The Malloreon: Book 01 - Guardians of the West

by David Eddings

Garion groaned and once more buried his face between his trembling hands.

  The Alorn Council lasted for perhaps another week. It might have continued longer had not a savage autumn storm announced with a howling gale that it was time for the assembled guests to return to the mainland while the Sea of the Winds was still navigable.

  Not too many days later, Brand, the tall, aging Rivan Warder, requested a private audience with Garion. It was raining gustily outside, and sheets of water intermittently clawed at the windows of Garion’s study as the two men sat down in comfortable chairs across the table from each other. ‘May I speak frankly, Belgarion?’ the big, sad-eyed man asked.

  ‘You know you don’t have to ask that.’

  ‘The matter at hand is a personal one. I don’t want you to be offended.’

  ‘Say what you think needs to be said. I promise not to be offended.’

  Brand glanced out the window at the gray sky and the wind-driven rain. ‘Belgarion, it’s been almost eight years now since you married Princess Ce’Nedra.’

  Garion nodded.

  ‘I’m not trying to intrude on your privacy, but the fact that your wife has not yet produced an heir to the throne is, after all, a state matter.’

  Garion pursed his lips. ‘I know that you and Anheg and the others are very concerned. I think your concern is premature, though.’

  ‘Eight years is a long time, Belgarion. We all know how much you love your wife. We’re all fond of her.’ Brand smiled briefly. ‘Even though she’s a little difficult at times.’

  ‘You’ve noticed.’

  ‘We followed her willingly to the battlefield at Thull Mardu—and probably would again if she asked us to—but I think we’d better face the possibility that she may be barren.’

  ‘I’m positive that she’s not,’ Garion said firmly.

  ‘Then why isn’t she having children?’

  Garion couldn’t answer that.

  ‘Belgarion, the fate of this kingdom—and of all Aloria—hangs on your weakest breath. There’s virtually no other topic of conversation in all the northern kingdoms.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ Garion admitted.

  ‘Grodeg and his henchmen were virtually wiped out at Thull Mardu, but there’s been a resurgence of the Bear-cult in remote parts of Cherek, Drasnia, and Algaria. You knew that, didn’t you?’

  Garion nodded.

  ‘And even in the cities there are those elements that sympathize with the cult’s aims and beliefs. Those people were not happy that you chose a Tolnedran princess for your wife. Rumors are already abroad that Ce’Nedra’s inability to have children is a sign of Belar’s disapproval of your marriage to her.’

  ‘That’s superstitious nonsense,’ Garion scoffed.

  ‘Of course it is, but if that kind of thinking begins to take hold, it’s ultimately going to have some unpleasant effects. Other elements in Alorn society—friendly to you—are very concerned about it. To put it bluntly, there’s a rather widely held opinion that the time has come for you to divorce Ce’Nedra.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You do have that power, you know. The way they all see it, the best solution might be for you to put aside your barren Tolnedran queen and take some nice, fertile Alorn girl, who’ll present you with babies by the dozen.’

  ‘That’s absolutely out of the question,’ Garion said hotly. ‘I won’t do it. Didn’t those idiots ever hear about the Accords of Vo Mimbre? Even if I wanted to divorce Ce’Nedra, I couldn’t. Our marriage was agreed upon five hundred years ago.’

  ‘The Bear-cult feels that the arrangement was forced on the Alorns by Belgarath and Polgara,’ Brand replied. ‘Since those two are loyal to Aldur, the cult feels that it might have been done without Belar’s approval.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Garion snapped.

  ‘There’s a lot of nonsense in any religion, Belgarion. The point remains, however, that Ce’Nedra has few friends in any part of Alorn society. Even those who are friendly to you aren’t very fond of her. Both your enemies and your friends would like to see you divorce her. They all know how fond of her you are, so they’ll probably never approach you with the idea. They’re likely to take more direct action instead.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Since they know that you can’t be persuaded to divorce her, someone may try to remove her permanently.’

  ‘They wouldn’t dare!’

  ‘Alorns are almost as emotional as Arends are, Belgarion—and sometimes almost as thick-headed. We’re all aware of it. Anheg and Cho-Hag both urged me to warn you about this possibility, and Porenn has put whole platoons of her spies to work on it so that we’ll at least have some advance warning, if someone starts plotting against the queen.’

