The Rivan Codex

by David Eddings

  Just before the winter storms set in, word reached us from the south that ’Zakath82 has captured the Murgo city of Rak Hagga, a major population center lying perhaps a thousand leagues to the south of Rak Goska. Unless something happens to halt his conquest down there, we may be obliged to take steps against him. His motives are obscure, and his army a bit too large for my comfort.

  5378

  MY apprehensions about ’Zakath appear to have been unfounded. King Urgit of Murgodom, who appears not to share his late father’s headlong insanity, cleverly retreated before the advancing Malloreans, drawing them into the vastness of the great southern forest lying mainly in the Military District of Gorut. There, using the trees for concealment, Urgit had placed the bulk of the Murgo army. As ’Zakath approached Rak Gorut, Urgit fell upon him and massacred half his army. It is difficult for me, as I look out at the snow which chokes the streets of Val Alorn, to adjust myself to the fact that it is summer in those southern latitudes where Urgit and ’Zakath contend with each other across alien landscapes whose harsh names in the Angarak tongue seem made up of the echoes of nightmare. I suspect that this is because at heart I am a simple man and that there lurks within me the unyielding belief that the world is flat and the seasons everywhere the same and that the sun rises upon every inch of the world at the same time. Ah well.

  This spring, Ran Borune became gravely ill, though not even Rhodar’s most clever agents in the palace at Tol Honeth have been able to determine the precise nature of his malady. Surprisingly, the old fox retains enough of his mental faculties to realize that he is no longer able to conduct the day-to-day business of the Empire. He has appointed General Varana Imperial Regent, and he concerns himself only with the most pressing of affairs. Varana’s participation in the Battle of Thull Mardu has made him something of a national hero in Tolnedra, so the Emperor could not have chosen more wisely.

  I traveled this summer to Riva for the meeting of the Alorn Council. Since Torak is dead, our meeting had none of the urgency which had marked those previous, and the entire affair was something more in the nature of a social get-together rather than a council of war. How strange it is to return to Riva now that peace is finally here. Belgarion appears to be maturing, growing as it were, into his crown. I like that young man. If I had a son, I would wish him to be no different. Perhaps if Islena had not that morbid fear of childbirth, I might have had such a son. We all gently jibed at the young King for his failure to produce an heir to his throne, and our jesting put him, I think, a bit out of sorts. He is, perhaps, a bit too sensitive about jokes at his expense, but time will toughen his soul. Belgarath, who came late, was the same as always, as unchanging as the very rocks, but Rhodar appears to be declining. He suffers from shortness of breath and has become dropsical. He can no longer negotiate stairs, though his mind remains alert.

  While we were at Riva, a messenger arrived from Arendia to inform Belgarion that his close friend Lelldorin and his Mimbrate bride had just had their first child, a girl. In the celebration which followed, I managed to get the somewhat overly sober young monarch roaring drunk. It’s important to see how a man behaves when he’s drunk, if you really want to get to know him. Once you get a gallon or so of good ale into Belgarion, he’s quite a different young fellow. He sings abominably, however. The following morning, his suffering was truly pitiable. The boy obviously needs practice. Social drinking is an important part of a monarch’s repertory.

  5379

  I WAS greatly saddened early this year to learn of the sudden death of my friend, Rhodar of Drasnia. We were brother Alorn monarchs, comrades in arms and dear personal friends. His sly wisdom, his unfailing good humor and his true courage made him a rock upon which we all leaned in troubled times. There is of a sudden a huge vacancy in the world, and I feel it profoundly. Porenn has undertaken the regency in behalf of her young son. This causes me some concern, since Porenn is a trifle too much a creature of the Drasnian Intelligence service to make me altogether comfortable.

  Meanwhile, we have learned that ’Zakath is retreating northward, having abandoned the city of Rak Hagga and apparently intending to winter in Rak Cthan near the equator. To compound his difficulties, there are rumors that civil war has broken out in Mallorea. There appear to be strong separatist sentiments in the Seven Kingdoms of Karanda in north central and east-central Mallorea. Should this oblige him to return home to mend his fences, I believe it will mark the end of his adventures on this continent.

