Belgarath the Sorcerer

by David Eddings

  The Marag invasion had occurred almost a hundred years earlier, but there were still abundant signs of the devastation it had caused. The abandoned cities, choked in vines and bushes, still showed evidence of fire and of the kind of destruction siege-engines cause. Now the Nyissans themselves scrupulously avoided those uninviting ruins. When you get right down to it, Nyissa is a theocracy. Salmissra is not only queen, but also the High Priestess of the Serpent God. Thus, when she gives an order, her people automatically obey her, and she’d ordered them to go live out in the brush with the snakes.

  I was a little footsore when I reached Sthiss Tor, and very hungry. You have to be careful about what you eat in Nyissa. Virtually every plant and a fair number of the birds and animals are either narcotic, or poisonous, or both.

  I located a ferry-landing and crossed the River of the Serpent to the garish city of Sthiss Tor. The Nyissans are an inspired people. The rest of the world likes to believe that inspiration is a gift from the Gods, but the Nyissans have found a simpler way to achieve that peculiar ecstasy. Their jungles abound with various plants with strange properties, and the snake-people are daring experimenters. I knew a Nyissan once who was addicted to nine different narcotics. He was the happiest fellow I’ve ever known. It’s probably not a good idea to have your house designed by an architect with a chemically augmented imagination, however. Assuming that it doesn’t collapse on the workmen during construction, it’s likely to have any number of peculiar features - stairways that don’t go anyplace, rooms that there’s no way to get into, doors that open out into nothing but air, and assorted other inconveniences. It’s also likely to be painted a color which doesn’t have a name and has never appeared in any rainbow.

  I knew where Salmissra’s palace was, since Beldin and I had been in Sthiss Tor during the Marag invasion, so I wasn’t obliged to ask directions of people who didn’t even know where they were, much less where anything else was.

  The functionaries in the palace were all shaved-headed eunuchs. There’s probably a certain logic there. From puberty onward, the assorted Salmissras are kept on a regimen of various compounds that slow the normal aging process. It’s very important that Salmissra forever looks the same as the original handmaiden of Issa. Unfortunately, one of the side-effects of those compounds is a marked elevation of the Queen’s appetite - and I’m not talking about food. Salmissra does have a kingdom to run, and if her servants were functional adult males, she’d probably never get anything done.

  Please, I’m trying to put this as delicately as possible.

  The queen knew that I was coming, of course. One of the qualifications for the throne of Nyissa is the ability to perceive things that others can’t. It’s not exactly like our peculiar gift, but it serves its purpose. The eunuchs greeted me with genuflections and various other fawning gestures of respect and immediately escorted me to the throne room. The current Salmissra, naturally, looked the same as all her predecessors, and she was reclining on a divanlike throne, admiring her reflection in a mirror and stroking the bluntly pointed head of a pet snake. Her gown was diaphanous, and it left very little to the imagination. The huge stone statue of Issa, the Serpent God, loomed behind the dais where his current handmaiden lay.

  ‘Hail, Eternal Salmissra,’ the eunuch who was escorting me intoned, prostrating himself on the polished floor.

  ‘The Chief Eunuch approaches the throne,’ the dozen red-robed functionaries intoned in unison.

  ‘What is it, Sthess?’ Salmissra replied in an indifferent sort of voice.

  ‘Ancient Belgarath entreats audience with the Beloved of Issa.’

  Salmissra turned her head slowly and gazed at me with those colorless eyes of hers. ‘The Handmaiden of Issa greets the Disciple of Aldur,’ she proclaimed.

  ‘Fortunate the Disciple of Aldur to be received by the Serpent Queen,’ the chorus intoned.

  ‘You’re looking well, Salmissra,’ I responded, cutting across about a half-hour of tedious formality.

  ‘Do you really think so, Belgarath?’ She said it with a kind of girlish ingenuousness which suggested that she was quite young - probably no more than two or three years on the throne.

  ‘You always look well, dear,’ I replied. The little endearment was probably a violation of all sorts of rules, but I felt that, considering her age, I could get away with it.

  ‘The honored guest greets Eternal Salmissra,’ the chorus announced.

