Castle of Wizardry

by David Eddings

  "Everything will probably turn out all right," Lady Polgara assured her. "Trust me, Ce'Nedra. I've been handling matters like this for a very long time. Now go wash your face."

  "I made a terrible fool of myself out there, didn't I?" Ce'Nedra said.

  "It's nothing that can't be fixed," Polgara said calmly. "We can pass it off as something brought on by the excitement of seeing your friends again after so long. You are glad to see us, aren't you?"

  "Oh, Lady Polgara," Ce'Nedra said, embracing her and laughing and crying at the same time.

  After the ravages of Ce'Nedra's crying fit had been repaired, they rejoined the others in the Gorim's familiar study.

  "Are you recovered, my child?" the Gorim asked her gently, concern written all over his dear old face.

  "Just a touch of nerves, Holy One," Lady Polgara reassured him. "Our princess, as you've probably noticed, is somewhat high-strung."

  "I'm so sorry that I ran off like that," Ce'Nedra apologized to Adara. "It was silly of me."

  "Your Highness could never be silly," Adara told her.

  Ce'Nedra lifted her chin. "Oh yes I can," she declared. "I've got as much right to make a fool of myself in public as anyone else."

  Adara laughed, and the entire incident was smoothed over.

  There was still, however, a problem. Ce'Nedra had, she realized, gone perhaps a bit too far in her impulsive declaration of undying hatred for Garion. His expression was confused, even a trifle hurt. Ce'Nedra decided somewhat loftily to ignore the injury she had inflicted upon him. She had suffered through that dreadful scene on the shore of the Gorim's island, and it seemed only fair that he should suffer a little as well - not too much, of course, but a little anyway. He did, after all, have it coming. She allowed him a suitable period of anguish - at least she hoped it was anguish - then spoke to him warmly, even fondly, as if those spiteful words had never passed her lips. His expression became even more baffled, and then she turned the full force of her most winsome smile on him, noting with great satisfaction its devastating effect. After that she ignored him.

  While Belgarath and Lady Polgara were recounting the events of their harrowing journey to Rak Cthol, the princess sat demurely beside Adara on a bench, half listening, but for the most part turning the amazing discovery of the past hour over and over in her mind. Suddenly, she felt eyes on her, and she looked up quickly. The little blond boy Lady Polgara called Errand was watching her, his small face very serious. There was something about his eyes. With a sudden and absolute certainty, she knew that the child was looking directly into her heart. He smiled at her then; without knowing why, she felt a sudden overwhelming surge of joy at his smile. He walked toward her, still smiling, and his little hand dipped into the pouch at his waist. He took out a round, gray stone and offered it to her. "Errand?" he said. For an instant Ce'Nedra seemed to see a faint blue flicker deep within the stone.

  "Don't touch it, Ce'Nedra," Lady Polgara told her in a tone that made Ce'Nedra's hand freeze in the very act of reaching for the stone. "Durnik!" Lady Polgara said to the smith with an odd note of complaint in her voice.

  "Mistress Pol," he said helplessly, "I don't know what else to do. No matter how I seal it up, he always manages to get it open."

  "Make him put it away," she told him with just a hint of exasperation.

  Durnik went to the little boy, knelt and took hold of the pouch. Without a word he held it open, and the child dropped the stone into it. Durnik tied the pouch shut, pulling the knots as tight as he could. When he had finished, the little boy put his arms affectionately around the smith's neck. Durnik looked a bit embarrassed and was about to lead the child away, but Errand pulled his hand free and climbed instead into Ce'Nedra's lap. Quite seriously he kissed her, then nestled down in her arms and promptly fell asleep.

  Feelings moved in Ce'Nedra that she had never felt before. Without knowing why, she was happier than she had ever been in her life. She held the child close against her, her arms protectively about him and her cheek laid snugly against his pale blond curls. She felt an impulse to rock him and perhaps to croon a very soft lullaby to him.

  "We'll have to hurry," Belgarath was saying to the Gorim. "Even with Relg's help, it will take a week or more to reach the Sendarian border. Then we'll have to cross the whole country, and the snow in Sendaria can pile up in a hurry this time of year. To make things even worse, this is the season for storms in the Sea of the Winds, and it's a long way over open water from Sendar to Riva."

