"What is this, Belgarath?" King Fulrach asked.
"Actually, it's a letter to the Earl of Maelorg," the old man replied. "It has to do with Anheg's decision to raise the taxes on the herring fishery."
"I wrote that letter four years ago," Anheg declared, a baffled look crossing his face.
"Exactly," Belgarath said. " And if memory serves me, didn't the Earl of Maelorg die last spring?"
"Yes," Anheg said. "I attended the funeral."
"It appears that, after his death, someone got into his papers and filched this letter. Then they went to a great deal of trouble to bleach out the original message -all but the signature, of course- and to write one that introduced this so-called trade deputation."
"Why couldn't we see it before?" Barak asked.
"I had to tamper with it a bit," the old man admitted.
"Sorcery?"
"No. Actually I used a solution of certain salts. Sorcery might have raised the old message, but it probably would have erased the new one, and we might need that later on for evidence."
Barak's expression was slightly disappointed.
"Sorcery is not the only way do things, Barak."
"How did you find out?" Garion asked the old man, "That there was another message, I mean?"
"The bleach the fellow used leaves a very faint odor on the page." The sorcerer made a wry face. "It wasn't until this morning that I finally realized what I was smelling." He turned to Anheg. "I'm sorry it took me so long to exonerate you," he said.
"That's quite all right, Belgarath," Anheg said expansively. "It gave me the chance to find out who my real friends are."
Kail rose to his feet, his face a study in conflicting emotions. He went to Anheg's chair and dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, your Majesty," he said simply. "I must confess that I suspected you."
"Of course I forgive you." Anheg laughed suddenly. "Belar's teeth," he said. "After I read that letter, I even suspected myself. Get up, young man. Always stand on your feet -even when you've made a mistake."
"Kail," Garion said, "would you see to it that word of this discovery gets the widest possible circulation? Tell the people down in the city to stop sharpening their swords."
"I'll see to it at once, your Majesty."
"That still leaves us with an unsolved riddle," the Earl of Seline noted. , 'We know that King Anheg wasn't behind this, but who was?"
"We already have a good start on that," Lelldorin declared. "We've got that list of men who might have had reason to hate Brand."
"I think we're following the wrong track there," Queen Porenn disagreed. "The murder of the Rivan Warder was one thing, but trying to make it look as if Anheg had been responsible is something else entirely."
"I don't quite follow you, Porenn," Anheg admitted.
"If you had a very close friend -you do have a few friends, don't you, Anheg, dear?- and if this friend of yours was also a high-ranking official in your government, and the king of another country had him murdered, what would you do?"
"My warships would sail on the next tide," he replied.
"Exactly. The murder of Brand may not have been the result of a personal grudge. It might have been an attempt to start a war between Riva and Cherek."
Anheg blinked. "Porenn, you are an extraordinary woman."
"Why, thank you, Anheg."
The door opened, and Silk and Javelin entered. "Our most excellent Prince Kheldar here has a very interesting report for us," Javelin announced.
Silk stepped forward and bowed grandiosely. "Your Majesties," he said, "and dear friends. I can't say for certain just how relevant this is to your current discussions, but it's a matter that should be brought to your attention, I think."
"Have you ever noticed how a little prosperity makes certain people very pompous?" Barak asked Hettar.
"I noticed that," Hettar agreed mildly.
"I thought you might have."
Silk flashed his two friends a quick grin. "Anyway." he continued in a more conversational tone. "I've spent the past several months in the town of Rheon on the eastern frontier of dear old dreary Drasnia. Interesting town, Rheon. Very picturesque- particularly now that they've doubled the height of the walls."
"Kheldar," Queen Porenn said, tapping her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair, "you do plan to get to the point eventually, don't you?"
"Why, of course, Auntie dear," he replied mockingly. "Rheon has always been a fortified town, largely because of its proximity to the Nadrak border. It is also filled with a citizenry so archconservative that most of them disapprove of the use of fire. It's a natural breeding ground for the Bear-cult. After the attempt on Ce'Nedra's life last summer, I sort of drifted into town to do a bit of snooping."