  ‘Do you suppose we could dispense with that?’ I asked, jerking my thumb over my shoulder at the kneeling eunuchs. ‘You and I need to talk, and all that singing distracts my attention.’

  ‘A private audience, Belgarath?’ she asked me archly.

  I winked at her with a sly smirk.

  ‘It is our pleasure that the Ancient One shall divulge his mind to us in private,’ she announced to her worshipers. ‘You have our permission to withdraw.’

  ‘Well, really!’ I heard one of them mutter in an outraged tone.

  ‘Remain if you wish, Kass,’ Salmissra said to the protestor in an indifferent tone of voice. ‘Know, however, that no one living will hear what passes between me and the disciple of Aldur. Go and live - or stay and die.’ She had style, I’ll give her that. Her offer cleared the throne room immediately.

  ‘Well,’ she said, her colorless eyes smoldering, ‘now that we’re alone.’ She left it hanging suggestively.

  ‘Ah, don’t y’ be after temptin’ me, Darlin’,’ I said, grinning. Beldin had gotten away with that; why couldn’t I?

  She actually laughed. That was the only time I ever heard one of the hundred or more Salmissras do that.

  ‘Let’s get down to business, Salmissra,’ I suggested briskly. ‘I’ve been conducting a survey of the western kingdoms, and I think we might profitably exchange some information.’

  ‘I hunger for your words, Ancient One,’ she said, her face taking on an outrageously vapid expression. This one had a very sharp mind and a highly developed sense of humor. I quickly altered my approach. An intelligent Salmissra was a dangerous novelty.

  ‘You know what happened in Mallorea, of course,’ I began.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied simply. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Would you like to sit here?’ she invited, rising to a half-sitting position and patting the seat of the divan beside her.

  ‘Ah - thanks, but I think better on my feet. Aloria’s been divided into four separate kingdoms now.’

  ‘Yes, I know. How did you ever browbeat Cherek into permitting that?’

  ‘I didn’t. Belar did.’

  ‘Is Cherek really that religious?’

  ‘He didn’t like it, but he saw the necessity for it. Riva’s got the Orb now, and he’s on the Isle of the Winds. You might want to warn your sea-captains to stay away from the Isle. Cherek’s got a fleet of war-boats, and they’ll sink any ship that goes within fifty leagues of Riva’s island.’

  Her colorless eyes grew speculative. ‘I just had a very interesting thought, Belgarath.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Is Riva married yet?’

  ‘No. He’s still a bachelor.’

  ‘You might tell him that I’m not married, either. Doesn’t that suggest something rather interesting to you? It certainly does to me.’

  I almost choked on that one. ‘You’re not really serious, are you?’

  ‘It’s something worth exploring, don’t you think? Nyissa’s a small nation, and my people don’t make very good soldiers. The Marag invasion taught us that. If Riva and I were to marry, it’d form a very interesting alliance.’

  ‘Don’t the rules say that you’re not supposed to marry?’

  ‘Rules are tiresome, Belgarath. People like you and me can ignore them when it suits us. Let’s be honest here. I’m the figurehead ruler of a weak nation, and I don’t like that very much. I think I’d like to take real power instead. An alliance with the Alorns might just make that possible.’

  ‘You’d be
flying in the face of tradition, you know.’

  ‘Traditions are like rules, Belgarath. They’re made to be ignored. Issa’s been dormant for a long time now. The world’s changing, and if Nyissa doesn’t change, too, we’ll be left behind. We’ll be a small, primitive backwater. I think I might just be the one to change that.’

  ‘It wouldn’t work, Salmissra,’ I told her.

  ‘My sterility, you mean? I can take care of that. All I have to do is stop taking those drugs, and I’ll be as fertile as any young woman. I’ll be able to give Riva a son to rule his island, and he can give me a daughter to rule here. We could alter the balance of power in this part of the world.’

  I laughed. ‘It’d send the Tolnedrans into hysterics, if nothing else.’

  ‘That in itself would be worth the trouble.’

  ‘It would indeed, but I’m afraid it’s out of the question. Riva’s already been spoken for.’

