in the seat of power for quite some time now. In fact, four centuries, and they still saw no sign of being taken. The current monarch, Jezabel Dalkindo, spoke of a more sensible spirit having pervaded Yulenthea, one of an apathy in which peace seemed suitable for a time, for a while. And most Yulentheans did not object that much, going about the regular humdrum of everyday life, pursuing their own private agendas, goals and dreams of glory. But there was one Yulenthean, one in particular, which had ambition. Definite ambition. Jek Barder saw himself fit to be king of the Yulentheans, and while he was gifted with intelligence and good looks, his lack of fighting ability spoke of a dream of kingship which, while hoped for dearly, remained just that – a dream. You see, the challenge was about the only way, in the end, to take the throne for any length of time. It was an unwritten custom, or perhaps expectation, in Yulenthea, that to take the throne a duel must ultimately take place. And Jek Barder could not fight. But he was smart, cunning and wise, successful in business, and with an aptitude to increase in knowledge. What he lacked in physical prowess he made up for with his wit, and with that particular wit he planned, every few weeks, about how he might just achieve the glory he sought. It would happen one day, of that he was certain. But for now, while he planned valiantly, it was business as usual, and their were customers to see to.

The bell rang and coming to the front of the shop, a figure stood before him, dressed in long brown robes, a rope tied around his waist, and his hair cut in a fashion which made a bald spot in the centre. And he was carrying a black leather book.

‘Yes,’ said Jek. ‘Would you like some fish? We have a fine catch today.’

‘I have not come for fish, brother. Not to catch fish at all. For I am a fisher of men, and he who is has called you into his kingdom.’

Jek looked at the man, and laughed to himself. ‘Well, if you don’t want any fish, how about an umbrella. We have a good stock in, all the way from Junissa. Sturdy, reliable ones. They work well.’

‘I fear not the rain, brother. For the latter rain is a blessing and it is now raining from heaven upon the kingdom of men. And you are chosen from this latter rain, brother. You are chosen for glory.’

Jek looked at him, now a little curious. ‘And what is this glory you speak of?’

‘You crave the rulership of Yulenthea, do you not? He who is knows all the desires of the heart.’

Now Jek took him a little more seriously. ‘I don’t know how you knew that, but yes. Yes I crave the fair kingship. But how can a man dressed as you are possibly offer me such a prize?’

‘He who is can offer you such a prize, Mr Barder. He has never failed.’

Jek nodded to himself. He was not a religious man, but knew of Ul. Perhaps there would be something in this madman’s hazy eyes which could grant him the glory he sought. Perhaps, for now he would listen. Perhaps, for now, he would consider this most tempting offer.

‘I am listening. Speak on.’

‘As I knew you would, child of he who is. As I knew you would.’

* * * * *

‘What is the charge?’ asked Garion, sitting in the local village hall, the villagers all looking in intently, the chief of the village looking reluctant about Garion being arrested, but fearing the man of God more. The ‘Doomsayer’, as the villagers had called him, responded. ‘Has not he who is granted you power, authority and wealth?’

Garion considered the question and assented. ‘Yes, I guess he has. What is your point?’

‘And what has thou done with this esteemed position?’

‘Ruled for a time being. My son is now responsible in my stead.’

The Doomsayer looked at the villagers. ‘You have heard his confession.’ He turned back to look at Garion, his eyes blazing furious flames. ‘You admit it then. You have ‘ruled’ he said, sneeringly.

‘And what is your objection to that?’ asked Garion. Yet the Doomsayer ignored him. He spoke again.

‘And, have you become wealthy? Wealthy beyond all mortal men?’

Garion nodded. ‘Yes. Yes the kingship is the wealthiest in the realm. The Arch Regent of Mallorea rivals me, but I am wealthier it is said.’

‘Again, another confession,’ said the Doomsayer. He is clearly guilty. What more need be said.

‘Guilty of what?’ asked Garion, now confused. The villagers looked at the Doomsayer, eager for him to speak. The Doomsayer glared at Garion and, finally, opened his leather-bound book. ‘Thus says the Gospel of the Lord Almighty. ‘Seek ye riches? Nay, I tell you, seek poverty. For the rich are beset with pride and seek to dominate and manipulate others with the power they achieve, to destroy livelihoods and make their fellow man, likewise made in the image of Ul, their slaves and servants eternal. Riches are for fools, dear disciples. Heed my words and take note.’ The man closed the book, looked at Garion, again with a sneer, and looked at the villagers. ‘The lord has spoken, let his name be praised.’ And all the villagers yelled ‘Praise the Lord.’ Garion looked worried. An angry mob was always difficult to calm down. He would have to speak with wisdom. He looked at the Mrin Codex but, just then, a little voice in his heart said ‘Let your own words suffice.’ And so he spoke truly.

‘It was prophecy which chose me for kingship. I was a simple lad, living at Faldor’s farm, not dreaming of such things. But such things chose me, as perhaps they have done for others in other times and other places. Could I truly refuse such a calling? For this Gospel of the Lord you speak of I have not heard of. I know of Ul and the other gods, but not this gospel, so feel perplexed in being judged by its words. I have never sought ill will towards another man, never sought to prevent his desires of wealth or his own dominion. I have never sought to manipulate or abuse my responsibilities. I deny such a charge, and while we may differ over the need for Kingship and authority, I understand your perspective and see your point. But I do not hold my self guilty of wrongdoing, and my conscience thusly bears witness.’ The Doomsayer glared at him for a moment, glaring madly, and looked at the crowd who had softened, and were looking at him. And then he came forward, held out his hand to Garion, who reluctantly shook it. And then he spoke in a new voice, a different voice, a calmer, more sedate, more humane voice. ‘Well spoken King of the West. It would seem they have chosen wisely to have your gracious decency rule for them. You are a good King, and the Lord Almighty is pleased with you. Your testing has come, and you have spoken words of honesty and truth. Go in the name of the Lord, and may he bless you with life everlasting.’ Garion looked at the ‘Doomsayer’, not really sure what to say, but stepped down from his seat, watched as the villagers gradually dispersed, and slowly, carefully, made his way out of the hall. The chief of the village came up to him, shook his hand, and apologized for the difficulties. And then he encouraged Garion to return to Riva saying the Lord’s will was for the King to return, now, for difficult times lay ahead. So the Doomsayer claimed. And, thus, Garion returned home to Ce Nedra, who was still asleep, placed the Orb back on the mantelpiece, and once again considered just what was going on in the world.

* * * * *

The ship landed at Lameth late on a sunny afternoon, and Silk and Barak exited, thanked the captain and the crew, and made their way to a local inn. ‘So where is this place?’ asked Barak.

‘On the northern edge of the village. The merchantman’s name is Davros. We shouldn’t have too much trouble tracking him down. The villagers are bound to know where he is.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ responded Barak. They came to the inn ‘The Golden Eagle’ and booked a room for the night. Drinking ale and eating supper they noticed the eyes of the inn upon them, and hushed and whispered voices exclaiming they were strangers and something about the Doomsayer needing to see them to judge them.

‘What are they whispering about,’ asked Barak.

‘The new cult. The Doomsayers. It looks as if they have reached Lameth. We will have to have our wits about us.’ They continued to drink their ale and eat their supper when the innkeeper came over to speak with them.

‘Look, we don’t want any trouble here, so when the father gets here, go along quietly, okay. It will just be trouble otherwise.’

‘What father?’ asked Silk.

‘The Doomsayer. Dressed in brown robes with a black book. You will know him when he arrives. Just go quietly – don’t mess with him. You will see. You will trust in the Lord then. You will trust in the Lord.’

The innkeeper left and Barak whispered to Silk, ‘Trust in the Lord, hey. Do they speak of Ul.’

‘I am not completely sure, Barak my friend. But we will find out soon enough.’ They finished off their meal, thanked the innkeeper and retired to their room. The coals in the fireplace were still burning, so Silk added a log, washed with the basin, and took to his bed.

They were sleeping soundly, and the night was passing by, when they were suddenly roused by a racket. Silk rose and Barak got up in his bed, yawning, and asked ‘By Belar’s beard, what is all this commotion?’

Silk went to the window and saw outside burning torches. Suddenly a man dressed in long brown robes appeared, looked up to them with a gleeful look, and entered the inn. Silk turned to Barak – ‘The Doomsayer is here. We had best get dressed.’ Barak reluctantly agreed, and they started dressing.

When they were just pulling on their boots there was a knock at the door and the innkeeper spoke up. ‘Guests, there is someone here to see you. I am afraid you must come out, or there will be trouble.’

‘We will be with you in just a second,’ responded Silk. He looked at Barak, nervously, but ready. Whatever was to come now, he would speak truthfully. Beldin had given him a hint at what was coming, so it was time. Time to face down his demon’s and speak true words. Prince Kheldar may have been a thief and a rogue, but he had a good heart, and surely that was what mattered the most in the end. Surely that was what mattered most.

They exited the room and came down to the heart of the inn. The Doomsayer was there, surrounded by a dozen villagers, and he glared at Silk and Barak. He spoke – ‘Barak, son of Cherek, you have justified this Prince Kheldar in your heart as worthy of your friendship and companionship.’ Barak looked at the Doomsayer stunned, not really knowing how he knew who he was, and amazed because of it. The Doomsayer continued. ‘And thus, Barak son of Cherek, because you have justified this rogue, we will judge you upon his judgement. If we deem him innocent, we will deem you likewise as such. But if he is guilty, you will suffer his fate.’ Barak nodded. He understood such judgement.

The Doomsayer turned to Kheldar, glaring at him wildly. ‘We will hold the judgement here – there is no need to go elsewhere. You may sit,’ said the Doomsayer, and Silk sat down calmly. Barak stood back and watched his own judgement as well.’ The Doomsayer stalked around the room, looking mighty and powerful in his robes, holding his book of judgement with pride, ready to accuse Silk for all his lifes wrongdoings.

‘Kheldar. You are a Prince of Drasnia,’ are you not?’

‘Yes, that is true,’ responded Silk.

‘Yet you forsake your divine responsibilities and run off on foolish childish adventures.’

‘That is not how I see it.’

‘Silence,’ yelled the Doomsayer, a mad look in his eyes. ‘I did not say you could speak.’ He continued to stalk the room and eventually continued.

‘You have been known to be prince of thieves. To deny others their hard earned rewards of work and glory in their wealth. Do you deny this charge?’

Silk hung his head, shamefully. ‘No. No, I don’t deny that. I have had a lifetime of roguish ways, I admit that.’

The Doomsayer nodded. ‘So it would seem, Kheldar. So it would seem.’ And then he opened up his book and read. ‘Thus says the Gospel of the Lord. My disciples, do not run with men of wickedness, who steal other’s belongings, and glory in their prowess of such an art. For they deny the work of those who pursued their rewards with an honest heart. Such men are wicked, do not consort with them.’ Thus says the Gospel of the Lord,’ and the Doomsayer closed the book. He looked around, again with a wild glare in his eyes, and gazed at the villagers. ‘He is guilty – who would disagree?’ And all the villagers assented as one.

Silk felt downtrodden. It was as if a lifetime of his roguish ways had finally caught up with him and now judgement had come. He was guilty and could give no defense. The Doomsayer glared at him, his eyes wildly alive. ‘Do you not have anything to say in your defense, Prince Kheldar, Prince of Thieves.’

Kheldar looked up, and spoke all that he really could say.

‘Tis true, Doomsayer. I am a rogue. I am not proud of that, and have beforetimes regretted my ways. But it almost seems as if it is a life I had no choice in living. As if it was a destiny inescapable and the thrill of the adventure was a drug I simply could not avoid. I will say this, though. I have only robbed the rich, and never left a poor man hungry. I have not really been a violent man, and have had adventures which have changed this world for the better. I believe I have a good heart, despite my many flaws, and more than that, well I can not say. It is just the way I am, I guess. Just the way I am.’ The Doomsayer looked at him sternly, and then spoke in a strict voice, but a voice which hinted at a previously unknown sense of compassion. ‘And that is your defence, child of he who is? Those are your own words?’

‘Yes,’ nodded Kheldar.

And the Doomsayer softened. ‘Then you have judged yourself, Prince Kheldar. And before these villagers as witness I declare that the Lord Almighty favours you and will give you a blessing. For you have, in truth, not been a burden to others and have given joy and friendship to those who, at times, have needed it the most. Go in peace Kheldar. The Lord’s blessing be upon you.’ Silk, uneasily, rose from his chair and looked at Barak. The Doomsayer spoke with the innkeeper and giving Silk one last look left the inn. The judgement had come and Silk knew, in his heart, just what that judgement had been.

* * * * *

‘The Doomsayers are necessary to every planet, Belgarath. Throughout all the worlds of life we bring the testing to each world, to each realm the judgements of he who is. For the eternal Gospel of the Lord Almighty is to be preached unto all worlds until the very end of time. It is our task, our sacred task, and each and every one of us has been chosen specially to bring the good news to all the children of men.’

‘And this Lord you speak of? He is Ul, so you claim?’

‘He has many names, and Ul is just one of them. He is the force of life, the superior God, the universal spirit. And we serve him faithfully in the duties he has called us to.’

Belgarath nodded. Beldin had voiced similar words. ‘So the testing has come to our world then. The testing of faith, as you call it.’

‘More than faith, Belgarath. More than simple faith. It is the testing of the very soul, and the future of your world is at stake. For should you ultimately fail the final testing the result would be very dire – very dire indeed.’

Belgarath stroked his long beard, contemplating those words. Polgara spoke up.

‘How exactly are we to prepare for this testing? And what exactly will the final testing be.’

‘That we will not speak of daughter of Belgarath. For should you know of your destiny you would undoubtedly seek to change the will of the Almighty. And that we will not allow. What we will say is this, prepare your heart, prepare your soul. Seek within those things you know you should be about and seek them with all your heart. For the testing will come, perhaps, when you want it least of all. So watch your heart and be ready, child of Belgarath. Be ready. Now, your time here is finished. The scroll your compatriot seeks will begin the quest outlined for you. If you fail this quest, then the testing may well be too much for your very soul. So be diligent and faithful, for the reward is great. And now we are finished. The brother will show you out.’ The chief father finished off speaking, left the room, and shortly the brother who had let them in came into the room and they followed him back to the entrance.

Once outside Polgara looked at Belgarath. ‘Not quite what you expected?’

‘I am not sure. They did not offer too much more than what we had known. But it seems a quest awaits us and, perhaps, the final quest of Belgarath. For I am feeling my age, daughter. Suddenly I am feeling my age.’

‘You have aeons left, father. Fret not,’ she said, comforting him.

‘Alas I fear not. I fear that the time of Belgarath the sorcerer is approaching and something else awaits. I don’t know why I feel this, but I just do.’

‘Then whatever will be will be.’

‘It is as you say.’

They returned to their donkey and as Belgarath led his daughter back through the forest he thought on the words of the father and of the final testing. It would be the culmination to his life, this much he knew, but whatever would be would be. Whatever would be would be.

* * * * *

Gemma looked in through the window. There he was, her king, and he was safe again. She had prayed to Ul that he would watch over her lord and protect him from the darkness to come, and it seemed he had done so. This pleased her and just then, noticing the glowing orb on the mantelpiece, seemingly glowing, somehow she knew, because of her presence, she felt a sudden burning in her chest. And suddenly she came alive and started glowing, burning white golden light, a light of pure energy and love, radiating the purest warmth, almost as if of a very god of glory.

Garion had quickly come outside and looked at the angelic being hovering before his eyes. Not knowing what else to do he kneeled down and payed homage, speaking. ‘Mighty angel. I am your servant. Speak your will.’

All Gemma could say, despite so much now in her mind, so much new knowledge, knowledge she had suddenly acquired, as if she had been prepared since birth to receive such knowledge, was ‘I am just Gemma.’ But then another voice spoke within her, a new voice which had found, finally, its chosen vessel, and found its new eternal chosen home.

‘You know who I am, Garion. For I have been with you for so very long now. You are a chosen child of mine, and my spirit will be with you always.’ And then the being who was Gemma started to glow a little less and hovered back down to earth, returning to a semblance of her previous form. Garion looked at her, perplexed, and as she came to herself, queried. ‘Gemma. Who, who are you?’ But then he suddenly knew, suddenly knew exactly who she was. And, racing inside, he looked at the mantelpiece. It was gone, of course. Gone, in one way, never to return. But returning outside, looking at the new and living Orb before him, Garion placed his arm around his ‘Glorious Lady’ and brought her inside.

He took her to a private room, gave her bread and wine, and waited on her. She puzzled about all the fuss, but Garion knew, somehow instinctively, what the fashioning and purpose of Aldur, all those long years ago, had been about. And the ‘Glorious Lady’ whom he knew he would serve forever had come to be. When she begged him finally to let her rest, he retired, and not waking Ce Nedra, laid down on his bed. A chosen vessel had been found, and an ancient plan of the God Aldur had come to pass. And Garion found peace in his heart, and rested, in a way, from a struggle which had been part of his entire life.

Chapter Three

After the ultimate choice of life by the Seeress of Kell, gradual reforms began happening through the continent of Mallorea. Fundamentally, the major shift was in a new direction of rulership. The old empire was to be replaced by a new Arch-Regency, one of lesser power, as it was deemed that too much power led to too much corruption, and such had been a lesson the Malloreans had gradually, through so much strife, come to learn. The Seeress of Kell, her job presumably finished, had disappeared from contact with civilization, a worry to some, but to most life simply went on.

The new Arch-Regent was a descendant of ‘Zakath, a former Emporer of Mallorea, but one of far more hospitable disposition. His family, while ancient worshippers of Torak, were now progressive in their thinking, with ideas of a new world, a new Mallorea, and presumably a new destiny for the Mallorean people. Arch-Regent ‘Zakandra was a mellow man in many ways, given over to travel throughout Mallorea to ensure he was seen doing his job and, in his intention, winning the hearts of the people. He sensed revolution in many ways as an undercurrent throughout Mallorea, as if the people desired a change, but were perhaps unwilling to go all the way to enforce such a change. And, as such, ‘Zakandra felt he was living on borrowed time in a way, King over a people who perhaps didn’t even respect him.

