Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  I don't know that I need to go into any greater detail. I'm sure you get the picture.

  Anyway, after the chocolate had run its course through her tiny body, Xalla was very docile--even kittenish. You might want to keep that in mind the next time you're going through the Wood of the Dryads. I know that it's a point of pride among most young men to claim unlimited stamina in that particular area of human activity, but these are the young men who've never encountered a Dryad at that time of year.

  Take chocolate with you. Trust me.

  My affectionate little companion took me through the Wood to Princess Xoria's tree. Xoria was even tinier than Xalla, and she had flaming red hair. Now that I think about it, she very closely resembled her ultimate great-granddaughter. She was comfortably lying on a bed of moss in a fork of her tree about twenty feet up when Xalla led me into the clearing. She looked at me a bit appraisingly.

  "I appreciate the gift, Xalla." she said critically, "but isn't it a bit old?"

  "It has some food in its pocket, Xoria," Xalla replied.

  "And the food makes you feel very nice."

  "I'm not hungry," the princess said indifferently.

  "You really ought to try some, Xoria," Xalla urged her.

  "I just ate. Why don't you take it out into the Wood and kill it? It's probably too old to be much good."

  "Just try a piece of its candy," Xalla pressed.

  "You'll really like it."

  "Oh, all right, I guess." The Dryad princess climbed down.

  "Give me some," she commanded me.

  "As your Highness wishes," I replied, reaching into my pocket.

  Princess Xoria's reaction to the chocolate was even more intense than Xalla's had been, and when she finally recovered her composure, she seemed to have lost her homicidal impulses.

  "Why have you come into our Wood, old man?" she asked me.

  "I'm supposed to suggest a marriage to you," I replied.

  "What's marriage?"

  "It's a sort of formalized arrangement that involves mating," I explained.

  "With you? I don't think so. You're nice enough, I suppose, but you're very old."

  "No," I told her, "not with me, with somebody else."

  "What's involved in this marriage business?"

  "There's a little ceremony, and then you live together. You're supposed to agree not to mate with anybody else."

  "How boring. Why on earth would I want to agree to something like that?"

  "To protect your Wood, your Highness. If you marry the young man, his family will keep woodcutters away from your oak trees."

  "We can do that ourselves. A lot of humans have come into our Wood with axes. Their bones are still here, but their axes turned to rust a long time ago."

  "Those were single woodcutters, Xoria. If they start coming down here in gangs, you and your sisters will run out of arrows. They'll also build fires."

  "Fire!"

  "Humans like fire. It's one of their peculiarities."

  "Why are you doing this, old man? Why are you trying to force me to join with somebody I've never even seen?"

  "Necessity, Xoria. The young man's a member of the Borune family, and you're going to mate with him because a long time from now your mating's going to produce someone very special. She'll be the mate of the Child of Light, and she'll be called the Queen of the World." Then I sighed and put it to her directly.

  "You're going to do it, Xoria. You'll argue with me about it, but in the end, you'll do as you're told--just the same as I will. Neither of us has any choice in the matter."

  "What does this Borune creature look like?"

  I'd looked rather carefully at the young man while I'd been talking to his father, so I cast his image onto the surface of the forest pool at the foot of Princess Xoria's tree so that she could see the face of her future husband.

  She gazed at the image with those grass-green eyes of hers, absently nibbling on the end of one of her flaming red locks.

  "It's not bad-looking,"

  she conceded.

  "Is it vigorous?"

  "All the Borunes are vigorous, Xoria."

  "Give me another piece of candy, and I'll think about it."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The son of the grand duke of the Borunes was named Dellon, and he was a rather pleasant young man who found the idea of being married to a Dryad intriguing. I went back to Tol Borune to pick up more candy and to talk with him privately. I cast Princess Xoria's image on the surface of a basin of water for him, and he grew even more interested. Then I went back to the Wood and dosed Xoria with judiciously spaced out pieces of sugar-laced candy.