"That's an honest way to put it," Barak said.
"I'm going through an honest phase," Silk shrugged. "Enjoy it while you can, because it's starting to bore me. Now, it seems that the Bear-cult has a new leader -a man named Ulfgar. After Grodeg got that Murgo axe stuck in his back at Thull Mardu, the cult was pretty well demoralized. Then this Ulfgar comes out of nowhere and begins to pull them all together. This man can quite literally talk the birds out of the trees. Always before the leadership of the cult was in the hands of the priesthood, and always before it was centered in Cherek."
"Tell me something new," Anheg growled sourly.
"Ulfgar does not appear to be a priest of Belar," Silk continued, "and his center of power is at Rheon in eastern Drasnia."
"Kheldar, please come to the point," Porenn said.
"I'm getting there, your Majesty." he assured her. "In the last few months, very quietly, our friend Ulfgar has been calling in his cohorts. Cultists have been drifting up from Algaria and filtering into Rheon from all over Drasnia. The town is literally bulging with armed men. I'd guess that Ulfgar currently has a force at Rheon at least equal to the entire Drasnian army." He looked at young King Kheva. "Sorry, cousin," he said, "but it rather looks as if you now have only the second biggest army in Drasnia."
"I can correct that if I have to, cousin," Kheva replied firmly.
"You're doing a wonderful job with this boy, Auntie," Silk congratulated Porenn.
"Kheldar," she said acidly, "am I going to have to put you on the rack to pull this story out of you?"
"Why, Auntie dearest, what a shocking thing to suggest. This mysterious Ulfgar has resurrected a number of very ancient rituals and ceremonies -among them a permanent means of identifying kindred spirits -so to speak. At his orders, every cultist in Aloria has had a distinctive mark branded on the sole of his right foot. The chances are rather good that anyone you see limping is a new convert to the Bear-cult."
Barak winced. "That would really hurt," he said.
"They wear it rather proudly," Silk told him, "Once it heals, anyway."
"What does this mark look like?" King Cho-Hag asked.
"It's a symbolic representation of a bear paw." Silk explained. "It's shaped sort of like the letter U with a couple of marks at its open end to represent claws."
"After Kheldar told me this," Javelin took up the story, "we paid a short visit to that surviving assassin. His right foot has been branded with that particular mark."
"So now we know," Hettar said.
"We do indeed," Belgarath replied.
"Prithee," Mandorallen said, frowning in perplexity, "I have always been advised that the aim of this obscure religious denomination hath been the reunification of Aloria, that titanic empire of the north which existed under the reign of King Cherek Bear-shoulders, the mightiest ruler of antiquity.
"It may very well still be," Belgarath told him, "but if this Ulfgar had succeeded in putting Riva and Cherek at each other's throats, he might have been able to topple Drasnia and possibly Algaria as well. With Anheg and Garion concentrating on destroying each other, it probably wouldn't have been all that difficult for him to have taken their two kingdoms as well."
"Particularly with that fleet his people are building
at Jarviksholm," Anheg added.
"His strategy seems at once very simple and yet very complex," General Brendig mused, "and I think it came very close to working."
"Too close," Polgara said. "What are we going to do about this, father?"
"I think we'll have to take steps," Belgarath replied. "This fellow Ulfgar still wants to reunite Aloria -but with himself as the successor to Bear-shoulders. The cult has tried subversion for three millennia. Now apparently they're going to try open war."
Garion's face grew bleak. "Well," he said, "if it's a war they want, they've come to the right place."
"I might drink to that," Anheg agreed. He thought for a moment. "If you're open to any suggestions, I think it might be a good idea if we destroy Jarviksholm before we move on Rheon. We don't want those Cherek cultists coming up behind us on the moors of eastern Drasnia and we definitely don't want a cult fleet in the Sea of the Winds. If even half of what Greldik says is true, we're going to have to burn out those shipyards before they get their warships into the water. You could mount a very successful attack on Rheon, Garion, and then come home to find a hostile force occupying Riva itself."
