"That idiot!" Aunt Pol raged. "He'd start a general war in the West if he tried that - and even set the Gods to wrangling. What is there about Alorns that makes them continually want to expand to the south? Those boundaries were established by the Gods themselves. I think it's time for someone to put his foot down on Grodeg's neck firmly. Go to Anheg immediately. Tell him everything and then tell him that I want to see him. I imagine that my father's going to want to discuss the matter with him as well."

"Anheg's going to be furious with me, Polgara," Islena faltered.

"I don't think so," Aunt Pol assured her. "As soon as he realizes that you've exposed Grodeg's plan, he'll probably be rather grateful. Let him think that you went along with Grodeg simply to get more information. That's a perfectly respectable motive - and it's the sort of thing a good wife would do."

"I hadn't thought of that," Islena said, already sounding more sure of herself. "It would have been a brave thing to do, wouldn't it?"

"Absolutely heroic, Islena," Aunt Pol replied. "Now go to Anheg."

"I will, Polgara." There was the sound of quick, determined steps, and then a door closed.

"Garion, come back in here." Aunt Pol's voice was firm. He opened the door.

"You were listening?" It wasn't really a question.

"Well-"

"We're going to have to have a talk about that," she told him. "But it doesn't really matter this time. Go find your grandfather and tell him that I want to see him immediately. I don't care what he's doing. Bring him to me now."

"But how do we know he can do anything?" Garion demanded. "I mean, if he's lost his power-"

"There are many kinds of power, Garion. Sorcery is only one of them. Now go fetch him at once."

"Yes, Aunt Pol," Garion replied, already moving toward the door.

Chapter Sixteen

THE HIGH PRIEST of Belar was an imposing-looking man nearly seven feet tall. He had a long gray beard and burning eyes sunk deep in their sockets beneath bristling black eyebrows. He arrived from Val Alorn the following week after the seemingly endless negotiations had finally produced the official betrothal document. Accompanying him as a kind of retinue were two dozen hard-faced warriors dressed in bearskins.

"Bear-cultists," Barak observed sourly to Garion and Silk as the three of them stood atop the wall of the Citadel, watching the High Priest and his men mounting the steps from the harbor in the bright spring sunshine.

"I didn't say anything about bringing soldiers with him," Garion objected indignantly.

"I imagine he took it upon himself," Silk replied. "Grodeg's very good at taking things upon himself."

"I wonder how he'd like it if I threw him into a dungeon," Garion said hotly. "Do I have a dungeon?"