‘Zakandra had met the King of the West, Lord Garion, once. He had intended his visit to the lands of the Angaraks to be mostly about diplomacy, but upon hearing the news that the Arch Regent was to cross the ocean of the east, and tread on land not distant from Aloria, Garion forwarded a request for a meeting, and two nations sat down, once sworn enemies, now finding peace in a new world, and a world which had a new word of power running through it - ‘The Economy’. Trade – trade throughout Mallorea, the realm of the Angaraks, Alorns and other kingdoms of the West, was essential to a healthy and functioning society, so ‘Zakandra spoke in his wisdom with Garion. And while Garion thought marvellous the stuff of such conversation, he sensed in a way that his own son, in this new world emerging, might be the better choice to handle such responsibilities. And so, imposing Geran on the throne of Riva at the Isle of the Winds, Garion returned to Faldor’s farm, to live a life of simplicity, leaving such things as the ‘Economy’ in the hands of those better able to manage such responsibilities.

For ‘Zakandra, hearing from his various advisors the ways of the west, Geran, a younger man, nearer his own age, seemed a better choice to have dealings with. In fact, could they forge an alliance and form treaties of trade and peace, well, the future looked good for everyone. And a burgeoning economy would see the blessing of all the children of men. The furthest thing from his mind was war – a great and grand war with the west – but there were stirrings from these doomsayers, voices which spoke of an epic final conflict, the last of an old age, an old era, before the birthing of the new world. A time in which a woman was to go into the travail of birth to bring forth the desired child of her hopes and dreams. So ‘Zakandra, hoping against hope that such madness would not come to be, inevitably began plans for preparing his troops throughout Mallorea and carefully, so as not to be too obvious, enlarging his forces. They would not lose again, that much he was sure of. And even if the Mad God himself came back from death ‘Zakandra would have his new world and, most of all, his beloved economy.

* * * * *

Rtachek was a man on a mission – a mission in service of a Mad God who he believed, through the power of sacrifice available to himself, he could literally raise from the clutches of death itself. And so, the new High Priest of the western Grolims, in a new temple on the shores of the ocean in south-east Cthol Murgos, counted off one of an endless number of sacrificial virgins they had sacrificed to their beloved deity. They had scoured Cthol Murgos for virgins, and even taken a fair number from Thull and Nadrak, much to various protestations. But Rtachek was a man of great influence, if not direct power, and reviving the Mad God Torak was deemed in the best interests of the Angaraks.

Yet Rtachek was not alone in his sacrificial libations. For the pouring of virginal blood had been going on in the citadel of Night, Cthol Mishrak, by Brazadar, younger brother of the dead Zedar, Grolim priest of much power and influence in Mallorea. And while they were aware of the constant sacrifices of the western Grolims, they paid them no heed, determined to show they were the true servants of Torak, and that a worthy enmity should exist towards the western Grolims, ones which Malloreans had long disdained.

Yet, it seemed, the answer to their sacrificial madness did come one day, or night as it were, for in the twilight of the west, the moon did glow dark red, and the sign of a snake covered the moon in black and scarlet, a sign to many that Torak had been reborn. It lasted 3 hours, and afterwards many swore truly to no avail to the unbelievers that they had witnessed such a sign. Naturally, it seemed, the doomsayers took this as one of the portents they had spoken of, and a new wave of zeal for the doomsayer cult and its teachings emerged, more passionate then ever.

And then, the darkness of blackness emerged in the citadel of the night and Torak, awaking from the hell of his ordeal, came alive in a high tower of the citadel, Brazadar instantly notified at the God’s presence. And, with Torak reborn, war was coming. War with the west and the destruction of the Mad God’s most hated enemy, the western King Garion.

* * * * *

Brazadar carefully made his way down the spiral steps, downwards, into the hell of earth below him, treading a million steps it seemed, one endless parade, until finally, almost not believing he had reached the bottom, but the light from the torch telling him such was true, came to the thick wooden door. Beyond lay his God, Torak, in slumber. He could not, it seemed, yet bear the light of life, the light of the sun, nor the dread heat of the day, for in his slumber he had grown accustomed to the cold of nothingness, and the heat of life was foreign to him. And so he come to this deserted place, far beneath the citadel, were he rested and were Brazadar brought him occasional food and news of the affairs of men.

He knocked, carefully, fearing the rebuke of his lord lest he be too noisy. Torak could kill on whim, yet, in a strange way, the mad Grolim priest only revered him more because of it. After a moment a voice from within said ‘Enter’, and Brazadar placed the torch near the doorway, fearing to take it inside with him, and opened the door coming into his master.

‘Close the door quickly, fool,’ yelled Torak. ‘The light is too great.’

Instantly Brazadar closed the door and waited. After a while the very dim light from the torch streaming through the cracks of the door gave just enough light for him to see his master, laid out on a long bed, the scarring of his face as painful looking as it had always looked.

‘What news?’ queried Torak.

Brazadar came forward, kneeled and payed homage to his lord, and presented him with a scroll. Torak took it, and unrolled it. Seemingly, despite the darkness, he had no trouble reading it. When he had finished he threw the scroll on the floor and Brazadar retrieved it. Eventually, summoning the courage, Brazadar spoke.

‘I am afraid ‘Zakandra is an unbeliever, master. He denies the proof we have sent him of your new life and claims none shall take the throne of Mallorea from him.’

Torak remained silent, perhaps considering those words, yet who could really tell the thoughts of a God.

‘It is no matter,’ Torak finally replied. ‘He shall learn his place in the fullness of time. Now tell me, has the woman come yet? Has Belzandramas finally appeared? For my plans rest upon this child.’

‘Not yet my master. But as soon as we have word you will know within an instant.’

Torak remained silent.

As Brazadar stood there, anxiously waiting upon his master, a dripping sound of cold water echoed throughout the caverns. They were in the underheart of Cthol Mishrak, the waters of earth dripping through the stone ceilings, betraying their location. It was dark, cold and away from all life but, it was here, in the utter dark, were Brazadar felt the most alive. Serving his dark lord, serving his dark agendas.

Eventually Torak spoke. ‘I will know as soon as the woman is sighted. You will ensure this. Now go, leave me. I will eat in three days. Bother me not till that time.’

Brazadar nodded, took the scroll, and left, quickly closing the door behind him.

As he trudged the million steps upwards he thought on the woman Belzandramas and his master’s desires to have her found. Whatever role she was to take in the plan’s of her masters, it was imperative that she be found as soon as possible. For the glory Brazadar sought was in his master’s power to give, and thus his master’s needs came before all else. All for the glory of the mad God Torak.

* * * * *

Ce Nedra, all things considered for a Tolnedran queen who had become queen of the west took her husband’s constant labelling of a young lady, barely a teen, if that, ‘His Glorious Lady’ quite well. Tolnedra had long thought of itself as something of a cultured and refined society, and while marrying the Rivan King was certainly a marriage of honour, a lady of the Tolnedran court was not quite used to being treated in second place. But, if one thing that a life being lived with Garion, with acquaintances such as Silk and Barak and Belgarath had taught Ce Nedra, it was that humility was a much needed and desired virtue in a life which was often, fraught with prophecies and God’s and the like, a life of very hard testing. But she loved Garion and would allow him this grace of calling another maiden his ‘Glorious Lady’.

After a lengthy explanation that, in some strange way, Gemma, as she was known by her personal name, was the new living embodiment of the Orb, Ce Nedra, although having her doubts, inquired into the most obvious of questions. Who were the child’s parents? Garion, seeming to have neglected this careful, yet fundamental point, wished to avoid the issue, but upon Ce Nedra’s insisting and Gemma’s own desire to return home, they recruited one of the worker’s on the farm to drive them the few leagues to a nearby farm which Gemma claimed she was from.

Her parent’s, Ilk and Jandy were overwhelmed at a visit from the King and, while Garion tried to be subtle in his new desires to have a close proximation to their daughter, Ce Nedra was more forthcoming.

‘The child has merged with the Orb, Ilk. She is special, now. She appears to be chosen of Aldur himself. I am afraid she is now important, and Garion is calling her is ‘Glorious Lady.’ I know you will be missing a child, but if it is possible can she remain with us for the time being. It is an important issue, and we wish to travel to the Vale of Aldur for the matter to be looked into.’

Garion picked up the conversation, having been kneeling before Gemma, practically involved in worship. ‘Yes, Yes Sir Ilk. We will need to travel to the Vale and bring your daughter. This needs to be discussed, and we must see Aldur himself.’

Jandy looked at Ilk, who looked at her with a tear in his eye. ‘We will miss her. Be sure you keep her safe. But we trust you, Lord Garion.’ Garion nodded and signalled for the driver to give Ilk a bag of gold he had promised him. ‘This is for your troubles. We can not say how long we will be away, but it may be some time. But we will return her. She is in good hands. You need not fear.’

Ilk took the bag of gold, peered inside, and weighed it. He seemed pleased for the gold, but also had a look of concern for his daughter.

‘We’ll miss you Gem,’ said Jandy. Instantly Gemma came forward, hugged her parent’s, and spoke up.

‘I have changed, mother, father. There is something different in me now. Some new presence. And it is as Garion and Ce Nedra say. I must go find this Aldur. For the name means something to me now. There is a connection. A connection I can not really speak of, but so personal. So intimate.’

‘She is in good hands,’ said Garion, as they made their farewells.

As the cart drove off, Gemma turned and waved farewell to her parent’s. It was a new world she was heading for, and a new destiny. She wondered in her heart if she would ever see her parent’s again. So much had happened in the world recently, so much turmoil. But family could never be forgotten, no matter what destiny had to say on the issue. She smiled, waved one last wave, and turned to look at Garion. He lovingly placed his arm around her, again called her ‘his Glorious Lady’, and started humming a tune. A tune, at once new to her, but at once familiar as well. As if she had known it for a long, long time.

* * * * *

Belzandramas knew not the three nations which the spirits had spoken of, and had left hastily. But finding herself, having crossed the ice northwards, in land she felt sure was on the southern Antarctic continental region of Yulenthea, Belzandramas instantly reached a conclusion. Surely the three nations were ‘Shrar’, ‘Kmran’ and ‘Braed’, the long warring three provinces of Yulenthea. Surely these were such three nations as the spirits spoke of. She had not often visited Yulenthea, nor Junissa. This was for various reasons, but of course the cold weather was chief amongst them. The solid ice just to the south of these continents which marked the southern pole was extremely cold, and no life could live there. It was surprising, considering that, that brave souls had once decided to make Yulenthea and Junissa there homes, but indeed they had. Near the northern pole was the continent of ‘Ardannya’, smaller still than either ‘Yulenthea’ or ‘Junissa’, a place she had also visited infrequently. And, of course, the continent of ‘Zhadora’ in between the West and Mallorea beyond the Great Western Sea on the other side of the world. There were other islands scattered around the world, of course, but no other continents.

Torak was likely to be brought to life somewere in Mallorea, likely in Cthol Mishrak she guessed. So if she were to prove successful in her ambitions she would need to begin here, in Yulenthea, before times. She would need, to begin her agenda, gain power and influence, and see to it that these nations never surrender to the power of Torak. Certainly, it would be challenging and difficult. They were minor powers in comparison to the might of Mallorea. But her glory beckoned, and with a will which could make the impossible possible Belzandramas was determined to prevent the one she would marry from ruling these lands. By her power she would corrupt him, turn him to their conquest, yet betray him without his knowledge. For such had been the task set her, and such would be the reality.

Yet, in that cold and dark heart of Belzandramas, a little fire had been lit and, while she was bent on her mission, that little voice spoke soft words to her, encouraging her towards the day in which a choice would be made. A fateful choice, one made for her previously, but one which would inevitably come down to Belzandramas herself.

* * * * *

‘I know you must feel like the ultimate hypocrite, silk, but it can’t be helped. The merchantman is unlikely to simply hand over the scroll.’

Silk had been conversing with Barak over the ethics of theft, and had been questioning wether, since his encounter with the Doomsayer, he should really resort to theft. ‘Perhaps a price can be reached,’ concluded Kheldar. ‘It is the most preferable option for me currently.’

Barak drained his ale, swore softly to himself, and nodded. It would be for the best. Judgement had come, and his own words had spoken against him. Time to change the ways of a prince of Drasnia, it seemed.

They came to the merchantman’s abode and, simply, knocked on the front door. Shortly a servant answered, inquired as to their business, and stating it, ushered them inside. ‘You are not the first to seek the scroll,’ said the servant. ‘We have had numerous inquiries. My master is awake, now, in the library. Just in here.’ He led them into a large room, full of bookcases and many splendid items on display, the walls littered with elaborate artworks of all cultures Silk knew of. The servant made for a long chair by a fireplace which was turned from them, and spoke to a man hidden from them. Soon the man stood, a balding man, and came to introduce himself. ‘I am Draznak. You come to see the scroll, I take it?’

‘To purchase it, master Draznak, if such a thing is possible.’

Draznak considered that. ‘Nay. I think not. The scroll is to valuable to me now. But, if you are willing, we can negotiate on the price for a copy of the scroll.’

Silk grinned to himself. The merchantman was not stupid. He suddenly knew what all the seekers of the scroll would have come to – a merchantman who knew its value, and would sell copies for the right price.

‘Yes, we will pay for a copy.’

‘Then come, let us do business,’ said Draznak, indicating the table near the fireplace with luxurious wooden chairs.

Not much later, a copy of the scroll in his knapsack, which was empty a fair portion of gold, Silk was encouraged. It may have cost him money, but somehow he felt better for simply doing the right thing. Perhaps it was a turn in the life of Prince Kheldar, a turn which had long been put of, but coming, finally, at the right time.

Returning to the inn they were up late that night, studying the scroll, and in the morning, once again boarding the ‘Old Warrior’, heading for home and the Vale of Aldur, Silk knew a war was coming. The war which the ‘Doomsayer’s’ also apparently spoke of was coming to the world, along with the final judgement. And the ‘Chronicle of Torak’, should its prophecies come to pass, spoke doom for the world. Unless the west, with Garion championing them, could somehow prevent the perhaps inevitable, they would fail the ultimate testing. They were portents of destruction, and while Silk had passed his own little test of judgement, and felt the better man because of it, he feared for his world, and the darkness which approached. But it was always darkest before the dawn he reminded himself. And the new world dawning, well, hopefully that would put to rest all the fears of the past. And a new life could begin again for all, the wrath of a mad god called Torak finally and utterly having been laid to rest.

* * * * *

Sailing across the sea of the east, headed for Rak Goska in north-eastern Cthol Murgos, Belgarath had been silent for days. Polgara, noting this, had at first tried to persuade him to speak and resume their life long banter, but Belgarath, while occasionally encouraged, usually remained silent. Something weighed heavily on his mind.

They were heading home, now. Bound for Algaria and the Vale of Aldur. Hopefully Silk would be waiting for them upon their return, having acquired a copy of the scroll they sought. And then they would need to seek out Garion to speak with him. For the west would need prepare again, and its chief most guardian had a destiny awaiting him, a prophecy they had not known of to fulfil, and a dark road before them.

Sitting on a stool on the starboard side of the rig, Polgara considered her father who was standing, looking out at the ocean, seemingly weighing up his life circumstances. This quiet, this silence, was not like Belgarath. He was a boisterous and happy old man, still full of frivolity, still known to chase the maidens and acquire wealth by sometimes dubious means. But that was part of his charm, part of what made Belgarath Belgarath. But lately he had withdrawn from this behavior. In fact, since leaving the monastery he had totally withdrawn into himself, keeping away from his daughter, as if mulling over the long life he had lived, and reflecting over the many choices he had made. She feared for him, as for herself in some ways. This ‘Judgement’ which the father had spoken of was to come to all the children of the west it seemed, as if it was some way inescapable. And perhaps this was what weighed heavily on the heart of her father. All his lifes choices. All his mistakes. All his wrongdoings. Perhaps they had finally caught up on the heart of Mr Wolf and, right now, perhaps his heart was going through a phase. A phase of regret, which a Gorim priest of Ul might call a phase of repentance in their language.

Yet she feared that he may be taking such repentance too seriously. He could not help who he was. It was how the gods had made him. He was Belgarath, sorcerer and rogue, and she loved him dearly because of it. For him to be anything less than he was, well it would not be the same Belgarath. That was what she could honestly say, it would not be the same old man of charm she had come to know and love.

She looked at him, looked at his wrinkled brow, and out of the course of normality for her, prayed a silent prayer to Ul, the Father of the God’s, that Belgarath would make the right choices in front of him, and that the judgement would find him standing strong and proud.

She turned her thoughts to other matters. Durnik awaited her at him, back in the vale. He had asked many times to accompany them, yet Belgarath had insisted he remain in the Vale to be a friendly face for Kheldar should he return before the two of them. Durnik had reluctantly agreed, but Polgara missed her husband. He was becoming stronger in the ways of magic now, having learned much over the past number of years since that fateful choice of the seeress had been made. And while he was by no means a masterclass magician, he would prove a handful for any soul risking taking him on in a dark alley. She missed him and suddenly yearned to be with him, to feel the touch of the soul which had longingly looked at her at Faldor’s farm but been too shy, perhaps, to have ever made his feelings known. But that was Durnik. A gentle and kind soul, full of good things, and good words. And in her heart she knew she could have married none other.

She gathered her cloak to her as the wind blew drops of ocean-water into her face. The spray was salty and crisp, and the sea air brought a liveliness to the soul. If this was the place her grandfather was to find repentance, in the hustle and bustle of nature at its fiercest, then perhaps that was a good thing. For it would be a repentance of the soul not soon forgotten, one as fierce and powerful as the fury of the sea of the east.

Chapter Four

Travelling along the Great North Road into the mountains, having just left the town of Muros behind them, Garion reflected on his travels through this part of the world. Sendaria, in so many ways, was his true home, the home of his youth and upbringing. Naturally it was expected the Overlord of the West be a responsible and forthright descendant of Riva-Iron-Grip, ruling from the Isle of the Winds, and showing himself a proper and noble monarch. Especially amongst Tolnedran upper society there was a seeming expectation that Garion carry himself with an air of dignity that a King warranted. Suffice to say, the very fact he was married to a Tolnedran Queen, assumed in the mind of Garion that such expectations were not just for Garion himself and the dignity of the Kingship, but the respect towards Ce Nedra, the Queen Tolnedra adored. But while he was King over Aloria, King of the West, Sendaria was a separate Kingdom under Kalrach, child of the deceased Fulrach, and he a guest here in a sense, but feeling as if it was in many ways his true home, the home of his upbringing and, perhaps, fondest memories.

Every day since returning to Sendaria, living at Faldor’s farm, going through the same way of life Faldor himself had run the farm with, taking crops to market, although he had plenty of wealth and needed not to, yet doing that and the myriad of other things associated with the farming life, Garion had returned to his youth and felt, now, like he had been living a life he perhaps, had fate not interfered, he would have lived all along. He was a simple man in his heart, a farmer, with a beautiful wife. It was just that destiny had demanded more of him, and Kingship had almost been thrust upon him at a young age, slaying a God and becoming Overlord of a people.