  ‘And just where do you stand in this, Brand?’ Garion asked quietly.

  ‘Belgarion,’ the big man said firmly, ‘I love you as if you were my own son, and Ce’Nedra is as dear to me as the daughter I never had. Nothing in this world would make me happier than to see the floor of that nursery next to your bedroom absolutely littered with children. But it’s been eight years. Things have reached the point where we must do something—if for no other reason, then to protect that tiny, brave girl we both love.’

  ‘What can we do?’ Garion asked helplessly.

  ‘You and I are only men, Garion. How can we know why a woman does or does not have children? And that’s the crux of the whole situation. I implore you, Garion—I beg you—send for Polgara. We need her advice and help—and we need it now.’

  After the Warder had quietly left, Garion sat for a long while staring out at the rain. All in all, he decided that it might be wiser not to tell Ce’Nedra about the conversation. He did not want to frighten her with talk of assassins lurking in the dim corridors, and any hint that political expediency might compel consideration of divorce would not be well received. After careful thought, he concluded that the best course would be to just keep his mouth shut and send for Aunt Pol. Unfortunately, he had forgotten something rather important. When he entered the cheery, candlelit royal apartment that evening, he wore a carefully assumed smile designed to indicate that nothing untoward had happened during the day.

  The frosty silence which greeted him should have warned him; even had he missed that danger sign, he certainly should have noticed the scars on the door casing and the broken shards of several vases and assorted porcelain figurines that lay in the corners where they had been missed in the hasty clean-up following an explosion of some sort. The Rivan King, however, sometimes tended to be slightly unobservant. ‘Good evening, dear,’ he greeted his icy little wife in a cheerful voice.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘How did your day go?’

  She turned to regard him with a look filled with daggers. ‘How can you possibly have the nerve to ask that?’

  Garion blinked.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘just when is it that I am to be put aside so that my Lord can marry the blonde-headed brood sow who’s going to replace me in my Lord’s bed and fill the entire Citadel with litters of runny-nosed Alorn brats?’

  ‘How—?’

  ‘My Lord appears to have forgotten the gift he chained about my neck when we were betrothed,’ she said. ‘My Lord also appears to have forgotten just exactly what Beldaran’s amulet can do.’

  ‘Oh,’ Garion said, suddenly remembering. ‘Oh, my.’

  ‘Unfortunately, the amulet won’t come off,’ Ce’Nedra told him bitingly. ‘You won’t be able to give it to your next wife—unless you plan to have my head cut off so that you can reclaim it.’

  “Will you stop that?’

  ‘As my Lord commands me. Did you plan to ship me back to Tolnedra—or am I just to be shoved out the front gate into the rain and left to fend for myself?’

  ‘You heard the discussion I had with Brand, then, I take it.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘If you heard part of it, then I’m sure you heard it all. Brand was only reporting a danger to you caused by
the absurd notions of a group of frothing fanatics.’

  ‘You should not have even listened to him.’

  ‘When he’s trying to warn me that somebody might attempt to kill you? Ce’Nedra, be serious.’

  ‘The thought is there now, Garion,’ she said accusingly. ‘Now you know that you can get rid of me any time you want. I’ve seen you ogling those empty-headed Alorn girls with their long blonde braids and their overdeveloped bosoms. Now’s your chance, Garion. Which one will you choose?’

  ‘Are you about finished with all of this?’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Now I’m not merely barren, I’m also hysterical.’

  ‘No, you’re just a little silly now and then, that’s all.’

  ‘Silly?’

  ‘Everybody’s silly once in a while,’ he added quite calmly. ‘It’s part of being human. I’m actually a little surprised that you aren’t throwing things.’

  She threw a quick, guilty glance in the direction of some of the broken fragments in the corner.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, catching the glance. ‘You did that earlier, I see. I’m glad I missed that part. It’s hard to try to reason with somebody when you’re dodging flying crockery and the other person is shrieking curses.’

  Ce’Nedra blushed slightly.

  ‘You did that too?’ he asked mildly. ‘Sometimes I wonder where you managed to pick up all those words. How did you ever find out what they mean?’