  The word "Riva" jerked Ce'Nedra out of her reverie. From the very moment that she and Jeebers had crept from the Imperial Palace at Tol Honeth, one single thought had dominated her thinking. She was not going to Riva. Though she might have seemed on occasion to have surrendered on that point, her acquiescence had always been a subterfuge. Now, however, she would have to take a stand. The reasons for her adamant refusal to obey the provisions of the Accords of Vo Mimbre were no longer entirely clear to her. So much had happened that she was not even the same person, but one thing was absolutely certain no matter who she was. She was not going to Riva. It was a matter of principle.

  "I'm sure that once we reach Sendaria, I'll be able to make my way to an Imperial garrison," she said as casually as if the matter had already been decided.

  "And why would you want to do that, dear?" Lady Polgara asked her.

  "As I said earlier, I'm not going to Riva," Ce'Nedra replied. "The legionnaires will be able to make arrangements to return me to Tol Honeth."

  "Perhaps you should visit your father," Polgara said quite calmly.

  "You mean you're just going to let me go?"

  "I didn't say that. I'm sure we'll be able to find a ship bound for Tol Honeth sometime in the late spring or early summer. Rivan commerce with the Empire is extensive."

  "I don't think you fully understand me, Lady Polgara. I said that I'm not going to go to Riva - under any circumstances."

  "I heard you, Ce'Nedra. You're wrong, however. You are going to Riva. You have an appointment there, remember?"

  "I won't go!" Ce'Nedra's voice went up an octave or two.

  "Yes, you will." Polgara's voice was deceptively calm, but there was a hint of steel in it.

  "I absolutely refuse," the princess declared. She was about to say more, but a small finger gently brushed her lips. The sleepy child in her arms raised his hand to touch her mouth. She moved her head irntably. "I've told you all before that I will not submit to-" The child touched her lips again. His eyes were drowsy as he looked up at her, but his gaze was calm and reassuring. Ce'Nedra forgot what she had been saying. "I am not going to the Isle of the Winds," she concluded rather lamely, "and that's final." The trouble was that it didn't sound all that final.

  "It seems that we've had this discussion once or twice before," Polgara observed.

  "You have no right to-" Ce'Nedra's words trailed off again as her thoughts went astray once more. The child's eyes were so blue - so very blue. She found herself unable to look away from them and seemed to be sinking into that incredible color. She shook her head. It was so completely unlike her to keep losing track of an argument this way. She tried to concentrate. "I refuse to be publicly humiliated," she declared. "I will not stand in the Hall of the Rivan King like a beggar while all the Alorns snicker up their sleeves at me." That was better. Her momentary distraction seemed to be fading. Inadvertently she glanced down at the child and it all went out the window again. "I don't even have the right kind of dress," she added plaintively low what had made her say that?

  Polgara said nothing, but her eyes seemed very wise as she watched the princess flounder. Ce'Nedra stumbled along, her objections growing less and less relevant. Even as she argued, she realized that there was no real reason for her not going to Riva. Her refusal seemed frivolous, even childish. Why on earth had she made such a fuss about it? The little boy in her arms smiled encouragingly at her, and, unable to help herself, she smiled back at him, her defenses crumbling. She made one last try. "It's on
ly some silly old formality anyway, Lady Polgara," she said. "There won't be anyone waiting for me in the Hall of the Rivan King - there never has been. The Rivan line is extinct." She tore her eyes away from the child's face. "Do I really have to go?"

  Lady Polgara nodded gravely.

  Ce'Nedra heaved a great sigh. All this bickering seemed so unnecessary. What was the point of making such an issue of a simple trip? It was not as if there was any danger involved. If it would make people happy, why be stubborn about it? "Oh, all right," she surrendered. "If it's so important to everyone, I suppose I can go to Riva." For some reason, saying it made her feel much better. The child in her arms smiled again, gently patted her cheek and went back to sleep. Lost in a sudden inexplicable happiness, the princess nestled her cheek against his curls again and began to rock back and forth gently, crooning very softly.

