The Seeress of Kell

by David Eddings

  ‘You mean actually to give back some of the taxes after he’s gone to all the trouble of extorting them from his people?’ Garion asked in mock surprise. ‘What a shocking thing to suggest.’

  ‘Carefully, thy champions reconnoitered the area around the village,’ Belgarath was saying, ‘and they soon located the dragon, which was at that very moment feeding on the bodies of a herd of horses.’

  ‘I only saw one,’ Zakath whispered.

  ‘Sometimes he embellishes things to make his stories more exciting,’ Garion whispered back.

  Belgarath was warming to his subject now. ‘Advised by me,’ he said modestly, ‘thy champions paused to take stock of the situation. At once we all perceived that the dragon’s attention was wholly riveted upon its grisly feast, and of a certainty, because of its size and savagery, it had never been given reason to be wary. Thy champions separated and circled around the feeding dragon that they might attack one from either side, hoping thereby to drive their lances into its vitals. Cautiously, step by step, they moved, for though they are the bravest men on life, they are not foolhardy.’

  There was absolute silence in the throne room as the king’s court listened to the old man with that same breathless fascination Garion had seen before in the dining hall at Faldor’s farm.

  ‘Isn’t he laying it on a bit thick?’ Zakath whispered.

  ‘It’s a compulsion, I think,’ Garion whispered back. ‘Grandfather’s never been able to let a good story rest on its own merits. He always feels the need for artistic enhancement.’

  Certain now that he had his audience’s full attention, Belgarath began to utilize all those subtle tricks of the storyteller’s art. He altered pitch and volume. He changed cadences. Sometimes, his voice dropped to a whisper. He was obviously enjoying himself enormously. He described the simultaneous charge on the dragon in glowing detail. He told of the dragon’s inital retreat, adding gratuitously a wholly fictional feeling of triumph in the hearts of the two knights and their belief that they had struck mortal blows with their lances. Though this last was not entirely true, it helped to heighten the suspense.

  ‘I wish I’d seen that fight,’ Zakath murmured. ‘Ours was a lot more prosaic.’

  The old man then went on to describe the dragon’s vengeful return, and, just to make things interesting, he expanded hugely on Zakath’s mortal peril. ‘And then,’ he went on, ‘heedless of his own life, his stalwart companion leaped into the fray. Sick with the fear that his friend might already have received fatal injury and filled with righteous rage, he hurled himself into the very teeth of the beast with great two-handed strokes of his mighty blade.’

  ‘Were you really thinking those things?’ Zakath asked Garion.

  ‘Approximately.’

  ‘And then,’ Belgarath said, ‘though it may have been some trick of the flickering light coming from the burning village, me thought I saw the hero’s blade come all aflame. Again and again he struck, and each stroke was rewarded with rivers of bright blood and with shrieks of agony. And then, horror of horrors, a chance blow from the dragon’s mighty talons hurled our champion back, and then he stumbled, and then he fell – full upon the body of his companion, who was still vainly striving to rise.’

  Groans of despair came from the throng crowding the throne room, even though the presence of the two heroes plainly said that they had survived.

  ‘I admit it freely,’ Belgarath continued, ‘that I felt dark despair in my heart. But as the savage dragon souught to slay our champions, the one – I may not say his name – plunged his burning sword into the very eye of the loathesome beast.’

  There was a great roar of applause.

  ‘Shrieking in pain, the dragon faltered and fell back. Our champions took advantage of this momentary opportunity to regain their feet. And then what a mighty battle ensued.’ Belgarath proceeded in loving detail to describe at least ten times more sword strokes than Garion and Zakath had actually delivered.

  ‘If I’d swung that sword that many times, my arms would have fallen off,’ Zakath said.

  ‘Never mind,’ Garion said. ‘He’s enjoying himself.’

  ‘At last,’ Belgarath concluded, ‘unable to any longer bear the dreadful punishment, the dragon, which had never known fear before, turned and cravenly fled from the field, to pass, as your Majesty hath said, directly over this fair city toward its hidden lair, where the fear it hath learned this night will, methinks, canker far more than the wounds it received. It will, I believe, never return to thy kingdom, your Majesty, for, stupid though it may be, it will not willingly return to the place which hath been the site of so much pain. And that, your Majesty, is exactly what happened.’