Still, you did not always choose the destiny life made for you, seemingly at the hands of the God’s, and while Garion was enjoying his time at Faldor’s farm, he could not deny the way destiny had chosen and moulded him and made him the man he was today.

He thought on his friend, Errand, now gone from them. He was believed dead, but nobody knew for sure. His disappearance had been mysterious, and while he was presumed burned in the blazing fire which apparently claimed his final moments, they never found a body, and some thought he himself had perhaps arranged his own disappearance. Whatever the case may be, Errand was a child, like Garion in some ways, who’d had a life of adventure thrust upon him. The lad had reflected to Garion, upon coming to live in the Cottage in the Vale of Aldur, that he felt like he had gained a ‘Family’ with Polgara, Durnik and Old Wolf. Certainly, they were Garion’s own family, his own flesh and blood two of them, but he felt for Errand who had never known who his own parent’s were, abandoned in a foreign city, the tool and victim of the machinations of the sorcerer Zedar. But destiny had likewise chosen Errand for greater things and, wherever his soul may be, Garion wished well for him.

Of course, Errand was a child of innocence, touching the orb. And while he missed him, saddened by his death, new life had perhaps been chosen instead. Perhaps a different choice in the wisdom of the god’s had bypassed Errand and settled on the girl Gemma instead. Indeed, his Glorious Lady, the living embodiment of the Orb, was someone, Garion knew in his heart, who represented all the purity and best of ideals which Aldur spoke of, and in the shaping of the Orb he knew now that the Orb had long sought out one in which it could share its heart, its identity. They had been guardians of the Orb – Garion knew that now. Riva-Iron-Grip, and his descendants, down to his father, and to himself, had been champions, protecting the Orb. But they were only to protect it until the day of its choosing. Until a day in which a chosen vessel would become one with the Orb, and the Orb become that which it, in its heart, it had long yearned to be.

Garion looked at his hand. It was funny. The mark which the Orb had made from youth had now, finally, faded away. As if no longer needed. For it was not an object of stone anymore, no longer a pearl of beauty, but in his Glorious Lady to which the Orb found new form. And Garion knew, in his heart he knew, that he would protect this lady at all costs, nay even with his very life if such a thing were demanded of him.

‘What are you thinking of?’ queried Ce Nedra, who seemingly had just awoken.

‘Oh, you’re awake. Is Gemma?’

Ce Nedra looked at the figure sleeping beside her, gave her a gentle nudge, but soft snoring continued.

‘Not yet.’

‘Then don’t wake her. Let her get her sleep. It must be a momentous thing which has happened to the child, and it will take some getting used to for her.’

Ce Nedra nodded.

They chatted for a while, and soon Gemma, who must have heard them talking, came to life and raised herself from the back of the cart, yawned and scratched scuff from her eyes, and looked at the two of them. She looked around, wide-eyed at being so far from home, and spoke up. ‘Where are we, Lord Garion?’

‘We are on the Great Northern Road, my lady. Headed for Algaria and down to the Vale of Aldur.’ She nodded, taking that information in soberly.

‘Do you have anything to eat? And can we stop? I need to, you know.’ She looked at Ce Nedra who instantly understood the girl’s need for a private place, and asked Garion to stop the cart.

‘It looks like a good spot. And there is a brook just yonder,’ said Garion. ‘We will have breakfast here and then get under way in an hour or so. A good time to stretch the legs.’

Gemma disappeared behind some bushes to take care of her business, and Garion started to get a fire going, using the Will and the Word to start the fire with the sticks he had gathered. Ce Nedra began frying the bacon and eggs she had taken from the stores they had brought along with them for the trip, and when Gemma returned she looked hungrily at the mornings fare. ‘Mmm. I love bacon,’ she said. ‘Please make it extra crispy.’

‘As you wish,’ responded Ce Nedra.

After eating Garion allowed Gemma to explore a little and, as she wondered from this tree to that tree, her delicate feet easily finding footing in unfamiliar territory, a gift of her adventurous youth, Garion looked on at the child with an affection that was starting to grow, almost like the affection he had for his own beloved Geran.

‘You think fondly of her, don’t you?’ said Ce Nedra, almost gazing into Garion’s own thoughts.

He came to his wife, put his arm around her, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘She is special to me, Ce Nedra. I feel…. I feel as if there is suddenly a connection, an important and vital connection, between the two of us. Errand and I shared a bond, almost, because of the Orb. But this is so much deeper. She IS the orb, now. And she is someone I am sworn to defend with my life if necessary. I don’t really know why I am saying that, so suddenly, but it is just what I must say. It is the sense of honour within me towards young Gemma. She is a special child, Ce Nedra. And somehow, in these dark days of judgement ahead of us, her innocence just might be the saving grace which redeems us all.’

Ce Nedra nodded, gazing at young Gemma as she danced around the clearing, sipping from the brook, and looking like any adventurous young youth.

‘I can only pray, Garion, that she suffer not half the things both of us have been through. Whatever life throws at us I can only hope for that.’

Garion nodded. He too wished for good days upon this bright and cheerful young lady.

They got to again after a while and, as they continued along the road, drawing nearer and nearer to Algaria, Garion thought on the days ahead. The Chronicle of Torak was on his mind, as was the Doomsayer Cult. Things were afoot in the West and, seemingly, all over the world. He would speak with Belgarath as soon as possible, and while he hoped to find him at the Vale of Aldur, alongside his Aunt Polgara and Durnik, he would wait for them there if they were elsewhere, for he needed words with his grandfather. In the new pathways of destiny before them, and in someway a new challenge which Garion felt he would be facing, it would be his grandfather’s ancient wisdom which Garion felt he would need to rely upon, perhaps at the most difficult and challenging of times.

Riding along Garion looked up at the vast mountains of Eastern Sendaria which ran northwards up to the Gulf of Cherek and southwards down through Ulgoland, Tolnedra and into the heart of Cthol Murgos. Much of the Kingdoms of the West and the Angaraks was mountain land, perhaps habitable by only brave souls and daring mountain goats. Most of the western Kingdoms of Sendaria, Arendia and Tolnedra had ample grasslands, as did Algaria and Drasnia, these being the common farming lands were the majority of the people of the west lived out their simple lives. In many ways it had been a simple life which had gone on, unchanged, for 7,000 years, amidst the wars of god’s and men. Even in the climax of such struggles simple things remained: cows were milked, eggs were gathered and sheep were shorn. Yes, the simple life pervaded the heart of Garion’s world, and it was such a life he had been drawn back to in Sendaria, living out his memories of youth. But now destiny intervened once more, and a new fate awaited him.

Soon they would be nearing Algaria. There were a number of less used roads travelling down the edge of Algaria, alongside Ulgoland, and while he had felt of visiting the Stronghold briefly, he really wanted to return home. They would make for the Cottage, home, and once settled he would look for Beldin and Belgarath. And of course, if he was available, Aldur himself.

Right then, right at that moment in time, caught up in the beginnings of another, perhaps lengthy, quest of epic proportions, Garion was suddenly happy. Suddenly, as if he was in control of his life and control of the situation, this time heading out to meet destiny head first, Garion was suddenly quite happy with all the things which had ever happened to him in life. He started whistling a tune, a new tune he had whistled for the first time just recently, when he had encountered Gemma. And whistling it softly to himself he noticed Gemma staring at him, and then, slowly, joining him. Almost like she had known the tune herself, almost as if it had long been a part of her ways of life. It was an ancient tune, unbeknownst to Garion, and a certain God had whistled it himself, living in the Vale, expecting and hoping one day for his grand work of the orb to find the fulfilment it desired.

As he whistled, Gemma joining him, birds overhead began flocking around them, some landing on the cart, seemingly not afraid, and happily chirping away while Garion whistled. Ce Nedra gazed at them, alarmed that they could be so unafraid, totally unlike such creatures. But the more Garion whistled the more the birds chirped and it was truly a sight to behold, a humble cart carrying precious cargo, making its way along the Great Northern Road, headed for Algaria, with a whistling King and a merry chirping accompaniment. Truly, it was a sight not to be soon forgotten.

* * * * *

Rtachek had heard. Of course he had heard. He was not stupid, and saw to it that he was well informed, that his eyes were everywhere, acquiring all the knowledge his Lord Torak could possibly desire. But, no. Torak had rejected him. Had rejected the glory of the new temple ‘Cthol Torak’, built on the south eastern coast of Cthol Murgos, dedicated to the glory of the God of the Angaraks. Yes, the Mad God had rejected him and his countless sacrifices, spurned the adoration the Murgos had devoted to him and chosen, instead, the Mallorean Grolims and the Citadel of Night – Cthol Mishrak. And, suddenly, in a moment of madness, standing atop the sacrificial altar over the ocean, were the fresh blood of virgins still dripped downwards, into the place of their resting, Rtachek understood his destiny. It was alive in his mind, the sudden and most dreadful choice, the sudden and most dreadful work. He, Rtachek, would be God. He, Rtachek, would be the new God of the Angaraks. And he knew, in the fowl power of spirit, wrested from the life force of innocent virgins, just how he would achieve such glories. The sacrifices would, now, continue. Inevitably so. But it would be Rtachek himself who would now receive the power. And all would bow to him. And all would fear him. And all would call him a God. And that is what Rtachek would be – a God – the God of the Angaraks.

* * * * *

Gemma looked up at the god. There was something about him, something instantly connecting to the very centre of her being, and she knew immediately she had found a home, perhaps an eternal home, were she would never be forsaken or alone ever again.

‘Let me tell you of Errand,’ said Aldur, and she sat down on his lap, listening to the god’s tale.

Out in the other room, looking on at the two of them, Garion smiled to himself. He could not really say for sure wether Aldur had known about his lady’s coming or not, but he seemed to have been ready for them as soon as they reached the bottom of his tower in the Vale. But that was like Aldur, like he who was of the 7 gods.

Garion took a seat next to Beldin, the old hunchbacked wizard, who was steadily working his way through a bottle of Aldur’s finest ale. ‘It is not every day he shares his own supply with us wizards,’ Beldin had commented, and was enjoying his drink greatly. Garion smiled at that comment, remembering some of his own earlier years amazements at the wonders Aldur performed for him.

Ce Nedra was by a window of the tower, looking outwards, softer in a way since reaching the Vale. It was like that, the Vale of Aldur, in the heart of Algaria and the West. It was a spiritual recluse from the hustle and bustle of every day life, away from it all, a true sanctuary in many ways. Garion had once commented to her that not everyone could come and visit this sacred place, not at whim anyway. There seemed to be protective spells or charms which warded off unwelcome visitors. It was mainly a home for Aldur himself and his chosen wizards. It was, though, very rare that a new wizard came along. And while Garion had been called Belgarion for a while, and possessed the power of the Will and the Word, he had gone away from magic in some ways, back to the older ways of his youth, and his original name. It was not that he was against using magic but, perhaps, more in the mould of some Durnik’s attitudes, who still often preferred doing things the old ways, with his hands. Some people really didn’t change, and Durnik was one of them.

Durnik himself was at the Cottage presently, waiting on the return of Polgara and Belgarath, and the thief Silk who was expected with an important document. He kept himself busy most days, doing some farming and preparing of various foods which he and Polgara relied upon for sustenance. And he had slowly been learning more and more in the ways of wizardry. Recently, so he had shared with Garion upon their return to the Vale, one of the twins, ‘Beltira’, had called him Beldurnik without apparently thinking any better. Durnik had queried the name, but all Beltira would say was ‘Silly me.’ But Garion guessed to himself that such a title was appropriate in many ways. The old smith was a wizard now, and that was the usual prefix given to those who possessed the gift.

Beldin turned to Garion and again spoke on the subject which was currently the flavour of the day – the Doomsayers. ‘Ul is a mysterious god, Garion. Those at Prolgu don’t always readily divulge their knowledge and secrets of the father of the god’s, and Aldur doesn’t give us too many clues either. But he says of Ul from time to time that the Father of the God’s has powers and ways beyond their knowledge, as if he is aware of things and places and powers we have only heard mention of in legend. Stories of other worlds, supposedly places were these Doomsayers have themselves come from.’

‘So Aldur has told you that specifically. That the Doomsayers come from other worlds?’

‘He mentioned it once. Wouldn’t divulge anything more than that, but says they have been around for many ages.’

‘And these other worlds – did they likewise suffer the judgement of the Doomsayers?’

‘That we will learn of from Belgarath when he returns. And he should be back in the next few weeks, by my reckoning of his travelling ways.’

The old hunchback took another swig of the ale, and stroked his beard. He looked at Garion, his brow wrinkled at what he wanted to speak of.

‘This judgement you say the Doomsayer placed upon you. This they intend for all, do they? To suffer the judgement of their gospel.’

‘I assume as such, Beldin. If it is the will of Ul then, perhaps, we are all meant to suffer the testing. Fear not, Beldin, for you have lived a good life.’

But the old wizard seemed to have a look of fear in his eyes, as if the coming judgement would find his soul perhaps lacking, as if he was not worthy of the life he enjoyed in the Vale of Aldur.

‘I am an old wizard now, Garion. I have lived many a life of the average citizen, and in that time I have done many questionable things. Many things I truly regret.’

‘Which we have all done, old friend. Which we have all done.’

Ce Nedra spoke up. ‘Beldin, you should not fear. Whatever the purpose of these doomsayers, I don’t think they intend evil will upon people. They are probably, from what I have gathered, simply showing people for what they are. Showing people’s true selves. And we love you Beldin, dearly. Aldur chose wisely letting you live in the Vale.’

The old man took another swig of Ale, nodded, somewhat consoled at Ce Nedra’s words, but still the wrinkled brow remained.

Garion looked at Beldin and could well understand the fears and reservations of one who had lived so long as Beldin had lived. In fact, he did not know the exact age of the ancient wizard, but could imagine that, like his grandfather Belgarath, he had done deeds over the many years of his life that he now regretted.

In the other room Aldur had been telling stories to Gemma about his beloved Errand, and Gemma had been staring, wide eyed, up at her new master and friend. Aldur had told him of Errand’s first visit to the Vale and the story of him and the sled. And he had spoken of a choice Errand had made, to stay true to the sled’s journey, despite the crash he knew would come. And then he had asked Gemma if she would make the same choice, and Gemma had said she would like to think herself that brave, but admitted she would have jumped out of the sled for safety’s sake. And then Aldur had scruffed her head and smiled at the child’s wisdom.

Beldin spoke again. ‘There is something I fear happening, Garion. And I fear it has already begun, from what you say of the zeal these Doomsayers are gaining. I fear this spirit, this spirit of judgement, as if it will say things and make demands on all of us, demands differing to the way of life we have enjoyed for so long.’

Garion nodded. He too sensed something in the air with the coming of the Doomsayers. As if a change was coming on their world, and an older age and way of life was leaving them forever.

‘Whatever the future holds, Beldin, I believe it will end up for the good of us all. When Cyradis made her fateful choice that day, our destiny had been chosen for us. And perhaps this judgement which has come upon us is a result of that fateful choice, leading all of us to a new dawn, a new day in our world, in which the darkness will be vanquished. And I fear, because of that choice of life, we must make amends for our past choices of darkness. And this may well be what the Doomsayers represent.’

Beldin nodded. That much did in fact make sense to him.

They remained there at Aldur’s tower well into the afternoon, enjoying time with the Lord of the Vale. And Gemma seemed to be changing as a person from the brief time Garion had gotten to know her. A new confidence was suddenly upon her, having met Aldur, and a strength, a strength in his lady he felt even beyond his own powers in many ways.

* * * * *

In the heart of the citadel of Cthol Torak, Rtachek dreamed. A figure approached him in his dream and said to him, ‘The power to thwart Torak himself is in your grasp. For if you seek dominion over the Angaraks, you will need to defy this fallen god. And the power of darkness will serve you and do all your bidding, giving you the strength and might you will need to conquer all and do all your will. Yet, I say as an afterthought, there is a price to pay. But you will gladly pay this price, will you not, Oh Lord of the Angaraks?’ And Rtachek, in his dream self, assented that he would indeed pay that price.

* * * * *

Belzandramas, having acquired a stallion from a small village without purchase, taking it in the dead of night, looked upon the city of Yulen as she approached it from the south. It was indeed a remarkable sight, and she knew it home to over 20 million souls, stretching for leagues from the coastline inland, the heart of the continent of Yulenthea. She knew something of the game of power of the Yulentheans, the games of the court and the monarchies which had ruled her. And to such a game, with a wisely chosen vessel as her servant, she could achieve the glories she sought for herself.

She knew what she needed – a figure, probably a male, with ambition. Someone who was willing to serve for the glory she would promise him. And, in a way, she sensed that a power had already chosen this vessel for her. As if the spirits which had spoken to her in the Cave had already known of this person, and had prepared the way for her. And that had made her silently question their power and wether she herself was just another pawn of prophecy in the hands of those powers which ruled all. Yet, that mattered not in the end. She was certain enough that the victory and power she sought would be of her own making, and if those powers which be wanted to assist her in any way, then she would simply allow them. It just made it easier for her own goals.

As she kicked the stallion onwards, approaching the city, she thought again on those powers. To have the glory she desired, that was offered to her, would mean that she would one day be pulling the strings of fate and destiny that now manipulated her. And if she were to be the one doing that, well, what fates would Belzandramas choose for the souls which entrusted themselves to her? What strange destiny would she map out for her chosen few? For the choice of darkness had been taken from her, and Cyradis had given into the light. But now Belzandramas, reborn, was a child of prophecy with no role. And if she could not live in the power of darkness, in the glory she had once delighted in, what other possible future could await her? Whatever possible choice could there really be? Riding on towards the city she felt, in her inmost being, she would find that answer in the goodness of time. And, perhaps, not a choice she would once have made. Perhaps, in no way, such a choice at all.

Unfinished

NOTES

Plot For Volume 1 – ‘Wrath of the Mad God Torak’

The Doomsayers have come to the world of the 7 God’s. The father of the God’s, Ul, has brought the Doomsayers to judge mankind. His son, Torak, is reborn and plans a revenge on Garion. Torak is reborn at Cthol Mishrak and using his Grolim servant Brazadar he plans on regaining power over Mallorea.

In Yulenthea, the spirit servants of UL have given Belzandramas a task – both seduce the God Torak into conquering three nations, yet defeat him without his knowledge in conquering the three nations – to receive the power she desires.

