Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  He found her pale-faced and dressed all in black, standing somberly on the battlements, searching the cloudy sky to the east for the telltale columns of smoke which would announce that the battle had begun.

  "It doth lie upon me, King Belgarion," she declared almost morbidly. "Strife and discord and anguish hath derived from me since the day I first wed my dear departed lord."

  "There's no need to blame yourself," Garion told her. "Mandorallen can usually get himself into trouble without help from anyone. When did he and Lelldorin leave?"

  "Somewhat past noon yesterday." she replied. "Methinks the battle will be joined 'ere long." She looked mournfully down at the flagstones of a courtyard lying far below and sighed.

  "I guess I'd better go then," he said grimly. "Maybe if I can get there before they start, I can head this off."

  "I have just had a most excellent thought, your Majesty," she declared, a bright little smile lighting up her pale face. "I can make thy task much easier."

  "I hope somebody can," he said. "The way things look right now, I'm going to be in for a very bad morning."

  "Make haste then, your Majesty; to the field where rude war even now doth hover above our dear friends, and advise them that the cause of their impending battle hath departed from this sad world."

  "I'm not sure I follow that."

  "It is most simple, your Majesty. Since I am the cause of all this strife, it doth lie upon me to end it."

  He looked at her suspiciously. "Just what are we talking about here, Nerina? How do you propose to bring all those idiots to their senses?"

  Her smile became actually radiant. "I have but to hurl myself from this lofty battlement, my Lord, and join my husband in the silence of the grave to end this dreadful bloodshed before it hath begun. Go quickly, my Lord. Descend to that courtyard far below and take to horse. I will descend by this shorter, happier route and await thee upon those rude stones below. Then mayest thou carry the news of my death to the battlefield. Once I am dead, no man's blood need be spilt over me." She put one hand on the rough stone of the parapet.

  "Oh, stop that," he said in disgust, "and get away from there."

  "Ah, nay, your Majesty." she said quite firmly. "This is the best of all possible answers. At one stroke I can avert this impending battle and rid myself of this burdensome life."

  "Nerina," he said in a flat voice, "I'm not going to let you jump, and that's all there is to that."

  "Surely thou wouldst not be so rude as to lay hands upon my person to prevent me," she said in a shocked tone of voice.

  "I won't have to," he said. He looked at her pale, uncomprehending face and realized that she did not have the faintest idea of what he was talking about. "On second thought, maybe it's not such a bad idea after all. The trip down to that courtyard is likely to take you about a day and a half, so it should give you time to think this all the way through -besides, it might just possibly keep you out of mischief while I'm gone."

  Her eyes went suddenly wide as what he was saying to her seeped ever so slowly into her mind. "Thou wouldst not use sorcery to foil my most excellent solution," she gasped.

  "Try me."

  She looked at him helplessly, tears coming to her eyes. "This is most unchivalrous of thee, my Lord," she accused him.

  "I was raised on a farm in Sendaria, my Lady," he reminded her. "I didn't have the advantages of a noble upbringing, so I have these little lapses from time to time. I'm sure you'll forgive me for not letting you kill yourself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go stop that nonsense out there." He turned and clanked toward the stairs. "Oh," he said, looking over his shoulder at her, "don't get any ideas about jumping as soon as my back's turned either. I have a long arm, Nerina -a very long arm."

  She stared at him, her lip trembling.

  "That's better," he said and went on down the stairs.

  The servants in Mandorallen's castle took one look at Garion's stormy face as he strode into the courtyard below and prudently melted out of his path. Laboriously, he hauled himself into the saddle of the huge roan warhorse upon which he had arrived, adjusted the great sword of the Rivan King in its scabbard across his back, and looked around.

  "Somebody bring me a lance," he commanded.

  They brought him several, stumbling over each other in their haste to comply. He selected one and then set off at a thundering gallop.

  The citizens of the town of Vo Mandor, which lay just beyond the walls of Mandorallen's keep, were as prudent as the servants within the walls had been. A wide path was opened along the cobblestone streets as the angry King of Riva passed through, and the town gates stood wide open for him.