  You have to be very careful when you're feeding chocolate to a Dryad. If you give her too much, she'll become addicted, and she won't be interested in anything else. I wanted Xoria to be docile, not comatose.

  The major stumbling block in the whole business turned out to be Dellon's mother, the grand duchess. The lady was a member of the Honethite family, and the sole reason the Honeths had arranged her marriage to the grand duke of the Borune family in the first place was to gain access to the priceless resources of the Wood of the Dryads. There were forests in the mountains east of Tol Honeth and around Tol Rane, of course, but those forests were fir, pine, and spruce--all softwoods. The only significant source of hardwoods in Tolnedra was the forest of Vordue in the north, and the Vorduvians charged outrageous prices for their lumber. The Honeths had been eyeing the oaks in the Wood of the Dryads with undisguised greed for centuries.

  My promise to the grand duke that this marriage eventually would result in a Borune Dynasty on the Imperial Throne had won him over to my side, but when I casually mentioned that one of the stipulations of the marriage contract would be the inviolability of the Wood, the grand duchess went up in flames.

  She was a Honethite to the core, however, so after an initial outburst, she resorted to guile. I knew perfectly well that her objection was based on economics, but she pretended that it was theological. Religion is almost always the last refuge of the scoundrel--and the grand duchess was a scoundrel if I ever met one. It sort of runs in her family. Back before the cracking of the world, the Gods had frowned on interracial marriages.

  Alorns didn't marry Nyissans, and Tolnedrans didn't marry Arends.

  Torak, of course, was the one who took it to extremes. My proposal involved an inter species union, and Dellon's mother took her case to the priests of Nedra. Priests are bigots by nature, so she enlisted their aid without much difficulty.

  That brought everything to a standstill. I was still shuttling back and forth between the Wood and Tol Borune, so she had plenty of opportunity to sneak around behind my back and gain support in her opposition.

  "My hands are tied, Belgarath," the grand duke told me when I returned to Tol Borune after a trip down into the Wood.

  "The priests absolutely forbid this marriage."

  "Your wife's playing politics, your Grace," I told him bluntly.

  "I know, but as long as the priests of Nedra are on her side, there's nothing I can do."

  I fumed about it for a while, and then I came up with a solution. The grand duchess wanted to play politics, and I was going to show her that I could play, too.

  "I'll be gone for a while, your Grace," I told him.

  "Where are you going? Back to the Wood?"

  "No. I have to see somebody in Tol Honeth."

  This was during the early years of the second Vorduvian Dynasty, and I knew just the man to see. When I reached Tol Honeth, I went to the Imperial Palace and bullied enough functionaries to get a private audience with the emperor, Ran Vordue II.

  "I'm honored, Ancient One," he greeted me.

  "Let's skip the pleasantries, Ran Vordue," I told him.

  "I haven't got much time, and we have some interests that coincide right now. What would you say if I told you that the Honeths are right on the verge of gaining access to an unlimited supply of hardwood?"

  "What?" he explode
d.

  "I thought you might feel that way about it. The fortunes of your family are based almost entirely on the Forest of Vordue. If the Honeths gain access to the Wood of the Dryads, you can expect the price of hardwood lumber to head for the cellar. I'm trying to arrange a marriage that'll keep the Honeths out of the Wood--permanently. The Borune grand duchess is a Honethite, though, and she's fighting me on theological grounds. Is the High Priest of Nedra by any chance related to you?"

  "My uncle, actually," he replied.

  "I thought there might be some connection. I need a dispensation from him to permit the son of the House of Borune to marry a Dryad princess."

  "Belgarath, that's an absurdity!"

  "Yes, I know, but I need one anyway. The marriage must take place."

  "Why?"

  "I'm manipulating history, Ran Vordue. This marriage really doesn't have much to do with what's going to happen in Tolnedra. It's aimed at Torak, and it's not going to hit him for about three thousand years."

  "You can actually see that far into the future?"

