‘They’ll probably try to fight, my Lord. Do I have permission to use force?’
‘Do whatever it takes, Captain Torgun.’
The newly promoted soldier’s answering grin was one of the most evil I’ve ever seen. ‘Try not to kill too many of them, Captain,’ I added – just as a precaution, you understand.
The look of innocence he gave me was so transparent that I almost burst out laughing. ‘Of course not, Lady Polgara. I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Then he slithered away.
‘Good move there, Kamion,’ Earl Jarok whispered hoarsely. ‘Field promotions are one of the best ways to get good officers. That fellow would follow you into fire right now.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, my Lord. Being wet’s bad enough.’
The party around the bonfire was getting rowdier as the ale flowed freely. The Cultists were all shuffling around the fire, tankards in hand, trying to imitate the shambling walk of their totem. Then Elthek came up the gorge and trailing along behind him were most of the priests of Belar on the Isle of the Winds.
‘We’re going to decimate the priesthood, I’m afraid,’ Kamion whispered to Anrak and me.
‘It won’t be hard to find replacements, Kamion,’ Anrak assured him. The priestly life’s fairly comfortable, and it doesn’t involve much sweating.’
Then Elthek addressed the shaggy congregation for an hour or so, punctuating his oration with simple tricks of ‘magic’. The flames in the bonfire changed colors several times as the Deacon’s underlings surreptitiously tossed assorted powders into the coals. A ‘ghost’, which was no more than a gauzy veil suspended on a black string, appeared, billowing in the heat of the fire. A second moon, actually a large glass globe filled with fireflies, rose over the gorge. Rocks started to bleed, and a ‘dead’ sheep was resurrected. It was all fairly transparent, but Elthek ladled on high drama and the drunken Cultists were all suitably impressed.
‘What do you think, Pol?’ Kamion asked me. ‘Is that witchcrafty enough for our purposes?’
‘Witchcrafty?’ I asked in some amusement.
‘I’ve always had this way with words,’ he said modestly.
‘You’re the expert in this area, Pol,’ Anrak said. ‘Is Elthek really performing magic out there?’
‘No. It’s all pure fakery. It should be enough to convict him, though.’
‘My feelings exactly,’ Kamion said. He reached for his hunting horn.
‘Aren’t you going to wait for the naked girls?’ Anrak sounded disappointed.
‘Ah – no, Anrak. I don’t think so. Let’s not complicate the trial by adding women to the list of the accused.’ He lifted his horn and blew a long, brazen note, calling in Captain Torgun and his men.
The soldiers were well trained, and the Cultists were far gone in drink, so it wasn’t even a very interesting fight, and the casualties were minimal. Elthek kept screaming, ‘How dare you?’ but I noticed that he didn’t reach for his sword. Finally, Captain Torgun grew tired of the screaming and stilled the Deacon’s objections with his fist.
It was dawn by the time the line of chained Cultists were dragged into Riva’s city. We threw them into the dungeon under the temple of Belar and then Kamion spoke briefly with Captain Torgun before he, Anrak and I escorted our group of witnesses back up the hill to the Citadel to advise Daran that our little excursion had been successful.
The ‘trial’ took place the following day in the public square in front of the temple. I noticed that Captain Tor-gun’s soldiers had passed the time erecting a fair number of posts in the square and piling firewood around them – just in case.
‘Why are we doing this here instead of in the throne room?’ I asked Daran before the proceedings began.
‘I want everyone here in the city to hear the testimony, Aunt Pol,’ he explained. ‘Let’s fix it so that the Bear-Cult doesn’t reappear just as soon as my back’s turned.’
Daran sat on a large, ornate chair – Elthek’s, actually – which Torgun’s soldiers had dragged out of the temple and placed where everyone could see it. Then the Bear-Cultists, still in chains and seriously disheveled, were dragged up out of the temple dungeon and forced to sit in a huddled group at the foot of the broad stair that led up to the temple door. The square was full of people as the proceedings began.
Kamion, Warder of Riva, rose to his feet to address the assembled citizens. ‘A crime has been committed here on our island, my friends,’ he began, ‘and we are gathered here to sit in judgment.’
