"What's so funny?" Durnik asked him.

"Just before our baby was born, Ce'Nedra got a letter from Liselle. She's managed to push Silk into naming a day. It's probably what he deserves, all right, but I imagine his eyes get a little wild every time he thinks about it."

"When's the wedding?" Durnik asked.

"Next summer sometime. Liselle wants to be sure that everybody can be in Boktor to witness her triumph over our friend."

"That's a spiteful thing to say, Garion," Durnik reproved.

"It's probably the truth, though." Belgarath grinned. He reached inside his tunic and drew out an earthenware flagon. "A touch of something to ward off the chill?" he offered. "It's some of that potent UIgo brew."

"Grandmother won't like that," Garion warned.

"Your grandmother isn't here right now, Garion. She's a little busy at the moment.”

The three of them stood atop the snowy hill looking down at the farmstead. The thatched roof was thick with snow, and icicles hung like glittering jewels from the eaves. The small panes of the windows glowed with golden lamplight that fell softly out over the gently mounded snow in the dooryard, and the ruddy glow from the forge where the menfolk had spent the afternoon boiling unneeded water came softly from the shed. A column of blue woodsmoke rose straight and unwavering from the chimney, reaching so high that it seemed almost to be lost among the stars.

A peculiar sound filled Garion's ears, and it took him awhile to identify it. It was the Orb, and it was singing a song of unutterable longing.

The silence seemed almost palpable now, and the glittering stars seemed to draw even closer to the snowy earth.

And then from the cottage there came a single cry. It was an infant voice, and it was not filled with that indignation and discomfort so common in the cries of most newborns but rather with a kind of wonder and ineffable joy.

A gentle blue light suddenly came from the Orb, and the longing in its note turned to joy.

As the song of the Orb faded, Durnik drew in a deep breath. "Why don't we go down?" he said.

"We'd better wait a bit," Belgarath suggested. "There's always some cleaning up to do at this point, and we should give Pol a chance to brush her hair.”

"I don't care if her hair's a little mussed," Durnik said.

"She does. Let's wait."

Strangely, the Orb had renewed its yearning melody. The silence remained as palpable as before, broken now only by the thin, joyous wail of Polgara's baby.

The three friends stood on the hilltop, their breath steaming in the cold night air as they listened to that distant, piping song.

"Good healthy lungs," Garion complimented the new father.

Durnik grinned briefly at him, still listening to the cry of his child.

And then that single cry was not alone. Another voice joined in.