"I've never heard them talk before," Garion marveled.

"They talk to her all the time," Wolf said. "Sometimes they go on for hours. That's why she seems a little abstracted sometimes. She's listening to the birds. Your Aunt moves through a world filled with conversation."

"I didn't know that."

"Not many people do."

The colt, who had been trotting rather sedately along behind Garion as they had come down out of the foothills, went wild with delight when he reached the lush gra.s.s of the Vale. With an amazing burst of speed, he ran out over the meadows. He rolled in the gra.s.s, his thin legs flailing. He galloped in long, curving sweeps over the low, rolling hilts. He deliberately ran at herds of grazing deer, startling them into flight and then plunging along after them. "Come back here!" Garion shouted at him.

"He won't hear you," Hettar said, smiling at the little horse's antics. "At least, he'll pretend that he doesn't. He's having too much fun."

"Get back here right now!" Garion projected the thought a bit more firmly than he'd intended. The colt's forelegs stiffened, and he slid to a stop. Then he turned and trotted obediently back to Garion, his eyes apologetic. "Bad horse!" Garion chided.

The colt hung his head.

"Don't scold him," Wolf said. "You were very young once yourself."

Garion immediately regretted what he had said and reached down to pat the little animal's shoulder. "It's all right," he apologized. The colt looked at him gratefully and began to frisk through the gra.s.s again, although staying close.

Princess Ce'Nedra had been watching him. She always seemed to be watching him for some reason. She would look at him, her eyes speculative and a tendril of her coppery hair coiled about one finger and raised absently to her teeth. It seemed to Garion that every time he turned around she was watching and nibbling. For some reason he could not quite put his finger on, it made him very nervous. "If he were mine, I wouldn't be so cruel to him," she accused, taking the tip of the curl from between her teeth.

Garion chose not to answer that.

As they rode down the valley, they pa.s.sed three ruined towers, standing some distance apart and all showing signs of great antiquity. Each of them appeared to have originally been about sixty feet high, though weather and the pa.s.sage of years had eroded them down considerably. The last of the three looked as if it had been blackened by some intensely hot fire.

"Was there some kind of war here, Grandfather?" Garion asked.

"No," Wolf replied rather sadly. "The towers belonged to my brothers. That one over there was Belsambar's, and the one near it was Belmakor's. They died a long time ago."

"I didn't think sorcerers ever died."

"They grew tired - or maybe they lost hope. They caused themselves no longer to exist."

"They killed themselves?"

"In a manner of speaking. It was a little more complete than that, though."

Garion didn't press it, since the old man appeared to prefer not to go into details. "What about the other one - the one that's been burned? Whose tower was that?"

"Belzedar's."

"Did you and the other sorcerers burn it after he went over to Torak?"

"No. He burned it himself. I suppose he thought that was a way to show us that he was no longer a member of our' brotherhood. Belzedar always liked dramatic gestures."

"Where's your tower?"

"Farther on down the Vale."

"Will you show it to me?"

"If you like."

"Does Aunt Pol have her own tower?"

"No. She stayed with me while she was growing up, and then we went out into the world. We never got around to building her one of her own."

They rode until late afternoon and stopped for the day beneath an enormous tree which stood alone in the center of a broad meadow. The tree quite literally shaded whole acres. Ce'Nedra sprang out of her saddle and ran toward the tree, her deep red hair flying behind her. "He's beautiful!" she exclaimed, placing her hands with reverent affection on the rough bark.

Mister Wolf shook his head. "Dryads. They grow giddy at the sight of trees."

"I don't recognize it," Durnik said with a slight frown. "It's not an oak."

"Maybe it's some southern species," Barak suggested. "I've never seen one exactly like it myself."

"He's very old," Ce'Nedra said, putting her cheek fondly against the tree trunk, "and he speaks strangely - but he likes me."

"What kind of tree is it?" Durnik asked. He was still frowning, his need to cla.s.sify and categorize frustrated by the huge tree.