  ‘Masterful!’ the king said delightedly. And from the assemblage there in the throne room came thunderous applause. Belgarath turned and bowed, signaling to Garion and Zakath to do likewise, generously permitting them to share in the adulation.

  The nobles of the court, some of them with actual tears in their eyes, pressed forward to congratulate the trio, Garion and Zakath for their heroism and Belgarath for his lurid description of it. Naradas, Garion noticed, stood at the king’s elbow, his dead white eyes burning with hatred. ‘Brace yourselves,’ Garion warned his friends. ‘Naradas is planning something.’

  When the hubbub had died down, the white-eyed Grolim stepped to the front of the dais. ‘I, too, join my voice with these others in this hall to heap praise upon these mighty heroes and their brilliant advisor. Never hath this kingdom seen their match. Methinks, however, that caution is indicated here. I do fear me that Master Garath, fresh from the scene of this unutterably magnificent struggle and understandably exhilarated by what he hath witnessed, may have been too sanguine in his assessment of the dragon’s present state of mind. Truly, most normal creatures would shun a place which hath been the locale of such desperate agony, but this foul, loathesome brute is no normal creature. Might it not be more probable that, given what we know of it, it will instead be consumed with rage and a hunger and a thirst for revenge? Should these mighty champions depart now, this fair and beloved kingdom would lie defenseless beneath the vengeful depradations of a creature consumed with hatred.’

  ‘I knew he was going to do that,’ Zakath grated.

  ‘I am honor bound, therefore,’ Naradas added, ‘to advise his Majesty and the members of his court to consider long and well rather than make hasty decision concerning the disposition of these knights. We have seen that they are perhaps the only two on life who can face this monster with any hope of success. Of what other knights in all this land are there any of whom we can make the same statement with any degree of certainty?’

  ‘What thou sayest may well be true, Master Erezel,’ the king said with surprising coolness, ‘but it would be churlish of me to hold them here against their will in view of the sacred nature of the quest in which they are engaged. We have delayed them here too long already. They have rendered us amply sufficient service. To insist on more would be ungrateful of us in the extreme. I thereby decree that tomorrow will be a day of celebration and of gratitude throughout the realm and shall culminate with a royal banquet at which we will honor these mighty champions and bid them a regretful farewell. I do perceive that the sun hath risen, and our champions are doubtless greatly fatigued by the rigors of the tourney of yesterday and by their encounter last night with the loathesome dragon. This day, therefore, will be a day of preparation, and tomorrow will be a day of joy and thanksgiving. Let us then to our beds for a time to refresh ourselves that we may more assiduously turn to our several tasks.’

  ‘I thought he’d never get around to that,’ Zakath said as the three of them moved through the packed throne-room. ‘Right now I could sleep standing up.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ Garion said. ‘You’re wearing armor, and you’d make an awful clatter when you toppled over. I don’t want to be startled out of sleep. I’m as tired as you are.’

  ‘At least you have someone to sleep with.’
<
br />   ‘Two someones, actually, counting the puppy. Puppies take an unwholesome interest in toes, I’ve noticed.’

  Zakath laughed.

  ‘Grandfather,’ Garion said, ‘up until now, the king has blithely gone along with anything Naradas suggested. Did you tamper with him at all?’

  ‘I made a couple of suggestions,’ Belgarath admitted. ‘I don’t usually like to do that, but the situation was a bit unusual.’

  It was in the corridor outside where Naradas caught up with them. ‘You haven’t won yet, Belgarath,’ he hissed.

  ‘No, probably not,’ Belgarath admitted with aplomb, ‘but then, neither have you, Naradas, and I imagine Zandramas – you’ve heard the name before, I trust – will be a bit cross with you when she finds out how miserably you’ve failed here. Maybe, if you start running right now, you can get away from her – for a while, at least.’

  ‘This isn’t the end of this, Belgarath.’

  ‘Never thought it was, old boy.’ Belgarath reached out and insultingly patted Naradas on the cheek. ‘Run along now, Grolim,’ he advised, ‘while you still have your health.’ He paused. ‘Unless, of course, you’d like to challenge me. Considering your limited talents, I don’t advise it, but that’s entirely up to you.’

  After one startled look at the Eternal Man, Naradas fled.

