"There should be others in there, too," Belgarath answered softly. "Let's make sure before we go bursting in."

The iron door in front of them did not fit tightly, and faint light seeped through the cracks around the frame. Garion could make out Belgarath's intent face in that dim light.

"How's your father?" Zedar asked in a neutral tone.

"About the same as always. He's very angry with you, you know."

"That was to be expected, I suppose."

"He's finished eating, Lady Polgara," Garion heard Ce'Nedra say. He looked sharply at Belgarath, but the old man put one finger to his lips.

"Spread one of those pallets out for him, dear," Aunt Pol instructed, "and cover him with some blankets. It's very late, and he's sleepy."

"I'll do that," Durnik offered.

"Good," Belgarath breathed. "They're all here."

"How did they get here?" Silk whispered.

"I haven't the faintest idea, and I'm not going to worry about it. The important thing is that they're here."

"I'm glad you were able to rescue him from Ctuchik," Zedar said. "I grew rather fond of him during the years we spent together."

"Where did you find him?" Aunt Pol asked. "We've never been able to pin down what country he's from."

"I forgot precisely," Zedar answered, and his voice was faintly troubled. "Perhaps it was Camaar or Tol Honeth or maybe some city on the other side of Mallorea. The details keep slipping away from me almost as if I weren't supposed to examine them too closely."

"Try to remember," she said. "It might be important."

Zedar sighed. "If it amuses you," he said. He paused as if thinking. "I'd grown restless for some reason," he began. "It was - oh, fifty or sixty years ago. My studies no longer interested me, and the bickering of the various Grolim factions began to irritate me. I took to wandering about - not really paying much attention to where I was. I must have crossed and crisscrossed the Kingdoms of the West and the Angarak Kingdoms a half dozen times in those years.