  ‘Oh? Who’s the lucky girl?’

  ‘I haven’t any idea. It’s one of those marriages made in heaven. The Gods have already selected Riva’s bride.’

  She sighed. ‘Pity,’ she murmured. ‘Ah, well. Riva’s still only a boy. I suppose I could educate him, but that’s sort of tiresome. I prefer experienced men.’

  I moved on rather quickly. This was a very dangerous young lady. ‘The Arendish civil war’s heating up. Asturia and Wacune are currently allied against Mimbre - at least they were when I was there. It was two whole months ago, though, so the situation might have changed by now.’

  ‘Arends,’ she sighed, rolling her eyes upward.

  ‘Amen to that. The second Honethite Dynasty’s winding down in Tolnedra. They might be able to squeeze out one or two more emperors, but that well’s almost dry. The Vorduvians are waiting in the wings - not very patiently.’

  ‘I hate the Vorduvians,’ she said.

  ‘Me too. We’ll have to endure them, though.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She paused, her pale eyes hooded. ‘I heard about your recent bereavement,’ she said tentatively. ‘You have my sincerest sympathy.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I even managed to say it in a level tone.

  ‘Another possibility occurs to me,’ she said then. ‘You and I are both currently at liberty. An alliance between us might be even more interesting than one between Riva and me. Torak isn’t going to stay in Mallorea forever, you know. He’s already sent scouting parties across the land-bridge. It’s just a matter of time until there’s an Angarak presence on this continent, and that’ll bring in the Grolims. Don’t you think we should start to get ready?’

  I got very careful at that point. I was obviously dealing with a political genius here. ‘You’re tempting me again, Salmissra.’ I was lying, of course, but I think I managed to convince her that I was interested in her obscene suggestion. Then I sighed. ‘Unfortunately, it’s forbidden.’

  ‘Forbidden?’

  ‘By my Master, and I wouldn’t even consider crossing him.’

  She sighed. ‘What a shame. I guess that still leaves me with the Alorns. Maybe I’ll invite Dras or Algar to pay a visit to Sthiss Tor.’

  ‘They have responsibilities in the north, Salmissra, and you have yours here. It wouldn’t be much of a marriage, no matter which of them you chose. You’d seldom see each other.’

  ‘Those are the best kind of marriages. We wouldn’t have so much chance to bore each other.’ She brought the flat of her hand sharply down on the arm of her throne. ‘I’m not talking about love, Belgarath. I need an alliance, not entertainment. I’m in a very dangerous situation here. I was foolish enough to let a few things slip when I first came to the throne. The eunuchs know that I’m not just a silly girl consumed by her appetites. I’m sure that the candidates for my throne are already in training. As soon as one’s chosen, the eunuchs will poison me. If I can’t find an Alorn to marry, I’ll have to take a Tolnedran - or an Arend. My life depends on it, old man.’

  Then I finally understood. It wasn’t ambition that was driving her so much as it was her instinct for self-preservation. ‘You do have an alternative, you know,’ I told her. ‘Strike first. Dispose of your eunuchs before they’re ready to dispose of you.’

  ‘I already thought of that, but it won’t work. They all dose themselves with antidotes to every known poison.’

  ‘As far as I know, there’s no antidote for a knife-thrust in the heart, Salmissra.’

  ‘We don’t do things that way in Nyissa.’

  ‘Then your eunuchs won’t be expecting it, will they?’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘No,’ she agreed, ‘they wouldn’t.’ She suddenly giggled. ‘I’d have to get them all at once, of course, but a bloodbath of those dimensions would be quite an object lesson, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It’d be a long time before anybody ever tried to cross you again, dear.’

  ‘What a wonderful old man you are,’ she said gratefully. ‘I’ll have to find some way to reward you.’

  ‘I don’t really have any need for money, Salmissra.’

  She gave me a long, smoldering look. ‘I’ll have to think of something else, then, won’t I?’

  I thought it might be a good idea to change the subject at that point. ‘What’s happening to the south?’ I asked her.

