"It's been going around lately," Garion replied dryly. "Almost everybody my age has come down with it."
"I've brought you some visitors," Greldik told him.
Grinning, Belgarath moved across the deck to the quayside railing with Durnik and Errand close behind him.
"Grandfather?" Garion's face was completely astonished. "What are you doing here? And Durnik -and Errand?"
"Actually it was your aunt's idea," Belgarath told him.
"Is Aunt Pol here, too?"
"Of course I am," Polgara replied calmly, emerging from the low-roofed cabin under the stern.
" Aunt Pol!" Garion exclaimed, looking dumfounded.
"Don't stare, Garion," she told him, adjusting the collar of her blue cloak. "It's impolite."
"But, why didn't you let me know you were coming? What are you all doing here?"
"Visiting, dear. People do that from time to time."
When they joined the young king on the quay, there were the usual embraces and handshakes and the long looks into each others' faces that go with reunions. Errand, however, was much more interested in something else. As they started the climb up through the gray city toward the Citadel brooding above it, he tugged once at Garion's sleeve. "Horse?" he asked.
Garion looked at him. "He's in the stables, Errand. He'll be happy to see you."
Errand smiled and nodded.
"Does he still talk that way?" Garion asked Durnik. "Just one word at a time like that? I thought -well-"
"Most of the time he speaks normally -for his age," Durnik replied, "but he's been thinking about the colt ever since we left the Vale and sometimes, when he gets excited, he slips back to the old way."
"He listens, though," Polgara added, "which is more than I can say about another boy when he was that age."
Garion laughed. "Was I really that difficult, Aunt Pol?"
"Not difficult, dear. You just didn't listen."
When they arrived at the Citadel, the Rivan Queen greeted them under the high, thick-walled arch of the front gate. Ce'Nedra was as exquisite as Errand remembered her. Her coppery-colored hair was caught at the back of her head by a pair of golden combs, and the ringlets tumbled down her back in a flaming cascade. Her green eyes were large. She was tiny, not much taller than Errand, but she was every inch a queen. She greeted them all regally, embracing Belgarath and Durnik and lightly kissing Polgara's cheek.
Then she held out both hands to Errand, and he took them in his and looked into her eyes. There was a barrier there, the faintest hint of the defensive tightening with which she kept the hurt away. She drew him to her and kissed him; even in that gesture, he could feel the unhappy tenseness that she was probably no longer even aware of. As she removed her soft lips from his cheek, Errand once again looked deeply into her eyes, letting all the love and hope and compassion he felt for her flow into his gaze. Then, without even thinking, he reached out his hand and gently touched her cheek. Her eyes went very wide, and her lip began to tremble. That faint touch of agate-hard defensiveness about her face began to crumble. Two great tears welled up in her eyes; then, with a brokenhearted wail, she turned and stumbled blindly, her arms outstretched. "Oh, Lady Polgara!" she cried.
Polgara calmly took the sobbing little queen in her arms and held her. She looked directly into Errand's face, however, and one of her eyebrows was raised questioningly. Errand returned her look and gave her a calm, answering nod.
"Well," Belgarath said, slightly embarrassed by Ce'Nedra's sudden weeping. He scratched at his beard and looked around the inner courtyard of the Citadel and the broad granite steps leading up to the massive door. "Have you got anything to drink handy?" he asked Garion.
Polgara, her arms still about the weeping Ce'Nedra, gave him a level look. "Isn't it a bit early, father?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't think so," he replied blandly. "A bit of ale helps to settle the stomach after a sea voyage."
"There's always some excuse, isn't there?"
"I can usually manage to think of something."
Errand spent the afternoon in the exercise yard at the rear of the royal stables. The chestnut-colored colt was not really a colt any more, but rather a full-grown young stallion. His dark coat was glossy , and his muscles rippled under that coat as he ran in a wide circle about the yard. The single white patch on his shoulder seemed almost incandescent in the bright sunlight.