Garion considered that. "All right, then," he agreed. "We'll go to Jarviksholm first. Then we'll go to Rheon and have a little chat with this Ulfgar. I really want to look at a man who thinks he's big enough to fill Bear-shoulders' shoes."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"I'm sorry, Kail," Garion told his friend as they sat together in Garion's study with the morning sun streaming golden through the window, "but I have to have you and your brothers here at Riva. I'm taking most of our forces with me, and someone has to stay here to defend the city in case some of the cultists' ships slip around behind us."
Kail's face was angry. "That's not the real reason is it?" he accused.
"Not entirely, no," Garion admitted. "I know how much you all loved your father and I know how much you want revenge on the people responsible for his murder."
"Isn't that only natural?"
"Of course it is, but people caught up in those feelings don't think clearly. They get rash and do things that put them in danger. Your family has shed enough blood already -first your brother Olban, then Arell, and now your father- so I'm not taking any chances with the rest of you."
Kail stood up, his face red with suppressed anger. "Does your Majesty have any further instructions for me?" he asked stay.
Garion sighed. "No, Kail," he said, "not at the moment. You know what to do here."
"Yes, your Majesty." Kail bowed curtly, turned and left the room.
Belgarath came into Garion's study through the other door.
"He didn't like it," Garion said.
"I didn't think he would." The old man shrugged, scratching at one bearded cheek. "But he's too important here in the Citadel for us to be risking his life. He'll be angry for a while, but he'll get over it."
"Is Aunt Pol staying behind, too?"
Belgarath made a face. "No. She insists on going. At least the other ladies have sense enough to realize that a battlefield is no place for a woman! I think we ought to leave Errand here, too. He has no sense of personal danger, and that's not a good trait when the fighting starts. You'd better finish here. The morning tide's turning, and we're almost ready to start."
As the Seabird moved out of the harbor that sunny morning with a flotilla of stout Rivan ships following her, Garion and the others gathered in the spacious, low-beamed aft cabin, poring over maps and discussing strategy.
"The inlet that runs up to Jarviksholm is very narrow," Anheg advised them, "and it's got more twists and turns to it than a Tolnedran trade agreement. It's going to slow us to a crawl."
"And then those catapults on top of the cliffs will sink half the fleet," Barak added gloomily.
"Is there any way we can come to the city from behind?" Hettar asked.
"There's a road coming up from Halberg," Barak replied, "but it goes through several passes fifteen leagues or so to the south of the city. Those passes are ideal for ambushes."
General Brendig had been studying the map. "What's this terrain like?" he asked, pointing at a spot on the south side of the mouth of the inlet.
"Rough," Barak said, "and steep."
"That's a description of most of Cherek," Silk observed.
"Is it passable?" Brendig persisted.
"Oh, you could climb it," Barak said, "but you'd be in plain view of the catapultists up on the cliffs. There's be a whole army waiting for you by the time you got to the top."
"Not if you did it at night," Brendig said.
"At night?" the big man scoffed. "Brendig, do you really want to take up nighttime mountain climbing at your age?"
Brendig shrugged. "If it's the only way to get there."
Mandorallen had also been studying the map. "Prithee, my Lord," he said to Barak, "is this slope to the north also gentle enough to afford access to the clifftop?"
Barak shook his head. "It's a sheer face."
"Then we must needs seek other means to neutralize the catapults on that side." The knight thought a moment, then he smiled. "We have the means at our immediate disposal," he declared.
"I'd be interested to know what they are," King Fulrach said to him.
"It is the simplest possible solution, your Majesty," Mandorallen beamed. "To convey siege engines up the south slope would be tiresome -particularly during the hours of darkness. It would, moreover, be totally unnecessary, since the means of destroying the engines on the north side are already in place."
"I don't quite follow what you're suggesting," Garion admitted.