"It's the only one of its kind in the world," Mister Wolf told him. "I don't think we ever named it. It was always just the tree. We used to meet here sometimes."

"It doesn't seem to drop any berries or fruit or seeds of any kind," Durnik observed, examining the ground beneath the spreading branches.

"It doesn't need them," Wolf replied. "As I told you, it's the only one of its kind. It's always been here - and always will be. It feels no urge to propagate itself."

Durnik seemed worried about it. "I've never heard of a tree with no seeds."

"It's a rather special tree, Durnik," Aunt Pol said. "It sprouted on the day the world was made, and it will probably stand here for as long as the world exists. It has a purpose other than reproducing itself."

"What purpose is that?"

"We don't know," Wolf answered. "We only know that it's the oldest living thing in the world. Maybe that's its purpose. Maybe it's here to demonstrate the continuity of life."

Ce'Nedra had removed her shoes and was climbing up into the thick branches, making little sounds of affection and delight.

"Is there by any chance a tradition linking Dryads with squirrels?" Silk asked.

Mister Wolf smiled. "If the rest of you can manage without us, Garion and I have something to attend to."

Aunt Pol looked questioningly at him.

"It's time for a little instruction, Pol," he explained.

"We can manage, father," she said. "Will you be back in time for supper?"

"Keep it warm for us. Coming, Garion?"

The two of them rode in silence through the green meadows with the golden afternoon sunlight making the entire Vale warm and lovely. Garion was baffled by Mister Wolf's curious change of mood. Always before, there had been a sort of impromptu quality about the old man. He seemed frequently to be making up his life as he went along, relying on chance, his wits, and his power, when necessary, to see him through. Here in the Vale, he seemed serene, undisturbed by the chaotic events taking place in the world outside.

About two miles from the tree stood another tower. It was rather squat and round and was built of rough stone. Arched windows near the top faced out in the directions of the four winds, but there seemed to be no door.

"You said you'd like to visit my tower," Wolf said, dismounting. "This is it."

"It isn't ruined like the others."

"I take care of it from time to time. Shall we go up?"

Garion slid down from his horse. "Where's the door?" he asked.

"Right there." Wolf pointed at a large stone in the rounded wall. Garion looked skeptical.

Mister Wolf stepped in front of the stone. "It's me," he said. "Open."

The surge Garion felt at the old man's word seemed commonplaceordinary - a household kind of surge that spoke of something that had been done so often that it was no longer a wonder. The rock turned obediently, revealing a sort of narrow, irregular doorway. Motioning for Garion to follow, Wolf squeezed through into the dim chamber beyond the door.

The tower, Garion saw, was not a hollow sh.e.l.l as he had expected, but rather was a solid pedestal, pierced only by a stairway winding upward.

"Come along," Wolf told him, starting up the worn stone steps. "Watch that one," he said about halfway up, pointing at one of the steps. "The stone is loose."

"Why don't you fix it?" Garion asked, stepping up over the loose stone.

"I've been meaning to, but I just haven't gotten around to it. It's been that way for a long time. I'm so used to it now that I never seem to think of fixing it when I'm here."

The chamber at the top of the tower was round and very cluttered. A thick coat of dust lay over everything. There were several tables in various parts of the room, covered with rolls and sc.r.a.ps of parchment, strange-looking implements and models, bits and pieces of rock and gla.s.s, and a couple of birds' nests; on one, a curious stick was so wound and twisted and coiled that Garion's eye could not exactly follow its convolutions. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, trying to trace it out. "What's this, Grandfather?" he asked.

"One of Polgara's toys," the old man said absently, staring around at the dusty chamber.

"What's it supposed to do?"

"It kept her quiet when she was a baby. It's only got one end. She spent five years trying to figure it out."

Garion pulled his eyes off the fascinatingly compelling piece of wood. "That's a cruel sort of thing to do to a child."

"I had to do something," Wolf answered. "She had a penetrating voice as a child. Beldaran was a quiet, happy little girl, but your Aunt never seemed satisfied."

"Beldaran?"

