"That's probably Nedra's doing, Mergon," I said.
"Nedra doesn't like mysticism of any kind. You've got a very practical God. Let's move along, gentlemen. If we're going to come up with a set of accords here, we'd better get at it--unless you'd all like to just sign blank pieces of parchment.
I could fill in the contents later, if you'd rather do it that way."
"Nice try, Belgarath." Beldin chuckled.
"Just exactly what has to be in these accords?"
I turned to the twins.
"You two are the experts. What does the Mrin say? How much should we nail down, and how much can we just leave open?"
"I think we'll want to establish the marriage of the king and the princess," Beltira replied.
"That almost has to be agreed upon."
"And the Overlordship, as well," Belkira added.
"That must be in the accords so that there won't be any question about it when the time comes.
The Rivan King's going to have to give certain orders, and the kings of the other nations are going to have to obey them. Otherwise Torak's going to win next time."
"Will you people talk sense?" Mergon burst out.
"There is no Rivan King. That line died with King Gorek."
"Oh, just tell him, Belgarath," Rhodar said disgustedly.
"He'll argue about it for a week if you don't."
"And have him spread the information all over Tol Honeth? Be serious, Rhodar."
"I'm a diplomat, Belgarath," Mergon said in an offended tone of voice.
"I know how to keep secrets."
"You might as well go ahead and tell him, father," Polgara told me.
"He's going to start making some educated guesses anyway before we go much further with this."
I looked around at the assembled kings and emissaries.
"I'll have an oath of silence on this, gentlemen," I said.
"Those of you with ambassadorial rank can tell your rulers, but I don't want this going any further." I gave them all a hard look, and they mumbled their agreement.
"To put it very shortly," I told them, "the Rivan line did not die out when Gorek was killed. One of his grandsons survived. The line's still intact, and someday one of that line will return to Riva and resume his throne. That's the information that doesn't leave this room. We've had enough trouble protecting those heirs without their existence becoming general knowledge."
I'm not really positive that Mergon believed me, but Eldrig and the other Alorns were feeling muscular, so he behaved as if he believed. He really didn't have anything to lose, after all. If I was lying to him, there'd never be a Rivan King to marry one of those precious Imperial Princesses, nor would anyone ever become Overlord of the West, so he went along with us, largely to pacify the Alorns, I believe.
Podiss, however, was another matter. Nyissans tend to be a little touchy about the fact that their kingdom is the only one ruled by a woman, and any kind of disparagement of Salmissra, real or imagined, raises screams of outrage. To put it rather bluntly, however, Nyissa doesn't loom very large in the family of nations. It's a swampy backwater with a small population and, aside from the slave trade, it doesn't have much in the way of commerce. When it became more and more obvious that the accords weren't even going to mention Nyissa, Podiss lost his temper.
"And what of my queen, Eternal Salmissra?" he demanded.
"What voice will she have in this ordering of the world?"
"Not a very loud one," Eldrig said, "at least not if I can help it, she won't. She won't have to do anything except sign the document, Podiss-that and keep her nose out of matters that don't concern her." Eldrig wasn't exactly what you'd call the soul of diplomacy.
"I'll have no further part in this," Podiss said, rising to his feet.
"And I won't insult my queen by carrying this absurdity to her. Write down anything you wish, gentlemen, but Salmissra won't sign it."
This was the point in his account of the conference where Davoul the Lame lost his head entirely. His epic blandly asserts that Polgara sprang to her feet, turned Podiss into a snake, changed herself into an owl, and carried him off into the sky. I think it was the fact that Davoul suddenly realized that he'd gone for ten whole pages without any magic that pushed him over the edge. Polgara did do something to Podiss, but it didn't involve anything like that. It was probably a lot worse, but nobody else at the conference saw it. She simply went to where Podiss was standing and did much the same thing to him as she'd done to Eldallan in the Asturian Forest. I haven't any idea at all of what she showed him--he didn't scream at all--but whatever it was made him pale and very cooperative.