  "Not really, but my Master can. Your interest in this matter is sort of peripheral. We have different reasons for it, but we both want to keep the Honeths out of the Wood of the Dryads."

  He squinted thoughtfully at the ceiling.

  "Would it help if my uncle went to Tol Borune and performed the ceremony in person?" he asked me.

  That idea hadn't even occurred to me.

  "Why, yes, Ran Vordue," I replied with a broad grin,

  "I think it might."

  "I'll arrange it." Then he grinned back at me.

  "Confusion to the Honeths," he said.

  "I might want to drink to that."

  And so Dellon and Xoria were married, and the House of Borune was inseparably linked to the Dryads.

  Oh, incidentally, the groom's mother didn't attend the wedding. She wasn't feeling very well.

  The whole business had taken me almost three years, but considering how important it was, I felt it was time well spent. I was in a smugly self-congratulatory frame of mind when I started back for the Vale. Even now, when I look back on it, I nearly sprain my arm trying to pat myself on the back.

  It was late winter when I went through the Tolnedran Mountains, so I made most of the trip as a wolf. Wolves are much better adapted to making their way in snow-covered mountains than men are, so I fall back on my alternative form in those situations almost out of habit.

  When I came down out of the mountains into the southern end of the Vale, I resumed my normal form, and the sound of the twins' combined voices was roaring inside my head almost before my tail disappeared.

  "Don't shout!" I shouted back at them.

  "Where have you been?" Beltira's voice demanded.

  "In Tolnedra. You knew that."

  "We've been trying to reach you for a week now."

  "I had to cross the mountains, so I went wolf." That had always been one of the drawbacks involved in taking another form. It interfered with our peculiar method of communication. If the brother who was trying to reach you didn't know that you'd changed, his thought was very likely to miss you entirely.

  "What's the matter?" I sent out the question.

  "Beldaran's very ill. Polgara's gone to the Isle to see what she can do." He paused.

  "You'd better get there in a hurry, Belgarath."

  A cold knot of fear settled in my chest.

  "I'll cut up across Ulgoland to Camaar," I told them.

  "Let Polgara know that I'm coming."

  "We might need to reach you. Are you going wolf again?"

  "No. I'll fly--a falcon, I think."

  "You don't fly very well, Belgarath."

  "Maybe it's time I learned. I'm changing right now."

  My concern for Beldaran was so overpowering that I didn't even think about the things that normally interfere with my flying, and after about half an hour I was cutting through the air like an arrow shot from a bow. I even experimented with translocation a time or two, but that didn't work out very well--largely because I reverted to my own form in the process and found myself ten miles from where I'd started and trying to fly without benefit of wings. I gave up on that idea and did it the old-fashioned way.

  I was exhausted by the time I reached Camaar two days later, but I grimly pressed on across the Sea of the Winds.

  I'd made very good time, but I still got there too late. Beldaran had already died.

  Polgara was inconsolable, and Riva was almost in the same condition as I'd been after Poledra's death. There was no point in trying to talk to either one of them, so I went looking for my grandson.

  I found him atop the highest tower of the Citadel. It appeared that he had cried himself out, and he was standing, puffy-eyed and somber, at the battlements. He was full-grown now, and he was very tall.

  "All right, Daran," I said to him harshly, "get away from there."

  "Grandfather!"

  "I said to get away from there." I wasn't going to take any chances with him. A sudden upsurge of despair could very well push him into doing something foolish. I'd have time for my own grief later on. Right now I had to concentrate on his.

  "What are we going to do, grandfather?" he wept.

  "We're going to go on, Daran. It's what we always do. Now tell me what happened."

  He pulled himself together.

  "Mother's been catching cold every winter for years now. Aunt Pol told us that it'd weakened her lungs. This past winter it was much worse. She started coughing up blood. That's when father sent for Aunt Pol. There was nothing she could do, though. She tried everything, but mother was just too weak. Why weren't you here, grandfather? You could have done something."