The horse had known somehow that Errand was coming and had been restive and high-strung all morning. The stableman cautioned Errand about that. "Be careful of him," he said. "He's a bit flighty today for some reason."
"He'll be fine now," Errand said, calmly unlatching the door to the young horse's stall.
"I wouldn't go-" the stableman started sharply, half reaching out as if to pull the boy back, but Errand had already entered the stall with the wide-eyed animal. The horse snorted once and pranced nervously, his hooves thudding on the straw-covered floor. He stopped and stood quivering until Errand put out his hand and touched that bowed neck. Then everything was all right between them. Errand pushed the door of the stall open wider and, with the horse contentedly nuzzling at his shoulder, led the way out of the stable past the astonished groom.
For the time being, it was enough for the two of them just to be together -to share the bond which was between them and had somehow existed even before they had met and, in a peculiar way, even before either of them was born. There would be more later, but for now this was enough.
When the purple hue of evening began to creep up the eastern sky, Errand fed the horse, promised that he would come again the following day, and went back into the Citadel in search of his friends. He found them seated in a low-ceilinged dining hall. This room was smaller than the great main banquet hall and it was less formal. It was perhaps as close to being homey as any room in this bleak fortress could be.
"Did you have a pleasant afternoon?" Polgara asked him.
Errand nodded.
" And was the horse glad to see you?"
"Yes."
"And now you're hungry, I suppose?"
"Well-a little." He looked around the room, noting that the Rivan Queen was not present. "Where's Ce'Nedra?" he asked.
"She' s a little tired," Polgara replied. "She and I had a long talk this afternoon."
Errand looked at her and understood. Then he looked around again. "I really am sort of hungry," he told her.
She laughed a warm, fond laugh. " All boys are the same," she said.
"Would you really want us to be different?" Garion asked her.
"No," she said, "I don't suppose I would."
The next morning, quite early, Polgara and Errand were in front of the fire in the apartment that had always been hers. Polgara sat in a high-backed chair with a fragrant cup of tea on the small table beside her. She wore a deep blue velvet dressing gown and held a large ivory comb. Errand sat on a carpet-covered footstool directly in front of her, enduring a part of the morning ritual. The washing of the face, ears, and neck did not take all that much time, but for some reason the combing of his hair always seemed to fill up the better part of a quarter hour. Errand's personal tastes in the arrangement of his hair were fairly elemental. As long as it was out of his eyes, it was satisfactory. Polgara, however, seemed to find a great deal of entertainment in pulling a comb through his soft, pale-blond curls. Now and then at odd times of the day, he would see that peculiar softness come into her eyes and see her fingers twitching almost of their own will toward a comb and he would know that, if he did not immediately become very busy with something, he would be wordlessly seated in a chair to have his hair attended to.
There was a respectful tap on the door.
"Yes, Garion?" she replied.
"I hope I'm not too early, Aunt Pol. May I come in?"
"Of course, dear."
Garion wore a blue doublet and hose and soft leather shoes. Errand had noticed that if he had any choice in the matter, the young King of Riva almost always wore blue.
>
"Good morning, dear," Polgara said, her fingers still busy with the comb.
"Good morning, Aunt Pol," Garion said. And then he looked at the boy who sat fidgeting slightly on the stool in front of Polgara's chair. "Good morning, Errand," he said gravely.
"Belgarion," Errand said, nodding.
"Hold your head still, Errand," Polgara said calmly. "Would you like some tea?" she asked Garion.
"No, thank you." He drew up another chair and sat down across from her. "Where's Durnik?" he asked.
"He's taking a walk around the parapet," Polgara told him. "Durnik likes to be outside when the sun comes up."
"Yes," Garion smiled. "I seem to remember that from Faldor's farm. Is everything all right? With the rooms, I mean?"
"I'm always very comfortable here," she said. "In some ways it was always was the closest thing I had to a permanent home -at least until now." She looked around with satisfaction at the deep crimson velvet drapes and the dark leather upholstery of her chairs and sighed contentedly.
"These have been your rooms for a long time, haven't they?"