  ‘You swear all the time,’ she accused.

  ‘I know,’ he admitted. ‘It’s terribly unfair. I’m allowed to, but you’re not.’

  ‘I’d like to know who made up that rule,’ she started, and then her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re trying to change the subject,’ she accused him.

  ‘No, Ce’Nedra, I already did. We weren’t getting anywhere with the other topic. You are not barren, and I am not going to divorce you, no matter how long somebody else’s braids are, or how—well, never mind.’

  She looked at him. ‘Oh, Garion, what if I am?’ she said in a small voice. ‘Barren, I mean?’

  ‘That’s absurd, Ce’Nedra. We won’t even discuss that.’

  The lingering doubt in the eyes of the Rivan Queen, however, said quite clearly that, even if they did not discuss it, she would continue to worry about it.

  Chapter Twelve

  The season made the Sea of the Winds extremely hazardous, and Garion was forced to wait for a full month before he could dispatch a messenger to the Vale of Aldur. By then the late autumn snowstorms had clogged the passes in the mountains of eastern Sendaria, and the royal messenger was obliged literally to wade his way across to the plains of Algaria. With all these delays, it was very nearly Erastide by the time Aunt Pol, Durnik, and Errand arrived at the snowy quay in the harbor at Riva. Durnik admitted to Garion that it had only been a chance meeting with the wayward Captain Greldik, who feared no storm that any sea could hurl at him, that had made the trip possible at all. Polgara spoke briefly with the vagabond seaman before they began the long climb up to the Citadel, and Garion noted with some surprise that Greldik slipped his hawsers immediately and sailed back out to sea.

  Polgara seemed quite unconcerned about the gravity of the problem that had impelled Garion to send for her. She spoke with him only a couple of times about it, asking a few rather direct questions that set his ears to flaming. Her discussions with Ce’Nedra were a bit more lengthy, but only slightly so. Garion received the distinct impression that she was waiting for someone or something before proceeding.

  The Erastide celebration at Riva that year was somewhat subdued. Although it was very pleasant to have Polgara, Durnik, and Errand with them to join in the festivities, Garion’s concern over the problem Brand had raised dampened his enjoyment of the holiday.

  Several weeks afterward, Garion entered the royal apartment one snowy midafternoon to find Polgara and Ce’Nedra seated by a cozy fire sipping tea and chatting together quietly. The curiosity which had been growing in him since the arrival of his visitors finally boiled to a head.

  ‘Aunt Pol,’ he began.

  ‘Yes dear?’

  ‘You’ve been here for almost a month now.’

  ‘Has it been that long? The time certainly passes quickly when you’re with people you love.’

  ‘There’s still this little problem, you know,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Yes, Garion,’ she replied patiently. ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘Are we doing anything about it?’

  ‘No,’ she said placidly, ‘not yet, anyhow.’

  ‘It’s sort of important, Aunt Pol. I don’t want to seem to be trying to rush you or anything, but—’ He broke off helplessly.

  Polgara rose from her chair, went to the window, and looked out at the small private garden just outside. The garden was clogged with snow, and the pair of intertwined oak trees Ce’Nedra had planted there at the time of her betrothal to Garion were bowed slightly beneath the weight on their limbs. ‘One of the things you’ll learn as you grow older, Garion,’ she said to him, gravely looking out at the snowy garden, ‘is patience. Everything has its proper season. The solution to your problem isn’t all that complicated, but it’s just not the proper time to come to grips with it yet.’

  ‘I don’t understand at all, Aunt Pol.’

  ‘Then you’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I trust you, Aunt Pol. It’s just—’

  ‘Just what, dear?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  It was late winter before Captain Greldik returned from the south. A storm had sprung one of the seams of his ship, and she was taking water as she wallowed heavily around the headland and made for the quay.

  ‘I thought for a while there that I might have to swim,’ the bearded Cherek growled as he jumped across to the quay. ‘Where’s the best place to beach this poor old cow of mine? I’m going to have to calk her bottom.’

  ‘Most sailors use that inlet there,’ Garion replied, pointing.

  ‘I hate to beach a ship in the winter,’ Greldik said bitterly. ‘Is there someplace where I can get a drink?’