  I visited Fulrach early this summer to consult with him concerning events in Drasnia and southern Cthol Murgos. Sendaria is of enormous strategic and logistic importance in the overall posture of the Alorn Kingdoms, so cordial relations between Fulrach and me are essential. An epidemic of hog-cholera has broken out in Sendaria, however, and I found Fulrach totally preoccupied with the problem. I expect that the price of bacon and ham will soar before winter.

  Astounding news from Tol Honeth! General Varana, in an effort at conciliation, called a meeting at the palace to propose a series of steps which would lessen the tensions surrounding the succession to the Imperial throne. The Grand Dukes of all the major houses of Tolnedra were present, as well as the Council of Advisors. The Council, obviously aware that Varana’s proposals would seriously cut into the bribes they were receiving from the great houses, shrilly attempted to shout him down. Varana, normally as patient as a stone, eventually grew irritated; and, acting in his official capacity as regent, he dissolved that body! The Council rashly declared that they would refuse to accept his decree, and he immediately threw the entire lot of them into the Imperial dungeons. Since the die had been cast at that point, Varana, with a certain pragmatism typical of the military mind, took all the Grand Dukes of Tolnedra into protective custody, holding them in comfortable, though well-guarded, apartments in the palace. Then, following the inescapable logic of the situation, he somewhat reluctantly assumed full command of the Tolnedran Empire as military dictator. The entire world trembles under the impact of these events. Much as I dislike the Empire, I must admit that Tolnedra is a tremendously stabilizing factor in world affairs. If she crumbles, the Gods alone know what will happen.

  I am advised that the woman, Taiba, who appears to be as fertile as a rabbit, bore Relg, the Zealot, a second child (a girl) in late 5377 and that now she has just delivered another girl. Given Relg’s tendencies toward extreme asceticism, I’d be curious to know exactly what blandishments she used to lure him to her bed. I mentioned this jocularly to Islena, and she replied with uncharacteristic heat, calling me (among other things) a lewd and disgusting degenerate. Oddly enough, I found the conversation more exhilarating than any I’ve had with her in years.

  5380

  ISLENA continues to behave peculiarly. If I had the time, I’d investigate to find out what’s at the bottom of her problem.

  Trouble in Cthol Murgos! ’Zakath has landed a huge armada on the south coast of the Military District of Hagga and has caught Urgit squarely between two huge Mallorean armies. The battle took place on the border between Hagga and Cthan, and our informants advise us that Urgit was disastrously defeated, barely escaping with his life. ’Zakath has retaken Rak Hagga, and my belief that he was done in this part of the world seems to have been grossly premature. I think that I’d better have a long talk with Belgarion. Things in the south are reaching the point that we’re going to have to take steps.

  Matters in Tolnedra have deteriorated even further, I’m afraid. Ran Borune has ‘adopted’ Varana and has declared the general to be his official and legal heir. The other great houses are shrieking in protest, but the Emperor holds firm. I personally feel that Varana would be an excellent choice for the throne, but I fear that his elevation will cause such tremendous turmoil in Tolnedra that the advantages of having so able an Emperor will be offset by the strife which now seems inevitable. Were times less troubled, I might take pleasure in watching the Tolnedrans go up in flames. The Empire has had too much sway in the affairs of other nations t
o suit me. But with ’Zakath loose in southern Cthol Murgos, this is not the time for any of us in the west to be distracted by internecine bickering.

  MY ISLENA IS PREGNANT! What an amazing thing! Either she has overcome her fear of childbirth or one of the nostrums she routinely takes to prevent pregnancy failed her. She refuses to discuss the matter. Merel, Barak’s wife, is constantly at her side to shore her up in moments of weakness. There is a woman that is made of steel. Sometimes she even intimidates me. She purrs like a kitten when Barak is around, however. I will never understand women. After all these years, I’m going to be a father. Barak and I are now going to go out and get disgustingly drunk.