And all through the world the Doomsayers preach of the final war and the final judgement.

In the vale of Aldur the gathering takes place and old friends must once again quest to save their world. The quest is unravelled in ‘The Chronicle of Torak’, which was written by Torak, yet masterminded by Ul who engraved every word upon his child’s mind. The Chronicle speaks of ‘The Oracle of Justice’, a warrior who was the first servant of Ul amongst the children of men, who is hidden somewhere in the world, to come again at the final day of justice. The Oracle is to come in ‘Judgement’ of the wrongdoings of mankind and to punish them with ultimate destruction. Yet, in the cryptic way the various prophecies are written, various figures, which seemingly are Garion and his band of heroes, are spoken of as thorns in Torak’s plans to rule, thorns who have the ability to locate the ‘Oracle of Justice’ BEFORE the day of Judgement, and prevent his grave judgement upon mankind.

As they begin their quest, seeking clues wherever they can find them, Torak uses Brazadar to attempt to corrupt the Arch-Regent of Mallorea to bring him into his power. For with the Arch-Regent as his pawn, Torak believes himself capable of defeating his foe, Garion, and ruling creation. Yet 3 nations, the 3 most unlikely of nations, oppose him. For while Belzandramas, seeking power in southern Yulenthea amongst the three provinces, the 3 nations she mistakenly believes Torak must conquer, the 3 nations of Angarak rebel against Torak, angered at his rejection of their many sacrifices in his honour to claim Cthol Mishrak as his new birthplace, instead of Cthol Murgos, the ardent desire of the mad high priest of the western Grolims, Rtachek. Instead Rtachek seeks the power of the King of the Murgos and, forming an alliance with Gar og Nadrak and Mishrak Ac Thull, Rtachek uses the abomination of virgin sacrifice to attribute the power of life to himself, creating himself his own God, the new God of the Angaraks.

Part One – The Doomsayers

Chapter 5

Belzandramas lodges at a newly established ‘Doomsayer’ chapel. The Doomsayers greet her calling her a ‘Daughter of Destiny’. Jek Barder is lodging at the chapel. He tells her of his ambitions to rule Yulenthea, and she just smiles to herself.

*****

Jek sells his store and home and buys a house nearer the centre of Yulenthea, not far from the palace. Jek has a cousin who works at the palace and Belzandramas influences the cousin to gain work for Jek. The cousin looks suspiciously at Belzandramas but arranges for Jek to work in the kitchen of the palace. Jek begins work.

*****

Belzandramas tells Jek to prepare a special meal for Queen Jezabel Dalkindo and to take it to her. He prepares a very exotic meal of the finest qualities and takes it to the queen. She surveys him with curiousity and it seems the spirit of Belzandramas is upon Jek. The queen, who is unmarried, asks if Jek is married. He says no, and she considers him for his consort, as he is quite attractive.

*****

Belzandramas gets Jek to start working out and after a few months of rigorous training he walks bare chested through the gardens of the palace, ensuring he is seen by Queen Jezabel. She summons him to her chamber and they make love.

*****

Jek is appointed the Queen’s official consort, one of many she has had, and Belzandramas is happy.

Chapter 6

Rtachek has started receiving the power of the sacrifices. He grows in the power of ‘Farsight’ able to see the plans and plots of his enemies and foil them.

*****
He grows in dark magical powers, and with the ‘Flame’ which comes from his hands he destroys a servant who failed him. The other servants fall down in fear of him and start worshipping him. One of the servants who Rtachek has trained says ‘He is a God. The God of the Angaraks.’ This idea starts spreading through those worshipping him and Rtachek looks on pleased.

*****
Torak has spoken to Brazadar to journey to Mal Zeth to court the Arch Regent of Mallorea ‘Zakandra. Brazadar is out the front of Cthol Mishrak, looking up at the night stars, thinking of his journey. Torak has told him to either persuade ‘Zakandra or threaten him if that doesn’t work.

*****

Brazadar arrives in Mal Zeth and is given an appointment with ‘Zakandra as Kal Torak’s official representative. He contemplates his words with ‘Zakandra.

*****

The presentation of Brazadar before the court of ‘Zakandra. The officials of Mallorea and the military generals are in attendance, all eager to hear the words Brazadar has to speak. Brazadar starts with diplomacy but in every effort ‘Zakandra says the old ways of Torak are outmoded and archaic, not suited to the emerging new Mallorea. Despite Brazadar’s threat the Arch Regent ignores him and sends him back to Cthol Mishrak unsuccessful.

*****

Brazadar journey’s back to Cthol Mishrak contemplating his next move.

*****

Brazadar speaks with Torak who calls him a failure, but then suggests Torak display his power and influence with The Arch Regent and use the Grolims to influence the people to rebel somewhat against the Arch-regents power. They use traditional tactics of fear and play on the words of the Doomsayers. ‘Zakandra ultimately fears the power of Torak and agrees to serve the mad God. Brazadar receives ‘Zakandra’s communication and passes that on to Torak. Torak laughs with mad glee.

Chapter 7

Belgarath, Polgara and Silk and Barak have returned to the Vale. They take counsel at Belgarath’s tower the group discuss the purpose of the Doomsayers and examine the Chronicle of Torak which Silk has returned with. They read out a section on ‘The Chronicle of Torak’. The Chronicle speaks of Torak’s planned vanquishing of Eriond, the new God of the Angaraks. For Ul had banished Torak to a deathly afterlife, yet had admitted that the Dragon God had indeed been his child and rebirthed him into the new world of the God’s, for the council of the God’s, including Eriond, had forgiven him.’ The group discusses how Eriond, who had been at Mal Zeth had apparently perished in a blazing fire. Nobody had known what had caused such a fire, and they had all feared that Eriond was dead and gone from them. And now Torak had been reborn and had composed the ‘Chronicle of Torak’ to speak of his judgements of death upon Garion and those who have opposed him, including Eriond the new God of the Angaraks who Torak called in his chronicle ‘The Grand Impostor’. They discuss how with the death of Eriond Cyradis had returned to Kell, once more as a Seer, and had then disappeared from Kell to an unknown place. ‘Zakath had perished in the great fire and ‘Zakandra had come to the throne, and subsequently becoming ‘Arch Regent’ instead of Emporer. As they continue to read through the Chronicle Silk points to a section speaking of ‘The Oracle of Justice’. The Oracle is to come in judgement at the ‘End of Day’s’ to judge and punish mankind for their sins. The group conclude with the advent of the Doomsayers that the end of days are upon them. Yet the message says if the ‘Children of Prophecy’ are to locate the Oracle ‘Aforehand’ and ‘Persuade him of the goodness of men’ then the judgement may perchance be avoided. The group wonder who ‘The Children of Prophecy’ are and Barak suggests that in the way their questing groups fulfilled the earlier prophetical utterances, thus they must be the ‘Children of Prophecy’. The group decides then that it must be their logical duty to find the Oracle of Judgement to avoid the great Judgement upon mankind. The Chronicle conclude with this word, ‘For the darkness can never perish eternally, despite the will of the Light and Goodness. For it is only in the balance of Good versus evil, in peace versus passion, in light versus dark, that the will of purpose, struggle and meaning is born in the hearts of God’s and Men, and without such a balance, without such an eternal struggle, life becomes empty, meaningless and without that spark of adventure.’ Beldin then starts speaking of the sacrifices to Torak in Cthol Murgos. He keeps an eye on the doings of the Angaraks, saying ‘Somebody has to.’ He talks of the new temple ‘Cthol Torak’. The group speculate that Torak has now been reborn, and that perhaps the sacrifices have awakened the mad God. It is decided that Beldin visit Cthol Torak to learn whatever he can of the reborn Torak and to learn of the Western Grolim priest ‘Rtachek’ who is growing in influence over Daggra, the new King of the Murgos, Urgit’s son (Urgit died of a heart attack from unhealthy eating). It is decided that the group will return to Riva and convene a council of the Western Kings to discuss what they should do. They speak that ‘If Torak has been reborn, then the west could be threatened, and all the Kings of the west must know of this.’ Belgarath says he will speak with Aldur to learn any knowledge of the ‘Oracle of Justice’ which Aldur is willing to share. Polgara says she will accompany her father, and Durnik goes along with them. Belgarath and Ce Nedra return home to Riva and Silk and Barak return to their respective Kingdoms to bring word of the council.

Chapter 8

Ul is dwelling upon the ‘Mountain of the God’s’ called ‘Zaphon’, a high peak in the centre of the continent ‘Zhadora’. Aldur has returned to the Mountain of the God’s, after having spoken with Belgarath, and asks his father of the ‘Oracle of Justice’. Ul goes into detail on some of his planning of good versus evil and of the ‘Oracle’ who has been hidden from the ages to be revealed at the ‘End of Days’. Aldur sits at Ul’s feet and learns from his father, hearing the words of eternal wisdom. Late in the discussion Belar enters the room and listens in on the conversation. He fears for the possible fate of the Alorns, his people, and asks his father’s permission to seek out Belgarath – he is intending to prepare Belgarath with careful words for the ultimate judgement that Belgarath must face.

***

In Yulen Jek Barder has become the consort to Queen Jezabel Dalkindo and sits by her throne. Various affairs of state are brought to the queen, and she seeks the advice of Jek, who answers with what she should do. She grows fonder and fonder of him. Belzandramas tell Jek to speak to Queen Dalkindo of Belzandramas, the goddess of darkness, and that she can offer Queen Jezabel power over Mallorea should she accept Belzandramas as her ‘Goddess’ and offer her tribute and allegiance. Queen Jezabel, overcome by her lustings towards Jek who has been sweet talking her, agrees to the worship of Belzandramas, who arrives in the throneroom with fire and lightning. All the court fall down to worship Belzandramas.

***

Brazadar is accepted as the high priest of Torak and co-rules from Mal Zeth with ‘Zakandra. There is an uneasy alliance between the two parties. Brazadar speaks of Torak’s will to rise up an army to conquer the west, which ‘Zakandra dislikes tremendously. But Brazadar uses fear and ‘Zakandra reluctantly agrees.

***

King Daggra of the Murgos is visited by one of the Grolim priest representatives of Rtachek. He tells Daggra that he must fall at the feet of Rtachek and worship him, for he is the new God of the Angaraks. Daggra swears at the priest, and tells him to return to ‘that demon lord Rtachek’. Rtachek listens to the words of Daggra from the priest, and gathers up his entourage to the new seat of the Murgos Monarchy in Rak Cthaka. They come upon the throneroom of Daggra and Rtachek uses the power of evil given to him to force Daggra to bow down and worship him.

Chapter 9

Belgarion and Ce Nedra return to Riva. Geran greets them with his sister Beldaran as well as Poledra and Polgara’s children. Garion speaks with his grandmother Poledra of the rumblings of the Doomsayers and the new quest for the ‘Oracle’ of Justice. Poledra relates to them of the continent of Zhadora, far beyond the western sea, which Garion had only little knowledge of. She speaks of the great sea currents which turn ships away from travelling to Zhadora, which is why Mallorea and the west has had little to no dealings with this continent. She speaks of the people of Zhadora and that, in the beginning, the gods dwelt on the mountain of Zaphon in the centre of Zhadora.

****

Garion spends time with his daughter Beldaran, now 19, who is being wooed by various young male nobility of the court of Riva. She speaks, however, of her love for Jack, the stable boy of the Citadel, and Garion just smiles at her. ‘If you love this Jack, then you will have my blessing, dear Beldaran.’ Beldaran throws her arms around her father and kisses him, thanking him.

****

Beldin has disguised himself as a Grolim priest and enters Cthol Torak. He speaks to other Grolim priests and learns that Torak has indeed been raised from the dead but has rejected their priesthood and that Rtachek has gained the powers of a God and has become the new God of the western Angaraks.

****

Brazadar journeys down into the darkness of the cavern underneath Cthol Mishrak and speaks with his master Torak that the woman is still not found, but that ‘Zakandra has submitted. Torak says ‘the woman will appear in time. But now that the Arch Regent has submitted our work goes ahead.’

****

Garion speaks with his son Geran about the council of the Kings who have just arrived at the citadel, and their grandfather Belgarath enters the room and the three of them walk together out into the chambers to begin the council.

Chapter 10

The council of the Kings discuss the Doomsayers, the Oracle of Justice, and Beldin talks of the emerging threat of Torak and Rtachek and the possible war with either the western Angaraks or the Malloreans, or even both. It is decided that Geran will lead a group of people on the quest for the Oracle of Justice and that they will prepare their armies for the possible attack of the Angaraks. Delegations are to be sent to Cthol Murgos and to Mallorea to sensitively affirm that peace is still the matter of course between the nations.

****

Poledra takes Belgarath aside and suggests that ‘Zhadora’ might be the hidden place of the Oracle of Justice. But Belgarath says they have no real way of reaching Zhadora and says ‘besides, I feel the Seeress has disappeared for a reason. We will send Geran to Kell to try and find her, for she may have some idea of were the Oracle is located. Poledra acquiesces to her husband, but is convinced the Oracle is somewhere on the hidden continent of Zhadora.

****

Jack is introduced to Garion and Polgara looks him over. Beldaran swears her devotion and love towards him.

****

Geran with Silk and Barak and young Beldaran and Beldin and Polgara’s children and the newly named Beldurnik are sent out on the quest to Kell along with ‘Gemma’ the living orb. It is decided Beldaran’s new love ‘Jack’ will accompany them to protect Beldaran. Garion and Ce Nedra are to remain in Riva, while Belgarath and Polgara return to the Vale of Aldur.

Part Two – The Quest Anew

Chapter 11

The questing party arrive in Camaar, were they greet Dulliam who, Garion befriended. The young man joins the questing party at the invitation of Beldin. There is a strong sense of camaraderie amongst the party, with Beldin the unofficial leader, but Geran making the decisions under Beldin’s guidance. Jack and Dulliam become fast friends, but Dulliam is instantly attracted to Beldaran. (There is ongoing tension in the love games between Jack and Beldaran and Dulliam as the quest progresses).

The questing party arrives in Boktor in Drasnia were Silk entertains the group for a while in the palace. Silk spends some time dealing with his business matters, and there is romantic dialogue between Dulliam and Beldaran. Jack is jealous. Eventually they return to their quest, headed for Gar Og Nadrak.

***

Belgarath is sitting alone in his tower, having asked Polgara not to bother him. His thoughts on his life and the moral choices he has made are weighing heavily on his mind. Aldur comes into the tower and speaks with his disciple kind but careful words.

Chapter 12

Belzandramas begins strengthening the armed forces of Yulenthea, and thinks on her plans to wed Torak. Queen Jezabel is hopelessly in love with Jek Barder as Belzandramas has bewitched her. The King of Junissa visits her and she impresses him. He swears his loyalty to the power of Yulenthea.

***

Rtachek replaces the coinage of Cthol Murgos with his own image, and temples throughout Murgos are rededicated to him as the new God of the Angaraks with idols of him put up by the Grolim priests. The king is now in fear of him, and fear sweeps through Cthol Murgos. The Doomsayers begin condemning the Grolim priests, yet Rtachek says to leave them be. He had a dark vision of a power of extreme might telling him to leave the Doomsayers alone lest his life be forfeit.

***

The questing party reach Nadrak, but Beldaran is kidnapped by an eager village chieftain overcome by her beauty. The group are holed up in a prison, and Jack suggests Beldin uses his magic to get them out of there. All Beldin says is ‘I think we will let diplomacy prevail.’

Chapter 13

Belgarath is drunk, and Polgara looks at him. He seems to be depressed, caught up with his heavy thoughts. She queries what he is worried about and all he says is that he feels like the weight of the world is upon his shoulders.

****

Beldin requests a meeting with the chieftain, and is taken to the chieftain. He says the King of the West would not take too kindly to his daughter being held hostage, but the Nadrak initially defies him, and Beldin is returned to his prison cell. Geran asks ‘What next?’ Beldin says ‘We wait for now. Let him think things over.’

****

Garion sits with Ce Nedra, worrying over things, and she tells him to return to the everyday affairs of the realm. He visits the peat bogs at the north western side of the Isle of the Winds and a dark creature emerges from a bog to fight him. Garion defeats it but it hisses and says ‘Torak will slay you, Lord of the West. Your fate is sealed.’

Chapter 14

Belzandramas starts growing in popularity amongst the Yulentheans and she delights in the power she has longed for for so long. She thinks over the power of life and death she has at her disposal but, when contemplating putting someone to death, she is bothered by the voice in her conscience, by the sudden unexpected guilt she finds within. Going into her private chapel she stares into the well of visions she has had made, and sees a dark, endless tunnel and somehow understands that if Cyradis had chosen evil, then only death would have ultimately prevailed and she would have been accursed, travelling a dark endless tunnel through hell, never again seeing the light, never again seeing the world. And then she understands that in a world that doesn’t progress, that remains immobile, inflexible, unchanging, that death results from boredom and hatred of things which begin to annoy and frustrate people, and that society must advance, mature and GROW to become what it is meant to be. And as she works through her philosophy slowly, within the heart of Belzandramas, choices of light and love are beginning to be made.

***

Rtachek continues to grow in power in Cthol Murgos. A party arrives from Mallorea on behalf of the eastern Grolim priest Brazadar who tells him he must now submit to the power of the reborn Torak. Rtachek has killed a number of the party and sends one of the surviving members back to Mallorea with the heads of the killed ones and tells him to tell Torak that such will be done to him if he dares to invade Cthol Murgos.

***

Brazadar receives the returning party and looks in disgust at the heads. He travels to Cthol Mishrak to tell Torak the news, and Torak goes mad with wrath. He swears vengeance upon Rtachek and tells Brazadar to start the work of invading Cthol Murgos. The Murgos are to be defeated and the head of Rtachek brought to Torak on a plate.

Chapter 15

Polgara is at the cottage, working in the kitchen, when Belgarath drops by. He asks her if she has any parchments of paper available to her. She asks why he simply doesn’t make some, but he tells her he needs the authentic manmade stuff for what he wants them for. That it is simply the best way for what he wants to do. She doesn’t question him, but goes off to the back room and returns with a large box full of paper and a number of bottles of ink with writing quills. He thanks her and leaves, and she puzzles about what he must be doing.

***

The chieftain, now feeling guilty and worried about what Garion may do, accedes to Beldin’s request and releases his prisoners and restores Beldaran to them. They stay in the village for a banquet in Beldaran’s honour, and then resume their quest.

