Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  Errand followed along behind the two old men as they entered the house. The room inside was dimly lighted by a glowing crystal globe hanging on a chain from the ceiling, and there was a table with low stone benches. They sat at the table, and the old Gorim looked solemnly at Belgarath. "We are not like the people who live above in the light of the sun, my friend," he said. "For them, there is the sound of the wind in the trees, of rushing streams, and of birds filling the air with song. Here in our caves, however, we hear only the sounds of the earth herself."

  Belgarath nodded.

  "The earth and the rocks speak to the people of Ulgo in peculiar ways," the Gorim continued. "A sound can come to us from half around the world. Such a sound has been muttering in the rocks for some years now, growing louder and more distinct with each passing month."

  "A fault perhaps?" Belgarath suggested. "Some place where the stone bed of a continent is shifting?"

  "I don't believe so, my friend," the Gorim disagreed. "The sound we hear is not the shifting of the restless earth. It is a sound caused by the awakening of a single stone."

  "I'm not sure I follow you," Belgarath said, frowning.

  "The stone we hear is alive, Belgarath."

  The old sorcerer looked at his friend. "There's only one living stone, Gorim."

  "I had always believed so myself. I have heard the sound of Aldur's Orb as it moves about the world, and this new sound is also the sound of a living stone. It awakens, Belgarath, and it feels its power. It is evil, my friend -so evil that earth herself groans under its weight."

  "How long has this sound been coming to you?"

  "It began not long after the death of accursed Torak."

  Belgarath pursed his lips. "We've known that something has been moving around over in Mallorea," he said. "We didn't know it was quite this serious, however. Can you tell me anything more about this stone?"

  "Only its name," the Gorim replied. "We hear it whispered through the caves and galleries and the fissures of earth. It is called 'Sardius."

  Belgarath's head came up. "Cthrag Sardius? The Sardion?"

  "You have heard of it?"

  "Beldin ran across it in Mallorea. It was connected with something called Zandramas." The Gorim gasped, and his face went deathly pale. "Belgarath!" he exclaimed in a shocked voice.

  "What's the matter?"

  "That's the most dreadful curse in our language."

  Belgarath stared at him. "I thought I knew most of the words in the Ulgo tongue. How is it that I've never heard that one before?"

  "No one would have repeated it to you."

  "I didn't think Ulgos even knew how to curse. What does it mean -in general terms?"

  "It means confusion -chaos- absolute negation. It's a horrible word."

  Belgarath frowned. "Why would an Ulgo curse word show up in Darshiva as the name of someone or something? And why in connection with the Sardion?"

  "Is it possible that they are using the two words to mean the same thing?"

  "I hadn't thought of that," Belgarath admitted. "I suppose they could be. The sense seems to be similar."

  Polgara had rather carefully instructed Errand that he must not interrupt when his elders were talking, but this seemed so important that he felt that the rule needed to be broken.

  "They aren't the same," he told the two old men.

  Belgarath gave him a strange look.

  "The Sardion is a stone, isn't it?"

  "Yes," the Gorim replied.

  "Zandramas isn't a stone. It's a person."

  "How could you know that, my boy?"

  "We've met," Errand told him quietly. "Not exactly face to face, but -well-" It was a difficult thing to explain. "It was kind of like a shadow -except that the person who was casting the shadow was someplace else."

  "A projection," Belgarath explained to the Gorim. "It's a fairly simple trick that the Grolims are fond of." He turned back to the boy. "Did this shadow say anything to you?"

  Errand nodded. "It said that it was going to kill me."

  Belgarath drew in his breath sharply. " Did you tell Polgara?" he demanded.

  "No. Should I?"

  "Didn't you think it was fairly significant?"

  "I thought it was just a threat -meant to frighten me."

  "Did it?"

  "Frighten me? No, not really."

  "Aren't you being just a little blase, Errand?" Belgarath asked. "Do people go around threatening to kill you so often that it bores you or something?"

  "No. That was the only time. It was only a shadow, though, and a shadow can't really hurt you, can it?"