  ‘Up at the Citadel,’ Garion offered.

  ‘Thanks. Oh, I brought that visitor Polgara wanted.’

  ‘Visitor?’

  Greldik stepped back, squinted at his ship to determine the location of the aft cabin, then went over and kicked the planking several times. ‘We’re here!’ he bellowed. He turned back to Garion. ‘I really hate to sail with women on board. I’m not superstitious, but sometimes I really think they do bring bad luck—and you’ve always got to watch your manners.’

  ‘You have a woman aboard?’ Garion asked curiously.

  Greldik grunted sourly. ‘Pretty little thing, but she seems to expect deferential treatment; and when your whole crew is busy bailing seawater out of your bilges, you don’t have much time for that.’

  ‘Hello, Garion,’ a light voice said from up on deck.

  ‘Xera?’ Garion stared up into the small face of his wife’s cousin. ‘Is that really you?’

  ‘Yes, Garion,’ the red-haired Dryad replied calmly. She was bundled up to the ears in thick, warm furs, and her breath steamed in the frosty air. ‘I got here as quickly as I could when I received Lady Polgara’s summons.’ She smiled sweetly down at the sour-faced Greldik. ‘Captain,’ she said, ‘could you have some of your men bring those bales along for me?’

  ‘Dirt,’ Greldik snorted. ‘I sail two thousand leagues in the dead of winter to carry one small girl, two casks of water, and four bales of dirt.’

  ‘Loam, Captain,’ Xera corrected meticulously, ‘loam. There’s a difference, you know.’

  ‘I’m a sailor,’ Greldik said. ‘To me, dirt is dirt.’

  ‘Whatever you wish, Captain,’ Xera said winsomely. ‘Now do be a dear and have the bales carried up to the Citadel for me—and I’ll need the casks as well.’

  Grumbling, Captain Greldik gave the orders.

  Ce’Nedra was ecstat
ic when she learned that her cousin had arrived in Riva. The two of them flew into each other’s arms and dashed off immediately to find Polgara.

  ‘They’re very fond of each other, aren’t they?’ Durnik observed. The smith was dressed in furs and wore a pair of well-tarred boots. Shortly after his arrival, despite the fact that it was in the dead of winter, Durnik had discovered a large, swirling pool in the river that dropped out of the mountains and ran just to the north of the city. With astounding self-restraint, he had actually stared at that ice-rimmed pool for a full ten minutes before going in search of a fishing pole. Now he happily spent most of each day probing those dark, churning waters with a waxed line and a bright lure in search of the silvery-sided salmon that lurked beneath the turbulent surface. The closest Garion had ever seen his Aunt Pol actually come to scolding her husband had been on the day when she had intercepted him on his way out of the Citadel into the very teeth of a screaming blizzard, whistling, and with his fishing pole over his shoulder.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with all of this?’ Greldik demanded, pointing at the six burly sailors who had carried Xera’s bales and casks up the long stairway to the grim fortress brooding over the city.

  ‘Oh,’ Garion said, ‘just have your men put them over there.’ He pointed toward a corner of the antechamber they had just entered. ‘I’ll find out what the ladies want done with them later.’

  Greldik grunted. ‘Good.’ Then he rubbed his hands together. ‘Now, about that drink—’

  Garion did not have the faintest idea what his wife and her cousin and Polgara were up to. Most of the time, their conversations broke off as soon as he entered the room. To his astonishment, the four bales of loam and the two casks of what seemed to be water were stacked rather untidily in one corner of the royal bedroom. Ce’Nedra adamantly refused to explain, but the look she gave him when he asked why they needed to be so close to the royal bed was not only mysterious, but actually faintly naughty.

  It was perhaps a week or two after Xera’s arrival that a sudden break in the weather brought the sun out, and the temperature soared up to almost freezing. Shortly before noon, Garion was in conference with the Drasnian ambassador when a wide-eyed servant hesitantly entered the royal study. ‘Please, your Majesty,’ the poor man stammered. ‘Please forgive me for interrupting, but Lady Polgara told me to bring you to her at once. I tried to tell her that we don’t bother you when you’re busy, but she—well, she sort of insisted.’