It also persuaded Mergon to keep his objections to himself from then on.
It took us another day or so to finish the Accords of Vo Mimbre, and yet another day for a Mimbrate scribe to cast them into "high style."
Since the Mimbrates were our hosts, it was only polite to let them produce the final version. When that was all finished, the Gorim took up his copy, rose to his feet, and read to us.
These then are the Accords which we have reached here at Vo Mimbre. The nations of the West will prepare themselves for the return of the Rivan King, for in the day of his return shall Torak awaken and come again upon us, and none but the Rivan King may overcome him and save us from his foul enslavement.
And whatsoever the Rivan King commands, that shall we do.
And he shall have an Imperial Princess of Tolnedra to wife and shall have Empire and Dominion in the West. And whosoever breaketh these accords, will we do war upon him and scatter his people and pull down his cities and lay waste his lands. We pledge it here in honor of Brand, who hath overthrown Torak and bound him in sleep until the One comes who might destroy him. So be it.
Eldrig leaned back in his chair.
"Well," he said, "now that's taken care of. I guess we can all go home."
"Not quite yet, your Majesty," Wildantor disagreed.
"There's still a royal wedding in the works."
"I'd almost forgotten about that," Eldrig said.
"Are those two still screaming at each other?"
"No," Pol told him.
"The screaming stopped a few days ago. The last time I listened at the door, there was a lot of giggling going on. Evidently Mayaserana's a bit ticklish."
"I wonder what they can be doing," the Gorim said mildly.
"We probably can start our armies marching toward home," Rhodar put in.
"Ordinary soldiers aren't really very interested in royal weddings, and I'd like to have my pike men at the Drasnian border before the end of summer."
"I can have my war boats take them to Kotu, if you'd like," Eldrig offered.
"Thanks all the same, Eldrig, but Drasnians aren't very good sailors.
I'm fairly sure that my pike men would rather walk."
Then Brand sent for Korodullin and Mayaserana. They were both blushing when they were escorted into his presence.
"Have you two more or less settled your differences?" he asked them.
"We really should apologize. Lord Brand," Mayaserana said in a tone of sweet reasonableness and a rosy blush.
"We both behaved very badly when you made that suggestion."
"Oh, that's all right, Mayaserana," Brand forgave her.
"I take it you've had a change of heart."
"The sweet light of reason hath opened our eyes, Lord Brand,"
Korodullin assured him, also blushing, "and our duty to Arendia hath touched our hearts and caused our animosity to fade. Though we still have our differences, we are both willing to set them aside for the sake of our homeland."
"I was almost certain you'd see it that way," Polgara said with a faint smile.
Mayaserana blushed again.
"And when would you like to have us married. Lord Brand?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know," Brand replied.
"Have either of you got anything urgent to take care of tomorrow?"
"What's wrong with t
oday?" she countered. Patience, it appeared, wasn't Mayaserana's strong suit, and she had things on her mind.
"I think we could arrange that," Brand told her.
"Somebody go get a priest of Chaldan."
"There might be a problem there, Lord Brand," Wildantor said dubiously.
"Our priests are just as partisan as the rest of us. The priest might refuse to perform the ceremony."
"Not for very long, my friend," Mandor disagreed, "not if he values his continued good health."
"You'd actually hit a priest?" Wildantor asked.
"My duty to Arendia would compel it of me," Mandor said, "though it would, of course, rend mine heart."
"Oh, of course. Let's go find one, shall we? And you can explain things to him while we're dragging him back here."
And so Korodullin and Mayaserana were married, and Arendia was technically united. There was still a certain amount of bickering between Mimbrates and Asturians, of course, but the open battles more or less came to an end.
After the wedding, the kings of the West dispersed. We'd all been away from home for a long time, after all. Pol and I rode north with Brand as far as the great Arendish Fair, and then we said our goodbyes and took the road leading toward the Ulgo border.
