I think that perhaps I'll go to Riva and have a talk with Garion about that.
I'm beginning to develop a theory, and I'd like to check it with him. That peculiar voice has spent much more time with him than it ever did with me, so he's far more familiar with its quirks than I am. Every now and then, though, I get a strong feeling that I've been tampered with. I'll be plodding along about half asleep, and then something will happen--and it doesn't always have to be something out of the ordinary. In fact, it usually isn't. Most of the time it's something so commonplace that nobody else even notices it. But when it does happen, something inside my head clicks together, and I'm moving before I'm even aware of it. I suspect that certain things were planted in my brain during that trip Cherek and his boys and I took to Cthol Mishrak. I'm not actually aware of them until that unremarkable incident comes along, and then I know immediately what I'm supposed to do.
All right. I'm digressing. So what?
It didn't take me very long to reach Poledra's cottage. It was early spring, but it was already fairly warm, and Polgara was out spading up her kitchen garden. Pol has very fair skin, and she sunburns quite easily.
She'd woven herself a ridiculous-looking straw hat to keep the sun off her nose. I probably shouldn't say it, but it made her look just a bit like a mushroom.
I swooped in, thrust down my talons, and had started to change back before they even touched the ground.
"I need you, Pol," I told her.
"I needed you once, remember?" she replied coldly.
"You didn't seem very interested. Now I get the chance to return the favor. Go away, father."
"We don't have time for this, Polgara. You can make clever remarks later. Right now we have to go to the Isle of the Winds. Gorek's in danger."
"Lots of people are in danger, father. It happens all the time." She paused.
"Who's Gorek?"
"Have you had your head turned off for all these centuries? Don't you have any idea at all about what's going in the world?"
"My world ended when you let the Asturians destroy Vo Wacune, Old Man."
"No, as a matter of fact, it didn't. You're still who you are, and you're coming with me to the Isle of the Winds even if I have to pick you up in my talons and take you there."
"As badly as you fly? Don't be ridiculous. Who's this Gorek you're so worried about?"
"He's the Rivan king, Pol, the Guardian of the Orb."
"The Chereks are still out there in the Sea of the Winds. They'll protect him."
"You have been out of touch, Pol. The Chereks are letting people get through now."
"What? Are you insane? Why did you permit that?"
"It's a long story, and we don't have the leisure to go through it.
Don't waste time with owls this time, Pol. Go to a falcon instead."
"Not without a good reason, I won't."
I resisted the urge to swear at her.
"I just dredged the meaning out of a passage in the Mrin. Salmissra's going to make an attempt on the life of the Rivan king--and his entire family. If she manages to pull it off, Torak wins."
"Salmissra? Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
"Because you wouldn't let me."
"Let's move, father!"
"Hold on for just a moment. I have to warn the twins." I concentrated and sent out my thought.
"Brothers!" I called to them.
"Belgarath?" Beltira replied, sounding a little startled.
"What's the matter?"
"There's going to be an attempt on the life of the Rivan King. Pol and I are going there right now. We'll be falcons if you need to reach us. Get word to Beldin. Tell him to get back home right now."
"At once, Belgarath. Hurry!"
"All right, Pol," I said then.
"Let's go to Riva."
We both slipped into the forms of those fierce hunting birds, spiraled upward, and then struck out to the northwest across Ulgoland. At one point, a few leagues to the east of Prolgu, we encountered a flock of Harpies. I've a few suspicions about that. I've traveled around in Ulgoland quite a few times over the years, and that's the only time I've ever seen Harpies. I wouldn't be at all surprised to discover that they'd been put in our path deliberately to delay us. Harpies, however, don't fly all that well--certainly not well enough to catch a pair of streaking falcons.
Pol and I simply swooped clear of them and flew on, leaving them floundering around in the air behind us.
The incident's hardly worth even noting, except that it was a clear indication that somebody out there was doing his best to delay us. I started to keep an eye out for the dragon at that point. That could have been a problem.
We didn't see her, however, and we managed to reach the western border of Ulgoland without any further incident.
It was growing dark, but Pol and I kept flying. I was hungry and tired, but that urgent voice in my head kept pushing me on. Pol flies better than I do, but I'm sure that our frantic pace was wearing her down almost as much as it was exhausting me. We kept going, however.
The sky behind us was starting to turn pale with the approach of dawn when we passed over Camaar and flew out across the dark waters of the Sea of the Winds.
It must have been almost noon before we saw the Isle of the Winds ahead of us to the west. We began a long, shallow descent, and the harbor at Riva seemed to come rushing up at us as we streaked down toward the city.
We'd nearly killed ourselves getting there, but we still arrived about ten minutes too late.
It was as we were crossing the choppy waters of the harbor when I discovered why Polgara had absolutely had to come along. I didn't even see the little boy floundering around in the chill waters of the bay, but Pol did. We must have been about thirty feet above the water and streaking in as fast as we could fly when she suddenly flared her wings and blurred back into her own form in midair. She arched herself forward effortlessly and plunged headfirst down toward the water, her arms stretched above her head. I've seen a lot of young men dive headfirst into pools and rivers and even into the sea from time to time--usually to impress young women--but I've never seen a dive like that one. She cut into the water like a knife, and it seemed to me that she was down forever. Fortunately, the harbor at Riva is very deep. You don't want to make that kind of dive unless you've got a lot of water under you.
