Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  "You and I need to talk, and all that singing distracts my attention."

  "A private audience, Belgarath?" she asked me archly.

  I winked at her with a sly smirk.

  "It is our pleasure that the Ancient One shall divulge his mind to us in private," she announced to her worshipers.

  "You have our permission to withdraw."

  "Well, really," I heard one of them mutter in an outraged tone.

  "Remain if you wish, Kass," Salmissra said to the protestor in an indifferent tone of voice.

  "Know, however, that no one living will hear what passes between me and the disciple of Aldur. Go and live--or stay and die." She had style, I'll give her that. Her offer cleared the throne room immediately.

  "Well," she said, her colorless eyes smoldering, "now that we're alone--" She left it hanging suggestively.

  "Ah, don't y' be after temptin' me, darling'," I said, grinning. Beldin had gotten away with that; why couldn't I?

  She actually laughed. That was the only time I ever heard one of the hundred or more Salmissras do that.

  "Let's get down to business, Salmissra," I suggested briskly.

  "I've been conducting a survey of the western kingdoms, and I think we might profitably exchange some information."

  "I hunger for your words, Ancient One," she said, her face taking on an outrageously vapid expression. This one had a very sharp mind and a highly developed sense of humor. I quickly altered my approach. An intelligent Salmissra was a dangerous novelty.

  "You know what happened in Mallorea, of course," I began.

  "Yes," she replied simply.

  "Congratulations."

  "Thank you."

  "Would you like to sit here?" she invited, rising to a half-sitting position and patting the seat of the divan beside her.

  "Ah--thanks, but I think better on my feet. Aloria's been divided into four separate kingdoms now."

  "Yes, I know. How did you ever browbeat Cherek into permitting that?"

  "I didn't. Belar did."

  "Is Cherek really that religious?"

  "He didn't like it, but he saw the necessity for it. Riva's got the Orb now, and he's on the Isle of the Winds. You might want to warn your sea captains to stay away from the Isle. Cherek's got a fleet of war-boats, and they'll sink any ship that goes within fifty leagues of Riva's island."

  Her colorless eyes grew speculative.

  "I just had a very interesting thought, Belgarath."

  "Oh?"

  "Is Riva married yet?"

  "No. He's still a bachelor."

  "You might tell him that I'm not married, either. Doesn't that suggest something rather interesting to you? It certainly does to me."

  I almost choked on that one.

  "You're not really serious, are you?"

  "It's something worth exploring, don't you think? Nyissa's a small nation, and my people don't make very good soldiers. The Marag invasion taught us that. If Riva and I were to marry, it'd form a very interesting alliance."

  "Don't the rules say that you're not supposed to marry?"

  "Rules are tiresome, Belgarath. People like you and me can ignore them when it suits us. Let's be honest here. I'm the figurehead ruler of a weak nation, and I don't like that very much. I think I'd like to take real power instead. An alliance with the Alorns might just make that possible."

  "You'd be flying in the face of tradition, you know."

  "Traditions are like rules, Belgarath. They're made to be ignored.

  Issa's been dormant for a long time now. The world's changing, and if Nyissa doesn't change, too, we'll be left behind. We'll be a small, primitive backwater. I think I might just be the one to change that."

  "It wouldn't work, Salmissra," I told her.

  "My sterility, you mean? I can take care of that. All I have to do is stop taking those drugs, and I'll be as fertile as any young woman. I'll be able to give Riva a son to rule his island, and he can give me a daughter to rule here. We could alter the balance of power in this part of the world."

  I laughed.

  "It'd send the Tolnedrans into hysterics, if nothing else."

  "That in itself would be worth the trouble."

  "It would indeed, but I'm afraid it's out of the question. Riva's already been spoken for."

  "Oh? Who's the lucky girl?"

  "I haven't any idea. It's one of those marriages made in Heaven. The Gods have already selected Riva's bride."

  She sighed.

  "Pity," she murmured.