"Will you be taking Gelane back to Aldurford?" I asked her after we'd gone several miles.
"No, father. I don't think that'd be a good idea. A lot of Algar soldiers saw the two of us at Vo Mimbre, and some of them came from Aldurford. Someone might make the connection. I think we'd better start fresh somewhere."
"Where did you have in mind?"
"I think I'll go back to Sendaria. After Vo Mimbre, there aren't going to be any Grolims around to worry about."
"That's your decision, Pol. Gelane's your responsibility, so whatever you decide is all right with me."
"Oh, thank you, father!" she said with a certain amount of sarcasm.
"Oh, one other thing."
"Yes?"
"Stay out of my hair, Old Wolf, and this time I mean it."
"Whatever you say, Polgara." I didn't really mean it, of course, but I said it anyway. It was easier than arguing with her.
Part 6 - GAR ION
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
There's a peculiar dichotomy in the nature of almost anyone who calls himself a historian. Such scholars all piously assure us that they're telling us the real truth about what really happened, but if you turn any competent historian over and look at his damp underside, you'll find a storyteller, and you can believe me when I tell you that no storyteller's ever going to tell a story without a few embellishments.
Add to that the fact that we've all got assorted political and theological preconceptions that are going to color what we write, and you'll begin to realize that no history of any event is entirely reliable--not even this one.
What I've just told you about the Battle of Vo Mimbre is more or less true, but I'll leave the business of separating truth from the fiction up to you. It'll sharpen your mind.
When you get right down to the bottom of the matter, the accords we reached at Vo Mimbre were more important than the battle itself. The war with the Angaraks was the climax of particular set of events, and the word "climax" means "end." The Accords of Vo Mimbre set up a new set of events, so in a certain sense they could be called a beginning.
The formalized summary of the accords that the Gorim read to us as our conference came to a close was just that--a summary. The meat of the thing lay in the specific articles, and we didn't let the creative Mimbrate scribes who prepared our summary anywhere near those. Over the years I've seen too many absurdities enacted into law or appearing in royal proclamations because some half-asleep scribe missed a line--or transposed a couple of words--for me to take chances. Those accords were very important. The articles we'd hammered out covered such things as how the Rivan King would issue his call to arms, how the various kingdoms were supposed to respond, and other logistical details. I'll concede that the presence of Brand, who'd just struck down Kal Torak and shaken the world by that act, made slipping a few things in much easier for me. Those things absolutely had to be included, but trying to explain exactly why would have taken years, I expect.
It was Polgara who dictated the specifics of the little ceremony that's become a ritual for the past five hundred years, and I use the word "dictated" advisedly here, since my imperious daughter refused to hear of any amendments or revisions. Mergon, the Tolnedran ambassador, almost had apoplexy by the time she was finished, and I'm not entirely certain that Ran Borune didn't.
"This is the way it's going to be from now on," she declared, and that's not really the best way to introduce a subject at a peace conference.
"From this day forward, each Princess of Imperial Tolnedra shall present herself in her wedding gown in the Hall of the Rivan King on their sixteenth birthday. She'll wait there for three days. If the Rivan King comes to claim her during those three days, they'll be wed. If he doesn't, she'll be free to return to Tolnedra, and her father can choose another husband for her."
It was at that point that Mergon began to splutter, but Pol overrode his objections, and the Alorn kings backed her to the hilt, threatening invasions, the burning of cities, the scattering of the Tolnedran population, and other extravagances. I made a point of going to Tol Honeth a year or so later to apologize to Ran Borune for her behavior. The presence of the legions at Vo Mimbre had turned the tide of battle, and Polgara's ultimatum had a faint odor of ingratitude about it. I know that she was following instructions, but her cavalier attitude almost suggested that Tolnedra was a defeated enemy.