She finally popped to the surface no more than ten feet from the struggling child, and with a few strokes, she had him.
"YES!" the previously silent intruder in my head exulted.
"Oh, shut up!" I told it.
There was absolute chaos in the commercial enclave on the beach.
One glance told me that Gorek and his son and the other members of his family were all dead. The Rivans, of course, were busy butchering a group of Nyissan merchants. I swooped in, flared my wings, and changed.
"Stop!" I thundered at the vengeful Rivans.
"They killed our king!" a burly fellow screamed at me. Tears were running down his face, and he was clearly hysterical.
"Don't you want to find out why?" I shouted, but I saw immediately that it was useless even to try to talk to him--or to any of the others who had been there to guard the king. I was exhausted, but I still had a little bit left in me. I drew in my Will and put an impenetrable shield around the last two Nyissans. Then, as an afterthought, I put the pair of them to sleep. I knew Salmissra well enough to realize that her assassins probably had been ordered to kill themselves once their mission had been accomplished.
They were armed with poisoned knives, and they undoubtedly had little vials of toxic substances tucked into every pocket.
"Polgara!" I sent out my thought.
"Is the boy all right?"
"Yes, father. I've got him."
"Stay out of sight! Don't let anybody see you!"
"All right."
Then Brand came running toward the commercial enclave from the city gate. I've never fully understood why the Rivan Warder always take
s the name Brand. By the time I got around to asking somebody, the origins of the custom had long since been forgotten. In Arendia, where castles are commonplace, the Rivan Warder would have been called a seneschal. In some of the other kingdoms of the west--and even in some of the semiautonomous kingdoms in Mallorea--he'd have been called the prime minister. His duties were approximately the same, no matter what he was called. He was supposed to handle the administrative details that kept the kingdom running. Like most of the men who've held the position, this one was a solid, competent man with a deep sense of loyalty.
He was, however, still an Alorn, and the news that Gorek had been murdered made him go all to pieces. His eyes were steaming tears, and he was bellowing with rage. He had his sword out, and he ran at my invisible barrier swinging with all his might. I let him chop at it for a while, and then I took his sword away from him.
Yes, I can do that if I have to. When it's necessary, I can be the strongest man in the world.
"Gorek's dead, Belgarath!" he sobbed.
"People die. It happens all the time." I said it in a flat, unemotional voice.
His head came up sharply, and he stared at me in disbelief.
"Pull yourself together, Brand," I told him.
"We've got things to do.
First off: order your soldiers not to kill those two murderers. I need some answers, and I can't get answers out of dead men."
"But--" "These are just hirelings. I want to find out who hired them." I already had a fair idea, of course, but I wanted confirmation. More than that, though, I needed to jolt Brand back to his senses.
He drew in a long, shuddering breath.
"Sorry, Belgarath," he said.
"I
guess I lost my head."
"That's better. Tell your men to back away from those two. Then get somebody here you can depend on to follow orders. I want those two reptiles put into a safe place and guarded very closely. As soon as I let them wake up, they'll try to kill themselves. You'd better strip them. I'm sure they've got poison somewhere in their clothes."
He straightened, and his eyes went flinty. He turned.
"Captain WantI" he said sharply to a nearby officer.
"Come here!" He then proceeded to give the teary-eyed officer some very crisp orders.
Want saluted and gathered up about a platoon of men. Then I spoke briefly with the soldiers. I must have made an impression on them, because they did as they were told.
"All right. Brand," I said then.
"Let's walk down the beach a ways. I don't want anybody to hear what I'm going to tell you."
He nodded, and we walked off toward the south. The beach at Riva is gravel, and the waves make quite a bit of noise when they come crashing in. I stopped at the water's edge about a quarter of a mile away from the enclave.
"What's the name of Gorek's youngest grandson?" I asked.
"Prince Geran," he replied.
I'm sure that most of you recognize the name. Pol and I have sort of kept it alive over the centuries.
"All right," I said.
"Keep a tight grip on yourself. I don't want you to start dancing for joy. There are people watching. Prince Geran is alive."
"Thank the Gods!"
"Well, thank my daughter, actually. She's the one who rescued him.
He's a very brave little boy. He got away from the assassins by swimming out into the harbor. He doesn't swim all that well, but at least he got away."
"Where is he?"
"Polgara's got him. She's keeping him out of sight."
"I'll send soldiers to escort him back to the Citadel."
"No, you won't. Nobody's going to find out that he's still alive. Pol and I are going to take him into hiding, and you're going to give me your word never to mention this to anybody."
"Belgarath! The Rivan King is the keeper of the Orb! He must be here."
"No, actually he doesn't. Everybody in the world knows that the Orb's here, and as long as the Rivan King's here, too, everybody in the world knows where to find him. That's why we're going to have to separate them."