  "Have you run across many more of these shadows?"

  "Just Cyradis."

  "And who is Cyradis?"

  "I'm not really sure. She talks the way Mandorallen does -thee's and thou's and all that- and she wears a blindfold over her eyes."

  "A seeress." Belgarath grunted. "And what did she tell you?"

  "She said that we were going to meet again and that she sort of liked me."

  "I'm sure that was comforting," Belgarath said drily. "Don't keep secrets like this, Errand. When something unusual happens, tell somebody."

  "I'm sorry," Errand apologized. "I just thought that -well- you and Polgara and Durnik had other things on your minds, that's all."

  "We don't really mind being interrupted all that much, boy. Share these little adventures with us."

  "If you want me to."

  Belgarath turned back to the Gorim. "I think we're starting to get somewhere," he said, "thanks to our reticent young friend here. We know that Zandramas, if you'll pardon the word, is a person -a person that's somehow connected to this living stone that the Angaraks call Cthrag Sardius. We've had warnings about Zandramas before, so I think we'll have to assume that the Sardion is also a direct threat."

  "What must we do now, then?" the Gorim asked him.

  "I think we're all going to have to concentrate on finding out just exactly what's going on over there in Mallorea -even if we have to take the place apart stone by stone. Up until now, I was only curious. Now it looks as if I'd better start taking this whole thing seriously. If the Sardion is a living stone, then it's like the Orb, and I don't want something with that kind of power in the hands of the wrong person -and from everything I've been able to gather, this Zandramas is most definitely the wrong person." He turned then to look at Errand, his expression puzzled. "What's your connection with all of this, boy?" he asked. "Why is it that everyone and everything involved in this whole thing stops by to pay you a visit?"

  "I don't know, Belgarath," Errand replied truthfully.

  "Maybe that's the place we should start. I've been promising myself that I was going to have a long talk with you one of these days. Maybe it's time we did just that."

  "If you wish," Errand said. "I don't know how much help I'll be, though."

  "That's what were going to find out, Errand. That's what we're going to find out."

  PART TWO - RIVA

  CHAPTER NINE

  Belgarion of Riva had not actually been prepared to occupy a throne. He had grown up on a farm in Sendaria, and his childhood had been that of an ordinary farm boy.

  When he had first come to the basalt throne in the Hall of the Rivan King, he had known much more about farm kitchens and stables than he had about throne rooms and council chambers. Statecraft had been a mystery to him, and he had known no more of diplomacy than he had of algebra.

  Fortunately, the Isle of the Winds was not a difficult kingdom to rule. The Rivan people were orderly, sober, and had a strong regard for duty and civic responsibility. This had made things much easier for their tall, sandy-haired monarch during the trying early years of his reign while he was learning the difficult art of ruling well. He made mistakes, naturally, but the consequences of those early slips and miscalculations were never dire, and his subjects were pleased to note that this earnest, sincere young man who had come so startlingly to the throne never made the same mistake twice. Once he
had settled in and had become accustomed to his job, it was probably safe to say that Belgarion -or Garion, as he preferred to be called- almost never encountered major problems in his capacity as King of Riva. He had other titles, however. Some were purely honorary, others not so much so. "Godslayer," for example, involved certain duties which were not likely to come up very often.

  "Lord of the Western Sea" caused him almost no concern whatsoever, since he had concluded quite early that the waves and tides need little supervision and that fish, for the most part, were entirely capable of managing their own government. Most of Garion's headaches stemmed directly from the grand-sounding title, "Overlord of the West." He had assumed at first -since the war with the Angaraks was over- that this title, like the others, was merely something in the nature of a formality, something impressive, but largely empty, which had been tacked on to all the rest, sort of to round them out. It earned him, after all, no tax revenue; it had no special crown or throne; and there was no administrative staff to deal with day-to-day problems.

