Belgarath the Sorcerer. David Eddings

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      The Alorns, of course, were an entirely different matter. They’re a noisy, belligerent people who’ll fight at the drop of a hat. Beltira and Belkira looked in on their fellow Alorns. Fortunately for the sake of world peace, the Alorns, like the Arends, spent most of their time fighting each other rather than doing war on other races, but the twins strongly suggested that we keep an eye on them. I’ve been doing just that for the past five thousand years. It was probably that more than anything else that turned my hair white. Alorns can get into more trouble by accident than other people can on purpose – always excepting the Arends, of course. Arends are perpetually a catastrophe waiting to explode.

      Our Master considered our reports carefully and concluded that the world outside the Vale was generally peaceful and that only the Angaraks were likely to cause trouble. He told us that he’d have a word with his brother Torak about that particular problem, pointing out to him that if any kind of general war broke out, the Gods themselves would inevitably be drawn in, and that would be disastrous. ‘Methinks I can make him see reason,’ Aldur told us. Reason? Torak? Sometimes my Master’s optimism got the better of him.

      As I recall, he had been absently fondling that strange grey stone of his as we made our reports. He’d had the thing for so long that I don’t think he even realized that it was in his hand. Over the years since he’d spoken with UL about it, I don’t think he’d once put it down, and it somehow almost became a part of him.

      It was naturally Belzedar who noticed it. I wonder how everything might have turned out if he hadn’t. ‘What is that strange jewel, Master?’ he asked. Better far that his tongue had fallen out before he asked that fatal question.

      ‘This Orb?’ Aldur replied, holding it up for all of us to see. ‘In it lies the fate of the world.’ It was then for the first time that I noticed that the stone seemed to have a faint blue flicker deep inside of it. It was, as I think I’ve mentioned before, polished by a thousand years or more of our Master’s touch, and it was now, as Belzedar had so astutely noticed, more a jewel than a piece of plain, country rock.

      ‘How can so small an object be so important, Master?’ Belzedar asked. That’s another question I wish he’d never thought of. If he’d just been able to let it drop, none of what’s happened would have happened, and he wouldn’t be in his present situation. Despite all of our training, there are some questions better left unanswered.

      Unfortunately, our Master had a habit of answering questions, and so things came out that might better have been left buried. If they had, I might not currently be carrying a load of guilt which I’m not really strong enough to bear. I’d rather carry a mountain than carry what I did to Belzedar. Garion might understand that, but I’m fairly sure none of the rest of my savage family would. Regrets? Yes, of course I have regrets. I’ve got regrets stacked up behind me at least as far as from here to the moon. But we don’t die from regret, do we? We might squirm a little, but we don’t die.

      And our Master smiled at my brother Belzedar, and the Orb grew brighter. I seemed to see images flickering dimly within it. ‘Herein lies the past,’ our Master told us, ‘and the present, and the future, also. This is but a small part of the virtue of the Orb. With it may man – or earth herself – be healed or destroyed. Whatsoever man or God would do, though it be beyond even the power of the Will and the Word, with this Orb may it come to pass.’

      ‘Truly a wondrous thing, Master,’ Belzedar said, looking a bit puzzled, ‘but still I fail to understand. The jewel is fair, certainly, but in fine it is yet but a stone.’

      ‘The Orb hath revealed the future unto me, my son,’ our Master replied sadly. ‘It shall be the cause of much contention and great suffering and vast destruction. Its power reaches from where it now lies to blow out the lives of men yet unborn as easily as thou wouldst snuff out a candle.’

      ‘It’s an evil thing then, Master,’ I said, and Belsambar and Belmakor agreed.

      ‘Destroy it, Master,’ Belsambar pleaded, ‘before it can bring its evil into the world.’

      ‘That may not be,’ our Master replied.

      ‘Blessed be the wisdom of Aldur,’ Belzedar said, his eyes glittering strangely. ‘With us to aid him, our Master may wield this wondrous jewel for good instead of ill. It would be monstrous to destroy so precious a thing.’ Now that I look back at everything that’s happened, I suppose I shouldn’t really blame Belzedar for his unholy interest in the Orb. It was a part of something that absolutely had to happen. I shouldn’t blame him for it – but I do.

      ‘I tell ye, my sons,’ our Master continued, ‘I would not destroy the Orb even were it possible. Ye have all just returned from looking at the world in its childhood and at man in his infancy. All living things must grow or they will die. Through this jewel shall the world be changed and man shall achieve that state for which he was made. The Orb is not of itself evil. Evil is a thing which lieth only in the hearts and minds of men – and of Gods also.’ And then our Master fell silent, and he sighed, and we went away and left him in his sad communion with the Orb.

      We saw little of our Master in the centuries which followed. Alone in his tower he continued his study of the Orb, and he learned much from it, I think. We were all saddened by his absence, and our work had little joy in it.

      I think it was about twenty centuries after I came to serve my Master when a stranger came into the Vale. He was beautiful as no being I have ever seen, and he walked as if his foot spurned the earth.

      As was customary, we went out to greet him.

      ‘I would speak with thy Master Aldur,’ he told us, and we knew that we were in the presence of a God.

      As the eldest, I stepped forward. ‘I shall tell my Master you have come,’ I said politely. I wasn’t certain which God he was, but something about this over-pretty stranger didn’t sit very well with me.

      ‘That is not needful, Belgarath,’ he told me in a tone that irritated me even more than his manner. ‘My brother knows I am here. Convey me to his tower.’

      I turned and led the way without trusting myself to answer.

      When we reached the tower, the stranger looked me full in the face. ‘A bit of advice for thee, Belgarath,’ he said, ‘by way of thanks for thy service. Seek not to rise above thyself. It is not thy place to approve or to disapprove of me. For thy sake, I hope that when next we meet, thou wilt remember this instruction and behave in a more seemly manner.’ His eyes seemed to bore directly into me, and his voice chilled me.

      But, because I was still who I was and not even the two thousand years and more I had lived in the Vale had entirely put the wild, rebellious boy in me to sleep, I answered him somewhat tartly. ‘Thank you for the advice,’ I told him. ‘Will you require anything else?’ It wasn’t up to me to tell him where the door was or how to open it. I waited, watching hopefully for some hint of confusion.

      ‘Thou art pert, Belgarath,’ he observed. ‘Perhaps one day I shall give myself leisure to instruct thee in proper behavior and customary respect.’

      ‘I’m always eager to learn,’ I replied. As you can see, Torak and I got off on the wrong foot almost immediately. You’ll notice that I’d deduced his identity by now.

      He turned and gestured, and the stone door of the tower opened. Then he went inside.

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