  Garion knew that he was going to have to get their attention, and Arends on the verge of battle are notoriously difficult to reach. He would need to startle them with something. As he thundered through the green Arendish countryside, past neat, thatch-roofed villages and groves of beech and maple, he cast an appraising eye toward the gray, scudding clouds overhead, and the first faint hints of a plan began to form in his mind.

  When he arrived, he found the two armies drawn up on opposite sides of a broad, open meadow. As was the age-old Arendish custom, a number of personal challenges had been issued, and those matters were in the process of being settled as a sort of prelude to the grand general melee which would follow. Several armored knights from either side were tilting in the center of the field as the two armies looked on approvingly. Enthusiastically, the brainless, steel-clad young nobles crashed into each other, littering the turf with splinters from the shattered remains of their lances.

  Garion took in the situation at a single glance, scarcely pausing before riding directly into the middle of the fray. It must be admitted that he cheated just a little during the encounter. The lance he carried looked the same as those with which the Mimbrate knights were attempting to kill or maim each other. About the only real difference lay in the fact that his lance, unlike theirs, would not break, no matter what it encountered and was, moreover, enveloped in a kind of nimbus of sheer force. Garion had no real desire to run the sharp steel tip of that lance through anybody. He merely wanted them off their horses. On his first course through the center of the startled, milling knights, he hurled three of them from their saddles in rapid succession. Then he wheeled his charger and unhorsed two more so quickly that the vast clatter they made as they fell merged into a single sound.

  It needed a bit more, however, something suitably spectacular to penetrate the solid bone Arends used for heads.

  Almost negligently, Garion discarded his invincible lance, reached back over his shoulder and drew the mighty sword of the Rivan King. The Orb of Aldur blazed forth its dazzling bluelight, and the sword itself immediately burst into flame. As always, despite its vast size, the sword in his hand had no apparent weight, and he wielded it with blinding speed.

  He drove directly at one startled knight, chopping the amazed man's lance into foot-long chunks as he worked his way up the weapon's shaft. When only the butt remained, Garion smashed the knight from his saddle with the flat of the burning sword. He wheeled then, chopped an upraised mace neatly in two and rode the bearer of the mace into the ground, horse and all.

  Stunned by the ferocity of his attack, the wide-eyed Mimbrate knights drew back. It was not merely his overwhelming prowess in battle, however, that made them retreat. From between clenched teeth, the King of Riva was swearing sulfurously, and his choice of oaths made strong men go pale.

  He looked around, his eyes ablaze, then gathered in his will. He raised his flaming sword and pointed it at the roiling sky overhead. "NOW!" he barked in a voice like the cracking of a whip.

  The clouds shuddered, almost seeming to flinch as the full force of Belgarion's will smote them. A sizzling bolt of lightning as thick as the trunk of a mighty tree crashed to earth with a deafening thunderclap that shook the ground for miles in every direction. A great, smoking hole appeared in the turf where the bolt had struck. Again and again Garion called
down the lightning. The noise of thunder ripped and rolled through the air, and the reek of burning sod and singed earth hung like a cloud over the suddenly terrified armies.

  Then a great, howling gale struck; at the same time, the clouds ripped open to inundate the opposing forces in a deluge so intense that many knights were actually hurled from their saddles by the impact. Even as the gale shrieked and the driving downpour struck them, flickering bolts of lightning continued to stagger across the field which separated them, sizzling dreadfully and filling the air with steam and smoke. To cross that field was unthinkable.

  Grimly, Garion sat his terrified charger in the very midst of that awful display, with the lightning dancing around him. He let it rain on the two armies for several minutes until he was certain that he had their full attention; then, with a negligent flick of his flaming sword, he turned off the downpour.

  "I have had enough of this stupidity!" he announced in a voice as loud as the thunder had been. "Lay down your weapons at once!"

  They stared at him and then distrustfully at each other.

  "AT ONCE!" Garion roared, emphasizing his command with yet another lightning bolt and a shattering thunderclap.

  The clatter of suddenly discarded weapons was enormous.