***

Garion is brooding in the palace, walking around, restless. He moans to Ce Nedra and his grandmother that he really should be on the quest, but his grandmother reminds him that he is a King and that he has responsibilities and that Geran and Beldin can handle things well enough. He reluctantly acknowledges her point. Ce Nedra speaks comforting words to him and invites him to the bedroom for some private affections and Garion feels better.

Chapter 16

Belzandramas has gradually been uniting the 3 provinces, and in court she is starting to be hailed as the ‘Goddess’ of Yulenthea. She sits on the throne, though, restless, awaiting her Lord Torak’s attempt to perhaps conquer the three provinces. She knows some sign most come forth and decides to send Jek on a mission to Mallorea to learn of what is going on there. The queen opposes this idea, but Belzandramas removes the queen to the dungeon and tells the court the queen is unavailable, deeply involved in her prayers. Nobody’s dares question her.

***

‘Zakandra decides to try his strength against the Grolim priest Brazadar and against Torak. He orders his troops to gather up the eastern Grolim priests and imprison them. Yet Brazadar, armed with a staff which Torak placed a spell upon, arrives in Mal Zeth and splits the walls of the castle asunder, demanding ‘Zakandra come and bow to him and acknowledge the power of Torak. The court says to ‘Zakandra that Brazadar will kill them all unless he bows and swears fealty, so ‘Zakandra falls at Brazadar’s feet and begs for forgiveness. Brazadar sneers at him and says ‘Your death is postponed for now, but betray Torak again and your fate will be dire indeed.’

***

The Dalasians, who had been granted independence by ‘Zakath, intend to make war on Ancient Mallorea before the power of Torak overcomes them. The Melcenes and the Karandans watch on with interest.

Chapter 17

The questing group arrive at the land bridge and gradually make there way across into Mallorea. Silk takes them to Lameth and they hear news in the inn of the new struggles between the Dalasian Protectorate and Ancient Mallorea. War is imminent, and people fear. The doomsayer appears and hails silk, yet looks upon Beldin with disdain and says ‘We will meet soon enough, Beldin. We will meet soon enough.’ The people speak of the resurrection of Torak at Cthol Mishrak and the group discuss how they will have to be extra careful while in Mallorea. The love triangle between Jack and Beldaran and Dulliam continues.

***

Belgarath is in his tower, writing his memoirs and reflections. He is thoughtful, thinking long and hard over all the life choices he has made and it comes to him in his writings that, now, there are perhaps wrongs he has done which need amending. People who he has not been the best with who he needs to make amends with. His repentance continues.

***

Polgara has her own reflective thoughts on her fathers troubles, taking him dinner, and sitting in the room just out from him were he is writing. She silently reflects over her own life and questions wether she has always done the right thing.

Chapter 18

The Dalasian army starts invading Ancient Mallorea. Brazadar instructs ‘Zakandra to go out and meet them and either persuade them to join with them or face destruction under the wrath of Torak. The Dalasian armies defy ‘Zakandra and a heated battle begins. Brazadar, near the 4^th day of the battle, comes to a hill overlooking the fields of combat, raises his staff, and causes fire from heaven to come down and consume thousands of the Dalasians. They fall back in fear and the Dalasian delegate comes to ‘Zakandra and swears the Dalasians’ will now serve Torak. They fear for their very lives.

Chapter 19

Rtachek seeks out Nadrak and Thull and invites them to accept him as their overlord. They initially refuse, but the two kings, thinking it over and realizing the power Rtachek has grown into and the power of Cthol Murgos, and the threat of Mallorea over Rtachek’s snubbing of Torak, they reluctantly join forces with the Murgos and come into an alliance.

***

The questing party arrive in Mal Zeth and stay in an inn. Nobody recognizes them and Beldin says he wants to stay in Mal Zeth for the time being to study various texts in various libraries around Mal Zeth and to learn the current plans of Torak if they at all can. The love triangle continues.

***

Ce Nedra announces to Garion that she is pregnant and he is overjoyed. He again speaks with Poledra and she speaks again of Zhadora. Garion starts to think that the Oracle of Justice is likely located on Zhadora and thinks of going off to find the questing party to search for Zhadora instead, but Poledra persuades him to await their return.

Chapter 20

Beldin studies in one of the Grolim libraries of Mal Zeth, disguised as a Grolim priest. He goes through various ancient texts and scrolls and comes upon the Gospel of Justice. It paints vague pictures of a figure which Beldin assumes is the Oracle of Justice. The figure lives on ‘The Hidden Island’ which Beldin does not know what that means. A Grolim priest looks at him and invites him to come to the citadel of Mal Zeth to dine with Brazadar. Beldin, not knowing how to escape, agrees.

***

Geran is sitting on the banks of the Raku river, waiting on Beldin to exit the library, thinking on life. Beldaran comes and sit down next to him and they speak of her romantic liaisons. Geran speaks of his fears about their quest and what information Beldin may unearth. They talk about the Doomsayers who are all over the city who the Grolim priests now have an uneasy truce with – Torak will not touch the Doomsayers by the looks of it. Geran speaks of his fears of the coming judgment on mankind and wether they in the West have always been as noble as they would have liked to believe. Beldaran says they have always tried to do what is right, despite their many mistakes. As they watch Beldin walks past in the company of other Grolim priests, and signals to them frustrated by his capture and Geran and Beldaran follow him till they come to the citadel and disappear inside. They return to the inn and Silk suggests he breaks into the citadel to find Beldin. Geran says no but silk goes anyway.

***

Silk slithers around the citadel late at night, searching for Beldin. He finds him in a sleeping quarters with other Grolim priests, but Beldin says to Silk to leave him be because he may learn things from Brazadar which could come in useful. The Grolim priests do not know who he is and welcome him especially with all the knowledge he has at his disposal. Silk leaves and returns to the group and Geran wants to rebuke him but is consoled by his words about Beldin. ‘Hopefully the old fool can take care of himself,’ says Geran

Chapter 21

Brazadar holds council and speaks to his court and ‘Zakandra of the Karandans and Melcenes. ‘Do we really need them?’ asks ‘Zakandra. ‘It could cause more death of our own troops than we can afford to lose. We surely have enough to confront the Murgos with.’ But Brazadar is reluctant to agree. He turns to Beldin and asks him what his name is. Beldin says ‘Graldik’ and suggests diplomacy with the Karandans and Melcenes would be wise, but the threat of warfare and the power of Torak will always demand their submission. Brazadar nods, agreeing, and calls Beldin wise. Beldin is then to be sent to the Karandans to represent Ancient Malloreas interests and persuade them of their need to join the Malloreans. Beldin is frustrated, but sees no other option available to him, and escape would surely draw attention to the questing party.

***

Beldin leaves with a group of Grolim priests for Karanda and the Melcenes. He manages to call a crow from a tree and ties a short note to its leg. Casting an enchantment on the bird he throws it into the air. The bird flies around for a while, but soon finds the inn and lands on the windowsill of Geran’s room. Geran looks at the bird which is chirping madly and notices the note on its leg. He takes the note, thanks the bird, and reads it. He shares the news with the group and they are undecided as what to do next. Beldurnik makes the decision that Beldin is wise enough to take care of himself, and will need to know were they are upon his return to Mal Zeth, so they decide to not leave the inn. Geran decides to occupy himself with the study of various texts at the libraries around Mal Zeth. Meanwhile the love triangle continues.

Chapter 22

Belgarath continues on his memoirs but reaches a decision. He will now start his atonement in preparation of the judgement he fears coming upon him. He speaks with Polgara and tells her he is travelling to Sendaria to see a baker. She asks him what about, but he remains silent.

***

Garion is entertaining the King of Tolnedra, and they talk of various affairs of state and Ce Nedra’s pregnancy. The King suggests that the child, if a man child, could perchance take the throne of Tolnedra, which Garion finds a happy suggestion.

***

Ce Nedra is in her quarters with Poledra who is knitting. ‘Can you feel the baby kick?’ she asks Poledra.

***

Belgarath arrives in Upper Gralt in Sendaria were the baker Fendak lives. He gives thought to his many thefts of Fendaks delicious pies when he had fallen upon hard times a number of years back, living in Upper Gralt for a few months. He confesses his sins to Fendak who simply gives him some free pies and tells him not to worry himself about it.

Chapter 23

Beldin speaks with the Karandan representative who says he looks familiar but can’t quite place him. The Karandan’s reluctantly agree to join Mallorea’s desires to conquer the Murgos.

***

Geran in a Mal Zeth library. Gemma accompanies him and they speak of Aldur and Errand.

***

Beldin speaks with the Melcene representative and they agree that as Karanda has joined they too will rekindle the alliances. Beldin returns to Mal Zeth and fronts Brazadar with the news, who heaps praise upon Beldin. Beldin sends another crow and Beldaran and Geran meet Beldin near the entrance to the Citadel just as Brazadar with a group of priests is coming out, catching them by surprise. Brazadar queries who Beldaran is and Geran says ‘She is my sister.’ Brazadar is immediately entranced with the maiden and orders her to the citadel to be his consort. Geran says ‘But she is my sister’ to no avail.

***

Beldaran, in her new chambers, is confronted with the ‘Vile’ affections of Brazadar. He promises her riches beyond measure if she will consort to be his maiden. She remains polite to him in person, but shows her disgust when he has left the room

Chapter 24

Geran worries about Beldaran, but Beldin says Brazadar will not harm her. He is a man, like so many of us, and your sister is quite beautiful are Beldin’s words, and Geran is consoled that his sister will be alright.

***

The kings of Nadrak and Thull are talking together in the court of Cthol Torak about events in the worlds. They have come to swear homage to Rtachek. He comes into the chamber, with much pomp and circumstance, and is pronounced a ‘God’ to those assembled. He is very vain and proud and demands the kings kneel before him which they do, glancing at each other whispering that Rtachek is a madman. Rtachek glows with pride.

***

Jek Barder arrives in his ship on the southern coast of Mallorea, in the Dalasian protectorates, with his party and has various thoughts about his service to Belzandramas. He starts to seek the knew his mistress demands of him.

Chapter 25

Beldaran, at midnight, has tied together her sheets and climbs down the wall of the citadel, escaping back to the inn. The group depart that night, putting Mal Zeth and Brazadar as far behind them as possible. They are now travelling for ‘Kell’ as Beldin says.

***

As they travel the mountain looms up before them and they discuss various things about the scrolls, about Kell, and about Cyradis.

***

Brazadar confronts Torak and says ‘All is going as planned, my lord. And Torak laughs a mad laugh

Part 3 – Kell

Chapter 26

The questing party arrive in Kell. A new seeress of Kell greets them. They ask of Cyradis, but the seeress is evasive in her answers. She invites them to stay in Kell, which they accept.

****

Velvet in Boktor with Silk. They discuss various things and silk is with his son.

***

Polgara is doing her washing, looking off in the distance, thinking about her father.

*

Belgarath is travelling to Camaar, heavy thoughts on his mind

Chapter 27

The group enjoy the sights of Kell. The new seeress begins to tell them of the ‘Oracle of Justice’. She speaks of Zaphon, which prefigures Kell. Geran asks ‘Then the Oracle is in Kell’, but the seeress says no.

*

Brazadar now turns his attention to the western Angaraks. He sends a delegation demanding submission and tribute.

*

Ce Nedra gives birth. The child is named Garridan

Chapter 28

Geran and Beldin are studying in the library of Kell, find references to the Oracle and a place called Zhadora, but are unable to find were Zhadora is located.

*

Belgarath comes to the home of the washer woman, confesses his carelessness in the death of her husband. She weeps but tells him not to worry about it

Chapter 29

The Love triangle continues

*

Rtachek decides to use Thull to threaten Brazadar and sends for General Castravar

*

Jek Barder arrives in Mal Zeth

Chapter 30

General Castravar of Mishrak Ac Thull is possessed by a Demon Lord who has been summoned by Rtachek from the ‘Dark Realms’. The Demon Lord gives General Castravar great power and authority over men. He speaks with a charisma which makes his armies willing to sacrifice their lives for him, and they fight passionately because of it. General Castravar, in the Name of his new God ‘Rtachek’ sends a tribute of a pile of horse shit to Brazadar in response to Brazadar’s demands for submission and tribute, or facing war. Accompanying the horseshit is a letter of many derogatory statements towards Brazadar and Torak.

****

Brazadar receives the shit and the letter and frowns. He speaks to Torak who says let the war begin, and to strike first against Mishrak Ac Thull, and to torture Castravar upon capture, drilling holes in his teeth etc

****

Having been unable to find any further information on Cyradis the questing party decide it is now time to return to Riva to take further counsel with Garion and Belgarath.

****

Belgarath sits on the docks of Camaar, staring out at the ocean. He reflects on his repentance of the accidental death of the washer woman’s husband caused by his own hands, and thinks about a grave sin he once committed and what he should do in response.

The End of Volume One

The 7 Gods

Ul – Father of the God’s – The Ulgo are his people

Belar – The Youngest of the God’s – The Alorns are his people

Aldur – A separate God with no people – he dwells in the Vale and Belgarath, the first

wizard, sought him out

Torak – the Most beautiful of the God’s – The Angaraks are his people

Chaldan – Bull-God – the Arends are his people

‘The Belzandramanian’

Volume Two

‘Mishrak Ac Thull’s Agenda’

by

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

http://davideddingsfanfiction.angelfire.com

http://noahidebooks.angelfire.com

© 2010-04-12

Dedicated to

David Eddings – The Master

Prologue

Mishrak Ak Thull’s Agenda/Cthol Murgos Desires/Gar Og Nadrak’s Vengeance

Torak swears wrath on the kingdoms of the Angaraks for their betrayal, and war is declared from Mallorea on the Angarak kingdoms. Yet, through each attack, Belzandramas puzzling in Yulenthea at all times why Torak does not seek out the southern kingdoms, the Angaraks repel Torak’s mad wrath, and they remain unconquered.

All the time the Doomsayers have continued to preach their cultic message of judgement and the anger of Ul at the bloody wars mankind commits to in slaying each other. Garion, watching on from the west at the wars between Mallorea and Angarak, fears he must do something. Garion being stationed in Riva, his son Geran sends occasional word from the questing party who are doing their best to track down the ‘Oracle of Justice’.

PLOT ideas

The Malloreans first attack at the River Mardu, hoping to traverse upstream to destroy Thull Mardu. The Armies of Thull have blockaded the entrance to the river with a giant metal bridge, were soldiers are stationed. The Armies of Thull are both on the northern and souther side of the river, and Castravar is stationed on the bridge on a hightower, strongly shielded. There is a bloody battle and the Malloreans manage to land men ashore briefly, but they are defeated, and Castravar uses catapaults towards the end of the battle to fling horseshit at the Malloreans. A pile of shit lands on the royal barge, just in front of Brazadar, who is having his tea. He is most distressed. The Malloreans withdraw their troops and their ships offland a few leagues. The Thullians celebrate their victory, and Castravar revels in his glory.

The Malloreans decide to move northwards and to attack just south of Thull Zelik. The Thullians have been watching them and have moved a substantial portion of their army northwards, matching the Malloreans. Another battle begins, and Thull repels them once more. Castravar is becoming very arrogant, and insults Torak all the time in the name of Rtachek. Brazadar is becoming very frustrated and fears for his failures before Torak.

In the final attempt the Malloreans receive their back up ships from Mallorea, and travel far from the coast and try to make a sneak attack halfway between the River Mardu and Rak Goska on the Thull coast. But Castravar is ready for them, and Thull once more defeats the Mallorean attack. In the Thull army, Captain Torna is glad at the victories, but disdains the great loss of Thullian lives and the futility of war.

Brazadar returns to Mallorea defeated, goes before Torak, who takes a blade and cuts of Brazadar’s left hand in an act of fury. Brazadar clutches his arm with blood gushing out, and Torak says ‘Go. See me no more till you have news of victory,’ and Brazadar, weeping, departs Torak’s presence.

In Yulenthea, Belzandramas is being honoured as Sovereign queen of the world. The doomsayers travel the land, spreading their message, and the people come to believe that Belzandramas is a promised saviour which will save the world. She is anxiously waiting on news from Jek Barder and every day anticipates that Torak, soon, will rise and come to attack the 3 Yulenthean nations. She has raised taxes severely in the nations, and stationed all the troops she can muster on the coastlines, building vast military cities and preparing Yulenthea for war. She speaks to the populace that ‘Torak’ has gone mad and is planning on destroying Yulenthea forever. She says Torak plans on stealing the ‘Sunstone’, which is the special magical stone which lies between Yulenthea and Junissa and gives extra warmth to these continents, preventing the normal freezing of being in the Antarctic regions from taking place. In Yulenthean and Junissan legend, Ul placed the Sunstone were it is (on a tiny island just to the north-east of Yulenthea North-West of Junissa) at the beginning of the world, and Torak has long envied the Sunstone’s power, and has oft sought to destroy it. The Sunstone sits on top of a mighty tower going many leagues into the sky, and giving heat and light to that region.The ancient peoples of Mallorea from were the Yulentheans and Junissans were descended migrated to the continents of Yulenthea and Junissa because of the blessing of the Sunstone, but Torak was always coveting the Sunstone and had forbidden people from settling those lands, which were to be for his future use. There has long been fear of Torak for rebelling against him by the Yulentheans and Junissans because of it. The sunstone itself has divine power much like the orb, and radiates in waves warmth from its location. For many leagues around the Sunstone no marine life lives

NOTE: The subplot/theme of the 3 central novels is the turning of the western Angaraks AWAY in their hearts from Mallorea towards the ‘West’ as their new hope and new seat of Allegiances (finding their place in the world). At the culmination to ‘Gar Og Nadrak’s vengeance,’ Rtachek is defeated and overthrown by the emerging unification movement for western Angarak. Once the Malloreans are defeated the army, having listened to the voice of the people, turn upon Rtachek and a wild mob tramples him to death, and the wild dogs would not even eat his bones. The new United Kingdom of Tornanda unites the 3 western Angarak Nations and the seat of Governance in Mishrak Ac Thull is presided over by the newly appointed Arch-Regent Torna, who was the main figure responsible for turning the hearts of the three kingdoms away from the cruelties of Rtachek and redeeming his people (as the Doomsayers commissioned him with this task). Torna comes into Allegiance with Garion as the two major Emporers of the West. At the end of the fifth novel, with Poledra (Garion’s daughter) eventually choosing Torna’s son to marry (neither Jack nor Dulliam), their firstborn child is to be King of the entire West. (This child is born at the climax of the 5^th novel). Gar Og Nadrak’s actual vengeance is the wild mob trampling Rtachek, who had cruelly oppressed them.

