Guardians of the West

by David Eddings

  Then a great, howling gale struck; at the same time, the clouds ripped open to inundate the opposing forces in a deluge so intense that many knights were actually hurled from their saddles by the impact. Even as the gale shrieked and the driving downpour struck them, flickering bolts of lightning continued to stagger across the field which separated them, sizzling dreadfully and filling the air with steam and smoke. To cross that field was unthinkable.

  Grimly, Garion sat his terrified charger in the very midst of that awful display, with the lightning dancing around him. He let it rain on the two armies for several minutes until he was certain that he had their full attention; then, with a negligent flick of his flaming sword, he turned off the downpour.

  ‘I have had enough of this stupidity!’ he announced in a voice as loud as the thunder had been. ‘Lay down your weapons at once!’

  They stared at him and then distrustfully at each other.

  ‘AT ONCE!’ Garion roared, emphasizing his command with yet another lightning bolt and a shattering thunderclap.

  The clatter of suddenly discarded weapons was enormous.

  ‘I want to see Sir Embrig and Sir Mandorallen right here,’ Garion said then, pointing with his sword at a spot directly in front of his horse. ‘Immediately!’

  Slowly, almost like reluctant schoolboys, the two steelclad knights warily approached him.

  ‘Just exactly what do the two of you think you’re doing?’ Garion demanded of them.

  ‘Mine honor compelled me, your Majesty,’ Sir Embrig declared in a faltering voice. He was a stout, florid-faced man of about forty with the purple-veined nose of one who drinks heavily. ‘Sir Mandorallen hath abducted my kinswoman.’

  ‘Thy concern for the lady extendeth only to thy authority over her person,’ Mandorallen retorted hotly. ‘Thou hast usurped her lands and chattels with churlish disregard for her feelings, and—’

  ‘All right,’ Garion snapped, ‘that’s enough. Your personal squabble has brought half of Arendia to the brink of war. Is that what you wanted? Are you such a pair of children that you’re willing to destroy your homeland just to get your own way?’

  ‘But—’ Mandorallen tried to say.

  ‘But nothing.’ Garion then proceeded—at some length—to tell them exactly what he thought of them. His tone was scornful, and his choice of language wide-ranging. The two frequently went pale as he spoke. Then he saw Lelldorin drawing cautiously near to listen.

  ‘And you!’ Garion turned his attention to the young Asturian. ‘What are you doing down here in Mimbre?’

  ‘Me? Well—Mandorallen is my friend, Garion.’

  ‘Did he ask for your help?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘I didn’t think so. You just took it on yourself.’ He then included Lelldorin in his commentary, gesturing often with the burning sword in his right hand. The three watched that sword with a certain wide-eyed anxiety as he waved it in their faces.

  ‘Very well, then,’ Garion said after he had cleared the air, ‘this is what we’re going to do.’ He looked belligerently at Sir Embrig. ‘Do you want to fight me?’ he challenged, thrusting out his jaw pugnaciously.

  Sir Embrig’s face went a pasty white, and his eyes started from his head. ‘Me, your Majesty?’ he gasped. ‘Thou wouldst have me take the field against the Godslayer?’ He began to tremble violently.

  ‘I didn’t think so.’Garion grunted. ‘Since that’s the case, you’ll immediately relinquish all claim of authority over the Baroness Nerina to me.’

  ‘Most gladly, your Majesty.’ Embrig’s words tumbled over themselves as they came out.

  ‘Mandorallen,’ Garion said, ‘do you want to fight me?’

  ‘Thou art my friend, Garion,’ Mandorallen protested. ‘I would die before I raised my hand against thee.’

  ‘Good. Then you will turn all territorial claims on behalf of the baroness over to me—at once. I am her protector now.’

  ‘I agree to this,’ Mandorallen replied gravely.

  ‘Sir Embrig,’ Garion said then, ‘I bestow upon you the entirety of the Barony of Vo Ebor—including those lands which would normally go to Nerina. Will you accept them?’

  ‘I will, your Majesty.’

  ‘Sir Mandorallen, I offer you the hand in marriage of my ward, Nerina of Vo Ebor. Will you accept her?’