"Your Aunt's twin sister." The old man's voice trailed off, and he looked sadly out of one of the windows for a few moments. Finally he sighed and turned back to the round room. "I suppose I ought to clean this up a bit," he said, looking around at the dust and litter.

"Let me help," Garion offered.

"Just be careful not to break anything," the old man warned. "Some of those things took me centuries to make." He began moving around the chamber, picking things up and setting them down again, blowing now and then on them to clear away a bit of the dust. His efforts didn't really seem to be getting anywhere.

Finally he stopped, staring at a low, rough-looking chair with the rail along its back, scarred and gashed as if it had been continually grasped by strong claws. He sighed again.

"What's wrong?" Garion asked.

"Poledra's chair," Wolf said. "-My wife. She used to perch there and watch me - sometimes for years on end."

"Perch?"

"She was fond of the shape of the owl."

"Oh." Garion had somehow never thought of the old man as ever having been married, although he obviously had to have been at some time, since Aunt Pol and her twin sister were his daughters. The shadowy wife's affinity for owls, however, explained Aunt Pol's own preference for that shape. The two women, Poledra and Beldaran, were involved rather intimately in his own background, he realized, but quite irrationally he resented them. They had shared a part of the lives of his Aunt and his grandfather that he would never - could never know.

The old man moved a parchment and picked up a peculiar-looking device with a sighting gla.s.s in one end of it. "I thought I'd lost you," he told the device, touching it with a familiar fondness. "You've been under that parchment all this time."

"What is it?" Garion asked him.

"A thing I made when I was trying to discover the reason for mountains."

"The reason?"

"Everything has a reason." Wolf raised the instrument. "You see, what you do is-" He broke off and laid the device back on the table. "It's much too complicated to explain. I'm not even sure if I remember exactly how to use it myself. I haven't touched it since before Belzedar came to the Vale. When he arrived, I had to lay my studies aside to train him." He looked around at the dust and clutter. "This is useless," he said. "The dust will just come back anyway."

"Were you alone here before Belzedar came?"

"My Master was here. That's his tower over there." Wolf pointed through the north window at a tall, slender stone structure about a mile away.

"Was he really here?" Garion asked. "I mean, not just his spirit?"

"No. He was really here. That was before the G.o.ds departed."

"Did you live here always?"

"No. I came like a thief, looking for something to steal - well, that's not actually true, I suppose. I was about your age when I came here, and I was dying at the time."

"Dying?" Garion was startled.

"Freezing to death. I'd left the village I was born in the year before after my mother died - and spent my first winter in the camp of the G.o.dless Ones. They were very old by then."

"G.o.dless Ones?"

"Ulgos - or rather the ones who decided not to follow Gorim to Prolgu. They stopped having children after that, so they were happy to take me in. I couldn't understand their language at the time, and all their pampering got on my nerves, so I ran away in the spring. I was on my way back the next fall, but I got caught in an early snowstorm not far from here. I lay down against the side of my Master's tower to die - I didn't know it was a tower at first. With all the snow swirling around, it just looked like a pile of rock. As I recall, I was feeling rather sorry for myself at the time."

"I can imagine." Garion shivered at the thought of being alone and dying.

"I was sniveling a bit, and the sound disturbed my Master. He let me in - probably more to quiet me than for any other reason. As soon as I got inside, I started looking for things to steal."

"But he made you a sorcerer instead."

"No. He made me a servant - a slave. I worked for him for five years before I even found out who he was. Sometimes I think I hated him, but I had to do what he told me to - I didn't really know why. The last straw came when he told me to move a big rock out of his way. I tried with all my strength, but I couldn't budge it. Finally I got angry enough to move it with my mind instead of my back. That's what he'd been waiting for, of course. After that we got along better. He changed my name from Garath to Belgarath, and he made me his pupil."

"And his disciple?"

"That took a little longer. I had a lot to learn. I was examining the reason that certain stars fell at the time he first called me his discipleand he was working on a round, gray stone he'd picked up by the riverbank."

"Did you ever discover the reason - that stars fall, I mean?"