Mishrak Ac Thull’s Agenda – Plot (In Progress)

Part One - Castravar

Chapter One

General Castravar is on the plains of Thull north of Thull Mardu, undertaking war games with the Thull Army. Representatives of Rtachek are observing the manouveres and speak of the Malloreons marshalling their troops at Mal Gemila in Ancient Mallorea. Castravar speaks with bold arrogance and says Brazadar will taste his deadly blade and be cast down to the netherworld before Thull falls. The priests have a private conversation about Castravar and speak of the dark demon lord which possesses his soul in fear. Castravar goes out before the men and throws a spear savagely into a mock soldier. The Thull army cheers for their leader.

***

The Questing party arrives back at Riva and teach of what they have learned. They hold counsel and, with Poledra’s information that the Oracle of Justice likely lives in ‘Zhadora’, it is decided that Geran will lead a fleet to travel westwards over the ‘Impassable Reaches’ to see if they can locate Zhadora. (At the end of Volume 2 the fleet concludes that the ‘Impassable Reaches’ of the ‘Great Western Ocean’ are indeed just that ‘Impassable’ and they return, having failed, to Riva. )(In the beginning of Volume 3 the party is shown back at Riva. In Volume 3 they decide to try travelling eastwards from the east coast of Mallorea.)

**

Belgarath is on the northern mountains of Sendaria, overlooking the gulf of Cherek, thinking on life. He calls to mind his recent encounter with the lady’s whose husband he had accidentally killed in Camaar and how she said she had forgiven him, knowing it to be an accident. Belgarath gives thought to the fleeting nature of life, and how precious it is, and vows to never again treat others so carelessly and without proper and due thought.

Chapter Two

Geran is on the docks of Riva with his sister and Beldaran, looking at the ships coming in from Arendia and Tolnedra, which have been sent for their use in the quest ahead. Geran speaks with her of her love for Jack and Dulliam and she swears to him, in truth, ‘That her heart simply can not decide between them.’ Geran tells her that fate will always work out such things, and to trust in the gods that her heart will make the right decision.

**

Jack is in the stables of Riva, working, and Beldaran comes in to say hello. They talk about this and that, and she thinks upon her love for him. Eventually she leaves, after he has bowed to her declaring his abiding love.

**

Dulliam is in the games-room of the castle, sitting in front of a chess set in a game he and Garion are currently engaged in. Poledra is in the corner, knitting, watching over young Dulliam. Beldaran enters the room, and much in the same way she was curious with Jack to answer her heart’s dilemma, she speaks with Dulliam to seek his heart and, after they speak she leaves, with Poledra observing silently, but saying nothing.

**

Beldaran is in an upper tower of Riva, looking towards the western mountains, lamenting her hearts love towards both. Poledra comes in, talks with her, and says similar things to what Geran had said. Beldaran nods and agrees to leave it in the hands of the gods.

Chapter Three

The fleet is ready at the docks of Riva. The ensemble are gathered there. Geran is to lead the questing party again, this time with Dulliam and Jack appointed as his second-in-commands. Beldaran is again on the quest. Silk has arrived from Boktor and Barak has arrived from Cherek and they again go on the quest also. Garion persuades Beldin to be the wisdom accompanying Geran’s questing, and Poledra has talked with Beldin sharing as much as she knows. They all miss Belgarath, but realize that he must be about what he must be about. There are a number of Doomsayers on the docks, speaking of their judgements, and Garion watches them apprehensively. The fleet departs in search of Zhadora. Admiral Altomino leads the fleet under Geran’s leadership, responsible for charting their way past the ‘Impassable Reaches’ (which are full of maelstrom’s,’ rocks, stormy weather and impenetrable mists).

**

Brazadar is looking over the Mallorean army gathering at Mal Gemila. The plan is to take vengeance first upon Mishrak Ac Thull for Castravar’s insults. Brazadar has been recruiting madly and attempting to instil mad Torak devotion into the troops. Brazadar summons the Admiral of the Mallorean fleet and the High Commander of the Malloreon army to his palace, asking them if all is progressing as planned. They both disdain the man, but fear him as well, and nod.

Chapter Four

Castravar has been summoned by Rtachek to Cthol Rtachek (which is Cthol Torak renamed to suit Rtachek’s sense of his own Glory). A formal ceremony takes place and Castravar takes a sheep, cuts off its head and guts it, and drains the blood into a canister. He takes the blood and comes towards his god ‘Rtachek’. He drinks from the canister, and pours out the blood onto the ‘Altar of Sacrifice’. He then turns to the gathered Grolim priesthood of Rtachek and shouts ‘All Hail our God Rtachek’ and they respond shouting ‘All Hail.’ Rtachek looks on satisfied.

**

Castravar has returned to Thull and is with his elderly father at his home. His father says to him ‘There are prices to pay for glory, son. I fear you have bitten off more than you can chew, and the price to pay will be terribly high.’ Castravar says his father is speaking nonsense but keeps his words in mind.

**

The Malloreon ships set sail across the sea of the east to attack Thull. Brazadar is acting pompously and says ‘The world will soon bow to the power of Torak and his servant Brazadar.’

Chapter Five

Beldin is looking at an instrument which guides the ships by the stars. They have collected all their knowledge and decided to try to stay on their approximate heading westward. Beldin speaks with Geran how for many ages ships have attempted to sail beyond the impassable reaches, presumably to Mallorea, but without any success. ‘Such is there name,’ he says. They talk about there quest and the oracle of Justice and Geran asks Beldin if he has ever heard anything of ‘Zhadora’. Beldin admits he hasn’t but then recalls an ancient conversation between him and Aldur when Aldur mentioned those of the other lands, which Beldin never quite understood. ‘Perhaps these other lands are Zhadora,’ comments Beldin.

**

Beldaran comes up on board after Beldin goes underboard and talks with Geran. She asks how far they have come and other questions. They talk about Jack and Dulliam and she says she is still no nearer to her hearts dilemma.

**

Dulliam and Jack are getting drunk and they start arguing about Beldaran. Geran seriously thinks about rebuking them to remember their position, but decides to forestall his judgdement. They start brawling and then Jack says ‘I think I am going to be sick,’ and spews up over Dulliam. They both then hit each other in the head, knock each other out, and fall to the ground. Geran grins to himself and Beldaran comes in, looks at them, and shrieks at Geran. All Geran says is ‘I think they needed to get that out of their system sis,’ but she continues to shriek at him. Beldin comes in and grins at Jack and Dulliam who are moaning in their sleep.

Chapter Six

Brazadar is overseeing the building of a metal bridge at the mouth of the River Mardu. He speaks with the designer and the builders to ensure everything is progressing as planned.

**

Rtachek has sent out his followers to scour the land for virgins for sacrifice. Throughout Cthol Murgos there is a growing undercurrent that Rtachek is not in their best interests.

**

The Mallorean fleet is nearing the coast of Thull. Brazadar is anxious for their attacks to begin.

Chapter Seven

Belgarath has returned to the Vale and seeks out Aldur. He queries Aldur on various theological points, such as repentance and sorrow, and Aldur advises him well, but suggests he travel to Ulgoland to Prolgu to speak with the High Priest of Ul on the subject. Belgarath assents to the idea. As he is leaving the Vale he looks upon the Vale and thinks about his life, his long life, being a happy wizard. But then he queries wether there is more to it than just wizardry and anticipates what he might find in Prolgu to answer that question.

Chapter Eight

Belzandramas has become sovereign Queen over Yulenthea. She speaks to the populace that she has heard that ‘Torak’ has been reborn and seeks to conquer the Yulentheans and put them into slavery. She begins the process of defending Yulenthea by raising taxes and training more troops for the army.

**

Jek Barder travels through Mallorea to learn of Torak’s plans. He is on his way to Mal Zeth and stops at various places throughout the Dalasian Protectorates at inns, hearing word of Torak’s plans.

Chapter Nine

The Fleet from Riva come to rough ocean territory, and storms have started and don’t seem to abate. Geran plows ahead carefully.

**

Beldaran considers wether she loves Jack more or Dulliam more.

Chapter Ten

The Mallorean ships have arrived off the coast of Thull. Brazadar looks on and anticipates the battle ahead.

**

Castravar looks upon the Mallorean fleet and prays to Rtachek anticipating the war ahead.

Part Two ‘The Impassable Reaches’

Chapter Eleven

The Impassable reaches are showing their colours, and storms simply don’t stop. Beldin moans about the weather, but Geran keeps up his courage. They plow on ahead through the difficult weather.

Chapter Twelve

The fleet enters treacherous waters, full of rocks everywhere. Geran suggests land might be near somewhere, but Beldin reminds him not to get his hopes up. They spend a while searching for a way through the rocks, but after a few days the Admiral suggests they retreat and travel south several leagues to try again.

Chapter Thirteen

The First battle between Mallorean fleet and Thull. The whole chapter focuses on the battle. Mallorea are unable to make much progress on the first day, but the general of the Mallorean army assures Brazadar that the following day they will have better success.

Chapter Fourteen

The Rivan Fleet has moved south and are trying again. Geran has prayed to Ul and has high hopes, but signs don’t look promising.

Chapter Fifteen

The Second battle between Mallorean fleet and Thull. Again no success and the General and Admiral of the Mallorean army ensure Brazadar that on the following day they will have success.

Chapter Sixteen

The Rivan fleet encounter a giant maelstrom which destroys 3 of their ships. They retreat and agree to try a further south approach.

Chapter Seventeen

The third battle and Malloreans are defeated soundly. Brazadar has the General and the Admiral executed in front of him and appoints replacements. They decide on a new tactic of a northerly approach.

Chapter Eighteen

Jek Barder has arrived in Mal Zeth and hears more of the Mallorean war with the three Angarak nations. He asks questions carefully about Torak’s intentions towards Yulenthea, but most say Torak probably couldn’t care less about Yulenthea which puzzles Jek Barder.

**

Queen Belzandramas has started mustering troops to northern Yulenthea and is training her army rigorously. She is anxioiusly awaiting news from Jek Barder. She uses fear and propaganda to maintain control of Yulenthea.

Chapter Nineteen

The fleet are sailing south and Geran says ‘It really must be. These impassable reaches are just impassable.

Chapter Twenty

Belgarath has arrived in Prolgu and speaks with the High priest. The high priest suggests he spend some time with them at Prolgu learning of Ul, which Belgarath agrees to.

Part Three – Torna

Chapter Twenty-One

The Malloreans decide to move northwards and to attack just south of Thull Zelik. The Thullians have been watching them and have moved a substantial portion of their army northwards, matching the Malloreans. Another battle begins, and Thull repels them once more. Castravar is becoming very arrogant, and insults Torak all the time in the name of Rtachek. Brazadar is becoming very frustrated and fears for his failures before Torak. Torna is becoming a popular fighter amongst the Thullians.

Chapter Twenty-Two

In the final attempt the Malloreans receive their back up ships from Mallorea, and travel far from the coast and try to make a sneak attack halfway between the River Mardu and Rak Goska on the Thull coast. But Castravar is ready for them, and Thull once more defeats the Mallorean attack. In the Thull army, Captain Torna is glad at the victories, but disdains the great loss of Thullian lives and the futility of war.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brazadar returns to Mallorea defeated, goes before Torak, who takes a blade and cuts of Brazadar’s left hand in an act of fury. Brazadar clutches his arm with blood gushing out, and Torak says ‘Go. See me no more till you have news of victory,’ and Brazadar, weeping, departs Torak’s presence.

Chapter Twenty-Four

In Yulenthea, Belzandramas is being honoured as Sovereign queen of the world. The doomsayers travel the land, spreading their message, and the people come to believe that Belzandramas is a promised saviour which will save the world. She is anxiously waiting on news from Jek Barder and every day anticipates that Torak, soon, will rise and come to attack the 3 Yulenthean nations. She has raised taxes severely in the nations, and stationed all the troops she can muster on the coastlines, building vast military cities and preparing Yulenthea for war. She speaks to the populace that ‘Torak’ has gone mad and is planning on destroying Yulenthea forever. She says Torak plans on stealing the ‘Sunstone’, which is the special magical stone which lies between Yulenthea and Junissa and gives extra warmth to these continents, preventing the normal freezing of being in the Antarctic regions from taking place. In Yulenthean and Junissan legend, Ul placed the Sunstone were it is (on a tiny island just to the north-east of Yulenthea North-West of Junissa) at the beginning of the world, and Torak has long envied the Sunstone’s power, and has oft sought to destroy it. The Sunstone sits on top of a mighty tower going many leagues into the sky, and giving heat and light to that region.The ancient peoples of Mallorea from were the Yulentheans and Junissans were descended migrated to the continents of Yulenthea and Junissa because of the blessing of the Sunstone, but Torak was always coveting the Sunstone and had forbidden people from settling those lands, which were to be for his future use. There has long been fear of Torak for rebelling against him by the Yulentheans and Junissans because of it. The sunstone itself has divine power much like the orb, and radiates in waves warmth from its location. For many leagues around the Sunstone no marine life lives.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The ships in Geran’s fleet have been carefully and very slowly navigating westwards in the southern ocean. They seem to be having more success this time and out on the distance they spot land. At the topmost mast the looker says he can’t tell if it is just an island or not but, suddenly, they are attacked by a number of giant squids and, losing one ship, they have to retreat.

They try again a few leagues south but spot more of the giant squids swimming around. This way is also unpassable.

Gerand, Beldin and Beldaran take counsel and they agree, with much sadness, to return home to Riva.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Brazadar is in his home with his wife nursing to his healing arm. It is all scabby but the witch doctor says it will heal in time. He speaks with his second in command and they agree to marshal a greater fighting force, recruiting throughout Mallorea and, this time, to try there luck against the Murgos instead.

*

Jack and Dulliam have forgiven each other and are starting to get along somewhat. There is a depressed feeling amongst the fleet as they travel home but they realize they did there best effort.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Belgarath has been studying religious scrolls of the Ulgos on repentance and fear of Ul and service to his name. Belgarath is taken with a scroll on the meaning of life and existence and that mans ultimate purpose is to find his meaning in serving Ul and living a moral life. He contemplates his life and questions just how much he has been doing which has been moral and which has been, alternatively, questionable.

*

Rtachek has been boasting to the populace about how the Malloreans have been defeated and how he is their great saviour. Through-out Cthol Murgos the Grolim have been finding virgins and people live in fear that their daughters will be taken. The priests are taking them at younger and younger ages. Rtachek is bad news.

*

Captain Torna is promoted to a General for all his brave fighting against the Malloreans. The people see him as a hero and chant his name.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The fleet continue to sail home and Beldaran wonders if she can ever really choose between her two loves. At the end of the chapter they sight Riva and Geran says. ‘Home. But what awaits us now only destiny knows.’

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rtachek has had built a big statue of himself and everyone must bow down to it in worship. ‘We will destroy Mallorea’ he boasts to everyone, but everyone knows he has gone mad, including some of his Grolim priests.

Chapter Thirty

Belgarath has started to repent of his behaviour. He spends his days lost in studies of scrolls, drinking water and fasting from food. Somehow he knows a testing his coming for him and his world and he must be ready for it.

THE END of BOOK 2

Beyond the Edge of Nothing (Novel 5 in the series)

In Yulenthea Belzandramas returns to the cave of spirits to query the spirits as to why Torak has not come for her. And they sarcastically respond that she did not even ask the name of the 3 nations. The spirits tell her the real 3 nations, Nadrak, Thull and Murgos, and Belzandramas swears at them. They console her by telling her with the new powerbase of Yulenthea she can prove a faithful consort of Torak and beckon her to go with her new kingdom to confront her Lord.

Belzandramas sails with a fleet of Yulenthean ships to Mallorea, were Torak greets her and weds her. He has been unable to defeat the Angaraks, and to fulfil her task, as the spirits see it, she must volunteer her armies to help Torak defeat his foe. Yet she speaks words to her troops, and they fight with no zeal, and Torak remains unable to defeat even one Angarak nation.

The Belzandramanian

Volume 5

‘Beyond the Edge of Nothing’

by

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

Plot Summary

Part One – Belzandramas’ Glory

Part Two – The Judgement of Belgarath

Part Three – The Coming of the New World

Belzandramas, returning to the cave to claim her prize upon Torak’s failure to capture the 3 nations, the spirits tell her that all she must do now is to go forth to Riva and declare ‘Her heart’s desire’ to the King of the West. ‘For he shall surely hear you,’ are the final cryptic words of the spirits.

Belzandramas travels to Riva, Torak stationed in Cthol Mishrak, weeping over his failures and lack of fighting strength in his armies, not even caring what his wife is saying when she tells him of her trip to the west, believing all is lost.

DIALOGUE from Part One

Belzandramas arrives in Riva, were Garion has just heard word from his son Geran by a courier sent ahead of the party. They have found the ‘Oracle of Justice’ on the continent of ‘Zhadora’, to the west of the western lands, beyond the western ocean. Belzandramas, who is viewed as something of a threat by Belgarion, is still admitted into the throneroom and she speaks her heart of her desire for rulership, authority and glory over the worlds and that the spirits have promised her glory. Belgarion reminds her that Cyradis made the choice on such a subject. Belzandramas responds by saying ‘Yet the Spirits have not finished their judgement. Nay, what I was I am no longer. Cyradis assured that fate. Yet, that which has been reborn in me has been promised glory for my suffering, and the test set me I have completed. You must yield and allow me the glory of the throne of the west, for I shall rule with Torak in the east likewise, and be ruler of all.’

‘As simple as that? Submit to the Enchantress Zandramas. Hand over my throne, on the whim of spirits.’

‘It is no longer Zandramas. It is Belzandramas. And I speak of a promise not just of the Spirits, but of the gods. For they have sworn to me they represent the full council of the gods, and that this is their judgement and that, having passed their test, I must receive this glory.’

‘I do not fear to venture that every soul in life deserves a second chance, BELzandramas. I do not deny that. And your role in destiny, while we thought forgotten, seems to have been reawakened for some reason beyond my comprehension. But for you to speak in the name of the gods, well… He left off. ‘I know of a god. Aldur. Will you accept his word of Judgement, for while I fear he would not like summoning to Riva, he would come if I request it.’

Belzandramas stood there, before the court of the King of the West, and turned to look upon them all. She remembered back, just then, to her youth. To her youth when a mother soon to be taken from her made her a promise. ‘To win the glory you seek, you must be bold. But I promise you, you will gain it, child of mine. You will gain it.’