  "I want to see Sir Embrig and Sir Mandorallen right here," Garion said then, pointing with his sword at a spot directly in front of his horse. " Immediately!"

  Slowly, almost like reluctant schoolboys, the two steelclad knights warily approached him.

  "Just exactly what do the two of you think you're doing?" Garion demanded of them.

  "Mine honor compelled me, your Majesty." sir Embrig declared in a faltering voice. He was a stout, florid-faced man of about forty with the purple-veined nose of one who drinks heavily. "Sir Mandorallen hath abducted my kinswoman."

  "Thy concern for the lady extendeth only to thy authority over her person," Mandorallen retorted hotly. "Thou hast usurped her lands and chattels with churlish disregard for her feelings, and-"

  "All right," Garion snapped, "that's enough. Your personal squabble has brought half of Arendia to the brink of war. Is that what you wanted? Are you such a pair of children that you're willing to destroy your homeland just to get your own way?"

  "But-" Mandorallen tried to say.

  "But nothing." Garion then proceeded -at some length- to tell them exactly what he thought of them. His tone was scornful, and his choice of language wide-ranging. The two frequently went pale as he spoke. Then he saw Lelldorin drawing cautiously near to listen.

  "And you!" Garion turned his attention to the young Asturian. "What are you doing down here in Mimbre?"

  "Me? Well -Mandorallen is my friend, Garion."

  "Did he ask for your help?"

  "Well- "

  "I didn't think so. You just took it on yourself." He then included Lelldorin in his commentary, gesturing often with the burning sword in his right hand. The three watched that sword with a certain wide-eyed anxiety as he waved it in their faces.

  "Very well, then," Garion said after he had cleared the air, "this is what we're going to do." He looked belligerently at Sir Embrig. "Do you want to fight me?" he challenged, thrusting out his jaw pugnaciously.

  Sir Embrig's face went a pasty white, and his eyes started from his head. "Me, your Majesty?" he gasped. "Thou wouldst have me take the field against the Godslayer?" He began to tremble violently.

  "I didn't think so." Garion grunted. "Since that's the case, you'll immediately relinquish all claim of authority over the Baroness Nerina to me."

  "Most gladly, your Majesty." Embrig's words tumbled over themselves as they came out.

  "Mandorallen," Garion said, "do you want to fight me?"

  "Thou art my friend, Garion," Mandorallen protested. "I would die before I raised my hand against thee."

  "Good. Then you will turn all territorial claims on behalf of the baroness over to me -at once. I am her protector now."

  "I agree to this," Mandorallen replied gravely.

  "Sir Embrig," Garion said then, "I bestow upon you the entirety of the Barony of Vo Ebor -including those lands which would normally go to Nerina. Will you accept them?"

  "I will, your Majesty."

  "Sir Mandorallen, I offer you the hand in marriage of my ward, Nerina of Vo Ebor. Will you accept her?"

  "With all my heart, my Lord," Mandorallen choked, with tears coming to his eyes.

  "Splendid," Lelldorin said admiringly.

  "Shut up, Lelldorin," Garion told him. "That's it, then, gentlemen. Your war is over. Pack up your armies and go home -and if this breaks out again, I'll come back. The next time I have to come down here, I'm going to be very angry. Do we all understand each other?"

  Mutely they nodded.

  That ended the war.

  The Baroness Nerina, however, raised certain strenuous objections when she was informed of Garion's decisions upon the return of Mandorallen's army to Vo Mandor. "Am I some common serf girl to be bestowed upon any man who pleases my lord?" she demanded with a fine air of high drama.

  "Are you questioning my authority as your guardian?" Garion asked her directly.

  "Nay, my Lord. Sir Embrig hath consented to this. Thou art my guardian now. I must do as thou commandest me."

  "Do you love Mandorallen?"

  She looked quickly at the great knight and then blushed.

  "Answer me!"

  "I do, my Lord," she confessed in a small voice.

  "What's the problem then? You've loved him for years, but when I order you to marry him, you object."

  "My Lord," she replied stimy, "there are certain proprieties to be observed. A lady may not be so churlishly disposed of. " And with that she turned her back and stormed away.

