Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  "The most idiotic thing in the history of the Empire," the agent exploded. "All the brains went out of the Vordue family after the Grand Duke Kador died. They should have known that fellow was an agent for a foreign power."

  "Which fellow was that?"

  "The one who claimed that he was an eastern merchant. He wormed his way into the confidence of the Vordues and puffed them up with flattery. By the time he was done, they actually believed that they were competent enough to run their own kingdom, independent of the rest of Tolnedra. But that Varana's a sly one, let me tell you. He struck a bargain with King Korodullin, and before long all of Vordue was crawling with Mimbrate knights stealing everything in sight." He pointed at the scorched corner of his station. "You see that? A platoon or so of them came by here and sacked the building. Then they set fire to the place."

  "Tragic," Silk commiserated with him. "Did anyone ever find out just who that so-called merchant was working for?"

  "Those idiots in Tol Vordue didn't, that's for certain, but I knew who he was the minute I laid eyes on him."

  "Oh?"

  "The man was a Rivan, and that puts the whole thing right in the lap of King Belgarion. He's always hated the Vordues anyway, so he came up with this scheme to break their power in northern Tolnedra." He smiled bleakly. "He's getting exactly what he's got coming to him, though. They forced him to marry the Princess Ce'Nedra, and she's making his life miserable."

  "How were you able to tell that the agent was Rivan?"

  Silk asked curiously.

  "That's easy, Radek. The Rivans have been isolated on that island of theirs for thousands of years. They're so inbred that all kinds of defects and deformities crop up in them."

  "He was deformed?"

  The agent shook his head. "It was his eyes," he said. "They didn't have any color to them at all—absolutely white." He shuddered. "It was a chilling thing to see." He pulled his blanket tighter about his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Radek, but I'm freezing out here. I'm going back inside where it's warm. You and your friends are free to go." And with that he hurried back into the station and the warmth of his fireside.

  "Isn't that interesting?" Silk said as they rode away.

  Belgarath was frowning. "The next question is who this busy man with the white eyes is working for," he said.

  "Urvon?" Durnik suggested. "Maybe he put Harakan to work in the north and Naradas here in the south—both of them trying to stir up as much turmoil as possible."

  "Maybe," Belgarath grunted, "but then again maybe not."

  "My dear Prince Kheldar," Ce'Nedra said, pushing back the hood of her cloak with one mittened hand, "what exactly was the purpose of all that cringing and snivelling?"

  "Characterization, Ce'Nedra," he replied airily. "Radek of Boktor was a pompous, arrogant ass—as long as he was rich. Now that he's poor, he's gone the other way entirely. It's the nature of the man."

  "But, there isn't any such person as Radek of Boktor."

  "Of course there is. You just saw him. Radek of Boktor exists in the memories of people all over this part of the world. In many ways he's even more real than that bloated time-server back there."

  "But he's hollow. You just made him up."

  "Certainly I did, and I'm really rather proud of him. His existence, his background, and his entire life history are a matter of public record. He's as real as you are."

  "That doesn't make sense at all, Silk," she protested.

  "That's because you aren't Drasnian, Ce'Nedra."

  They reached Tol Honeth several days later. The white marble Imperial City gleamed in the frosty winter sunshine, and the legionnaires standing guard at the carved bronze gates were as crisp and burnished as always. As Garion and his friends clattered across the marble-paved bridge to the gate, the officer in charge of the guard detachment took one look at Ce'Nedra and banged his clenched fist on his polished breastplate in salute.

  "Your Imperial Highness," he greeted her. "If we had known you were approaching, we would have sent out an escort."

  "That's all right, Captain," she replied in a tired little voice. "Do you suppose you could send one of your men on ahead of us to the palace to advise the Emperor that we're here?"

  "At once, your Imperial Highness," he said, saluting again and standing aside to let them pass.

  "I just wish that someday somebody in Tolnedra would remember that you're married," Garion muttered, feeling a bit surly about it.

  "What was that, dear?" Ce'Nedra asked.

  "Can't they get it through their heads that you're the Queen of Riva now? Every time one of them calls you 'Your Imperial Highness,' it makes me feel like some kind of hanger-on—or a servant of some sort."

  "Aren't you being a little oversensitive, Garion?"