  "Ah, well. Riva's still only a boy. I suppose I could educate him, but that's sort of tiresome. I prefer experienced men."

  I moved on rather quickly. This was a very dangerous young lady.

  "The Arendish civil war's heating up. Asturia and Wacune are currently allied against Mimbre--at least they were when I was there. It was two whole months ago, though, so the situation might have changed by now."

  "Arends," she sighed, rolling her eyes upward.

  "Amen to that. The Second Honethite Dynasty's winding down in Tolnedra. They might be able to squeeze out one or two more emperors, but that well's almost dry. The Vorduvians are waiting in the wings--not very patiently."

  "I hate the Vorduvians," she said.

  "Me, too. We'll have to endure them, though."

  "I suppose." She paused, her pale eyes hooded.

  "I heard about your recent bereavement," she said tentatively.

  "You have my sincerest sympathy."

  "Thank you." I even managed to say it in a level tone.

  "Another possibility occurs to me," she said then.

  "You and I are both currently at liberty. An alliance between us might be even more interesting than one between Riva and me. Torak isn't going to stay in Mallorea forever, you know. He's already sent scouting parties across the land-bridge. It's just a matter of time until there's an Angarak presence on this continent, and that'll bring in the Grolims. Don't you think we should start to get ready?"

  I got very careful at that point. I was obviously dealing with a political genius here.

  "You're tempting me again, Salmissra." I was lying, of course, but I think I managed to convince her that I was interested in her obscene suggestion. Then I sighed.

  "Unfortunately, it's forbidden."

  "Forbidden?"

  "By my Master, and I wouldn't even consider crossing him."

  She sighed.

  "What a shame. I guess that still leaves me with the Alorns. Maybe I'll invite Dras or Algar to pay a visit to Sthiss Tor."

  "They have responsibilities in the North, Salmissra, and you have yours here. It wouldn't be much of a marriage, no matter which of them you chose. You'd seldom see each other."

  "Those are the best kind of marriages. We wouldn't have so much chance to bore each other." She brought the flat of her hand sharply down on the arm of her throne.

  "I'm not talking about love, Belgarath. I need an alliance, not entertainment. I'm in a very dangerous situation here. I was foolish enough to let a few things slip when I first came to the throne. The eunuchs know that I'm not just a silly girl consumed by her appetites. I'm sure that the candidates for my throne are already in training.

  As soon as one's chosen, the eunuchs will poison me. If I can't find an AloRN to marry, I'll have to take a Tolnedran--or an Arend. My life depends on it, old man."

  Then I finally understood. It wasn't ambition that was driving her so much as it was her instinct for self-preservation.

  "You do have an alternative, you know," I told her.

  "Strike first. Dispose of your eunuchs before they're ready to dispose of you."

  "I already thought of that, but it won't work. They all dose themselves with antidotes to every known poison."

  "As far as I know, there's no antidote for a knife-thrust in the heart, Salmissra."

  "We don't do things that way in Nyissa."

  "Then your eunuchs won't be expecting it, will they?"

  Her eyes narrowed.<
br />
  "No," she agreed, "they wouldn't." She suddenly giggled.

  "I'd have to get them all at once, of course, but a blood bath of those dimensions would be quite an object lesson, wouldn't it?"

  "It'd be a long time before anybody ever tried to cross you again, dear."

  "What a wonderful old man you are," she said gratefully.

  "I'll have to find some way to reward you."

  "I don't really have any need for money, Salmissra."

  She gave me a long, smoldering look.

  "I'll have to think of something else, then, won't I?"

  I thought it might be a good idea to change the subject at that point.

  "What's happening to the South?" I asked her.

  "You tell me. The people down there are western Dals. Nobody knows what the Dals are doing. Somehow they're in contact with the Seers at Kell. I think we'd all better keep an eye on the Dals. In many ways they have a more dangerous potential than the Angaraks. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Torak's left the ruins of Cthol Mishrak. He's in a place called Ashaba in the Karandese Mountains now. He's passing orders on to the Grolims through Ctuchik and Urvon. Nobody knows where Zedar is." She paused.