  ‘With all my heart, my Lord,’ Mandorallen choked, with tears coming to his eyes.

  ‘Splendid,’ Lelldorin said admiringly.

  ‘Shut up, Lelldorin,’ Garion told him. ‘That’s it, then, gentlemen. Your war is over. Pack up your armies and go home—and if this breaks out again, I’ll come back. The next time I have to come down here, I’m going to be very angry. Do we all understand each other?’

  Mutely they nodded. That ended the war.

  The Baroness Nerina, however, raised certain strenuous objections when she was informed of Garion’s decisions upon the return of Mandorallen’s army to Vo Mandor. ‘Am I some common serf girl to be bestowed upon any man who pleases my lord?’ she demanded with a fine air of high drama.

  ‘Are you questioning my authority as your guardian?’ Garion asked her directly.

  ‘Nay, my Lord. Sir Embrig hath consented to this. Thou art my guardian now. I must do as thou commandest me.’

  ‘Do you love Mandorallen?’

  She looked quickly at the great knight and then blushed.

  ‘Answer me!’

  ‘I do, my Lord,’ she confessed in a small voice.

  ‘What’s the problem then? You’ve loved him for years, but when I order you to marry him, you object.’

  ‘My Lord,’ she replied stiffly, ‘there are certain proprieties to be observed. A lady may not be so churlishly disposed of.’ And with that she turned her back and stormed away.

  Mandorallen groaned, and a sob escaped him.

  ‘What is it now?’ Garion demanded.

  ‘My Nerina and I will never wed, I fear,’ Mandorallen declared brokenly.

  ‘Nonsense. Lelldorin, do you understand what this is all about?’

  Lelldorin frowned. ‘I think so, Garion. There are a whole series of rather delicate negotiations and formalities that you’re leaping over here. There’s the question of the dowry, the formal, written consent of the guardian—that’s you, of course—and probably most important, there has to be a formal proposal—with witnesses.’

  ‘She’s refusing over technicalities?’ Garion asked incredulously.

  ‘Technicalities are very important to a woman, Garion.’

  Garion sighed with resignation. This was going to take longer than he had thought. ‘Come with me,’ he told them.

  Nerina had locked her door and refused to answer Garion’s polite knock. Finally he looked at the stout oak planks barring his way. ‘Burst!’ he said, and the door blew inward, showering the startled lady seated on the bed with splinters. ‘Now,’ Garion said, stepping over the wreckage, ‘let’s get down to business. How big a dowry do we think would be appropriate?’

  Mandorallen was willing—more than willing—to accept some mere token, but Nerina stubbornly insisted upon something significant. Wincing slightly, Garion made an offer acceptable to the lady. He then called for pen and ink and scribbled—with Lelldorin’s aid—a suitable document of consent. ‘Very well,’ he said then to Mandorallen, ‘ask her.’

  ‘Such proposal doth not customarily come with such unseemly haste, your Majesty,’ Nerina protested. ‘It is considered proper for the couple to have some time to acquaint themselves with each other.’

  ‘You’re already acquainted, Nerina,’ he reminded her. ‘Get on with it.’

  Mandorallen sank to his knees before his lady, his armor clinking on the floor. ‘Wilt thou have me as thy husband, Nerina?’ he implored her.

  She stared at him helplessly. ‘I have not, my Lord, had time to frame a suitable reply.’

  ‘Try “yes,” Nerina,’ Garion suggested.

  ‘Is such thy command, my Lord?’


  ‘If you want to put it that way.’

  ‘I must obey, then. I will have thee, Sir Mandorallen—with all my heart.’

  ‘Splendid,’ Garion said briskly, rubbing his hands together. ‘Get up, Mandorallen, and let’s go down to your chapel. We’ll find a priest and get this all formalized by suppertime.’

  ‘Surely thou art not proposing such haste, my Lord,’ Nerina gasped.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I am. I have to get back to Riva and I’m not going to leave here until the two of you are safely married. Things have a way of going wrong in Arendia if somebody isn’t around to watch them.’

  ‘I am not suitably attired, your Majesty,’ Nerina protested, looking down at her black dress. ‘Thou wouldst not have me married in a gown of sable hue?’