  The commercial empire of Prince Kheldar and his Nadrak accomplice has swelled beyond the bounds of good taste. They totally dominate trade along the North Caravan Route, and they have hired the shipyards at Yar Marak to build them a fleet of merchant vessels so that they might plunder Mallorea. The rascally Kheldar came to Cherek like a thief in the night and hired away every ship-builder he could find. So total was their defection that I couldn’t even get a row-boat built in the yards at Val Alorn if I needed one. It’s a sad reflection on the times when money commands more respect than patriotism or loyalty to one’s nation and one’s King. Islena swells like a big-bellied sail, and she has developed an insatiable craving for strawberries. Where am I going to find strawberries at this time of year?

  I have sent this day a remonstrance to Prince Kheldar. I should have realized that the boats he was building were only a prelude. He has now begun recruiting sailors. I don’t have enough good men left in Cherek to man the fleet. The wages he offers are absolutely outrageous. I’d have to strip my treasury to match them. He goes too far. He goes too far. I never really liked him anyway.

  Polgara has graciously sent Islena whole baskets of strawberries from her own garden. How she made the bushes bear in the fall is quite beyond me. After eating only two, however, Islena lost interest in them. What am I going to do with all those strawberries?

  Ariana, wife of Lelldorin of Wildantor, has given birth to their first son. I hope that’s a good sign.

  I HAVE A SON!—a great squalling boy with black hair and lungs like a set of bellows! May Belar be blessed! As is our custom, Barak and I took him immediately to the harbor and dipped his feet into the salt water of the sea so that he will ever be a sailor. Upon our return, my cousin and I broached a hogs-head of fine old ale to aid us in our consideration of a suitable name for him. The ale, unfortunately, hampered my creativity, and my Earls advise me that sometime after midnight I poured beer on my son and named him Anheg, after myself. Oh well, Anheg II isn’t such a bad name, I suppose. Islena’s labor lasted only a day and a half, scarcely worth mentioning. She is dramatizing it all out of proportion, however, and I try to humor her. She did, after all, do a fairly good job of carrying my child, and I suppose I owe her something for that.

  5381

  ’ZAKATH has returned to Mallorea and has crushed the rebellion in Karanda. I’m told that his suppression of dissident factions in Zamad, Ganesia and Voresebo was particularly savage. Will nothing halt the man’s run of good luck? I suppose we can expect him back on this continent again before long. My son has his first tooth! He bit me with it this morning—not hard enough to draw blood, but he was trying.

  Ran Borune died this spring. The state funeral was huge. I rather liked him, all things considered, but events in Tolnedra have soured noticeably in the years of his decline. Varana, never one to miss a strategic opportunity, had himself immediately crowned Emperor of Tolnedra. Technically his name is Ran Borune XXIV, but we all still call him Varana. The great houses, of course, are all outraged, but Varana controls the legions, and that is where the real power in Tolnedra lies. The Honeths, the Horbites and the Borunes have all (grudgingly) taken the customary oath of allegiance. The Vordues, however, steadfastly refuse to swear fealty. I suspect that my friend will be obliged to clear that up before his claim to the throne is finally secure.

  A returning sailor has informed me that Prince Kheldar, acting for all the world like a head of state, has paid an official visit to ’Zakath at the Mallorean Imperial capital at Mal Zeth. The sailor was not privy to the details of their conversations, but his descriptions of Kheldar’s glee following the meetings can only lead me to believe that the wily little thief has concluded some very advantageous trade agreements with the Mallorean throne. I can only hope that Kheldar won’t forget that he’s an Alorn.

  Trouble in Arendia again. The Baron of Vo Ebor, seriously wounded at the Battle of Thull Mardu, passed away this preceding winter. His heir, a nephew, asserted his authority as the new baron and promised the hand of the widow Nerina to one of his cronies. Mandorallen, the Baron of Vo Mandor, chose at that point to intervene. He marched into the barony of Vo Ebor and took the sorrowing baroness into ‘protective custody’. Several knights rashly attempted to impede the great man’s progress. The casualties, I understand, were extensive. Once again the Arendish potential for disaster has asserted itself. A state of war now exists between the two baronies, and the rest of the Mimbrate nobility is choosing up sides. Mandorallen is forted up at Vo Mador, paying court to his captive lady, and the new Baron of Vo Ebor, who, it appears, will recover from his wounds, is howling for his head. Korodullin is beside himself, and Lelldorin of Wildantor, ever an enthusiast, is recruiting an army in Asturia to march to the aid of his old comrade in arms. Arends can get into more trouble by accident than most of us can on purpose.