  Mandorallen groaned, and a sob escaped him.

  "What is it now?" Garion demanded.

  "My Nerina and I will never be wed, I fear," Mandorallen declared brokenly.

  "Nonsense. Lelldorin, do you understand what this is all about?"

  Lelldorin frowned. "I think so, Garion. There are a whole series of rather delicate negotiations and formalities that you're leaping over here. There's the question of the dowry, the formal, written consent of the guardian -that's you, of course- and probably most important, there has to be a formal proposal -with witnesses."

  "She's refusing over technicalities?" Garion asked incredulously.

  "Technicalities are very important to a woman, Garion."

  Garion sighed with resignation. This was going to take longer than he had thought. "Come with me," he told them.

  Nerina had locked her door and refused to answer Garion's polite knock. Finally he looked at the stout oak planks barring his way. "Burst!" he said, and the door blew inward, showering the startled lady seated on the bed with splinters.

  "Now." Garion said, stepping over the wreckage, "let's get down to business. How big a dowry do we think would be appropriate?"

  Mandorallen was willing -more than willing- to accept some mere token, but Nerina stubbornly insisted upon something significant. Wincing slightly, Garion made an offer acceptable to the lady. He then called for pen and ink and scribbled -with Lelldorin's aid- a suitable document of consent. "Very well," he said then to Mandorallen, "ask her."

  " Such proposal doth not customarily come with such unseemly haste, your Majesty," Nerina protested. "It is considered proper for the couple to have some time to acquaint themselves with each other."

  "You're already acquainted, Nerina," he reminded her. "Get on with it."

  Mandorallen sank to his knees before his lady, his armor clinking on the floor. "Wilt thou have me as thy husband, Nerina?" he implored her.

  She stared at him helplessly. "I have not, my Lord, had time to frame a suitable reply."

  "Try 'yes', Nerina," Garion suggested.

  "Is such thy command, my Lord?"

  "If you want to put it that way."

  "I must obey, then. I will have thee, Sir Mandorallen -with all my heart." />
  "Splendid," Garion said briskly, rubbing his hands together. "Get up, Mandorallen, and let's go down to your chapel. We'll find a priest and get this all formalized by suppertime."

  "Surely thou art not proposing such haste, my Lord," Nerina gasped.

  "As a matter of fact, I am. I have to get back to Riva and I'm not going to leave here until the two of you are safely married. Things have a way of going wrong in Arendia if somebody isn't around to watch them."

  "I am not suitably attired, your Majesty." Nerina protested, looking down at her black dress. "Thou wouldst not have me married in a gown of sable hue?"

  "And I," Mandorallen also objected, "I am still under arms. A man should not approach his wedding clad in steel."

  "I don't have the slightest concern about what either of you is wearing," Garion informed them. "It's what's in your hearts that's important, not what's on your backs."

  "But-" Nerina faltered. "I do not even have a veil."

  Garion gave her a long, steady look. Then he cast a quick look around the room, picked up a lace doily from a nearby table and set it neatly atop the lady's head. "Charming," he murmured. "Can anyone think of anything else?"

  "A ring?" Lelldorin suggested hesitantly.

  Garion turned to stare at him. "You, too?" he said.

  "They really ought to have a ring, Garion," Lelldorin said defensively.

  Garion considered that for a moment, concentrated, and then forged a plain gold ring out of insubstantial air. "Will this do?" he asked, holding it out to them.

  "Might I not be attended?" Nerina asked in a small, trembling voice. "It is unseemly for a noblewoman to be wed without the presence of some lady of suitable rank to support and encourage her."

  "Go fetch somebody"' Garion said to Lelldorin.

  "Whom should I select?" Lelldorin asked helplessly.

  "I don't care. Just bring a lady of noble birth to the chapel -even if you have to drag her by the hair."

  Lelldorin scurried out.

  "Is there anything else?" Garion asked Mandorallen and Nerina in the slightly dangerous tone that indicated that his patience was wearing very thin.

  "It is customary for a bridegroom to be accompanied by a close friend, Garion," Mandorallen reminded him.