"I do," Hettar said. "All we have to do is climb the south slope at night, capture the catapults on top and then start lobbing boulders at the engines across the inlet."
"And once you distract those people, I can sweep up the inlet with fireboats and burn out the shipyards," Anheg added.
"But doesn't that still leave the city intact?" King Fulrach asked dubiously.
Garion stood up and began to pace up and down, thinking hard. "Once we start throwing rocks back and forth across the inlet and the fireboats start moving up toward the yards, it's going to attract quite a bit of attention from the city, wouldn't you say?"
"I could almost guarantee that," Brendig replied.
"Then wouldn't that be a perfect time to mount an attack on the landward side of the town? Everybody's going to be lining the front wall. The backside will be only lightly defended. If we strike fast enough, we could be inside before most of the defenders knew we were coming."
"Very good, Belgarion," King Cho-Hag murmured.
"It's all going to have to be carefully timed, though," Barak said thoughtfully. "We'll have to work out a way to pass signals back and forth."
"That's not really a problem, Barak," Aunt Pol told the big man. "We can take care of that."
"You know," Anheg said, "I think it might work. If we get lucky, we could take Jarviksholm in a single day.
"I never cared much for long sieges anyway," Silk noted, carefully polishing one of his rings.
Two days later they found the Cherek fleet standing at anchor off the Halberg straits, a narrow passage leading through a cluster of small, rocky islets jutting up out of the coastal waters of the west coast of the Cherek peninsula.
The islets were topped with scrubby trees and they stood out, green against the snow-fields covering the higher mountains lying inland. Garion stood at the rail of the Seabird, drinking in the beauty of that wild coast. A light step behind him and a familiar fragrance announced his Aunt Pol's approach.
"It's lovely, isn't it, Garion?" she said.
"Breathtaking," he agreed.
"It always seems this way." she mused. "Somehow it's when you're on your way to something very ugly that you come across these glimpses of beauty." She looked at him gravely. "You will be careful at Jarviksholm, won't you?"
"I'm always careful, Aunt Pol."
"Really? I seem to remember a number of incide
nts not too many years ago."
"I was a child then."
"Some things never change, I'm afraid." She suddenly put her arms about his neck and sighed. "Oh, my Garion," she said, "I've missed you in the past few years, do you know that?"
"I've missed you, too, Aunt Pol. Sometimes I wish-" He left it hanging.
"That we could have just stayed at Faldor's farm?"
"It really wasn't such a bad place, was it?"
"No. It was a very good place -for a child. But you're grown now. Would you really have been content there? Life was quite placid at Faldor's."
"If we hadn't left, I'd never have known what it was like to live any other way."
"But if we hadn't left, you never would have met Ce'Nedra, would you?"
"I suppose I hadn't thought about that."
"Let's go below, shall we?" she suggested. "That breeze is really rather brisk."
They encountered King Anheg and Barak in a narrow companionway just outside the main cabin belowdecks.
"Barak," Anheg was saying acidly, "you're getting to be worse than an old woman."
"I don't care what you say, Anheg," the red-bearded Barak growled. "You're not going to take the Seabird up that inlet until all those catapults have been cleared. I didn't spend that much money on her to have somebody drop boulders on her decks from those cliffs. My boat, my rules."
The lean-faced Javelin approached from down the companionway. "Is there some problem, my Lords?" he asked.
"I was just laying down a few rules for Anheg here," Barak replied. "He's going to be in charge of my ship while I'm gone."
"Were you going somewhere, my Lord of Trellheim?"
"I'll be going with Garion when he mounts his attack on the city.
"As you think best, my Lord. How long do you think it's going to take to reach the mouth of the inlet?"
Barak tugged at his luxuriant red beard. "Those Rivan ships carrying Garion's troops aren't quite as fast as our warships," he mused. "I make it about a day and a half. Wouldn't you agree, Anheg?"
"About that, yes."
"That should put us there tomorrow evening, then?" Javelin asked.
"Right," Barak said, "and that's when the fun starts."
Rivan Codex Series Page 274