  "I'm not a physician, Daran. Your aunt knows far more about that than I do. If she couldn't save your mother, no one could have. Does your father have a prime minister? Somebody who takes care of things when he's busy?"

  "You mean Brand? He's the Rivan Warder. Father depends on him to handle administration."

  "We'd better go talk with him. You're going to have to take over here until your father recovers from this."

  "Me? Why me?"

  "You're the Crown Prince, Daran, that's why. It's your responsibility.

  Your father's incapacitated right now, and that drops everything into your lap."

  "I don't think that's very fair. I feel just as badly about this as father does."

  "Not quite. At least you can still talk--and think. He can't. I'll help you through it, and Brand knows what has to be done."

  "Father will get better, won't he?"

  "We can hope so. It might take him awhile, though. It took me twelve years after your grandmother died."

  "Nobody's going to pay any attention to me when I tell them to do something, grandfather. I don't even have a full beard yet."

  "You're twenty years old, Daran. It's time you grew up. Now, let's go talk with Brand."

  I'll admit that it was brutal, but somebody here on the Isle had to be able to function. Riva quite obviously couldn't. The Orb absolutely had to be protected, and if word of Riva's state got back to Ctuchik--well, I didn't want to think about that.

  Brand was one of those solid, dependable men that the world needs more of, and he understood the situation almost immediately. He was unusually perceptive for an Alorn, so he was able to see not only what I told him, but also the things I couldn't tell him in front of Daran. There was a distinct possibility that Iron-grip would never really recover, and Daran would have to serve as regent. We were going to have to bury my grandson in details to the point that his grief wouldn't incapacitate him, as well. I left the two of them talking and went to Polgara's quarters.

  I knocked on her door.

  "It's me, Pol. Open up."

  "Go away."

  "Open the door, Polgara. I need to talk to you."

  "Get away from me, father."

  I shrugged.

  "It's your door, Pol. If you don't open it right now, you'll have t
o have it replaced."

  Her face was ravaged when she opened the door.

  "What is it, father?"

  "You haven't got time for this, Polgara. You can cry yourself out later. Right now I need you. Riva can't even think, so I've made Daran regent. Somebody's going to have to look after him, and I've got something that absolutely has to be done."

  "Why me?"

  "Not you, too, Pol. Why does everybody keep saying that to me?

  You're elected because you're the only one who can handle it. You're going to stay here and help Daran in every way you can. Don't let him sink into melancholia the way his father has. The Angaraks have eyes everywhere, and if there's any sign of weakness here, you can expect a visit from Ctuchik. Now, pull yourself together. Blow your nose and fix your face. Daran's talking with the Rivan Warder right now. I'll take you to where they are, and then I have to leave."

  "You're not even going to stay for the funeral?"

  "I've got the funeral in my heart, Pol, the same as you have. No amount of ceremony's going to make it go away. Now go fix your face.

  You look awful."

  I'm sorry, Pol, but I had to do it that way. I had to force both you and Daran back from the abyss of despair, and piling responsibilities on you was the only way I could think of to do it.

  I left my daughter and my grandson deep in a discussion with Brand, and made some pretense of leaving the Isle. I didn't, however. I went up into the mountains behind Riva's city instead and found a quiet place.

  Then I crumpled and wept like a broken-hearted child.

  Iron-grip never fully recovered from the loss of his wife. Of course, he was nearing sixty when Beldaran left us, so it was almost time for Daran to take over anyway. It gave me an excuse to compel Pol to stay on the Isle--and to keep her busy. Keeping busy is very important during a time of bereavement. If I'd had something vital to attend to at the time of Poledra's death, things might have turned out quite differently.

  I suppose I realized that--dimly--when I returned to the Vale, so I buried myself in my study of the Mrin Codex. I went through it from one end to the other looking for some clue that might have warned me about what was going to happen to Beldaran. Fortunately, I didn't find anything.