When the conference ended, Pol and I rode north, and it was late summer by the time we reached the border of Ulgoland. We were met there by a fairly large detachment of leather-clad Algars. Cho Ram had sent an honor guard to escort us through the Ulgo Mountains. I didn't want to insult him by refusing, so we plodded on across those mountains with his Algars rather than doing it the other way--which would have been much faster, of course. There wasn't anything pressing that needed to be done, though, and it was the courteous thing to do.
When we came down out of the mountains of Ulgoland onto the plains of Algaria, Pol and I separated. She went on to the Stronghold with the Algars, and I rode on south to the Vale. I had it in my mind that some fairly serious loafing might be in order. I'd been on the go for a quarter century, and I felt that I owed myself a vacation.
Beldin had other ideas, though.
"What are your feelings about a little trip to Mallorea?" he asked when I got home.
"Profoundly unenthusiastic, if you want the truth. What's in Mallorea that's so important?"
"The Ashabine Oracles, I hope. I thought that you and I could go to Ashaba and ransack Torak's house there. He might just have left a copy of the Oracles lying around, and those prophecies could be very useful, don't you think? Zedar, Urvon, and Ctuchik aren't going to let this slide, Belgarath. We bloodied their noses quite thoroughly at Vo Mimbre, and they'll almost certainly try to get back at us. If we can get our hands on a copy of the Oracles, it might give us a few clues about what to expect from them."
"You can burglarize a house without any help from me, brother," I told him.
"I don't feel any great yearnings to visit a deserted castle in the Karandese Mountains."
"You're lazy, Belgarath."
"Has it taken you this long to realize that?"
"Let me put it to you another way," he said.
"I need you."
"What for?"
"Because I can't read Old Angarak, you ninny!"
"How do you know that the Oracles are written in Old Angarak?"
"I don't, but it's the language that'd come most naturally to Torak, especially since he was probably in a sort of delirium when the voice came to him. If the Oracles are written in Old Angarak, I wouldn't be able to recognize them if they were out in plain sight."
"I could teach you how to read the language, Beldin."
; "And by then Urvon will have gotten to Ashaba first. If we're going, we'd better go now."
I sighed. It looked as if I was going to have to postpone my vacation.
"Did I just hear the sound of a change of heart?" he asked.
"Don't push it, Beldin. I am going to sleep for a couple of days first, though."
"You old people do that a lot, don't you?"
"Just go away for a while, brother. You're keeping me up past my bedtime."
Actually, I slept for only about twelve hours. The possibility that there might be a copy of the Oracles hidden somewhere at Ashaba intrigued me enough so that I got up, fixed myself some breakfast, and then went on over to Beldin's tower.
"Let's get started," I told him.
He was wise enough not to make any clever remarks. We went to the window of his tower, pulled on our feathers, and left. We flew in a generally northeasterly direction and soon crossed the Eastern Escarpment to Mishrak ac Thull. Thulldom had been devastated by the war, but that hadn't been our idea. Kal Torak's Malloreans had enlisted the Thulls by the simple expedient of destroying all their towns and villages and burning their crops. This left the Thulls with no alternatives. They had to join the army or starve. The women, children, and aged were left to fend for themselves in a land with no houses and nothing to eat. My opinion of Torak hadn't been high in the first place, and it went down precipitously when I saw the plight of the Thulls.
When we reached the coast, Beldin veered north. Hawks and falcons have a great deal of stamina, but not so much so that we were willing to try crossing the expanse of the Sea of the East in one jump. Gar og Nadrak wasn't quite as devastated as Thulldom, but conditions there were also fairly miserable.
We winged our way north along the coast of Morindland and crossed over to Mallorea, following the string of islands that formed the land-bridge. Then Beldin led the way across the Barrens to the Karandese Mountains and then on south to Ashaba.
Ashaba's not a town in the ordinary sense of the word. It's really nothing more than a very large castle with a number of Karandese villages in the surrounding forest. The villages were there to support the Grolims who'd lived in the palace. Torak himself probably didn't have to eat, but Grolims get hungry once in a while, I guess, and the ground around the castle, like the ground at Cthol Mishrak, was dead and unproductive.
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