  He grunted sourly, still feeling just a bit offended.

  The avenues of Tol Honeth were broad and faced with the proud, lofty houses of the Tolnedran elite. Columns and statuary abounded on the fronts of those residences in vast, ostentatious display, and the richly garbed merchant princes in the streets were bedecked with jewels beyond price. Silk looked at them as he rode past and then ruefully down at his own shabby, threadbare garments. He sighed bitterly.

  "More characterization, Radek?" Aunt Polgara asked him.

  "Only in part," he replied. "Of course Radek would be envious, but I have to admit that I do sort of miss my own finery."

  "How on earth do you keep all these fictitious people straight?"

  "Concentration, Polgara," he said, "concentration. You can't succeed at any game if you don't concentrate."

  The Imperial Compound was a cluster of sculptured marble buildings enclosed within a high wall and situated atop a hill in the western quarter of the city. Warned in advance of their approach, the legionnaires at the gate admitted the party immediately with crisp military salutes. Beyond the gate lay a paved courtyard, and standing at the foot of the marble stairs leading up to a column-fronted building stood the Emperor Varana. "Welcome to Tol Honeth," he said to them as they dismounted. Ce'Nedra hurried toward him, but stopped at the last moment and curtsied formally. "Your Imperial Majesty," she said.

  "Why so ceremonial, Ce'Nedra?" he asked, holding out his arms to her.

  "Please, Uncle," she said, glancing at the palace functionaries lining the top of the stairs, "not here. If you kiss me here, I'll break down and cry, and a Borune never cries in public."

  "Ah," he said with an understanding look. Then he turned to the rest of them. "Come inside, all of you. Let's get in out of the cold." He turned, offered Ce'Nedra his arm and limped up the stairs.

  Just inside the doors, there was a large circular rotunda, lined along its walls with marble busts of the last thousand years or so of Tolnedran Emperors. "Look like a gang of pickpockets, don't they?" Varana said to Garion with a wry smile.

  "I don't see yours anywhere," Garion replied.

  "The royal sculptor is having trouble with my nose. The Anadiles descended from peasant stock, and my nose isn't suitably imperial for his taste." He led them down a broad hallway to a large, candle-lit room with a crimson carpet and drapes and deeply upholstered furniture of the same hue. In each corner stood a glowing iron brazier, and the room was pleasantly warm. "Please," the Emperor said, "make yourselves comfortable. I'll send for something hot to drink and have the kitchen prepare a dinner for us." He spoke briefly with the legionnaire at the door as Garion and his friends removed their cloaks and seated themselves.

  "Now," Varana said, closing the door, "what brings you to Tol Honeth?"

  "You've heard about our campaign against the Bear-cult?" Belgarath asked him, "and the reason for it?"

  The Emperor nodded.

  "As it turned out, the campaign was misdirected. The cult was not involved in the abduction of Prince Geran, although there was an effort to implicate them. The person we're looking for is named Zandramas. Does that name mean anything to you?"

  Varana frowned. "No," he replied, "I can't say that it does."
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  Belgarath rapidly sketched in the situation, telling Varana what they had learned about Zandramas, Harakan, and the Sardion. When he had finished, the Emperor's expression was slightly dubious.

  "I can accept most of what you say, Belgarath," he said, "but some of it—" He shrugged, holding up both hands.

  "What's the problem?"

  "Varana's a sceptic, father," Polgara said. "There are certain things he prefers not to think about."

  "Even after everything that happened at Thull Mardu?" Belgarath looked surprised.

  "It's a matter of principle, Belgarath." Varana laughed. "It has to do with being a Tolnedran—and a soldier."

  Belgarath gave him an amused look. "All right, then, can you accept the fact that the abduction might have been politically motivated?"

  "Of course. I understand politics."

  "Good. There have always been two major center of power in Mallorea—the throne and the church. Now it looks as if this Zandramas is raising a third. We can't tell if Kal Zakath is directly involved in any way, but there's some kind of power struggle going on between Urvon and Zandramas. For some reason Garion's son is central to that struggle."

  "We've also picked up some hints along the way that for one reason or another the Malloreans don't want us to become involved," Silk added. "There are agents stirring up trouble in Arendia, and it may have been a Mallorean who was behind the Vordue secession."