  "Are you sure you wouldn't like to sit here beside me?" she offered again.

  "We wouldn't really have to get married, you know. I'm sure Aldur wouldn't object to a more informal arrangement.

  Come sit beside me, Belgarath, and we can talk about that reward I mentioned. I'm sure I'll be able to think of something you'd like."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  When you consider all the trouble I've had with a long string of Salmissras, my feelings about that particular one were just a bit unusual, but then so was she. The selection of each new Queen of Nyissa is based almost entirely on physical appearance. At a certain point in the life of a reigning queen, twenty candidates for the succession are chosen. The palace eunuchs have a painting of the original Salmissra, and they go through the kingdom comparing that painting to the faces of all the twelve-year-old girls they can find. Twenty are selected and are taken to country estates lying in the vicinity of Sthiss Tor for training. When the old queen dies, the twenty are closely examined, and one of them is elevated to the throne. The other nineteen are killed. It's brutal, but it is politically sound. Appearance and manner are the deciding factors in the election. Intelligence is not taken into consideration. In that kind of random selection, however, you have as much chance of choosing a genius as an idiot. Quite clearly, they got a bright one this time. She was beautiful, of course. Salmissra always is. She had all of the proper mannerisms, naturally, since her very life had depended on learning those mannerisms. She had, however, been clever enough to conceal her intelligence, her sense of humor, and the sheer force of her personality--until after she'd ascended the throne. Once she'd been crowned queen, she thought she was safe. I imagine that the palace eunuchs were very upset when they discovered her true nature--upset enough, at any rate, to start planning her assassination.

  I liked her. She was an intelligent young woman making the best of a bad situation. As she'd mentioned, the various drugs she took to maintain her appearance made her infertile, but she'd already come up with a solution to that problem. I've always sort of wondered what might have happened if she had married. It might have changed the course of history in that part of the world.

  I lingered in her palace for a couple of weeks, and then I rather regretfully moved on. My hostess was generous enough to lend me her royal barge, and I went up the River of the Serpent to the rapids in style for a change.

  When the barge reached the rapids, I went ashore on the north bank and took the trail that wound up into the mountains toward Maragor.

  It was a relief to get up out of the Nyissan swamps. For one thing, I didn't have to keep a constant eye out for snakes anymore, and for another, I wasn't continually trailing a cloud of mosquitoes. I'm not really sure which of them is worse. The air grew cooler as I ascended into that spur of mountains, and the forests thinned out. I've always rather liked mountains.

  There was a bit of trouble at the border of Maragor. The Marags were still practicing that ritual cannibalism Beldin had told me about, and the border guards tended to look upon travelers as a food source. I didn't have too much trouble persuading them that I probably wouldn't taste good, though, and then I went northeast toward the capital at Mar Amon.

  I believe I've hinted at some of the peculiarities of the Marag culture before, but I suspect I'll have to be a little more specific at this point. The God Mara was just a bit overly enthusiastic about physical beauty. For a woman, this presents no particular problem; she either has it or she hasn't. A man, however, has to work on it. Masculine beauty involves muscle development, so Marag men spent a great deal of time lifting heavy things over their heads. That gets boring after a while, though, and there's not much point in having bushel baskets full of muscles if you don't use them for something. The men of Maragor devised contests of various sorts--running, jumping, throwing things, swimming, and the like.

  Unfortunately, if you develop enough muscles, they'll eventually start to squeeze your head and reduce the size of your brain. In time, most of the men of Maragor were all as beautiful as marble statues--and almost as intelligent. They were totally incapable even of taking care of themselves, and so the women had to take over. They owned all the property, and they housed their childlike heroes in dormitories and arranged various athletic competitions that kept those beautiful specimens of manhood happy.