‘What crime are we talking about, Lord Brand?’ a well-coached townsman demanded in a booming voice that could be heard all over the square. The Rivan Warder, I noted, was not the sort to leave anything to chance.
‘The crime of witchcraft,’ Kamion replied.
Elthek, battered and bruised by Captain Torgun’s fists, tried to leap to his feet, but that’s a little hard to do when you’re chained to other people.
The proceedings went smoothly, I thought. Kamion’s questioning was masterly, and the witnesses all confirmed the fact that Elthek had performed ‘magic’ at the gathering in the gorge.
Then Captain Torgun dragged the Rivan Deacon to his feet.
‘What say you to the charges?’ Kamion demanded of the prisoner.
‘Lies! All lies!’ Elthek almost screamed. ‘And that law doesn’t apply to me!’
The law applies to everybody,’ Daran told him firmly.
‘I’m a priest! I’m a Deacon of the Church of Belar!’
‘All the more reason for you to obey the law.’
‘It wasn’t really magic!’
‘Oh?’ Daran said mildly. ‘I can’t call up ghosts or create another moon or make rocks bleed. Can you, Lord Brand?’
‘I wouldn’t even want to try, your Highness,’ Kamion replied.
‘Let’s get on with this,’ Earl Jarok boomed.
‘How say the people?’ Daran asked in a loud, formal voice. ‘Are these men guilty of the charge of witchcraft?’
‘YES!’ the crowd roared. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that deer on the other side of the Isle were startled by the sound.
‘Return the prisoners to the dungeon,’ Daran instructed. ‘I will consider this matter and devise a suitable punishment for this foul crime.’
I’ll be the first to admit that the entire business was crudely staged, but we’re talking about Alorns here, and subtlety’s never been an Alorn strong point.
The extended period during which Daran ‘considered’ his final judgment gave the prisoners plenty of time to look out through the tiny, barred, ground-level windows at the grim stakes out in the square.
It was cloudy on the day when Daran announced his judgment, one of those cool, dry days when the clouds obscuring the sky gave no hint of rain, but when the light casts no shadows. We all trooped down to the temple square again, and the convicted felons were dragged up out of the dungeon to learn their fate. The artfully prepared stakes surrounding the square hinted strongly at what that fate was going to be, and the captives all seemed moderately terror-stricken.
Daran took his place in the seat of judgment, and an anticipatory silence fell over the crowd. Although it was cloudy, it wasn’t really dark, but there were still quite a few burning torches in the hands of the gathering.
‘I’ve considered this matter, my friends,’ Daran announced, ‘and I’ve come to my decision after much thought. The crime of witchcraft is abhorrent to decent men, and every effort should be made to stamp it out. This particular outbreak, however, is the result of stubborn stupidity rather than a deliberate courting of the powers of darkness. The Bear-Cult is misguided rather than intrinsically evil. We’re not going to need those torches, friends, so put them out.’
There were some murmurs of disappointment about that.
‘I’ve spoken with my father, the king, about this,’ Daran continued, ‘and he agrees with me that our main goal in this situation should be to separate the Cultists from the rest of the popul
ation. We could separate them by building fires with them, but father agrees with me that such a course might be a bit extreme in this case. It is therefore our decision that these criminals be sentenced to perpetual internal exile instead. They will be taken immediately to the archipelago standing at the northern end of the Isle and remain on those islets for the rest of their lives. Our decision is final, and this matter is now closed.’
There were shouts of protest from the crowd, but Captain Torgun somewhat ostentatiously moved his troops into position.
Elthek, the former Rivan Deacon, smiled faintly.
‘Don’t be too happy, Elthek,’ Kamion told him. ‘His Highness has sent word to his grandfather, and the Cherek fleet will make sure that none of the Cultists who evaded capture will be able to rescue you. You will stay there for the rest of your life, old boy. Oh, incidentally, winter’s coming on, so you’d better get to work as soon as you arrive building some sort of shelter. Winter comes early up there, so you haven’t got much time.’