  ‘And I,’ Mandorallen also objected, ‘I am still under arms. A man should not approach his wedding clad in steel.’

  ‘I don’t have the slightest concern about what either of you is wearing,’ Garion informed them. ‘It’s what’s in your hearts that’s important, not what’s on your backs.’

  ‘But—’ Nerina faltered. ‘I do not even have a veil.’

  Garion gave her a long, steady look. Then he cast a quick look around the room, picked up a lace doily from a nearby table and set it neatly atop the lady’s head. ‘Charming,’ he murmured. ‘Can anyone think of anything else?’

  ‘A ring?’ Lelldorin suggested hesitantly.

  Garion turned to stare at him. ‘You, too?’ he said.

  ‘They really ought to have a ring, Garion,’ Lelldorin said defensively.

  Garion considered that for a moment, concentrated, and then forged a plain gold ring out of insubstantial air. ‘Will this do?’ he asked, holding it out to them.

  ‘Might I not be attended?’ Nerina asked in a small, trembling voice. ‘It is unseemly for a noblewoman to be wed without the presence of some lady of suitable rank to support and encourage her.’

  ‘Go fetch somebody’ Garion said to Lelldorin.

  ‘Whom should I select?’ Lelldorin asked helplessly.

  ‘I don’t care. Just bring a lady of noble birth to the chapel—even if you have to drag her by the hair.’

  Lelldorin scurried out.

  ‘Is there anything else?’ Garion asked Mandorallen and Nerina in the slightly dangerous tone that indicated that his patience was wearing very thin.

  ‘It is customary for a bridegroom to be accompanied by a close friend, Garion,’ Mandorallen reminded him.

  ‘Lelldorin will be there,’ Garion said, ‘and so will I. We won’t let you fall down or faint or run away.’

  ‘Might I not have a few small flowers?’ Nerina asked in a plaintive voice.

  Garion looked at her. ‘Certainly,’ he replied in a deceptively mild tone. ‘Hold out your hand.’ He then began to create lilies—rapidly—popping them out of empty air and depositing them one after another in the startled lady’s hand. ‘Are they the right color, Nerina?’ he asked her. ‘I can change them if you like—purple, perhaps, or chartreuse, or maybe bright blue would suit you.’

  And then he finally decided that he was not really getting anywhere. They were going to continue to raise objections for as long as they possibly could. They were both so accustomed to living in the very heart of their colossal tragedy that they were unwilling—unable even—to give up their mournful entertainment. The solution, of necessity, was going to be entirely up to him. Knowing that it was a trifle overdramatic, but considering the mental capabilities of the two involved, he drew his sword. ‘We are all now going directly to the chapel,’ he announced, ‘and the two of you are going to get married.’ He pointed at the splintered door with the sword. ‘Now march!’ he commanded.

  And so it was that one of the great tragic love stories of all time came at last to a happy ending. Mandorallen and his Nerina were married that very afternoon, with Garion quite literally standing over them with flaming sword to ensure that no last-minute hitches could interrupt.

  On the whole, Garion was rather pleased with himself and with the way he had handled things. His mood was self-congratulatory as he departed the following morning to return to Riva.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Anyway,’ Garion was saying as he and Ce’Nedra relaxed in their blue-carpeted sitting room on the evening of his return to Riva, ‘when we got back to Mandorallen’s castle and told Nerina that it was all right for them to get married, she raised all kinds of objections.’

  ‘I always thought she loved him,’ Ce’Nedra said.

  ‘She does, but she’s been in the very center of this great tragic situation for all these years, and she didn’t really want to give that up. She hadn’t got all that noble suffering out of her system yet.’

  ‘Don’t be snide, Garion.’

  ‘Arends make my teeth ache. First she held out for a dowry—a very big one.’

  ‘That seems reasonable.’

  ‘Not when you consider the fact that I had to pay it.’

  ‘You? Why should you have to pay it?’