  ‘I enjoy doing that to his kind,’ Belgarath gloated.

  ‘You are a dreadful old man, aren’t you?’ Zakath said.

  ‘Never pretended not to be, Zakath,’ Belgarath grinned. ‘Let’s go talk with Sadi. Naradas is starting to become an inconvenience. I think it’s high time he left us.’

  ‘You’ll do anything, won’t you?’ Zakath asked as they continued down the corridor.

  ‘To get the job done? Of course.’

  ‘And when I interfered with you back in Rak Hagga, you could have blown me into nothingness, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Probably, yes.’

  ‘But you didn’t. Why not?’

  ‘Because I thought I might need you, and I saw more in you than others did.’

  ‘More than Emperor of half the world?’

  ‘That’s trash, Zakath,’ Belgarath said scornfully. ‘Your friend here is Overlord of the West, and he still has trouble getting his boots on the right feet.’

  ‘I do not!’ Garion objected vehemently.

  ‘That’s probably because you’ve got Ce’Nedra to help you figure it out. That’s what you really need, Zakath – a wife, someone to keep you looking reasonably presentable.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s quite out of the question, Belgarath,’ Zakath sighed.

  ‘We’ll see,’ the Eternal Man said.

  The greetings they received in their quarters in the royal palace at Dal Perivor were not cordial.

  ‘You old fool!’ Polgara began, speaking to her father. Things deteriorated quite rapidly from there.

  ‘You idiot!’ Ce’Nedra shrieked at Garion.

  ‘Please, Ce’Nedra,’ Polgara said patiently, ‘let me finish first.’

  ‘Oh, of course, Lady Polgara,’ the Rivan Queen agreed politely. ‘Sorry. You have many more years of aggravation than I do. Besides, I can get this one alone in bed and give him a piece of my mind.’

  ‘And you wanted me to get married?’ Zakath asked Belgarath.

  ‘It has its drawbacks,’ Belgarath replied calmly. He looked around. ‘The walls are still standing, I see, and there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of explosions. Maybe, eventually, you’ll grow up after all, Pol.’

  ‘Another note?’ she half-shrieked. ‘A miserable note?’

  ‘We were pressed for time.’

  ‘The three of you went up against the dragon alone?’

  ‘More or less–yes. The she-wolf was with us, however.’

  ‘An animal? That’s your idea of protection?’

  ‘She was very helpful.’

  At that point, Polgara began to swear – in several different languages.

  ‘Why, Pol,’ he objected mildly, ‘you don’t even know what those words mean – at least I hope you don’t.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate me, old man. This isn’t over yet. All right, Ce’Nedra, it’s your turn.’

  ‘I think I’d prefer to conduct my discussions with his Majesty in private – where I can be much more direct,’ the tiny queen said in an icy tone.

  Garion winced.

  Then, surprisingly, Cyradis spoke. ‘It was discourteous of thee, Emperor of Mallorea, to hurl thyself into mortal danger without first consulting me.’ Belgarath, it appeared, had been characteristically obscure in his discussion with her before they had gone forth to face the dragon, conveniently forgetting to mention what they proposed to do.

  ‘I beg thy forgiveness, Holy Seeress,’ Zakath apologized, lapsing, perhaps unconsciously, into archaic language. ‘The urgency of the matter was such that there was no time for consultation.’

  ‘Nicely spoken,’ Velvet murmured. ‘We’ll make a gentleman out of him yet.’

  Zakath raised his visor and grinned at her – a surprisingly boyish grin.

  ‘As it may be, Kal Zakath,’ Cyradis continued sternly, ‘know that I am wroth with thee for thy hasty and unthinking rashness.’

  ‘I am covered with confusion, Holy Seeress, that I have offended thee, and I hope that thou canst find it in thy heart to forgive mine error.’

  ‘Oh,’ Velvet sighed, ‘he’ll be just fine. Kheldar, were you taking notes?’

  ‘Me?’ Silk sounded surprised.

  ‘Yes. You.’

  There were far too many things going on, and Garion was hovering on the verge of exhaustion. ‘Durnik,’ he said a bit plaintively, ‘can you help me out of this?’ He rapped his knuckles on the breastplate of his armor.

  ‘If you wish.’ Even Durnik’s voice sounded cold.