  Taiba, wife of Relg the Zealot, gave birth to twin daughters this fall. She appears to have every intention of repopulating Maragor singlehandedly. The customary presents on each such occasion are beginning to cut into my pocket rather deeply.

  My son is walking now. In celebration, I gave him one small cup of mild beer. Now Islena isn’t talking to me.

  5382

  VARANA’S difficulties in Tolnedra are multiplying. The Vordues steadfastly refuse to admit his legitimacy, and refuse to allow Imperial Tax Collectors into northern Tolnedra. They have instead usurped tax-gathering, and these technically Imperial funds are pouring into the treasure-vaults in the cellars of the Vordue family palaces. The power to tax is the ultimate power of any government, and any interference with tax-gathering is tantamount to an open declaration of war upon the central government. All of Tolnedra holds its breath to see how Varana will respond to the challenge of the Vordues. His situation is difficult. He is reluctant, obviously, to command the legions into the northern provinces to enforce his authority by the sword. His claim to the throne is tenuous at best, and harsh measures against the Vorduvian insurgents would quickly give him a reputation as a tyrant. He cannot, however, allow this challenge to pass unanswered. I sympathize with him in this difficult time.

  At the request of King Korodullin of Arendia, Belgarion of Riva sailed to that kingdom to mediate the dispute between the Baronies of Mandor and Ebor. He came upon them as they were engaging upon the plains of southern Arendia. At first, the din of battle drowned out our young friend’s voice as he attempted to call a halt to the hostilities. Presently, he grew irritated. I suspect this to be a trait of his family. I have noted that same irritability in Belgarath on numerous occasions. At any rate, Belgarion drew his sword. Now this is a spectacle which will stop any man from doing anything in which he is currently engaged. The sword, of course, immediately leapt joyously into flame. The sight of Belgarion, his burning sword held aloft, his face angry and his eyes ablaze, caused a great consternation among the two armies. To emphasize his dissatisfaction with their behavior, the young King of Riva called upon his power of sorcery. The first thunder-clap he called down shook the earth as far as Vo Mimbre and tumbled fully armed knights from their saddles. The second ripped open the sky and engulfed the entire battlefield in an unbelievable downpour of rain and hail. With a single word he stopped the torrential rain and then spoke to the two armies in a voice which could be heard clearly three leagues away. His words are clea
rly engraved upon the memories of all who were present.

  ‘Stop this foolishness at once!’ he commanded them. He then pointed his sword at the Baron of Vo Ebor. ‘You,’ he said, ‘come here.’ The Baron tremblingly approached him. ‘You,’ he said then to Sir Mandorallen, ‘I want you over here, too.’ Pale-faced, the great knight obeyed. Belgarion then proceeded to give the two a blistering dressing-down. Finally, after he had reduced the pair of them nearly to tears, he ended their war with a series of blunt commands. To the Baron of Vo Ebor he said, ‘You will immediately surrender any and all claims of authority over the person and future of the Baroness Nerina.’ To Sir Mandorallen he said, ‘You will return immediately to Vo Mandor, where you will marry the lady in question. You will—here and now—relinquish any and all territorial claims on behalf of the Baroness. In short, gentlemen, the Baron gets the land, and Mandorallen gets the lady—and that is that!’ He then glared at them. ‘Now go home,’ he said. ‘I’m sick of looking at both of you.’ And that ended the civil war.

  The Baroness Nerina, an Arend to the bone, protested vigorously when Belgarion and Mandorallen advised her that she was that day to be married to the man she had loved for all those years. Quite clearly she saw all those splendid opportunities for tragic suffering flying out the window. Belgarion, however, would have none of that. Bluntly he silenced her and then quite literally drove the pair of them before him to the chapel and stood threateningly over them while the priest of Chaldan performed the ceremony. Thus ended one of the great tragic love-stories of contemporary history. The melancholy Baroness is now radiant; gloomy Mandorallen now smiles foolishly all the time; and Belgarion returned to Riva with a self-congratulatory smirk on his lips.