"Yes. Beldaran set them aside for me after she and Iron-grip were married."
"What was he like?"
"Iron-grip? Very tall -almost as tall as his father -and immensely strong." She turned her attention back to Errand's hair.
"Was he as tall as Barak?"
"Taller, but not quite so thick-bodied. King Cherek himself was seven feet tall, and all of his sons were very big men. Dras Bull-neck was like a tree trunk. He blotted out the sky. Iron-grip was leaner and he had a fierce black beard and piercing blue eyes. By the time he and Beldaran were married, there were touches of gray in his hair and beard; but even so, there was a kind of innocence about him that we could all sense. It was very much like the innocence we all feel in Errand here."
"You seem to remember him very well. For me, he's always been just somebody in a legend. Everybody knows about the things he did, but we don't know anything about him as a real man."
"I'd remember him a bit more acutely, Garion. After all, there had been the possibility that I might have married him."
"Iron-grip?"
" Aldur told father to send one of his daughters to the Rivan King to be his wife. Father had to choose between Beldaran and me. I think the old wolf made the right choice, but I still looked at Iron-grip in a rather special way." She sighed and then smiled a bit ruefully. "I don't think I'd have made him a good wife," she said. "My sister Beldaran was sweet and gentle and very beautiful. I was neither gentle nor very attractive."
"But you're the most beautiful woman in the world, Aunt Pol," Garion objected quickly.
"It's nice of you to say that, Garion, but when I was sixteen, I wasn't what most people would call pretty. I was tall and gangly. My knees were always skinned, and my face was usually dirty. Your grandfather was never very conscientious about looking after the appearance of his daughters.
Sometimes whole weeks would go by without a comb ever touching my hair. I didn't like my hair very much, anyway. Beldaran's was soft and golden, but mine was like a horse's mane, and there was this ugly white streak." She absently touched the white lock at her left brow with the comb.
"What caused that?" he asked curiously.
"'Your grandfather touched me there with his hand the first time he saw me -when I was just a baby. The lock turned white instantly. We're all marked in one way or another, you know. You have the mark on your palm; I have this white lock; your grandfather has a mark just over his heart. It's in different places on each of us, but it means the same thing."
"What does it mean?"
"It has to do with what we are, dear." She turned Errand around and looked at him, her lips pursed. Then she gently touched the curls just over his ears. "Anyway, as I was saying, I was wild and willful and not at all pretty when I was young. The Vale of Aldur isn't really a very good place for a girl to grow up, and a group of crotchety old sorcerers is not really a very good substitute for a mother. They tend to forget that you're around. You remember that huge, ancient tree in the middle of the Vale?"
He nodded.
"I climbed up into that tree once and stayed there for two weeks before anyone noticed that I hadn't been underfoot lately. That sort of thing can make a girl feel neglected and unloved."
"How did you finally find out -that you're really beautiful, I mean?"
She smiled. "That's another story, dear." She looked at him rather directly. "Do you suppose we can stop tiptoeing around the subject now?"
"What?"
"That business in your letter about you and Ce'Nedra."
"Oh, that. I probably shouldn't have bothered you with it, Aunt Pol. It's my problem, after all." He looked away uncomfortably .
"Garion," she said firmly, "in our particular family there's no such thing as a private problem. I thought you knew that by now. Exactly what is the difficulty with Ce'Nedra?"
"It's just not working, Aunt Pol," he said disconsolately. "There are things that I absolutely have to see to by myself, and she wants me to spend every waking minute with her -well, at least she used to. Now we go for days without seeing each other at all. We don't sleep in the same bed any more, and-" He looked suddenly at Errand and coughed uncomfortably .
"There," Polgara said to Errand as if nothing had happened. "I guess you're presentable now. Why don't you put on that brown wool cape and go find Durnik? Then the two of you can go down to the stables and visit the horse."
"All right, Polgara," Errand agreed, slipping down off the stool and going to fetch the cape.
"He's a very good little boy, isn't he?" Garion said to Polgara.
