‘What was it like, Aunt Pol?’ Geran asked me one evening after supper when we’d spread our blankets on the ground, the camp-fire had burned down to embers, and the close and friendly darkness was enfolding us. ‘I mean, what was it like to grow up in the Vale surrounded by magic and sorcerers the way you were?’
‘My sister and I hadn’t really known any other kind of life, Geran, so it didn’t really seem particularly unusual to us.’
‘She was my grandmother, wasn’t she? – your sister, I mean.’
‘Your ultimate grandmother, yes.’ I stepped around some things rather carefully. Geran didn’t really need to know about mother just yet. I lay back and looked up at the stars. ‘Our father was off in Mallorea when we were born,’ I told him. ‘He and Bear-shoulders and the boys were stealing the Orb from Torak.’
‘It wasn’t really stealing, was it? I mean, the Orb belonged to us in the first place after all. Torak’s the one who stole it.’
‘Well, he stole it from the Master, but it amounts to the same thing, I guess. Anyway, my sister and I were raised by uncle Beldin.’
Geran giggled. ‘I like him,’ he said.
‘Yes, I noticed.’ Then I continued with a slightly sanitized version of my childhood in the Vale. Geran listened eagerly. If you want a little boy’s undivided attention, tell him stories. After a while, however, he drifted off to sleep, and I fell silent. I watched the endless progression of the stars for a while, noting that a couple of the constellations had moved since I’d last taken a good look at them. And then I too slept.
When we reached my house I noticed something peculiar. I’d visited it any number of times since I’d buried it in roses, and it’d always seemed almost unbearably lonely. It was an empty place that hadn’t been meant to be empty, but now that sense of loneliness wasn’t there any more. Geran was there with me, and that was all I really needed. I decided that we could probably forego the house-cleaning. Geran had learned to live with the loss of his family, and he now seemed to want to spend most of his time in my library with my copies of the Mrin and Darine. Eventually, he reacted to the Mrin with the same sense of frustration it stirred in all of us. ‘It doesn’t make sense, Aunt Pol!’ he exclaimed one evening, banging his fist on the table.
‘I know,’ I replied. ‘It isn’t supposed to.’
‘Why do we all waste so much time on it then?’
‘Because it tells us what’s going to happen in the future.’
‘But if we can’t make any sense out of it, how does that help us?’
‘Oh, we can make some sense out of it if we work with it. It’s all jumbled together that way to keep people who don’t have any business knowing what’s going to happen from finding out.’
‘You mean it’s written in code?’
‘You could put it that way, yes.’
‘I think I’ll stick with the other one – the Darine. It’s easier to read and it’s not so splotched up with ink-smears.’
‘Whatever suits you, Geran’
I was more than a little surprised – and pleased – to discover that my young nephew had a surprisingly quick mind. He’d been raised as an Alorn, and you don’t really expect to find brains in an Alorn – except for the Drasnians, of course. A Drasnian’s intelligence, however, is devoted almost exclusively to swindling his neighbors, so he doesn’t waste it on things philosophical.
Geran and I lived quietly in our secluded house for several years. He needed time to grow up, and I needed time to get used to my new occupation. He was about twelve or so, and his voice was beginning to change, when a notion came to him that was surprisingly acute. ‘Do you know what I think, Aunt Pol?’
‘What was that, dear?’
‘I’ve been working on this for a while, and it sort of seems to me that you and grandfather and our uncles live outside of time and the world the rest of us live in. It’s almost as if you lived someplace else – only it’s right here at the same time.’
I laid my book aside. ‘Go on, Geran,’ I urged him.
“This other world you live in is all around the rest of us, but we can’t see it. There are different rules there, too. You all have to live for thousands of years, and you have to learn how to use magic, and you have to spend a lot of time reading old books that none of us can understand. Then, every once in a while, you have to come out into our world to tell the kings what they’re supposed to do, and they have to do it, whether they like it or not. Anyway, I’ve been sort of wondering why. Why do we need two worlds this way? Why not just one? Then it came to me. It’s even more complicated than I thought, because there aren’t just two worlds, but three. The Gods live in one world – out there among the stars – and ordinary people like me live right here on this one where nothing very unusual ever happens. You and grandfather and the uncles live in the third one – the one that’s between the world of the Gods and the world of ordinary people. You live there because you’re our connection to the Gods. The Gods tell you what’s supposed to be done, and you pass the instructions on to us. You live forever, and you can do magic things and see the future and all that because you were chosen to live in that special world between the Gods and the rest of us so that you can guide us in the right direction. Does that make any sense, Aunt Pol?’