She turned to Garion. ‘I know in truth Aldur shall defend my claim, for the spirits lie not. Yes, summon Belar, Aldur, Ul himself. They shall uphold my claim. For I have passed through the fire and come through unscathed. And your glory now is mine, Belgarion. It now is mine.’

He looked at her coldly, almost as if upon an enemy, but knew that such being a truth was no longer the case. It was as if a petulant child were before his eyes yet, with a claim. Perhaps, it seemed, with a claim of glory that was within her legal rights. As if the gods had indeed made a promise to Belzandramas that, should she pass this test of theirs, glory would indeed come. And so he would consult with Aldur, and ask him to come to Riva if he would consent. Then he could either confirm or deny her claims. And, if she spoke true, she would be found out in the goodness of time.

‘Very well, Belzandramas. You shall remain our honoured guest. And if Aldur comes not to us, we shall go to him. We shall see your claim true or false. But between times, please, remain our guest. Riva is at your disposal.

She bowed to Belgarion, motioned for her guards who came forwards, and solemnly left the throneroom. The court was all alive with chatter, and Belgarion slumped on his throne, thinking to himself ‘What other grand news shall I have of this day.’

Dialouge

Aldur comes to Riva and the court welcomes him. Belzandramas is summoned. Aldur speaks cryptically about life and fate, but turns to Belzandramas and says ‘So the Spirits have promised you glory, have they?’

Belzandramas nodded coldly.

‘Then, I guess it will be that glory you shall have.’ He turned to Belgarion, placed his hand affectionately on his shoulder, and slowly, with the stateliness of a god, exited the throneroom.

Belgarion stared at Belzandramas, who turned to him, a look of triumph on her face. ‘What next for the King of the West,’ he thought to himself.’

Belgarion continues to entertain Belzandramas for a while, thinking upon Aldur’s cryptic words, and his silence. He knows he simply can not trust Belzandramas to be Queen of the west, and thinks her heart still devoted to the earlier judgement. Yet he sees things in her, in the way she has a new name, and changes of demeanour, which suggest that this child of the dark was once chosen for glory for a reason, and that she has the qualities, perhaps, needed for that which she so strongly apparently desires. He is still mulling this over when the questing party returns with the Oracle.

The Oracle returns with Geran and the questing party to Riva, where Belzandramas is confronted by the Oracle. He speaks of the great day of judgement ahead of them, and Belzandramas makes a fateful choice – a choice of turning her heart away from evil, towards love. This pleases the Oracle, who foreswears his judgement and returns to Zhadora.

Belzandramas returns to Cthol Mishrak, accompanied by ‘Gemma’ the ‘Living Orb’. Coming down the eternal steps to her beloved’s domain, accompanied by ‘Gemma’, Belzandramas comes up to Torak and swears her love for him. Torak, who had been brooding in misery over his defeat, is touched by Gemma on his face, and he is healed of his scarring. He returns up to the citadel and gazes at his restored face. Beyond all hope he finds it in his heart to learn that one thing hidden from him for so long – forgiveness. Ul descends upon Cthol Mishrak and peace and unity is once more restored amongst the God’s.

Yet, finally, beyond the edge of nothing (in the final part of volume 5) Belgarath must face his judgement. For it is Belgarath’s judgement which is in truth the final judgement which the doomsayers have spoken of. And should he fail the judgement, the world would turn, finally, to darkness and chaos.

Yet Belgarath, who ever since the quest began has been atoning, comes through the judgement before the throne of Ul in the Monastery beyond the edge of Nothing, and a new age dawns upon the world. This ends the age, and the new age begins

A Lost Child on the Streets of Camaar

Dulliam was 7. 7, alone, hungry and thirsty, living by the canals of the city of Camaar in the Kingdom of Sendaria, coping as well as he could. He was a bright young child, so his parent’s had told him many times. They had died, recently, in the house fire which had left him stranded. Nobody had been willing to take him in, and he had no relatives, so he ended up down by the canals near the wharves of the city, fishing with the rod he’d had to steal, and getting by as best he could.

His best friend, street rat, was 12 and had lived on the wharves as long as he could remember. He had been looked after for a while in his younger years by the old man Druknar, who had been a vagrant wandering around through Sendaria most of his days. But Druknar had died and since then street rat, who had no other name, had lived on the dirty streets of Camaar.

And now they were forming a team – a thieving team – and becoming quite adroit at their work.

* * *

‘Now, as soon as he goes to the back of the store, sneak in and grab the money bag. He is working alone today, and I am sure he won’t suspect anything. He always goes out for a drink near the end of the day. I have watched him for weeks now.’

Dulliam took in all these words of advice from Street Rat and, watching the fishmonger, was ready for his latest act of thievery. True to Street Rat’s words, the fishmonger soon wandered out the back of his store, apparently to indulge in his favourite beverage. Dulliam looked to the left and right and quietly stole into the store and climbed over the counter. He reached under the counter, pulled out the money bag, and peered inside. Full of coins – they would be rich. He looked out at Street Rat, raised the bag to show him, and Street Rat yelled ‘Now hurry, get out of there.’ Yet, as Dulliam began climbing again over the counter, the strong hands of the fishmonger grabbed him, called him a little larrikin, and took him to the back room. ‘You will be in the gaol for a while, my young thief. Whatever came into you to steal my money? Haven’t your parent’s taught you anything?’ But Dulliam remained silent. The fishmonger, not really wanting to report the lad, but not knowing what else to do, collected his coat, and closed the store, dragging the lad to the local magistrate’s office. He would let the authorities deal with this little thief, it was their job after all.

* * *

‘So, lord Garion, as you can see Sendarian Justice has become ever more effective since my reforms.’

Garion, looking through the report that King Fulrach had given him to briefly examine, nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I can see that Fulrach. Crime is down in many sectors. You have done well, it seems.’

‘It is all about having a strong hand of justice. It is what is required to run a kingdom.’

‘Yet mercy must not be lacking.’

‘It is as you say,’ responded Fulrach. ‘Well, shall we visit the magistrate then? Since we have come to Camaar we may as well sit in on a judgement, and you can see for yourself how effective Sendarian Justice has become.

‘Very well,’ responded Garion, eager to see Fulrach’s reforms at work firsthand.

* * *

Dulliam looked up at the impressive figure of the magistrate, awaiting his judgement.

‘Your crime is great, child. Yet you are still quite young. My judgement is that you will spend the rest of your youth, until adulthood, in the juvenile detention centre of Camaar. There you will learn the right way.’ Dulliam just nodded, and as the guard took him away he made no protest. At least he would be fed and have a home.

In the gallery, looking on, Garion motioned to Fulrach. ‘Can I speak with that lad? I want to ask him some questions.’

‘As you wish,’ responded the King

Coming into a private chamber, Dulliam was puzzled. The chamber was very expensive looking, and he wondered why he should be brought to such a place. Suddenly the door opened and an impressive looking man dressed in fine clothes entered the room, coming to sit down next to him.

‘Tell me, young Dulliam, where have you come from? They have been unable to locate your parent’s, apparently.’

Dulliam, though, remained silent. He had not spoken yet of his parents, and refused all questioning. Garion, sensing the child might be an orphan, softened his voice. ‘Are your parent’s gone from you? Gone to the grave? You can tell me Dulliam. I am only here to help you.’

Dulliam, looking up at the kind figure, finally nodded.

Garion looked at the child, a spirit of pity and compassion suddenly coming over him, and just then he knew exactly what request he wanted to make of Fulrach.

* * *

As the chariot sped along the Great Northern Road, Dulliam looked out excitedly at the scenery. He was now off on a new adventure, a new life, rescued by the man called Garion. He did not know what the future held, or where he would be this time next week, but it was better than living on the canals of Camaar, or stuck in a juvenile detention centre. And looking up at the man Garion seated next to him Dulliam sensed he had just begun a new destiny, a new life, and things would never be quite the same again.

THE END

“Life in Upper Gralt”

By

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

http://davideddingsfanfiction.angelfire.com

© 2010-04-06

Fendak was a simple Sendarian. A life of remarkable normalcy, really, apart from the grand day he, as a youth in his father’s service, had been presented to King Fulrach who had been touring the kingdom. But while the King had remarked that the pastries of the finest baker of Upper Gralt were truly tasty, and had wondered who had made such delicacies, he had not taken a great deal of interest when Fendak himself was presented. But it had been a big deal for Fendak, and he had informed all and sundry for many years since of his marvellous meeting with the noble monarch.

These days, instead, he delighted in his tasty pastries, as his substantial girth truly testified to. But Fendak didn’t care.

Upper Gralt was in the heart of Sendaria, not far from Erat. Not a great deal happened in this village. But it didn’t need to as far as Fendak was concerned. He liked the simple, basic life, and the things of glory which the Overlord of the West, Lord Belgarion, had pursued in his life – well such things were for Pawns of Prophecy, not for the likes of simple old Fendak.

One morning, rising early for the baking, an old man appeared at the front of the store, eager to be let in. Fendak always took a sale when he could, as his father had trained him for many long years to make as much money as he could, so answered the request of the old man for admittance into the store.

The old man inspected the pastries, and suddenly another one appeared, seeming similar in many ways, but a hunchback.

‘Well, Beldin. What shall it be? This bakery has made fine food for centuries, a well established family tradition I believe.’

‘Yes sir,’ interrupted Fendak. ‘Our family has run this bakery for well over 500 years. We are proud of our tradition.’

‘Then the food must be good,’ commented the hunchbacked Beldin. ‘I will take you at your word Belgarath. Anything will do.’

The man, apparently named Belgarath, chose two pies, paid for them, and the two of them, sitting out on the front of the store, consumed their pies hastily.

Fendak, getting back to work, thought on his life. It really was a simple life, really. Feeding hungry old men. It would be something, though, if some grand figure of the West, someone like old King Fulrach, came and dined at his bakery some time. It would indeed be something. But Upper Gralt was not exactly on the hit list for the finery of the West after all, was it? No, of course not, thought Fendak to himself, and got back to his work, the two men out the front of the bakery finishing off their tasty pies.

The End

The Thieves of Upper Gralt

Blindrak and Justogo were incompetent thieves on a good day. They had been the bane of the baron of Upper Gralt’s Marshall for many a year, but today, so they told each other, the plot couldn’t fail. They would steal pies – pies from Fendak the baker – and feed themselves on them for a solid month.

Fendak had gained a reputation as Upper Gralt’s finest baker, one in a long family line of traditional bakers, and their store had been in business for centuries. But when Fendak returned from a lunch break just over the road at the local tavern to find that morning’s assortment of pies no longer staying warm on top of the oven, he suspected foul play. Who had stolen his pies?

Ringtack the local Marshall had a number of likely suspects, and Blindrak and Justogo’s names were mentioned amongst them, but proving the case would be difficult.

It was then an old fellow, who had visited Fendak from time to time, arrived on the scene, gravely disappointed to not find any more pies for an afternoon snack. When Fendak had declared the pies had been stolen, the old wizard Beldin, beside himself with desire for yet another of those delicious Graltian pies, tried his own trade to find the culprits – magic.

He took out a wand, waved it at the top of the oven and, the Marshall and the Baker following, they left the bakery and trudged half way across town to a second rate doss house, were, upon the marshal bursting through one of the room doors on the first level, they found two sleeping thieves, and a cupboard full of pies.

Well, Beldin was most pleased, was rewarded with a number of the pies for his diligent service, and Blindrak and Justogo found themselves, yet again, in the custody of the Marshall of Upper Gralt.

Later on, reflecting on their briefly lived good fortune, Justogo could only say to Blindrak, well at least we won’t need to eat for a week or so, to which Blindrak glumly nodded, before burping on the recently digested meal of chicken and vegetable pies.

The End

The Bronze Falcon

From the Life of Garion

(From the ‘Beloreon’ era - between the ‘Belgariad’ and the ‘Malloreon’)

Garion surveyed the forest. He knew there were rabbits in large quantity and, suddenly, spying one, he released his Falcon ‘Bronzeclaw’ and it flew swiftly, cornered the frightened creature, and nabbed it, returning to Garion.

He petted Bronzeclaw, making that familiar noise with his throat which seemed to make the bird happy. He fed it some meat, small enough chunks to pass the ring around its throat, and returned to his party. He’d had enough hunting for the day.

As Overlord of the West, slayer of Torak, Garion had a fearsome reputation amongst the people of the Isle of the Winds. This week he was inland, staying at a lodge of respectable elder of the land, enjoying his Kingship. They had been out hunting for a while and ‘Durant’, the elder, had provided a Falcon for Garion, sharing the noise which the Falcon responded to well. And he had taken an instant liking to ‘Bronzeclaw’, for she was magnificent.

These were quiet days, now, in the time of the west. It seems as if a climax of millennia of expectations had been reached, and now a quite aftermath followed. But, still, there was something in Garion’s heart which told him his adventures were not quite finished with yet. Not just yet.

As they returned to the lodge he petted his bird. Hunting with a bird was, of course, a traditional role of the King. And he tried his best to live up to his Kingly expectations. The people needed a King of the people, so his grandfather Belgarath reminded him. Someone after their own heart. And Garion tried his best to live up to his grandfather’s expectations, even if at times he felt himself lacking.

Ce’Nedra was always a handful, and had been ever more unfathomable of late, moaning about this and that. But such were a woman’s ways, and perhaps especially a Tolnedran woman’s.

He looked at his falcon. Perhaps the Falcon had concerns, as all creatures likely did. Worrying about its meals, its mates. Perhaps they were its concerns. But, for Garion, he wondered could the life of a Bronze Falcon truly be as complicated as King of the West? He truly wondered that indeed.

The End

Stuck in Erat

By

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

© 2010

http://davideddingsfanfiction.angelfire.com

Jennavere was a regular type of young lady. Full of dreams about boys, fantasies of being the bell of the Erat society scene, hopes of marrying prince charming but, despite her best wishes, still stuck in the most lowly of occupations as being a washer woman to bring home finances for her often hungry family. She had 3 brothers, 3 sisters, an ancient and sick father who could no longer work, and a mother who was always beside herself with her worries. It seemed for young Jennavere that she was stuck – stuck here in Erat in the nation of Sendaria – destined to live out her life as a washer woman, loved by none, providing for her siblings welfare.

And then one day something changed.

And old and ancient man, wrinkled beyond belief, showed up at the laundry were she slaved away, muttering something about the frustrations of being alive again. She asked him his name and wether he had washing to do. He replied that he was the wizard Belsambar and, yes, he did have some washing for her to take care of.

As she sat there the old man began muttering on about his once past life as a wizard of glory from the Vale of Aldur, and she just smiled at his senility. A wizard indeed.

She continued washing away, doing her work, when he said something she never forgot. ‘And what do you want, dear Jennavere? Of all the things you could wish in life, what do you wish for the most?’

She looked at him, sighed, and responded. ‘Oh, I don’t know. In the end I guess I am content with my lot in life. Certainly, it’s not an easy life, but I know I am doing the right thing sticking by my family and caring for my elderly father. Really, I couldn’t wish for anything apart from his good health and the family’s prosperity.’

The wizard nodded knowingly. He understood human dilemma.

‘Very well. I shall consult with Aldur, and you shall have your wishes come true.’

She handed him his briefs and coat, smiled. ‘Be sure to say hello from me.’

He nodded, got to his feet, and meandered away.

‘What a strange old man,’ she thought to herself.

The thing is, it didn’t happen suddenly, but gradually over the next few months and year’s things began to improve in the life of Jennavere. Against all hope her father simply got better and went back to work at his old firm. His mother’s attitude improved, and her two eldest brothers found very good employment with a local merchant. And all of a sudden they had good finances and were even considering moving to a better part of town.

In fact, they did so, and her dreams started coming true. She met prince charming at an uptown boutique store, who invited her to the Earl of Erat’s next ball. He gave her a lump sum for a pretty dress and her mother fussed over her no end the night before the ball.

She became the toast of the town, and married her prince charming. And the life of the washer woman was forgotten forever.

Then, later, an old man wandered into a familiar laundry, looked at a desperate washerwoman, and said ‘Share me your woes, dear lady.’ And the rest, as they say, is history.

The End

A Proud Son of Sendaria

‘And you, Jacon. What do you think of Sendaria’s role in the world?’

Jacon was an intelligent young 18 year old Sendarian, hailing from Erat, but now studying at Camaar.

‘I think Sendaria has much to offer the world, Hemlyn. Our wines are universally acknowledged as the best the west has to offer. We have fruit and vegetables found nowhere else, and our bakers are amongst the finest there is. But, I feel, our destiny is in ‘Palagon’. I feel if we promote our premiere sport to the world, as we have been gradually doing, Sendarian fame will last forever. Rumour has it that even King Garion in his youth at Faldor’s farm played a variant of Palagon while it is was in its younger years of developments.’

‘I am not sure if Palagon stretches back that many centuries, Jacon, but possibly. Never the less, you have answered well.’

Jacon sat there in his university class, pleased at himself. He had answered well, and thought he had made a positive contribution.

Later on, after class, he sat in the library doing his studies and opposite him sat down a girl, about 19, with a book on ancient legends. It had a picture of King Garion in his prime on it, and Jacon was instantly interested.

‘What are you looking up,’ he asked the girl.

‘Oh, nothing in particular. Just taking a break from my regular studies.’

‘I like the picture of King Garion on the cover.’

She turned to it. Yes. Yes, it is a good one. But I am one of those who wonder, you know, if he will ever return from the far reaches of Zhadora.’

‘Eventually, I think,’ responded Jacon. ‘But the west is prospering these days under the Royal Family of Riva, and while the ancient patriarchs are gone from us yet to return, we are sufficing. We are doing well.’

‘Yes. Yes we are,’ she responded. My name is Jantie. What is your name?’

‘Jacon.’

‘Oh, really. That is my brother’s name as well.’

‘Small world,’ he responded.

They continued chatting about this and that and Jacon found himself making a new friend. Always a good thing, he thought to himself.

Outside the world of Camaar and Sendaria continued on, as it had done so for many ages, going through its life and progress in both cultural and technological advances. It was a new world Sendaria was embracing, a world of continuing advances in science, and great advances in economics and industry. It was a brave new world in many ways, and a world of great hope and opportunity for a proud young Sendarian such as Jacon, son of Jaldo.