  Part Two

  RIVA

  Chapter Nine

  ONCE MORE RELG led them through the dark, silent world of the caves, and once more Garion hated every moment of it. It seemed an eternity ago that they had left Prolgu, where Ce'Nedra's farewells to the frail old Gorim had been long and tearful. The princess rather puzzled Garion, and he gave himself over to some speculation about her as he stumbled along in the musty-smelling darkness. Something had happened at Prolgu. In some very subtle ways, Ce'Nedra was different - and the differences made Garion jumpy for some reason.

  When at last, after uncountable days in the dark, twisting galleries, they emerged once again into the world of light and air, it was through an irregular, brush-choked opening in the wall of a steep ravine. It was snowing heavily outside with large flakes settling softly down through the windless air.

  "Are you sure this is Sendaria?" Barak asked Relg as he bulled his way through the obstructing brush at the cave mouth.

  Relg shrugged, once more binding a veil across his face to protect his eyes from the light. "We're no longer in Ulgo."

  "There are a lot of places that aren't in Ulgo, Relg," Barak reminded him sourly.

  "It sort of looks like Sendaria," King Cho-Hag observed, leaning over in his saddle to stare out of the cave at the softly falling snow. "Can anybody make a guess at the time of day?"

  "It's really very hard to say when it's snowing this hard, father," Hettar told him. "The horses think it's about noon, but their idea of time is a bit imprecise."

  "Wonderful," Silk noted sardonically. "We don't know where we are or what time it is. Things are getting off to a splendid start."

  "It's not really that important, Silk," Belgarath said wearily. "All we have to do is go north. We're bound to run into the Great North Road eventually."

  "Fine," Silk replied. "But which way is north?"

  Garion looked closely at his grandfather as the old man squeezed out into the snowy ravine. The old man's face was etched with lines of weariness, and the hollows under his eyes were dark again. Despite the two weeks or more of convalescence at the Stronghold and Aunt Pol's considered opinion that he was fit to travel, Belgarath had obviously not yet fully recovered from his collapse.

  As they emerged from the cave, they pulled on their heavy cloaks and tightened the cinches on their saddles in preparation to move out.

  "Uninviting sort of place, isn't it?" Ce'Nedra observed to Adara, looking around critically.

  "This is mountain country," Garion told her, quickly coming to the defense of his homeland. "It's no worse than the mountains of eastern Tolnedra."

  "I didn't say it was, Garion," she replied in an infuriating way. They rode for several hours until they heard the sound of axes somewhere off in the forest. "Woodcutters," Durnik surmised. "I'll go talk with them and get directions." He rode off in the direction of the sound. When he returned, he had a slightly disgusted look on his face. "We've been going south," he told them.

  "Naturally," Silk said sardonically. "Did you find out what time it is?"

  "Late afternoon," Durnik told him. "The woodcutters say that if we turn west, we'll strike a road that runs northwesterly. It will bring us to the Great North Road about twenty leagues on this side of Muros."

  "Let's see if we can find this road before dark, then," Belgarath said. It took them several days to ride down out of the mountains and several more before they had passed through the sparsely inhabited stretches of eastern Sendaria to the more thickly populated plains around Lake Sulturn. It snowed intermittently the entire time, and the heavily travelled roads of south-central Sendaria were slushy and lay like ugly brown scars across the snowy hills. Their party was large, and they usually had to split up among several inns in the neat, snowcovered villages at which they stopped. Princess Ce'Nedra quite frequently used the word "quaint" to describe both the villages and the accommodations, and Garion found her fondness for the word just a trifle offensive.

  The kingdom through which they travelled was not the same Sendaria he had left more than a year before. Garion saw quiet evidence of mobilization in almost every village along the way. Groups of country militia drilled in the brown slush in village squares; old swords and bent pikes, long forgotten in dusty attics or damp cellars, had been located and scraped free of rust in preparation for the war everyone knew was coming. The efforts of these peaceful farmers and villagers to look warlike were often ludicrous. Their homemade uniforms were in every possible shade of red or blue or green, and their bright-colored banners obviously showed that treasured petticoats had been sacrificed to the cause. The faces of these simple folk, however, were serious. Though young men strutted in their uniforms for the benefit of village girls, and older men tried to look like veterans, the atmosphere in each village was grave. Sendaria stood quietly on the brink of war.