‘A great deal of sense, Geran.’
‘There’s more.’
‘I rather thought there might be.’
‘Torak’s out there in the world of the Gods, too, and he’s got people living in the in-between world the same as you and the others do.’
‘Yes. We’re called disciples. Torak’s disciples are Urvon, Ctuchik, and Zedar.’
‘Yes. I read about them. Anyway, Torak has the idea that one thing’s going to happen, and our Gods believe that it’s going to be something else.’
‘That sums it up fairly well, yes.’
‘Then the war of the Gods never really ended, did it?’
‘No. It’s still going on.’
‘Who’s going to win?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Aunt Pol!’ He said it with a note of anguished protest in his voice. ‘Your whole library’s filled with all these prophecies and you still don’t know who’s going to win? Some book here has to come right out and tell us.’
I waved at the shelves. ‘If there is, it’s in there somewhere. Feel free to browse your way through. Let me know if you find it.’
‘That’s not fair!’
I laughed and gathered him in my arms impulsively. He was such a dear, serious boy!
‘Well, it’s not, is it?’ he grumbled.
I laughed even more.
As Geran approached his sixteenth birthday, I realized that if the line of the Rivan King were to be continued, it was time for me to take him out into the world so that he could find himself a wife. I gave some thought to where we might want to live, and Sulturn seemed like a good place to me. Mother, however, had different ideas about that ‘No, Pol,’ her voice came to me one night, ‘not Sulturn, Muros.’
‘Why Muros?’
‘Because that’s where the young lady he’s going to marry lives.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Her name’s Eldara.’
‘That’s an Algar name.’
‘That stands to reason, Pol, since her father’s an Algar. His name’s Hattan, and he’s the second son of a clan chief. He married a Sendarian woman when his clan drove a herd of cattle to Muros. He settled down there and went into business as a cattle buyer. He has connections with all the Algar clans, so he’s very prosperous. Take Geran to Muros, Pol. Let’s get him married off.’
‘Whatever you say, mother.’
I thought it over and decided that Geran and I would need a certain status. A prosperous merchant probably wouldn’t be too excited about marrying his daughter off to some country bumpkin. Clearly, Geran and I would have to go to the city of Sendar. I was going to need some money.
Squire was an elderly horse by now, but he was st
ill sound, even though he did puff a bit when he went uphill. I had Geran dust off and polish one of the small carriages in the barn while I packed some respectable clothes for us in a stout trunk, and in the late spring of the year 4012, my young charge and I set out across Sendaria to the capital city of Sendar. It was a nice time of year for a trip, and there was nothing pressing about our journey, so I let Squire set his own pace. We went southwesterly, and after a few days we reached the crossroads where the country lane we were following intersected with the imperial highway.
‘Which way here, Aunt Pol?’ Geran, who was driving our little carriage, asked me.
‘South, Geran, toward Medalia. Then we’ll take the high road to Sendar.’
‘All right. Move along, Squire.’
Our ancient horse sighed and plodded on.
Medalia had changed a great deal during the centuries since I’d last been there. Sendaria was a peaceable kingdom now, so the defensive wall that’d surrounded Medalia when it’d been a part of my duchy had fallen into disrepair. I disapproved of that, but I decided not to make an issue of it.
It was a week or so later when we reached Sendar, and we took rooms in a substantial inn. After dinner, I went through our trunk and laid out assorted finery for us. ‘Do we really have to dress up like that, aunt Pol?’ Geran asked with a certain distaste. It was definitely time to get him out of the country and back to civilization.
‘Yes,’ I told him quite firmly. ‘We’re going to the palace tomorrow morning, and I’d rather not have to go in through one of the servants’ entrances.’