  Varana looked at him sharply.

  "A man named Naradas."

  "Now that's a name I have heard," the Emperor said. "Supposedly he's an Angarak merchant here to negotiate some very sweeping trade agreements. He travels a great deal and spends a lot of money. My commercial advisors think that he's an agent for King Urgit. Now that Zakath controls the mining regions in eastern Cthol Murgos, Urgit desperately needs money to finance the war he's got going on down there."

  Silk shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "Naradas is a Mallorean Grolim. It's not likely that he'd be working for the King of the Murgos."

  There was a respectful tap at the door.

  "Yes?" Varana said.

  The door opened and Lord Morin, the Imperial Chamberlain, entered. He was an old man now and very thin. His hair had gone completely white and it stood out in wisps. His skin had that waxy transparency one sees in the very old, and he moved slowly. "The Drasnian Ambassador, your Majesty," he announced in a quavering voice. "He says that he has some information of great urgency for you—and for your guests."

  "You'd better show him in then, Morin."

  "There's a young lady with him, your Majesty," Morin added. "A Drasnian noblewoman, I believe."

  "We'll see them both," Varana said.

  "As you wish, your Majesty," Morin replied with a creaky bow.

  When the aged Chamberlain escorted the ambassador and his companion into the room, Garion blinked in surprise. "His Excellency, Prince Khaldon, Ambassador of the Royal Court of Drasnia," Morin announced, "and her Ladyship, the Margravine Liselle, a—uh—" He faltered.

  "Spy, your Excellency," Liselle supplied with aplomb.

  "Is that an official designation, your Ladyship?"

  "It saves a great deal of time, Excellency."

  "My," Morin sighed, "how the world changes. Should I introduce your Ladyship to the Emperor as an official spy?"

  "I think he's gathered that already, Lord Morin," she said, touching his thin hand affectionately.

  Morin bowed and tottered slowly from the room.

  "What a dear old man," she murmured.

  "Well, hello, cousin," Silk said to the ambassador.

  "Cousin," Prince Khaldon replied coolly.

  "Are you two somehow related?" Varana asked.

  "Distantly, your Majesty," Silk told him. "Our mothers were second cousins—or was it third?"

  "Fourth, I think," Khaldon said. He eyed his rat-faced relative. "You're looking a bit seedy, old man," he noted. "The last time I saw you, you were dripping gold and jewels."

  "I'm in disguise, cousin," Silk said blandly. "You're not supposed to be able to recognize me."

  "Ah," Khaldon said. He turned to the Emperor. "Please excuse our banter, your Majesty. Kheldar here and I have loathed each other since childhood."

  Silk grinned. "It was hate at first sight," he agreed. "We absolutely detest each other."

  Khaldon smiled briefly. "When we were children, they used to hide all the knives every time our families visited each other."

  Silk looked curiously at Liselle. "What are you doing in Tol Honeth?" he asked her.

  "It's a secret."

  "Velvet brought several dispatches from Boktor," Khaldon explained, "and certain instructions."

  "Velvet?"

  "Silly, isn't it?" Liselle laughed. "But then, I suppose they could have chosen a worse nickname for me."

  "It's better than some that spring to mind," Silk agreed.

  "Be nice, Kheldar."

  "There was something you thought we ought to know, Prince Khaldon?" Varana asked.

  Khaldon sighed. "It saddens me to report that the courtesan Bethra has been murdered, your Majesty."

  "What?"

  "She was set upon by assassins in a deserted street last night when she was returning from a business engagement. She was left for dead, but she managed to drag herself to our gate, and she was able to pass on some information before she died."

  Silk's face had gone quite white. "Who was responsible for it?" he demanded.

  "We're still working on that, Kheldar," his cousin replied. "We have some suspicions, of course, but nothing concrete enough to take before a magistrate."

  The Emperor's face was bleak, and he rose from the chair in which he had been sitting. "There are some people who will need to know about this," he said grimly. "Would you come with me, Prince Khaldon?"

  "Of course, your Majesty."

  "Please excuse us," Varana said to the rest of them. "This is a matter that needs my immediate attention." He led the Drasnian Ambassador from the room.