  There were far more women among the Marags than there were men, but that didn't really cause any problems, since Marag men wouldn't really have made good husbands anyway. The Marags got along very well without marriage. They were happy, they enjoyed life, and they were kind and generous to each other. They seemed to be incapable of the jealousy and irrational possessiveness that mars other cultures.

  I think that covers everything. For various reasons, Polgara's always had a low opinion of the Marags, and if I take this too much further, it'll just give her another excuse to scold me.

  Oh, one last thing. The Marags didn't have a single ruler. They had a "Council of Matriarchs" instead--nine middle-age and presumably wise women who made all the decisions. It was a little unusual, but it worked out fairly well.

  Maragor lay in a pleasant, fertile basin in the southern part of the Tolnedran Mountains. There are extensive mineral deposits in those mountains, and the turbulent streams that run down into the basin where the Marags lived pass through those deposits and carry with them assorted minerals and a fair number of gemstones. Unless you know what to look for, diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds appear to be no more than common pebbles. Gold, however, is plainly visible on the bottom of every brook in Maragor. The Marags ignored it. They had a barter economy and were largely self-sufficient, so they had no real interest in trade with other nations. Thus, they didn't need money. Their idea of beauty leaned in the direction of personal physical attractiveness, so they didn't bother with jewelry. Once you've eliminated money and jewelry, gold becomes largely meaningless. It's too soft and too heavy to have any real practical use.

  It did get my attention, however. I dallied a bit on my journey from the border to the capital and managed to pick up a fairly large pouchful of gold nuggets. It's hard to walk away when there are lumps of gold lying in plain sight.

  It was autumn when I reached Mar Amon, a beautiful city that lay a few leagues to the west of the large lake in the center of Maragor. I went to the Temple of Mara and introduced myself to the High Priestess.

  There were priests, of course, but as was the case in the rest of Marag society, men played a decidedly minor role in their religion. The High Priestess was a tall, handsome woman in her mid-forties, and her name was Terell. I talked with her for a while, and I soon realized that she had no interest at all in the outside world. That was probably the fatal flaw in the Marag culture. No place is so isolated that you can safely ignore the rest of mankind--particular
ly when your stream-beds are cluttered with free gold.

  Despite the fact that I don't have rippling biceps and a neck like a tree trunk, the women of Mar Amon found me attractive. My celebrity may have played a part in that. The average Marag male's sole claim to fame was most likely the fact that he'd won a foot-race some years back, and his conversation tended to be a little elemental. Women, as you may have noticed, like to talk. You may have also noticed that I do, too.

  I drifted around Mar Amon, and many a conversation that I struck up by saying "good morning" to a Marag lady who might be out sweeping off her doorstep lasted for several weeks. The women of Maragor were generous and friendly, so I always had something to eat and a place to sleep.

  There are all manner of things that a man can do to take his mind off his troubles. I'd tried one of them in Camaar, and that didn't turn out too well. The one I tried in Mar Amon wasn't nearly as self-destructive, but the end result was probably the same. Extensive sensuality can erode your mind almost as much as extensive drinking can. It's not as hard on your liver, though.

  Let's not take this any further, shall we?

  I spent nine years in Mar Amon, drifting along in a sort of haze, and after the first few years I was on a first-name basis with every lady in town.

  Then one spring, Beldin came looking for me. I was having breakfast in the kitchen of a lovely young woman when he came stumping through the door with a face that looked like a thundercloud.

  "What do you think you're doing, Belgarath?" he demanded.

  "Having breakfast at the moment. What does it look like?"

  "It looks to me like you're living in sin."

  "You sound like an Ulgo, Beldin. The definition of sin varies from culture to culture. The Marags don't consider these informal arrangements sinful. How did you manage to find me?"

  "It wasn't too hard," he growled.

  "You left a very wide trail." He came over to the table and sat down. Wordlessly my hostess brought him some breakfast.

  "You're a legend in Camaar, you know," he continued, still scowling at me.