And then in the late autumn of 4415, my father paid us a call. Over the years, I’d sensed his presence in my general vicinity any number of times, but this was the first time he’d actually thrust himself upon us. I’d expected him to keep an eye on me, and I’d probably have been disappointed in him if he hadn’t. Though he was not as intimately involved with the family as I was, he was nonetheless interested in them.
Father’s a little clumsy when he releases his Will, so I heard him enter the shop downstairs before he even came up to the second floor. When he burst in on us, I saw that he’d disguised himself by taking the form of a tall man with a dense black beard that seemed to start just under his lower eyelids. I’m sure the disguise worked on others, but I recognize my father’s mind, not his outward appearance, so when he came in while we were eating supper, I recognized him immediately. ‘What are you doing here, Old Man?’ I demanded. ‘I thought I told you to stay away from me.’
‘We’ve got to get you and the children out of here, Pol,’ he replied urgently, shifting back into his real form.
That really startled Darion and Selana. ‘Who is this man, Aunt Pol?’ Darion demanded in a half-strangled tone.
‘My father,’ I replied, making it sound deprecating.
‘Holy Belgarath?’ I hadn’t really kept my background a secret, and father’s got a sort of towering reputation – a reputation that tarnishes rather quickly once you get to know him.
That “holy” might be open to some question,’ I replied, not so much for Darion’s benefit as for father’s. I still enjoy tweaking his beard now and then.
“This is an emergency, Pol,’ father said. ‘We’ve got to leave Sulturn right now. If you’re not going to learn how to use hair dye, you probably shouldn’t unpack when you move into a new town. Every Grolim in the world knows about that lock in your hair.’
‘What are you talking about, father?’
‘There’s a Murgo at an inn down by the waterfront west of here, and he’s been asking after you. He’s pouring beer into a very talkative Sendar, so he knows exactly where you are by now. Start packing.’
‘Why didn’t you just kill him, father? A dead Murgo doesn’t pose much of a problem.’
‘Aunt Pol!’ Darion exclaimed in horror.
‘How much does he know, Pol?’ father asked, pointing at Darion.
‘As much as he needs to know.’
‘Does he know who he is?’
‘In a general sort of way.’
‘Oh, Poll’ father said disgustedly. ‘Keeping a secret just for the sake of having a secret is childish. Start packing while I explain to him who he really is. Just take the necessities. We can buy what you need in Kotu.’
‘Kotu?’ I hadn’t expected that, and I wasn’t sure I liked the idea.
‘Sendaria’s getting too dangerous, Pol. You’ve had to cut and run a few too many times. The Murgos – and Grolims – are starting to concentrate their attention here. Let’s get you and the children into one of the Alorn kingdoms for a while. Throw some things in a bag while I explain the situation to Darion and his wife.’
‘I still think you should have run a knife into the Murgo.’
‘That’d just be a waste of time, Pol. Word of a dead Murgo in an alley would get back to the Grolims, and they’d be crawling all over you in less than a week.’
He was going to buy horses, he said, but I brushed that idea aside. Selana was a healthy girl, but she was pregnant, and bouncing around in a saddle isn’t good for pregnant ladies. I didn’t pay much attention while father explained a few realities to Darion and Selana. I’d heard the story before – and lived through most of it. Darion looked slightly skeptical, but he behaved as if he believed my father. Then he suggested that we leave town in his somewhat wobbly delivery cart. Father liked the notion immediately, since it reminded him of the Master’s favorite disguise. Then, though I hate to admit it, the Old Wolf had a stroke of genius. ‘I think a fire here might be useful,’ he mused.
That really upset Darion and Selana. Everything they owned was in this building, and they hadn’t yet fully come to grips with the idea that they’d never be coming back to Sulturn to gather up the remnants of their previous life. That was a part of the value of father’s plan. Not only would it get the immediate and undivided attention of everyone in town, but it’d also quench any yearnings Darion and Selana might have to come back to pick up mementos.
Father went back to the inn to pick up his horse, and that’s when I conjured up the three skeletons that’d convince the townspeople – and the curious Murgo – that Darion, Selana and I’d all died in the fire. I wanted the trail that Murgo’d been following to come to a dead end here in Sulturn.
Father drove the cart out of Muros with Darion, Selana, and I all concealed under a sheet of canvas in the back, and some hours after midnight we were on the road north toward Medalia while Darion’s shop burned merrily behind us.
We rode north through the tag-end of a blustery autumn for the next two weeks. If you really want to get from Sulturn to Darine in a hurry, you’ll buy yourself a good horse and stay on the Tolnedran highways. If you push your horse, you can probably make it in five days. Pounding through towns and villages as if Torak himself were snapping at your heels attracts attention, though, so father took the back roads and country lanes instead, and he didn’t crowd his horse. Autumn’s a nice time to travel, though, so I didn’t really mind. Trees tend to show off in the autumn, and a brisk wind fills the air around you with color.
We finally reached Darine, sold father’s horse and Darion’s cart, and took ship for the Drasnian port of Kotu.
I don’t like Kotu. I never have – probably because of the perpetual reek of the fens that hangs over the town like a curse. Moreover, I find the intricate scheming of the Drasnian merchants of Kotu very tiresome. If a Drasnian owes you money, he’d rather die than pay you without devising some way to profit from the transaction.
I rather hate to admit it, but I’d missed my father over the years. He has all manner of character defects of which I soundly disapprove, but he is an entertaining old rascal, and there’s an almost brutal practicality about him that I’ve never been able to duplicate. The idea of burning Darion’s shop to the ground would never have occurred to me. Maybe I’m too much of a sentimentalist.