  ‘I’m her guardian, remember? For all of her thee’s and thou’s and vaporish airs, she haggles like a Drasnian horse trader. By the time she was done, my purse was very lean. And she had to have a formal letter of consent—and a veil, a lady to attend her, a ring, and flowers. And I was getting more irritated by the minute.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Didn’t Mandorallen propose to her?’ Ce’Nedra leaned forward, her little face very intent. ‘I’m certain that she would have insisted on that.’

  ‘You’re right. I almost forgot that part.’

  She shook her head almost sadly. ‘Oh, Garion,’ she said in a disapproving tone.

  ‘That came earlier—right after the business with the dowry. Anyway, he proposed, and I made her say yes, and then—’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Ce’Nedra said firmly, holding up one little hand. ‘Don’t rush through that part. Exactly what did he say when he asked her?’

  Garion scratched his ear. ‘I’m not sure I remember,’ he confessed.

  ‘Try,’ she urged him. ‘Please.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ he pondered, looking up at the ornately carved wooden beams of the ceiling. ‘First she objected to having the proposal come before they had gone through all the business of “getting acquainted,” as she put it. I guess she meant all the sneaking around so that they could be alone together in secluded places—and the love poems and the flowers and all those calf-eyed looks.’

  Ce’Nedra gave him a hard little stare. ‘You know, sometimes you can be absolutely infuriating. You’ve got about as much sensitivity as a block of wood.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Never mind. Just tell me what happened next.’

  ‘Well, I told her straight off that I wasn’t having any of that nonsense. I said that they were already acquainted and to get on with it.’

  ‘You’re just full of charm, aren’t you?’ she said sarcastically.

  ‘Ce’Nedra, what is the problem here?’

  ‘Never mind. Just get on with the story. You always dawdle so when you’re telling me about something like this.’

  ‘Me? You’re the one who keeps interrupting.’

  ‘Just move along with it, Garion.’

  He shrugged. ‘There isn’t much more. He asked her; she said yes; and then I marched them down to the chapel.’

  ‘The words, Garion,’ she insisted. ‘The words. Exactly what did he say?’

  ‘Nothing very earth-shaking. It went sort of like “Wilt thou have me as thy husband, Nerina?’

  ‘Oh,’ Ce’Nedra said with a catch in her voice. He was astonished to see tears in her eyes.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded.

  ‘Never mind,’ she replied, dabbing at her eyes with a wispy scrap of a handkerchief. ‘What did she say then?’

  ‘She said that she hadn’t had time to work up a s
uitable answer, so I told her just to say “yes.”’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said, “I will have thee, Sir Mandorallen—with all my heart.”’

  ‘Oh,’ Ce’Nedra said again, her handkerchief going once more to her brimming eyes. ‘That’s just lovely.’

  ‘If you say so,’ he said. ‘It seemed a little drawn-out to me.’

  ‘Sometimes you’re hopeless,’ she told him. Then she sighed a little forlornly. ‘I never got a formal proposal,’ she said.

  ‘You most certainly did,’ he said indignantly. ‘Don’t you remember all that ceremony when you and the Tolnedran Ambassador came into the throne room?’

  ‘I did the proposing, Garion,’ she reminded him with a toss of her flaming curls. ‘I presented myself before your throne and asked you if you would consent to take me to wife. You agreed, and that’s all there was to it. You never once asked me.’

  He frowned and thought back. ‘I must have.’

  ‘Not once.’

  ‘Well, as long as we got married anyway, it doesn’t really matter all that much, does it?’

  Her expression turned to ice.

  He caught that look. ‘Is it really that important, Ce’Nedra?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes, Garion. It is.’

  He sighed. ‘All right then. I guess I’d better do it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Propose. Will you marry me, Ce’Nedra?’

  ‘Is that the best you can do?’

  He gave her a long, steady look. She was, he had to admit, very appealing. She was wearing a pale green dress, all frilly and touched here and there with lace, and she sat rather primly in her chair, looking pouty and discontented. He arose from his chair, crossed to where she sat, and sank extravagantly to his knees. He took her small hand in both of his and looked imploringly into her face, trying to match the look of fatuous adoration that Mandorallen had worn. ‘Will her Imperial Highness consent to have me as her husband?’ he asked her. ‘I can offer little besides an honest, loving heart and boundless devotion.’