"Most of the time," she replied. "If we can keep him out of the river behind my mother's house. For some reason, he seems to feel incomplete if he can't fall into the water once or twice a month."
Errand kissed Polgara and started toward the door.
"Tell Durnik that I said the two of you can enjoy yourselves this morning," she told him. She gave Garion a direct look. "I think I'm going to be busy here for a few hours."
"All right," Errand said, and went out into the corridor. He gave only the briefest of thoughts to the problem which had made Garion and Ce'Nedra so unhappy. Polgara had already taken the matter in hand, and Errand knew that she would fix things. The problem itself was not a large one, but it had somehow been exploded into something of monstrous proportions by the arguments it had caused. The smallest misunderstanding, Errand realized, could sometimes fester like a hidden wound, if words spoken in haste and in heat were allowed to stand without apology or forgiveness. He also realized that Garion and Ce'Nedra loved each other so much that they were both extremely vulnerable to those hasty and heated words. Each had an enormous power to hurt the other. Once they were both made fully aware of that, the whole business could be allowed to blow over.
The corridors of the Citadel of Riva were lighted by torches held in iron rings protruding from the stone walls.
Errand walked down a broad hallway leading to the east side of the fortress and the steps leading to the parapet and the battlements above. When he reached the thick east wall, he paused to look out one of the narrow windows that admitted a slender band of steel-gray light from the dawn sky. The Citadel was high above the city, and the gray stone buildings and narrow, cobblestone streets below were still lost in shadows and morning mist. Here and there, lighted windows gleamed in the houses of early risers. The clean salt smell of the sea, carried by an onshore breeze, wafted over the island kingdom. Contained within the ancient stones of the Citadel itself was the sense of desolation the people of Riva Iron-grip had felt when they had first glimpsed this rocky isle rising grim and storm-lashed out of a laden sea. Also within those stones was that stern sense of duty that had made the Rivans wrest their fortress and their city directly from the rock itself, to stand forever in defense of the Orb of Aldur.
Errand climbed the flight of stone stairs and found Durnik standing at the battlements, l
ooking out over the Sea of the Winds that was rolling endlessly in to crash in long, muted combers against the rocky shore.
"She finished with your hair, I see," Durnik noted.
Errand nodded. "Finally," he said wryly.
Durnik laughed. "We can both put up with a few things if they please her, can't we?" he said.
"Yes," Errand agreed. "She's talking with Belgarion right now. I think she wants us to stay away until they've talked it all out."
Durnik nodded. "That's the best way, really. Pol and Garion are very close. He'll tell her things when they're alone that he wouldn't say if we were around. I hope she can get things straightened out between him and Ce'Nedra."
"Polgara will fix it," Errand assured him.
From somewhere in a meadow high above them where the morning sun had already touched the emerald grass, a shepherdess lifted her voice to sing to her flock. She sang of love in a pure, unschooled voice that rose like bird song.
"That's the way love should be," Durnik said. "Simple and uncomplicated and clear -just like that girl's voice."
"I know." Errand said. "Polgara said we could go visit the horse -whenever you're finished up here."
"Of course," Durnik said, "and we could probably stop by the kitchen and pick up some breakfast along the way."
"That's an awfully good idea, too," Errand said.
The day went very well. The sun was warm and bright, and the horse frolicked in the exercise yard almost like a puppy.
"The king won't let us break him," one of the grooms told Durnik. "He hasn't even been trained to a halter yet. His Majesty said something about this being a very special horse -which I don't understand at all. A horse is a horse, isn't it?"
"It has to do with something that happened when he was born," Durnik explained.
"They're all born the same," the groom said.
"You had to have been there," Durnik told him.
At supper that evening, Garion and Ce'Nedra were looking rather tentatively across the table at each other, and Polgara had a mysterious little smile playing across her lips.
When they had all finished eating, Garion stretched and yawned somewhat theatrically. "For some reason I'm feeling very tired tonight," he said. "The rest of you can sit up and talk if you'd like, but I think I'll go to bed."
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