"Until the boy grows up?"
"It might be a little longer than that. The time will come, however, when the Rivan King will return, and that'll be when the fun starts. The next Rivan King who sits on that throne is going to be the Child of Light, and he's the one we've been waiting for."
"The Godslayer?"
"We can hope so."
"Where are you going to take Prince Geran?"
"You don't need to know that, Brand. He'll be safe. That's all you need to know." I looked up at the murky sky.
"How much longer until it gets dark?"
"A couple of hours anyway."
I swore.
"What's the matter?"
"My daughter and your king are out there in the bay, and that's very cold water. Excuse me a moment." I sent out my thought again.
"Polgara, where are you?"
"We're at the end of the wharf, father. Is it safe to come out yet?"
"No. Stay where you are, and keep out of sight."
"The boy's getting very cold, father."
"Heat the water around you, Pol. You know how to do that. You've been heating your bath-water for centuries."
"What are you up to, Old Wolf?"
"I'm hiding the Rivan King. Get used to it, Pol, because we'll be doing it for quite a long time." Then I pulled my thought away from her.
"All right, Brand," I said aloud.
"Let's go up to the Citadel. I want to have a long talk with those Nyissans."
We went back up the beach and then on to the city gates.
"Who's going to guard the Orb if you take our king away, Belgarath?"
Brand asked me as we started up the stairs.
"You are."
"Me?"
"Of course. You're also going to stand in for the king while he's away, and you're going to pass all of this on to your successor. From now on, the Rivan Warder's going to be the only man alive who knows what we're doing--normal man, anyway. Pol and I and my brothers don't quite qualify as normal. We're counting on you, Brand. Don't let us down."
He swallowed hard.
"You have my word, Ancient One."
"Good man."
The pair of Nyissan "merchants" who had lured Gorek and his family out of the Citadel by sending word that they had gifts from Queen Salmissra were still comatose, and a number of grim-faced Rivans were sharpening knives as they stood guard over them.
"I'll do it," I announced.
I said it very firmly in order to head off any protests.
I'll be the first to admit that I'm not as good at interrogation as my daughter is. If you're really interested in her methods, go talk with King Anheg of Cherek. He was present when she interrogated the earl of Jarvik. All she seems to have to do is show somebody something--something that must be pretty awful, because they start talking immediately.
My methods are a bit more direct. I've always had a fair amount of success with pain. The only difference between my approach and that of your run-of-the-mill torturer lies in the fact that I can hurt people without causing them any physical injury. I can keep a man in agony for a week without killing him.
As it turned out, it didn't take me a week. After I'd erased the effects of the assorted narcotics swarming around in their blood, they became very tractable. Evidently there's a certain amount of discomfort involved when your favorite narcotic runs out. I added a few other discomforts, and they started begging me to let them talk.
"It was the queen!" one of them blubbered.
"We did it because the queen commanded us to do it!"
"It wasn't her idea, though!" The other one overrode his companion.
"A foreigner came to Sthiss Tor and spoke with Eternal Salmissra. It was only then that she summoned us to the throne room."
"Have you any idea of who this foreigner might have been?" I asked him.
"N-no!" he stammered.
"Please d
on't hurt me any more!"
"Relax," I told him.
"Is there anything else you'd like to share with me?"
"One of the young princes escaped us," the first one blurted.
"He swam out into the harbor."
"And drowned?" one of the Rivan guards demanded before I could head off that question.
"No. A bird saved him."
"A bird?"
"I wouldn't pay too much attention to him," I said quickly.
"Nyissans see things that aren't there all the time."
The Rivan gave me a suspicious look.
"Have you ever been really drunk?" I asked him.
"Well, maybe once or twice."
"Nyissans have found ways to get in that condition without beer."
"I've heard about that," he admitted.
"Now you've seen it. These two were still so drunk when I woke them up that they were probably seeing blue sheep and purple goats." I looked at Brand.
"Do we need anything else?"
"I don't. Do you?"
"No, I guess that just about covers it." I waved one hand and put the two assassins back to sleep. I didn't want that one to talk about birds any more.
Certain versions of The Book of Alorn mention that story about the bird.
Now you know where it came from. I've ridiculed the idea every time it came up, but there were still Rivans who believed it.
"What should we do with these two?" the fellow with the quick questions asked me.
I shrugged.
"That's entirely up to you. I've got what I needed out of them. Coming, Brand?"
The two of us left the prison cell and went directly to Brand's private quarters.
"You realize that this means war, don't you, Belgarath?" he said.
"I suppose so," I agreed.
"It'd look suspicious if we didn't mount a punitive expedition against Nyissa at this point. Let's not do anything out of character. I don't want people to start making wild guesses right now."
"I'll send messages to Val Alorn, Boktor, and the Algarian stronghold."
"Don't bother. I'll take care of that myself. Now let's go fish my daughter and your king out of the bay. I want a ship moved to the end of the main wharf. Have the sailors tie it up there and then go ashore. I don't want anybody at all on board. Then you and I are going to take a little trip."
Rivan Codex Series Page 47
