Belgarath the Sorcerer by David Eddings Page A

trying to show off your education, man. Now get up and stop this caterwauling. I’m no more a God than you are.’
    â€˜Art thou not the great God Aldur?’
    â€˜I’m his disciple, Belgarath. What is all this nonsense?’ I pointed at his altar and his smoking goat.
    â€˜It is to please the God,’ he replied, rising and dusting off his clothes. I couldn’t be sure, but he looked rather like a Tolnedran - or possibly an Arend. In either case, his babble about a thousand leagues was clearly a self-serving exaggeration. He gave me a servile, fawning sort of look.‘Tell me truly,’ he pleaded, ‘dost thou think he will find this poor offering of mine acceptable?’
    I laughed. ‘I can’t think of a single thing you could have done that would offend him more.’
    The stranger looked stricken. He turned quickly and reached out as if he were going to grab up the animal with his bare hands to hide it.
    â€˜Don’t be an idiot!’ I snapped. ‘You’ll burn yourself!’
    â€˜It must be hidden,’ he said desperately. ‘I would rather die than offend mighty Aldur.’
    â€˜Just get out of the way,’ I told him.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Stand clear,’ I said, irritably waving him off, ‘unless you want to take a trip with your goat.’ Then I looked at his grotesque little altar, willed it to a spot five miles distant, and translocated it with a single word, leaving only a few tatters of confused smoke hanging in the air.
    He collapsed on his face again.
    â€˜You’re going to wear out your clothes if you keep doing that,’ I told him, ‘and my Master won’t find it very amusing.’
    â€˜I pray thee, mighty disciple of most high Aldur,’ he said, rising and dusting himself off again, ‘instruct me so that I offend not the God.’ He must have been an Arend. No Tolnedran could possibly mangle the language the way he did.
    â€˜Be truthful,’ I told him, ‘and don’t try to impress him with false show and flowery speech. Believe me, friend, he can see right straight into your heart, so there’s no way you can deceive him. I’m not sure which God you worshiped before, but Aldur’s like no other God in the whole world.’ What an asinine thing that was to say. No two Gods are ever the same.
    â€˜And how may I become his disciple, as thou art?’
    â€˜First you become his pupil,’ I replied, ‘and that’s not easy.’
    â€˜What must I do to become his pupil?’
    â€˜You must become his servant.’ I said it a bit smugly, I’ll admit. A few years with an axe and a broom would probably do this pompous ass some good.
    â€˜And then his pupil?’ he pressed.
    â€˜In time,’ I replied, ‘if he so wills.’ It wasn’t up to me to reveal the secret of the Will and the Word to him. He’d have to find that out for himself - the same as I had.
    â€˜And when may I meet the God?’
    I was getting tired of him anyway, so I took him to the tower.
    â€˜Will the God Aldur wish to know my name?’ he asked as we started across the meadow.
    I shrugged. ‘Not particularly. If you’re lucky enough to prove worthy, he’ll give you a name of his own choosing.’ When we reached the tower, I commanded the grey stone in the wall to open, and we went inside and on up the stairs.
    My Master looked the stranger over and then turned to me. ‘Why hast thou brought this man to me, my son?’ he asked me.
    â€˜He besought me, Master,’ I replied. ‘I felt it was not my place to say him yea or nay.’ I could mangle language as well as Zedar could, I guess. ‘ Thy will must decide such things,’ I continued. ‘If it turns out that he doesn’t please thee, I’ll take him outside and turn him into a carrot, and that’ll be the end of it.’
    â€˜That was unkindly said,