Free Demon Lord Of Karanda by David Eddings Page B

best,’ Garion protested.
    ‘Created?’ Cyradis’ voice was awed. Then she bowed to Garion with profound respect.
    When the tubs of half-frozen dirt had been placed about the stricken Emperor’s bed, smoothed, and dampened with water, Polgara took a small leather pouch from her green canvas sack, removed a pinch of miniscule seeds, and carefully sowed them in the soil.
    ‘All right,’ Belgarath said, rolling up his sleeves in a workmanlike fashion, ‘stand back.’ He bent and touched the dirt in one of the tubs. ‘You were right, Pol,’ he muttered. ‘Just a little too cold.’ He frowned slightly, and Garion saw his lips move. The surge was not a large one, and the sound of it was little more than a whisper. The damp earth in the tubs began to steam. ‘That’s better,’ he said. Then he extended his hands out over the narrow cot and the steaming tubs. Again Garion felt the surge and the whisper.
    At first nothing seemed to happen, but then tiny specks of green appeared on the top of the dampened dirt. Even as Garion watched those little leaves grow and expand, he remembered where he had seen Belgarath perform this same feat before. As clearly as if he were there, he saw the courtyard before King Korodullin’s palace at Vo Mimbre and he saw the apple twig the old man had thrust down between two flagstones expand and reach up toward the old sorcerer’s hand as proof to the sceptical Sir Andorig that he was indeed who he said he was.
    The pale green leaves had grown darker, and the spindly twigs and tendrils that had at first appeared had already expanded into low bushes.
    ‘Make them vine up across the bed, father,’ Polgara said critically. ‘Vines produce more blossoms, and I want a lot of blossoms.’
    He let out his breath explosively and gave her a look that spoke volumes. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘You want vines? Vines it is.’
    ‘Is it too much for you, father?’ she asked solicitously.
    He set his jaw, but did not answer. He did, however, start to sweat. Longer tendrils began to writhe upward like green snakes winding up around the legs of the Emperor’s cot and reaching upward to catch the bedframe. Once they had gained that foothold, they seemed to pause while Belgarath caught his breath. ‘This is harder than it looks,’ he puffed. Then he concentrated again, and the vines quickly overspread the cot and Kal Zakath’s inert body until only his ashen face remained uncovered by them.
    ‘All right,’ Belgarath said to the plants, ‘that’s far enough. You can bloom now.’ There was another surge and a peculiar ringing sound.
    The tips of all the myriad twiglets swelled, and then those buds began to split, revealing their pale lavender interiors. Almost shyly the lopsided little flowers opened, filling the room with a gentle-seeming fragrance. Garion straightened as he breathed in that delicate odor. For some reason, he suddenly felt very good, and the cares and worries which had beset him for the past several months seemed to fall away.
    The slack-faced Zakath stirred slightly, took a breath, and sighed deeply. Polgara laid her fingertips to the side of his neck. ‘I think it’s working, father,’ she said. ‘His heart’s not laboring so hard now, and his breathing’s easier.’
    ‘Good,’ Belgarath replied. ‘I hate to go through something like that for nothing.’
    Then the Emperor opened his eyes. The shimmering form of Cyradis hovered anxiously at the foot of his bed. Strangely, he smiled when he saw her, and her shy, answering smile lighted her pale face. Then Zakath sighed once more and closed his eyes again. Garion leaned forward to make sure that the sick man was still breathing. When he looked back toward the foot of the bed, the Seeress of Kell was gone.

CHAPTER FOUR
    A warm wind came in off the lake that night, and the wet snow that had blanketed Rak Hagga and the surrounding countryside turned to a dreary slush that sagged and fell from the limbs of the