  "Did she suffer greatly?" Silk asked the girl known as Velvet in a voice filled with pain.

  "They used knives, Kheldar," she replied simply. "That's never pleasant."

  "I see." His ferret-like face hardened. "Could she give you any kind of idea what might have been behind it?"

  "I gather that it had to do with several things. She mentioned the fact that she once informed Emperor Varana of a plot against the life of his son."

  "The Honeths!" Ce'Nedra grated.

  "What makes you say that?" Silk asked quickly.

  "Garion and I were here when she told Varana. It was at the time of my father's funeral. Bethra came secretly to the palace and said that two Honethite nobles—Count Elgon and Baron Kelbor—were hatching a scheme to murder Varana's son."

  Silk's face was stony. "Thank you, Ce'Nedra," he said grimly.

  "There's something else you should know, Kheldar," Velvet said quietly. She looked at the rest of them. "We all will be discreet about this, won't we?"

  "Of course," Belgarath assured her.

  Velvet turned back to Silk. "Bethra was Hunter," she told him.

  "Hunter? Bethra?"

  "She has been for several years now. When the struggle over the succession started heating up here in Tolnedra, King Rhodar instructed Javelin to take steps to make sure that the man who followed Ran Borune to the throne would be someone the Alorns could live with. Javelin came to Tol Honeth and recruited Bethra to see to it."

  "Excuse me," Belgarath interrupted, his eyes alight with curiosity, "but exactly what is this 'Hunter'?"

  "Our most secret spy," Velvet replied. "Hunter's identity is known only to Javelin, and Hunter deals with only the most sensitive situations—things that the Drasnian crown simply cannot openly become involved in. Anyway, when it appeared that the Grand Duke Noragon of the House of Honeth was almost certain to be the next Emperor, King Rhodar made a certain suggestion to Javelin, and a few months later, Noragon accidentally ate s
ome bad shellfish— some very bad shellfish."

  "Bethra did that?" Silk's tone was amazed.

  "She was extraordinarily resourceful."

  "Margravine Liselle?" Ce'Nedra said, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  "Yes, your Majesty?"

  "If the identity of Hunter is the deepest state secret in Drasnia, how is it that you were aware of it?"

  "I was sent from Boktor with certain instructions for her. My uncle knows that I can be trusted."

  "But you're revealing it now, aren't you?"

  "It's after the fact, your Majesty. Bethra's dead. Someone else will be Hunter now. Anyway, before she died, Bethra told us that someone had found out about her involvement in the death of Grand Duke Noragon and had passed the information on. She believed that it was that information that triggered the attack on her."

  "It's definitely narrowing down to the Honeths then, isn't it?" Silk said.

  "It's not definite proof, Kheldar," Velvet warned him.

  "It's definite enough to satisfy me."

  "You're not going to do anything precipitous, are you?" she asked him. "Javelin wouldn't like that, you know."

  "That's Javelin's problem."

  "We don't have time to get involved in Tolnedran politics, Silk," Belgarath added firmly. "We're not going to be here that long."

  "It's not going to take me all that long."

  "I'll have to report what you're planning to Javelin," Velvet warned.

  "Of course. But I'll be finished with it by the time your report reaches Boktor."

  "It's important that you don't embarrass us, Kheldar."

  "Trust me," he said and quietly left the room.

  "It always makes me nervous when he says that," Durnik murmured.

  Early the following morning, Belgarath and Garion left the Imperial Palace to visit the library at the university. It was chilly in the broad streets of Tol Honeth, and a raw wind was blowing in off the Nedrane River. The few merchants abroad at that hour walked briskly along the marble thoroughfares with fur cloaks pulled tightly about them, and gangs of roughly dressed laborers thronged up out of the poorer sections of the city with their heads bent into the wind and their chapped hands burrowed deep into their clothing.

  Garion and his grandfather passed through the deserted central marketplace and soon reached a large cluster of buildings enclosed by a marble wall and entered through a gate stamped with the Imperial Seal. The grounds inside the compound were as neatly trimmed as those surrounding the palace, and there were broad marble walks stretching from building to building across the lawns. As they moved along one of those walks, they encountered a portly, black-robed scholar pacing along with his hands clasped behind his back and his face lost in thought.