‘Are we going there to see the king?’
‘No, not really. Our business is with the Royal Treasurer. We might have to talk with the king to get our business taken care of, though, depending on how thick-headed the Treasurer is.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘We need money, and I have plenty of that here. I have to persuade the Treasurer that I’m who I say I am and that the money belongs to me.’
‘Isn’t it a little dangerous to trust all your money to somebody else? He might try to cheat you.’
‘Sendarians are very honest, Geran. I don’t think the Treasurer would do that – and if he has, I have ways to persuade him that he’s made a mistake.’
And so, early the next morning, Prince Geran and I went to the palace of King Falben of Sendaria and to the solidly built wing of that palace that was the repository of the royal treasury. There was the usual delay before we were admitted to the musty-smelling office of the Royal Treasurer. Over the years I’ve noticed that people who are preoccupied with money always seem to have that same odor about them. Money’s almost always locked up somewhere, and nobody who takes care of it ever seems to think of opening the windows to air the place out.
Baron Stilnan, the Royal Treasurer, was a very serious man whose office walls were covered from floor to ceiling with bookcases filled to overflowing with leather-bound account books. There was an almost religious hush in the baron’s office. That’s appropriate, I guess, since money is a religion to the man who spends all his time counting it.
‘I know you’re busy, your Excellency,’ I said after Geran and I had been escorted into his office and had seated ourselves, ‘so I’ll get right to the point. Quite some time ago my family placed certain funds in the care of the crown. I’m here to withdraw some of that money.’
‘I’d need verification of that, Lady –?’
‘We can get to names and other things later, your Excellency. The funds in question are recorded in Volume One of your account books – page 736, if I remember correctly.’
He looked dubious, but he went to his bookshelf and pulled down the last volume on the left of the top shelf.
‘You’ll find a sealed piece of parchment pinned to the page, Baron,’ I advised him. There’s a word written on that parchment. It’s a sort of password that’s there to identify me.’ I pushed a scrap of paper with the name ‘Ontrose’ written on it across his desk. ‘I think you’ll find that this is the word.’
Baron Stilnan blew the dust off the heavy account book, leafed through, found the page, and unpinned the parchment. This is the royal seal of King Fundor the Magnificent!’ he exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I know. Fundor was kind enough to take over the management of the account. The name I gave you matches the name on the parchment, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, it does. The entry says that the original deposit was made by the Duchess of Erat. Are you her descendant, madame?’
‘I am the duchess, Baron, and I haven’t any descendants.’
“The entry’s a hundred and eighty years old, my Lady.’
‘Has it been that long? Where does the time go?’
‘I’ll have to consult with King Falben about this, my Lady. The account’s under royal protection, so he’s the only one who can release funds.’
I sighed. ‘What a bother. Please keep this to yourself, Baron. I have reasons for not wanting my business here to become general knowledge.’
‘Only the king shall know of it, my Lady.’
King Falben of Sendaria was a plain-looking man dressed in sober brown. He was about forty, and there was a bustling sort of air about him that you see in people who have a dozen or more things to do all at the same time. ‘Now,’ he said as he entered the office, ‘what’s this all about, my Lady? Stilnan here was babbling something about a very old account in the royal treasury.’
‘The baron summed it up fairly well, then, your Majesty,’ I replied with a formal curtsey. ‘I placed the funds in the royal treasury some years back. I need some money right now, so I’m here to withdraw part of the account. Why don’t you show his Majesty the entry in the account book, Baron Stilnan?’ I suggested, ‘and the attached document? It might save some time.’
Falben read the relevant material quickly. ‘You claim to be the Lady Polgara?’ he demanded of me, his tone suspicious.
‘She doesn’t claim to be, your Majesty,’ Geran told him. ‘She is Lady Polgara.’
‘My nephew, Geran,’ I introduced the young man.
‘I’ll need something more than just his word, my Lady,’ Falben said. ‘There are all sorts of swindlers running around these days.’