‘What are we going to eat?’ one of the prisoners demanded.
‘That’s entirely up to you. We’ll give you some fishhooks, and there are wild goats up there. That should get you through the winter. When spring gets here, we’ll drop off some farm tools, chickens, and seeds for planting.’
“That’s all right for peasants,’ Elthek objected, ‘but what about us? You surely don’t expect the priesthood to grub in the dirt for food, do you?’
‘You’re not a priest any more, dear boy,’ Kamion informed him. ‘You’re a convicted felon, and the throne has no obligations to you whatsoever. Dig or die, Elthek. It’s entirely up to you. There are seabirds up there, and I’m told that bird-droppings make excellent fertilizer. You’re a very creative fellow, so I’m sure you’ll do just fine.’ Then he smiled faintly as Elthek’s expression showed that he was gradually beginning to realize just exactly what Daran’s seeming leniency really meant. ‘I’d just love to stay and chat with you some more, dear boy,’ the Warder said, ‘but his Highness and I have pressing business at the Citadel. Affairs of state, you understand.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘I think the prisoners are ready now, Captain Tor-gun,’ he said. ‘Would you be so kind as to escort them to their ships? They have a great deal of work ahead of them, and I’m sure they’re all eager to get started.’
‘At once, Lord Brand!’ Torgun replied, saluting smartly.
‘Ah, Elthek,’ I said sweetly to the crestfallen clergyman.
‘What?’ his response was surly.
‘Have a nice voyage, and I do hope you’ll enjoy your new home and your new occupation.’
And that was the last time that the Bear-Cult reared its head on the Isle of the Winds. It’s been some three thousand years and more since Elthek and his cohorts took up subsistence farming on those rocky little islets, and even though they’re Alorns, the Rivans took Daran’s lesson very much to heart. The notion of spading bird manure into rocky soil in order to eke out a miserable existence doesn’t appeal to very many people, and those wind-swept islets will always be there – waiting.
The following spring came late, and I began to grow more and more restless. Then, late one night when a wind-driven rain-storm tore at the towers of the Citadel and I tossed restlessly in my bed, mother’s thought came to me. ‘Polgara,’ she said, ‘don’t you think it’s about time for Daran to get married?’
To be quite honest about it, my mother’s question startled me, since I still – irrationally, I suppose – thought of my nephew as a child. To concede that he was growing up would have further separated me from Beldaran, I guess. Everybody has these little lapses.
The next day, however, when Daran, Kamion and I met for our usual discussion of the state of the kingdom, I rather closely examined my nephew and was forced to admit that mother was probably right. Daran had sandy blond hair, and fair-haired people always seem to look younger than brunettes do. He was a muscular young man, though, and wrestling with the chores of his regency had given him a maturity far beyond his years.
‘Why are you looking at me that way, Aunt Pol?’ he asked curiously.
‘Oh, no particular reason. I think you missed a spot under your chin while you were shaving this morning, is all.’
He ran his fingers up and down his neck. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘it is a little furry down there, isn’t it? Do you think I should grow a beard?’
‘No,’ I told him, ‘definitely not. There are enough shaggy people around here already. Now, then, what are we going to do about this shortage of priests? Most of them are up north with Elthek.’
‘We can get along without priests, Aunt Pol. The priests of Belar always seem to get Bear-Cult ideas, for some reason, and I don’t want to go through that again.’
‘We need priests, Daran.’
‘What for?’
To perform weddings and funerals,’ I told him rather bluntly. ‘Young people here on the Isle are beginning to find alternatives to marriage, and that should probably be discouraged, wouldn’t you say? I’m sure it’s all very entertaining, but it does tend to erode the morals of your people, don’t you agree?’
He actually blushed about that.
‘Why don’t you let me take care of the problem, your Highness?’ Kamion suggested. ‘We could recruit priests of Belar in Cherek and Drasnia, but that might just reintroduce the Bear-Cult here on the Isle. I’ll talk with the palace chaplain about it, and we can probably set up a theological seminary in the temple. Ill lay out the curriculum, though, so we can be fairly sure that unorthodoxy doesn’t creep in.’