  ‘Does he really have to sleep with us?’ Garion complained about midmorning.

  ‘He’s warm,’ Ce’Nedra replied in a snippy tone, ‘which is more than I can say for some others. Besides, he sort of fills the vacancy I have in my heart – in a small way, of course.’

  The wolf puppy under the covers was enthusiastically licking Garion’s toes, then, inevitably, fell to nibbling.

  They slept for a goodly part of the day, rising about midafternoon. They sent a servant to the king, asking to be excused from this night’s festivities, pleading extreme fatigue.

  ‘Wouldn’t this be a good time to ask to see that map?’ Beldin asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Belgarath replied. ‘Naradas is getting desperate now. He knows how unforgiving Zandramas can be, so he’ll do just about anything to keep us away from that chart. He still has the king’s ear, and he’ll come up with all kinds of excuses to stop us. Why don’t we just let him wonder about what we’re up to. It might help to keep him off-balance until Sadi has the chance to put him to sleep.’

  The eunuch bowed a bit mockingly.

  ‘There’s an alternative, Belgarath,’ Silk volunteered. ‘I could slip around a bit and fish for information. If I can pinpoint the location of the map, a bit of burglary could solve our problem.’

  ‘What if you got caught?’ Durnik asked.

  ‘Please, Durnik,’ Silk said in a pained voice, ‘don’t be insulting.’

  ‘It’s got some possibilities,’ Velvet said. ‘Kheldar could steal a man’s teeth even if the man had his mouth closed.’

  ‘Better not chance it,’ Polgara told her. ‘Naradas is a Grolim, and he may very well have laid a few traps around that chart. He knows all of us, by reputation at least, and I’m sure he’s fully aware of Silk’s specialized talents.’

  ‘Do we really have to kill him?’ Eriond asked sadly, ‘Naradas, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t think we have any choice, Eriond,’ Garion said. ‘As long as he’s still alive, we’ll be stumbling over him at every turn.’ He frowned. ‘It may be my imagination, but Zandramas seems very reluctant to leave the choice to Cyradis. If she can block us, she’ll win by de
fault.’

  ‘Thy perception is not altogether awry, Belgarion,’ Cyradis told him. ‘Zandramas indeed hath done all in her power to thwart my task.’ She smiled briefly. ‘I tell thee truly, she hath caused me much vexation, and were the choice to be between her and thee, well might I be tempted to choose against her by way of retribution.’

  ‘I never thought I’d hear that from one of the seers,’ Beldin said. ‘Are you actually coming down off that fence, Cyradis?’

  She smiled again. ‘Dear, gentle Beldin,’ she said affectionately, ‘our neutrality is not the result of whim, but of duty – a duty laid upon us before even thou wast born.’

  Since they had slept most of the day, they talked well into the night. Garion awoke refreshed the next morning and prepared to face the day’s festivities.

  The nobles at the court of King Oldorin had utilized the previous day and probably half the night preparing speeches – long, flowery, and generally tedious speeches – in praise of ‘our heroic champions’. Protected by his closed visor, Garion frequently found himself dozing – a languor brought on not by weariness, but by boredom. At one point he heard a light clang on the side of his armor.

  ‘Ouch!’ Ce’Nedra said, rubbing her elbow.

  ‘What’s the matter, dear?’

  ‘Do you have to wear all that steel?’

  ‘Yes, but you know I’m wearing it. What possessed you to try to gouge me in the ribs?’

  ‘Habit, I suppose. Stay awake, Garion.’

  ‘I wasn’t sleeping,’ he lied.

  ‘Really? Why were you snoring then?’

  Following the speeches, the king assessed the glassy-eyed condition of his court and called upon ‘Good Master Feldegast’ to lighten things up.

  Beldin was at his outrageous best that day. He walked on his hands; he did astonishing back-flips; he juggled with amazing dexterity – all the while telling jokes in his lilting brogue. ‘I hope I’ve managed in me small way t’ add t’ the festivities, yer Majesty,’ he concluded the performance after bowing in response to the enthusiastic applause of the assemblage.

  ‘Thou art truly a virtuoso, Master Feldegast,’ the king complimented him. ‘The memory of thy performance this day will warm many a dreary winter evening in this hall.’