  At Sulturn, Aunt Pol, who had been looking thoughtfully at each village through which they passed, apparently reached a decision. "Father," she said to Belgarath as they rode into town, "you and Cho-Hag and the rest go straight on to Sendar. Durnik, Garion, and I need to make a little side trip."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To Faldor's farm."

  "Faldor's? What for?"

  "We all left things behind, father. You hustled us out of there so fast that we barely had time to pack." Her tone and expression were so matter-of fact that Garion immediately suspected subterfuge, and Belgarath's briefly raised eyebrow indicated that he also was fairly certain that she was not telling him everything.

  "We're starting to trim this a bit close, Pol," the old man pointed out.

  "There's still plenty of time, father," she replied. "It's not really all that far out of our way. We'll only be a few days behind you."

  "Is it really that important, Pol?"

  "Yes, father. I think it is. Keep an eye on Errand for me, won't you? I don't think he really needs to go with us."

  "All right, Pol."

  A silvery peal of laughter burst from the lips of the Princess Ce'Nedra, who was watching the stumbling efforts of a group of militiamen to execute a right turn without tripping over their own weapons. Aunt Pol's expression did not change as she turned her gaze on the giggling jewel of the Empire. "I think we'll take that one with us, however," she added.

  Ce'Nedra protested bitterly when she was advised that she would not be travelling directly to the comforts of King Fulrach's palace at Sendar, but her objections had no impact on Aunt Pol.

  "Doesn't she ever listen to anybody?" the little princess grumbled to Garion as they rode along behind Aunt Pol and Durnik on the road to Medalia.

  "She always listens," Garion replied.

  "But she never changes her mind, does she?"

  "Not very often - but she does listen."

  Aunt Pol glanced over her shoulder at them. "Pull up your hood, Ce'Nedra," she instructed. "It's starting to snow again, and I don't want you riding with a wet head."

  The princess drew in a quick breath as if preparing to retort.

  "I wouldn't," Garion advised her softly.

  "But-"

  "She's not in the mood for discussion just
now."

  Ce'Nedra glared at him, but pulled up her hood in silence.

  It was still snowing lightly when they reached Medalia that evening. Ce'Nedra's reaction to the lodgings offered at the inn was predictable. There was, Garion had noted, a certain natural rhythm to her outbursts. She never began at the top of her voice, but rather worked her way up to it with an impressively swelling crescendo. She had just reached the point of launching herself into full voice when she was suddenly brought up short.

  "What an absolutely charming display of good breeding," Aunt Pol observed calmly to Durnik. "All of Garion's old friends will be terribly impressed by this sort of thing, don't you think?"

  Durnik looked away, hiding a smile. "I'm sure of it, Mistress Pol."

  Ce'Nedra's mouth was still open, but her tirade had been cut off instantly. Garion was amazed at her sudden silence. "I was being a bit silly, wasn't I?" she said after a moment. Her tone was reasonable almost sweet-natured.

  "Yes, dear just a bit," Aunt Pol agreed.

  "Please forgive me - all of you." Ce'Nedra's voice dripped honey.

  "Don't overdo it, Ce'Nedra," Aunt Pol told her.

  It was perhaps noon of the following day when they turned off the main road leading to Erat into the country lane that led to Faldor's farm. Since that morning, Garion's excitement had risen to almost intolerable heights. Every milepost, every bush and tree was familiar to him now. And over there - wasn't that old Cralto riding an unsaddled horse on some errand for Faldor? Finally, at the sight of a tall, familiar figure clearing brush and twigs from a drainage ditch, he was no longer able to restrain himself. He drove his heels into his horse's flanks, smoothly jumped a fence and galloped across the snowy field toward the solitary worker.

  "Rundorig!" he shouted, hauling his horse to a stop and flinging himself from his saddle.

  "Your Honor?" Rundorig replied, blinking with astonishment.

  "Rundorig, it's me - Garion. Don't you recognize me?"