‘You’re the scholar, Kamion,’ Daran shrugged. ‘Do whatever you think best.’ He looked at the window where midmorning light streamed into the room. ‘What hour would you say it is?’ he asked me. ‘I’ve got an appointment with my tailor this morning.’
‘It’s the fourth hour past dawn, dear,’ I told him.
‘It seems later for some reason.’
Trust me, Daran.’
‘Of course, Aunt Pol.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I’ll be back after lunch.’ He flexed his arms. ‘This doublet’s getting a little tight across the shoulders. Maybe my tailor can let it out a bit.’ Then he crossed to the door and left the room.
‘Kamion,’ I said.
‘Yes, Pol?’
‘Let’s find him a wife. Bachelorhood’s habit-forming, I’ve noticed.’
Kamion burst out laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I’ve never heard it put that way before, Pol. Why don’t I draw up a list of all the eligible – and unattached – young noblewomen here?’
‘Not just the noblewomen, Kamion,’ I told him quite firmly.
‘Is the prince allowed to marry a commoner?’ Kamion seemed startled.
‘He’s allowed to marry anyone I tell him to marry, Kamion,’ I said. ‘We’re dealing with a very unusual family here, so normal rules don’t apply. We won’t be choosing Daran’s wife. That decision’s going to come from someone else.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘I’m not at liberty to discuss it – and you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘One of those things?’ he asked with some distaste.
‘Exactly. Get started on your list while I get some instructions.’
He sighed.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I hate this, Pol. I like for things to be rational.’
Then it was my turn to laugh. ‘Do you actually believe that the process of love and marriage is rational, Kamion? We humans aren’t exactly like birds attracted to a display of bright feathers, but we come very close. Trust me in this, my friend.’
‘You’re using that phrase quite a lot this morning, Pol.’
‘If you and Daran would just listen to me, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself so often. Run along now, Kamion, I’ve got work to do.’
I returned to my rooms and went looking for mother with my mind.
‘Yes, Polgara?’ her thought came to me.
‘Kamion’s seeking out all of the eligible young women on the Isle, mother. How do we determine which of them to choose?’
‘You’ll know – and so will Daran.’
‘We aren’t going to let him make the decision, are we? He’s a nice boy, but this is important.’
She actually laughed. ‘Just bring them into the Hall of the Rivan King one by one, Pol,’ she told me. ‘You’ll know immediately – and so will Daran.’
And so we did it that way. Our approach wasn’t really very subtle. Kamion let it be generally known that Daran was looking for a wife – although that was probably the furthest thing from the Prince Regent’s mind. The young women on the Isle were paraded, one by one, before the throne in the Hall of the Rivan King. They all wore their finest clothing, and each of them was given about five minutes to try to snare our increasingly nervous – even frightened – young man.
It went on for days, and poor Daran was engulfed by treacle-laden smiles as the girls of Isle of the Winds each tried to enchant him.
‘If this goes on much longer, Aunt Pol, I’m going to run away,’ he threatened one evening.
‘Don’t do that, dear,’ I said. ‘I’d just have to chase you down and bring you back. You have to get married, Daran, because you have to produce an heir to your father’s throne. That obligation takes precedence over all others. Now go get some sleep. You’re starting to look just a bit haggard.’
‘So would you if people kept looking at you like a side of beef.’
It was the next day, I think, when she came into the hall. She was quite small, and her hair was almost as dark as mine. Her large luminous eyes, however, were so dark as to be almost black. Her father was a very minor nobleman, hardly more than a peasant, who had a small holding back in the mountains. Her name was Larana, she wore a plain dress, and she entered the Hall rather hesitantly. Her eyes were downcast, and there was a faint flush on her alabaster cheeks.
I heard Daran’s breath catch in his throat, and I turned sharply to look at him. His face had gone very pale, and his hands were trembling. More importantly, though, was the fact that the Master’s Orb on the pommel of his father’s sword was glowing a soft pink, a blush almost exactly matching the one on Larana’s cheeks.
Polgara the Sorceress Page 21