The End

Chronicles of an Age of Darkness

Volume 11

“The Wyvvern and the Warlock”

(a Fanfiction Work)

By

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

Dedicated to Hugh Cook

Creator of the Chronicles of an Age of Darkness World and Author of Volumes 1 to 10

CHAPTER ONE

Day Suet had always fancied herself a maiden of quite serene and noble beauty.  But of the host of maidens on the land of Sung that was not really saying that much.  Sung was a backwater land, just offshore the continent of Argan which had become beset with wild beasts, known as the swarms, since the breaking of a certain barrier on the south of the continent.  Day rarely gave thought to the concerns of the continent of Argan, so caught up in her beauty and maidenhood, which was a shame really.  Because the questing hero, Togura Poulaan, her beloved was currently running as fast as he verily could away from the clutches of one of the said wild beasts, intent on reaching the safety of a certain bottle which was in the possession of a befriended wizard who was currently in the form of a giant eagle, doing its very beast to persuade an unpersuadable monster from deferring its hunger to find a more suitable appetizer than the scrawny and most definitely undelicious Togura.

‘Get the hell down here Kalphor,’ yelled the much distressed Togura to the giant eagle which was still attacking the three headed beast, having successfully pecked out 3 of its 9 eyes so far.  The beast was enraged and currently preoccupied with the eagle, so much so that Togura had safely climbed a large pine tree and was signalling for the wizard to come down so he could board the bottle to safety and the eagle could fly away to a safer place.  The particular bottle in question was modelled on another set of bottles, but this one was smaller, a dark bluey green in colour and on the vast interior, not quite as large overall as its predecessors had been.  It was rumoured that these bottles, which had recently been claiming fame somewhat, were of a series of 7 special bottles used by an ancient kingdom in its wars for retreating soldiers.  But that was a matter of speculation, as nobody on Sung really knew were the bottles had originated, and when Kalphor, a cousin of a wizard called Phyphor, had arrived with the bottle to Togura Poulaan’s address, seeking an audience with the challenger to the Odex with a plan for storing all the potential goods of the Odex in the bottle, with Togura’s assistance, Togura, while he had dismissed such an idea, had marvelled at the bottle and persuaded Kalphor to accompany him on a quest to pillage the abandoned treasures of the halls of Argan and store any treasures they happened upon in the said bottle.

Naturally, Kalphor had been reluctant.  But greed was always a good motivation for a wizard who often lived on a shoestring.  And armed with Togura’s definite and proud self belief and whatever wizardries the wizard could muster, they had set forth from Sung, Togura having kissed farewell his beloved Day Suet, and made the way towards Argan.

They had landed on the north-western shore of Argan and, carefully hiding from the beasts, the wizard in the form of a giant eagle, carrying the bottle in a brown satchel around its neck were Togura lived happily while they flew from keep to keep and town to town, they’d had many dark encounters but, so far, escaped harm.  That was until this very moment when the questing hero, very concerned with the fate of his skin and trying to avoid the gaze of the beast, was signalling to the wizard to ‘get the hell down here.’  Fortunately the eagle obeyed the request and, gathering Togura in its claws, flew high up to the thickest part of the forest they were in and, resting on a branch, gave the satchel to Togura who took the bottle, and holding the pendant around his neck with a diamond on it, which for this particular bottle was the key to entering it, pushed the diamond while clutching onto the eagle wizard and saying the spell, quickly disappeared into a bluey green smokey substance which entered the head of the bottle.

A short while later, emptying the sack he had with him of their latest finds into the corner of the main upper sanctuary of the bottle, Togura announced to the wizard that, with the finds they had been successful in uncovering, they could perhaps now think of returning home to Sung to spend their fortune.

‘Methinks you speak wisely, Togura.  But I have a plan,’ objected Kalphor.

‘A plan?  Speak on.  If it is to bring wealth I won’t object greatly.  But we are wealthy now, Kalphor, and I don’t like the idea of facing too many more quests in my life for fortune or rescuing fair maidens, even ones as lovely as Day Suet.’

‘Yet this plan of mine, well, if we are able to make use of a certain resource we may perchance have available to us, the whole of the continent of Argan could be available to us for plunder without always having to risk ourselves in the fights with these demons from hell.’

‘Then what is this plan, Kally.  Don’t keep it to yourself.  Speak on.’

‘I know of a Warlock.  A Warlock who owes me a life debt, fortunately enough.  You see, he was held prisoner in this very bottle for over 1000 years and, upon me rescuing him from the bottle, he pledged to me that should I ever need his services, he would be available for even the most daring of quests.’

‘And how does that help us,’ asked Togura, now interested.

‘This Wizard was trained in the Cold West and has particular powers.  Powers over the psyche of Wyvvern’s.  Powers to make them do his will, for he has drunk much of their blood and knows them intimately.  In fact, so he has told me, he has the power to summon several dozen Wyvvern’s to his service if he needs to.’

‘And the plan?’

‘We call in this life debt, travel to the Cold West, gain the services of our Warlock and recruit a dozen or so Wyvvern’s.  With them as our fighting prowess we can quite certainly raid all the riches of Argan and become wealthy beyond even our wildest dreams.’

Togura, having listened intently, liked the idea.  In fact he loved the idea and saw it, should they prove successful, as paving the way for him to become the next Baron Poulaan.  Nay, with the money and the foreign mercenary hire he could afford with the wealth of Argan, he could verily challenge the supremacy of the Khmar himself.  But ruling from Sung?  Perhaps he could travel to a more suitable place.  The Ravlish Lands. Parengarenga.  Even the great eastern continent of Margenna were heroes were a dime a dozen, or so he had been taught from his youth, not really knowing how much value there was in a dime.

So, thus agreeing to the wisdom of Kalphor on this particular plan, Togura picked up a bottle of wine, toasted Kalphor to their inevitable success, and dreamed of the riches which would surely soon be his.

* * *

Blaz Durass was not exactly what you would call a competent Warlock. In fact, recalling his earlier days under the tutelage of Sarge Bramenday, one of the more highly respectable of the wizards of the Cold West, it was uttered on more than one occasion, in fact quite frequently, that Blaz Durass was far from being a competent student, and would never pass his exams for acceptance into the Guild of the Universal Order of Wizards, Witches and Warlocks. This particular guild, one of several such guilds of the Cold West, being a trend which had caught on centuries back, was one of the more established and respected guilds. So much so that they gave a cautious guarantee, as cautious as the word of a wizard could be, that all successful pupils passing their degree course in wizardry and magic would be competent enough for the slaying of any dangerous dragon or the successful practice of raising from the dead, or turning blood into Jelly or any of the other more ambiguous callings that a wizard may happenchance be called upon to perform. And because of the said guarantee from such an esteemed school of magic, Blaz had forthrightly enrolled, confident, despite his father’s constant objections that he should get a real job, that he would become a world class wizard, quite capable of turning blood into Jelly. In point of fact, despite the truth that he'd had years of wizarding adventures to master the art, Blaz Durass, as befitted his level of competency, was still unable to turn blood into Jelly. Actually, he usually vomited at the sight of blood, his complexion turning quite pale. But, nonetheless, he had in fact passed his exams in the end, albeit with straight D's, and happily took his membership in the guild at the reluctance of the head wizard and the board of executives, and proudly displayed his degree in his room, boasting to his father that the world was now at his doorstep. His father knew the better.

They didn't exactly come a knocking on the door of Blaz Durass, and despite his extensive advertising in the Wizarding Gazette, a popular publication in the Cold West, after one year of solid unemployment, Blaz was distressed. Most distressed. But fortune favours the brave, and for all that hard work and effort, for 7 years of constant worrying whether he'd mixed his reagents in the correct manner, or whether his enchantments would work in the prescribed way, or whether his wand was powerful enough, Blaz finally had his breakthrough when a warlord, having come into the ownership of a special magical bottle, engaged Blaz's services to see just how he could, apparently, store his army in the bottle for the purposes of sneak attacks and urgent retreats.

Blaz had, delightfully, taken to the task and spent several weeks, coming to months, in the archives of the guild, researching all he could on ancient storage bottles.

It had been incredibly dull work, but he was learning constantly and, finally, finding a meagre reference, he touched the pendant, said the spell, and was instantly transmogrified and taken into the bottle. But he'd made one simple mistake. The pendant needed to be worn around his neck in physical contact with his skin, otherwise it would be left behind outside of the bottle and, because of that, he would be left with no escape from the bottle should he have proven such a dullard to make such a mistake. Which is exactly why the competency of Blaz Durass had seriously been questioned by so many, for he in historical fact did make such a blunder. To his credit, he had been zealous, and when overcome with joy for the finding of the reference and uttering the spell once he had touched the diamond, he had failed to read further into the passage which proclaimed the importance of wearing the said pendant against one's chest or skin. And due to this unfortunate mistake, Blaz had found himself sucked inside the bottle, with no apparent way of escape. And there he had remained, for a solid millennium, wondering when on earth one of his wizarding compatriots would take the time to work out exactly were he had disappeared to. Alack and alas, not only had they in fact known were he had gone, and had a fair idea of how to get him back should they want to, the head of the guild had quietly taken the bottle, stored it up on the uppermost shelf of his library, and taken it to mind to give as much forgetfulness to the person of Blaz Durass and the said bottle as possible. And for 1000 years he was quite successful at this objective.

But pity is a strange beast, and despite, as the millennium passed, and thinking he really should know better, the head of the guild had sold the bottle at a hefty sum to a certain 'Kalphor' who was interested in acquiring magical items with useful purposes. The wizard had instructed him, quite carefully, that a mad wizard likely still resided in the bottle, and to be well and truly far away from the headquarters of the guild before he dared using the charm to enter the bottle. Kalphor, being a hospitable enough type of wizard, gladly accepted this obligation and, being a suitable distance from the home of the guild, used the pendant and entered the bottle.

A wizard, he assumed, greeted him. Or what was left of a wizard. Blaz was naked, as had become his custom, with a rather lengthy beard, and munching on what looked to be 40 Trillion years supply of stale crackers and bland wine, was suddenly quite surprised and overwhelmed to be visited upon.

And, for the salvation which Kalphor had given Blaz, he promptly promised him a life debt, should he ever have need of a highly trained wizard, and began to boast of his great powers and apparent abilities to utilize the services of Wyvvern’s, of all creatures, to any task he should so desire.

Kalphor believed him. Which was perhaps quite foolish, having not heeded the guild heads advice the Blaz was indeed mad, and as such, one fine afternoon in the Cold west, Blaz Durass busily studying a magic tome in the guild of wizards which, to many protestations and objections he had rejoined, them finding no legal avenue to refuse him re-entrance into the guild, Kalphor and Togura Poulaan were steadily making there way up Krozana highway, to the city of Krandor, home to the guild of Wizards, Witches and Warlocks.

Togura looked at the sun in the sky. Through the dismal grey clouds it seemed to hang limply, almost too scared to come out and shine its glory over the increasingly cold environs. The Cold West, which was perhaps a mark of genius in the naming of the said region by some wise geographer of ancient of days, was duly named as such simply because of that very fact – it was extremely, bloody cold. And Togura, used to the more pleasant environs of Sung, which while not famous for its hospitable climate – in fact, quite often the very opposite – was starting to look like paradise in comparison to the rather cold and unwelcoming frost of one of the cooler regions of Olo Malan. But the questing group had no real choice in the matter, for the wizard they sought, the venerable Blaz Durass, resided in Krandor of the Cold West, headquarters to the Guild of Wizards, Witches and Warlocks, and as such Togura’s certainty that his toes were starting to turn green looked like there would be no soon abating of his due concerns because of the said Wizards choice of residency. ‘Try to look on the bright side of things,’ said Kalphor. ‘We’ll be rich soon enough. And then you can buy all the slippers and mittens and fur coats your heart could possibly desire. Togura, currently weighed down in very thick clothing of such like muttered ‘Very funny.’

They continued to trudge on along the road, unable to find any suitable beast willing to bear them in winter in the cold west, when the horses simply froze up and stayed in their kennels, neighing subtle mockeries at the slightest suggestion they should brave the coldest part of the year in a land they had most lovingly come to hate. There were always the standard ‘Grizmak’s’, large bear like creatures which were the common beasts used for pulling sleds during this time of the year in the Cold West but, unfortunately for Togura, he sneezed incessantly whenever he was near such a beast and came out in a most terrible and undesiring red and very itchy rash. In fact, they had been holed up for several weeks near the beginning of their journey in the Cold West, laid up in an inn as Togura recovered from his most eventful encounter with one of the thick fur-cladded beasts.

And so they trudged. Slowly, carefully, inevitably they trudged along the roads and byways of the Cold West, steadily making for the city of Krandor. After 12 weeks of solid marches, though, the weather in truth did seem to be improving somewhat, and Togura’s constant bemoaning that Kalphor should resume his eagle form which, so far, had fallen upon deaf ears, was less often the stuff of their conversation as they came into sight of the city of Krandor.

‘We should be there in no time,’ exclaimed Kalphor, quite happy to have finally arrived at their desired destination.

‘It’s about bloody time,’ remarked Togura in response, but he was in truth quite pleased that they had finally arrived and, despite hating so much the fact of his unavoidable odyssey through the wilds of the Cold West, was starting to think of himself as something of a heroic athlete and man of worth for the great trudging epic they had just about completed. Yes, vanity was a lovely gift to man, and while he often suitably rebuked himself for such pretensions, the pride of his youth still lingered somewhat.

‘So what is the address,’ began Togura. ‘I mean, I assume you know were to find the guild after all.’ Kalphor looked at him, momentarily stunned, and then looking away uneasily answered ‘Of course I do. Of course I do.’ Yet, in truth, he had not the foggiest idea.

The first citizen they met and asked for instructions must have had quite a wicked sense of humour, for they had trudged all the way to the southerly edge of the city in search of the guild, only to befriend another welcoming citizen who told them they had been taken for a ride, which was not uncommon in Krandor, and that the very guild they sought was in fact on the northern edge of the city. Kalphor thanked the kind man, but could not deny his frustrations and Togura’s swearing reminded him instantly of the new march they now faced. Yet, thankfully, they found an inn, booked in for the night, and in the warmth of the burning fire in their room, Togura practically roasting his toes, he remarked that tomorrow should be a good day in which they would hopefully locate the desired wizard. Kalphor ensured him they would have no such troubles, despite Togura’s careful looks, yet nevertheless slept well that night, enjoying the rare consolation in these lands of a warm bed and warm broth.

The following morn, having amply rested and deciding to leave a little later in the day than their usual, to make full use of their allotted time in the warmth of the inn, in the weather which had fortunately started to improve somewhat, perhaps ironically in Togura’s viewpoint, just as they had arrived in Krandor, they managed to thankfully find a horse-driven sled willing to transport them to the guild they desired to frequent.

As they drove along Togura began again questioning Kalphor on the merits of the Warlock Blaz Durass, for on the long road to their destination Kalphor had said the occasional word regarding Blaz and his actual probable abilities that lead Togura to seriously question wether they had indeed sought out the most appropriate of Warlocks for the task in question. But all that Kalphor would say was ‘As my cousin Phyphor truly says, you can always trust a wizard,’ a remark at which Togura often muttered responses under his breath, always just a little to undiscernible to the ears of Kalphor.

As the midday approached and they neared the guild, a monstrous fortress it seemed on the edge of the city, Togura’s attitude generally began to finally improve. ‘You’ll see,’ said Kalphor. ‘Blaz will be only too willing to help us. I am sure of it.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ responded the Baron of Poulaan’s son.

* * *

Jak Tolkun, student of the Guild of the Universal Order of Wizards, Witches and Warlocks, studying as well as he could to ensure he passed all the requirements of his 7 year degree, moaned once again his frustrations in being suddenly and most embarrassingly covered with a shloss of exploding horse dung. His beloved teacher and guide in his studies, the venerable Blaz Durass, simply looked at Jak’s current state and said ‘Oh Bother, it has happened again,’ which were far from words of consolation to the dung laden Jak. For 5 solid weeks Jak had been the victim of such enchantments, all of them aimed towards the simple purpose of deliquidifying dung to make it a more palatable brown dirt-like substance. For in the cold west it was often the case that sewerage didn’t always flow that well and often, in winter in particular, strong smells wafted up into the upper chambers of the wealthy and elite abodes of Krandor, and other notable cities, much to the chagrin of the nobility and finery of the Cold West’s honourable ones. As for the poor, well they were poor, and would simply have to make do. But the situation had become such an ordeal for a particular Krandorian nobility that, having sought out the Guild for their expertise, and being pointed towards Blaz Durass who was deemed by the head of the guild the most suitable Warlock to deal with, as it were, the shit, he pleaded his desire of suitable enchantments being made available to deal with the problem of the most unsavoury sewerage.

Blaz, a radical thinker at most times, instantly came up with the plan to deliquidify dung so that the dryer substance, which would thus hopefully not smell, could simply be turned back into the earth and be the cause of no further anxieties. And while Jak Tolkun felt that, should they achieve such a result, which would prove quite a feat of accomplishment for Blaz Durass, it would be well and truly a good thing, bemoaned the fact that after 5 solid weeks of dealing with ‘The Shit’ as it were, being no closer to success than when they had begun their investigations, dealing with ‘The Shit’ was becoming a less and less attractive option all the time.

But, alas, he had no choice. In his time in the guild he had come to understand why he was the butt of so many jokes of his fellow students. For while they most definitely did not doubt his own potential and abilities, the reputation of Blaz Durass went before him in such a manner that, should you find yourself paired with the Warlock for any length of time, your future earning potential was deemed less and less attractive with each passing year of apprenticehood.

‘Why me,’ was what Jak Tolkun moaned to himself more often than not and, as he scrubbed himself in the shower and took to the washing of his garments, he pretended to not hear his teachers calling of his name for them to begin the resumption of their experimentations. But, fortunately for young Jak, he was saved on this one rare occasion by the summoning of Blaz by another student to the head of the guilds den for an important meeting.

Jak breathed a sigh of relief, continued scrubbing his clothes, and thought that the meal that night should somewhat, if only temporarily, make up for his current crop of miserable duties.

Blaz wondered through the large guild hall, working his way up the complex series of hallways and staircases, finally coming to the uppermost level and the grand office of the head of the guild, Crocus Dalbana. He knocked on Crocus’ door and, shortly, heard an ‘Enter’. Pushing the door open he came in and stood before Crocus desk, blustering that his work had been starting to show promising signs, which was not exactly true, and that he really needed to get back to it. ‘I am sure your dealings with the dung of Krandor can wait a while, Blaz,’ responded Crocus. ‘For you verily have visitors, and all the way from Sung and Argan of all places.’ Crocus motioned towards seats, the occupants of which Blaz had not noticed upon entering the office and Togura and Kalphor s