‘Oh, very well,’ I sighed. Then I elevated the King of Sendaria. I’ve found that to be the fastest way to prove my identity to sceptics. There’s something about standing on empty air that almost immediately brings people around to my way of thinking. ‘Satisfied?’ I asked the startled monarch. He stood frozen in mid-air, his eyes wide with astonishment. He nodded violently, and I gently lowered him to the floor. ‘I’m sorry, your Majesty,’ I apologized. ‘We’re both busy, and that usually settles these tiresome arguments in the shortest possible time.’
‘I can see why,’ Falben said in a strained tone of voice Then he went to Stilnan’s desk and looked at the open account book. ‘Did you want to withdraw the entire balance, Lady Polgara?’ he asked, sounding slightly worried.
‘How much is there? I haven’t been keeping track of it.’
The last entry shows something over a half million nobles, my Lady.’
The noble’s a one-ounce gold coin?’
He nodded.
‘I don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to leave here with fifteen tons of gold in my pocket, do you?’
He laughed weakly. ‘You could do it if you wanted to. Lady Polgara. I’ve heard stories about you.’
‘Exaggerations, your Majesty. I think five hundred nobles should cover my current expenses.’
‘Fetch it, Stilnan,’ the king commanded. ‘I have a confession to make, Lady Polgara.’
‘Honest confession is good for the soul, your Majesty.’
‘I’m ashamed to admit that your account’s a little encumbered. We’ve occasionally used it as security for temporary loans when our tax revenues fell a little short of our current needs.’
That’s a legitimate use for dormant money, your Majesty,’ I forgav
e him.
‘Might I ask the source of this fortune?’
‘Rents, your Majesty. My duchy was extensive and I’ve been renting out farmsteads for quite a long time now. I don’t really charge that much rent, but it does seem to be piling up, doesn’t it? Maybe I’ll buy something with it someday – Tol Honeth, perhaps.’
He laughed. ‘It’s probably for sale, Lady Polgara. Everything the Tolnedrans own is for sale.’
Baron Stilnan returned with two large canvas bags of jingling coins. He insisted that I count the money, and then he entered the transaction in the musty old account book.
‘Oh, one last thing, your Majesty,’ I said. ‘I’d rather that word of this visit didn’t get noised about.’
‘Which visit was that, Lady Polgara? I have a terrible memory.’
I laughed, curtsied, and then Geran and I left the royal palace.
‘He seemed like a nice enough fellow,’ Geran noted, plodding along beside me through the streets of Sendar with those two jingling canvas bags.
‘I rather liked him,’ I agreed. Then I frowned. ‘When gold coins rattle together, they make a very distinctive sound, don’t they? I think I’d better devise some way to keep them quiet. We don’t want to attract attention.’
‘Are we going home now, Aunt Pol?’
‘No, Geran. Actually, we’re going to Muros.’
‘Muros? Whatever for?’
‘I haven’t raised you to be a hermit, Geran. It’s time for you to get out in the world and meet people.’
‘Who do I need to meet?’ he asked curiously.
‘I thought it might be nice if you and your wife met each other before the wedding,’ I replied. ‘That’s up to you, though. If you really like surprises, we can go back home and I’ll just send for the lucky girl.’
He blushed furiously and let the matter drop.
Muros hasn’t changed very much over the centuries. It is – and probably always will be – a dusty town permeated with the strong odor of the stockyards. For obvious reasons, there’s a lot of money in Muros. The vast Algar cattle herds have been called ‘gold on the hoof’, and the town literally seethes with cattle-buyers from all the kingdoms of the west. Geran and I took lodgings in a sedate inn on a quiet street, and I went looking for a suitable house for us to occupy on a more permanent basis. I’ve spent a lot of time over the years shopping for real estate, and I’ve developed a kind of instinctive reaction that saves time in the long run. When I see the right house, I know immediately that it’s the one I want. This time, the house was a well-built place on a quiet back street. It didn’t come up to the standards of my town house in Vo Wacune nor my country house on Lake Erat, but I didn’t really want it to. Geran and I would be posing as members of the minor nobility, and the house was suitable for a baroness who was well off, but not exactly rolling in money. It fit our fictional status quite well.
Polgara the Sorceress Page 53