  But to his chagrin, he soon discovered that one of the peculiarities of human nature was the tendency to want to take problems to the person in charge. Had there not been an Overlord of the West, he was quite sure that his fellow monarchs would have found ways to deal with all those perplexing difficulties by themselves. But as long as he occupied that exalted position, they all seemed to take an almost childlike delight in bringing him the most difficult, the most agonizing, and the most utterly insoluble problems and then happily sitting back with trusting smiles on their faces while he struggled and floundered with them.

  As a case in point, there was the situation which arose in Arendia during the summer of Garion's twenty-third year. The year had gone fairly well up until that point. The misunderstanding which had marred his relationship with Ce'Nedra had been smoothed over, and Garion and his complicated little wife were living together in what might best be described as domestic felicity. The campaign of Emperor Kal Zakath of Mallorea, whose presence on this continent had been a great cause for concern, had bogged down in the mountains of western Cthol Murgos and showed some promise of grinding on for decades far from the borders of any of the Kingdoms of the West. General Varana, the Duke of Anadile, functioning as regent for the ailing Emperor Ran Borune XXIII, had clamped down quite firmly on the excesses of the great families of Tolnedra in their unseemly scramble for the Imperial Throne. All in all, Garion had been looking forward to a period of peace and tranquillity until that warm, early summer day when the letter arrived from King Korodullin of Arendia.

  Garion and Ce'Nedra had been spending a quiet afternoon together in the comfortable royal apartment, talking idly of little, unimportant things -more for the pleasure of each other's company than out of any real concern for the subjects at hand. Garion lounged in a large, blue velvet armchair by the window, and Ce'Nedra sat before a gilt-edged mirror, brushing her long, copper-colored hair. Garion was very fond of Ce'Nedra's hair. Its color was exciting. It smelled good, and there was one delightfully vagrant curl that always seemed to want to tumble appealingly down the side of her smooth, white neck. When the servant brought the letter from the King of Arendia, tastefully carried on a silver tray, Garion took his eyes off his lovely wife almost regretfully.

  He broke the ornately stamped wax seal and opened the crackling parchment.

  "Who is it from, Garion?" Ce'Nedra asked, still pulling the brush through her hair and regarding her reflection in the mirror with a kind of dreamy contentment.

  "Korodullin," he replied and then began to read.

  "To his Majesty, King Belgarion of Riva, Overlord of the West, greetings:" the letter began.

  "It is our fervent hope that this finds thee and thy queen in good health and tranquil spirits. Gladly would I permit my pen the leisure to dwell fulsomely upon the regard and affection my queen and I bear thee and her Majesty, but a crisis hath arisen here in Arendia; and because it doth derive directly from the actions of certain friends of thine, I have resolved to seek thy aid in meeting it.

  "To our great sorrow, our dear friend the Baron of Vo Ebor succumbed at last to those grievous wounds which he received upon the battlefield at Thull Mardu. His passing this spring hath grieved us more than I can tell thee. He was a good and faithful knight. His heir, since he and the baroness Nerina were childless, is a distant nephew, one Sir Embrig, a somewhat rash knight more interested, I fear, in the title and lands of his inheritance than in the fact that he doth intrude himself upon the tragic baroness. With airs most unbecoming to one of gentle birth, he journeyed straightway to Vo Ebor to take possession of his new estates and with him he brought diverse other knights of his acquaintance, his cronies and drinking companions. When they reached Vo Ebor, Sir Embrig and his cohorts gave themselves over to unseemly carouse, and when they were all deep in their cups, one of these rude knights expressed admiration for the person of the but recently widowed Nerina. Without pausing to think or to consider the lady's bereavement, Sir Embrig promptly promised her hand to his drunken companion. Now in Arendia, by reason of certain of our laws, Sir Embrig hath indeed this right, though no true knight would so uncivilly insist on imposing his will upon a kinswoman in her time of grief.

  "The news of this outrage was carried at once to Sir Mandorallen, the mighty Baron of Vo Mandor, and that great knight went immediately to horse. What transpired upon his arrival at Vo Ebor thou canst well imagine, given Sir Mandorallen's prowess and the depth of his regard for the Baroness Nerina. Sir Embrig and his cohorts rashly attempted to stand in his path, and there were, as I understand, some fatalities and a great number of grievous injuries as a result.