  ‘You tell me. The people down there are western Dals. Nobody knows what the Dals are doing. Somehow they’re in contact with the Seers at Kell. I think we’d all better keep an eye on the Dals. In many ways they have a more dangerous potential than the Angaraks. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Torak’s left the ruins of Cthol Mishrak. He’s in a place called Ashaba in the Karandese mountains now. He’s passing orders on to the Grolims through Ctuchik and Urvon. Nobody knows where Zedar is.’ She paused. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit here beside me?’ she offered again. ‘We wouldn’t really have to get married, you know. I’m sure Aldur wouldn’t object to a more informal arrangement. Come sit beside me, Belgarath, and we can talk about that reward I mentioned. I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something you’d like.’

  Chapter 20

  When you consider all the trouble I’ve had with a long string of Salmissras, my feelings about that particular one are just a bit unusual, but then so was she. The selection of each new Queen of Nyissa is based almost entirely on physical appearance. At a certain point in the life of a reigning queen, twenty candidates for the succession are chosen. The palace eunuchs have a painting of the original Salmissra, and they go through the kingdom comparing that painting to the faces of all the twelve-year-old girls they can find. Twenty are selected and are taken to country estates lying in the vicinity of Sthiss Tor for training. When the old queen dies, the twenty are closely examined, and one of them is elevated to the throne. The other nineteen are killed. It’s brutal, but it is politically sound. Appearance and manner are the deciding factors in the election. Intelligence is not taken into consideration. In that kind of random selection, however, you have as much chance of choosing a genius as an idiot. Quite clearly, they got a bright one this time. She was beautiful, of course. Salmissra always is. She had all of the proper mannerisms, naturally, since her very life had depended on learning those mannerisms. She had, however, been clever enough to conceal her intelligence, her sense of humor, and the sheer force of her personality - until after she’d ascended the throne. Once she’d been crowned queen, she thought she was safe. I imagine that the palace eunuchs were very upset when they discovered her true nature - upset enough at any rate to start planning her assassination.

  I liked her. She was an intelligent young woman making the best of a bad situation. As she’d mentioned, the various drugs she took to maintain her appearance made her infertile, but she’d already come up with a solution to that problem. I’ve always sort of wondered what might have happened if she had married. It might have changed the course of history in that part of the world.

  I lingered in her palace for a couple of weeks, and then I rather regretfully moved on. My hostess was generous enou
gh to lend me her royal barge, and I went up the River of the Serpent to the rapids in style for a change.

  When the barge reached the rapids, I went ashore on the north bank and took the trail that wound up into the mountains toward Maragor.

  It was a relief to get up out of the Nyissan swamps. For one thing, I didn’t have to keep a constant eye out for snakes anymore, and for another, I wasn’t continually trailing a cloud of mosquitoes. I’m not really sure which of them is worse. The air grew cooler as I ascended into that spur of mountains, and the forests thinned out. I’ve always rather liked mountains.

  There was a bit of trouble at the border of Maragor. The Marags were still practicing that ritual cannibalism Beldin had told me about, and the border guards tended to look upon travelers as a food source. I didn’t have too much trouble persuading them that I probably wouldn’t taste good, though, and then I went northeast toward the capital at Mar Amon.

  I believe I’ve hinted at some of the peculiarities of the Marag culture before, but I suspect I’ll have to be a little more specific at this point. The God Mara was just a bit overly enthusiastic about physical beauty. For a woman, this presents no particular problem; she either has it or she hasn’t. A man, however, has to work on it. Masculine beauty involves muscle development, so Marag men spent a great deal of time lifting heavy things over their heads. That gets boring after a while, though, and there’s not much point in having bushel-baskets full of muscles if you don’t use them for something. The men of Maragor devised contests of various sorts - running, jumping, throwing things, swimming, and the like. Unfortunately, if you develop enough muscles, they’ll eventually start to squeeze your head and reduce the size of your brain. In time, most of the men of Maragor were all as beautiful as marble statues - and almost as intelligent. They were totally incapable of even taking care of themselves, and so the women had to take over. They owned all the property, and they housed their childlike heroes in dormitories and arranged various athletic competitions that kept those beautiful specimens of manhood happy.