  Thy friend removed the baroness to his own keep at Vo Mandor, where he holds her in protective custody. Sir Embrig, who -regrettably perhaps- will recover from his wounds, hath declared that a state of war doth exist between Ebor and Mandor and he hath summoned to his cause diverse noblemen. Other noblemen flock to the banner of Sir Mandorallen, and southwestern Arendia doth stand on the brink of general war. I have even been informed that Lelldorin of Wildantor, ever a rash youth, hath raised an army of Asturian bowmen and at this moment doth march southward with them, intending to aid his old comrade in arms.

  "Thus it doth stand. Know that I am reluctant to bring the power of the Arendish crown to bear in this matter, since, should I be compelled to make a judgment, I would be forced by our laws to decide in favor of Sir Embrig.

  "I appeal to thee, King Belgarion, to come to Arendia and to use thy influence with thy former companions and dear friends to bring them back from the precipice upon which they now stand. Only thy intercession, I fear, can avert this impending disaster.

  In hope and friendship, Korodullin."

  Garion stared helplessly at the letter. "Why me?" he demanded without even thinking.

  "What does he say, dear?" Ce'Nedra asked, laying aside her brush and picking up an ivory comb.

  "He says that- " Garion broke off. "Mandorallen and Lelldorin- " He got up and began to swear. "Here," he said, thrusting the letter at her. "Read it." He began to pace up and down with his fists clenched behind his back, still muttering curse words.

  Ce'Nedra read the letter as he continued pacing. "Oh dear." she said finally in dismay. "Oh dear."

  "That sums it up pretty well, I'd say." He started swearing again.

  "Garion, please don't use that kind of language. It makes you sound like a pirate. What are you going to do about this?"

  "I haven't got the faintest idea."

  "Well, you're going to have to do something."

  "Why me?" he burst out. "Why do they always bring these things to me?"

  "Because they all know that you can take care of these little problems better than anybody else."

  "Thanks," he said drily.

  "Be nice," she told him. Then she pursed her lips thoughtfully, tapping her cheek with the ivory comb. "You'll need your crown, of course -and I think the blue and silver doublet would be nice."

&
nbsp; "What are you talking about?"

  "You're going to have to go to Arendia to get this all straightened out, and I think you should look your very best -Arends are so conscious of appearances. Why don't you go see about a ship? I'll pack a few things for you." She looked out the window at the golden afternoon sunlight. "Do you think it might be too warm for you to wear your ermine?"

  "I won't be wearing ermine, Ce'Nedra. I'll be wearing armor and my sword."

  "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Garion. All you have to do is go there and tell them to stop."

  "Maybe, but I have to get their attention first. This is Mandorallen we're talking about -and Lelldorin. We're not dealing with sensible people, remember?"

  A little frown creased her forehead. "That is true," she admitted. But then she gave him an encouraging little smile. "I'm sure you can fix it, though. I have every confidence in you."

  "You're as bad as all the rest," he said a bit sullenly.

  "But you can, Garion. Everybody says so."

  "I guess I'd better go talk to Brand," he said glumly. "There are some things that need to be attended to, and this is likely to take me a few weeks."

  "I'll take care of them for you, dear," she said reassuringly, reaching up and patting his cheek. "You just run along now. I can manage things here very well while you're gone."

  He stared at her with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  When he arrived at Vo Mandor on a cloudy morning several days later, the situation had deteriorated even further. The forces of Sir Embrig were in the field, encamped not three leagues from Mandorallen's castle, and Mandorallen and Lelldorin had marched from the city to meet them.

  Garion thundered up to the gates of his friend's stout fortress on the warhorse he had borrowed from an accommodating baron upon his arrival in Arendia. He wore the full suit of steel armor that had been a gift from King Korodullin, and Iron-grip's enormous sword rode in its scabbard across his back. The gates swung wide for him, and he entered the courtyard, swung awkwardly down from his saddle, and demanded to be taken immediately to the Baroness Nerina.