What pulled him off balance was the fact that it had no apparent weight. The sword was so huge that he should not have been able to hold it, much less lift it; but as he braced himself with his feet widespread and his shoulders pressed back against the wall, the point of the sword rose easily until the great blade stood upright before him. He stared at it in amazement, feeling a strange throbbing between the hands he had clasped about the hilt. The Orb flared and began to pulsate. Then, as the shimmering sound soared into a mighty crescendo of jubilation, the sword of the Rivan King burst into a great tongue of searing blue flame. Without knowing why, Garion lifted the flaming sword over his head with both hands, staring up at it in wonder.
"Let Aloria rejoice!" Belgarath called out in a voice like thunder, "for the Rivan King has returned! All hail Belgarion, King of Riva and Overlord of the West!"
And yet in the midst of the turmoil that followed and even with the shimmering chorus of what seemed a million million voices raised in an exultation echoing from one end of the universe to the other, there was a sullen clang of iron as if the rust-scoured door of some dark tomb had suddenly burst open, and the sound of that clanging chilled Garion's heart. A voice echoed hollowly from the tomb, and it did not join the universal rejoicing. Ripped from its centuries of slumber, the voice in the tomb awoke raging and crying out for blood.
Stunned past all thought, Garion stood with his flaming sword aloft as, with a steely rustle, the assembled Alorns unsheathed their swords to raise them in salute.
"Hail Belgarion, my King," Brand, the Rivan Warder, boomed, sinking to one knee and lifting his sword. His four sons knelt behind him, their swords also lifted. "Hail Belgarion, King of Riva!" they cried.
"Hail Belgarion!" The great shout shook the Hall of the Rivan King, and a forest of upraised swords glittered in the fiery blue light of the flaming blade in Garion's hands. Somewhere within the Citadel, a bell began to peal. As the news raced through the breathless city below, other bells caught the sound, and their iron rejoicing echoed back from the rocky crags to announce to the icy waters of the sea the return of the Rivan King.
One in the Hall, however, did not rejoice. In the instant that the kindling of the sword had irrevocably announced Garion's identity, Princess Ce'Nedra had started to her feet, her face deathly pale and her eyes wide with absolute consternation. She had instantly grasped something that eluded him - something so unsettling that it drained the color from her face and brought her to her feet to stare at him with an expression of total dismay. Then there suddenly burst from the lips of the Imperial Princess Ce'Nedra a wail of outrage and protest.
With a voice that rang in the rafters she cried out, "OH NO!"
Chapter Twelve
THE WORST PART Of it all was that people kept bowing to him. Garion had not the slightest idea of how he should respond. Should he bow back? Should he nod slightly in acknowledgment? Or perhaps might it not be better just to ignore the whole business and act as if he hadn't seen it, or something? But what was he supposed to do when someone called him, "Your Majesty"?
The events of the previous day were still a confused blur in his mind. He seemed to remember being presented to the people of the citystanding on the battlements of Iron-grip's Citadel with a great, cheering throng below and the huge sword that somehow seemed weightless still blazing in his hands. Stupendous as they were, however, the overt events of the day were unimportant when compared to things which were taking place on a different level of reality. Enormous forces had focused on the moment of the revelation of the Rivan King, and Garion was still numb as a result of things he had seen and perceived in that blinding instant when he had at last discovered who he was.
There had been endless congratulations and a great many preparations for his coronation, but all of that blurred in his mind. Had his life depended upon it, he could not have given a rational, coherent account of the day's events.
Today promised to be even worse, if that were possible. He had not slept well. For one thing, the great bed in the royal apartments to which he had been escorted the previous evening was definitely uncomfortable.
It had great round posts rising from each comer and it was canopied and curtained in purple velvet. It seemed much too large for him and it was noticeably on the soft side. For the past year and more he had done most of his sleeping on the ground, and the down-filled mattress on the royal bed was too yielding to be comfortable. There was, moreover, the sure and certain knowledge that as soon as he arose, he was going to be the absolute center of attention.
On the whole, he decided, it might just be simpler to stay in bed. The more he thought about that, the better it sounded. The door to the royal bedchamber, however, was not locked. Sometime not long after sunrise it swung open, and Garion could hear someone moving around. Curious he peeked through the purple drapery enclosing his bed. A soberlooking servant was busily opening the drapes at the window and stirring up the fire. Garion's attention, however, moved immediately to the large, covered silver tray sitting on the table by the fireplace. His nose recognized sausage and warm, fresh-baked bread-and butter-there was definitely butter involved somewhere on that tray. His stomach began to speak to him in a loud voice.
The servant glanced around the room to make sure everything was in order, then came to the bed with a no-nonsense expression. Garion burrowed quickly back under the covers.
"Breakfast, your Majesty," the servant announced firmly, drawing the curtains open and tying them back.
Garion sighed. Quite obviously, decisions about staying in bed were not his to make. "Thank you," he replied.
"Does your Majesty require anything else?" the servant asked solicitously, holding open a robe for Garion to put on.
"Uh-no-not right now, thank you," Garion answered, climbing out of the royal bed and down the three carpeted steps leading up to it. The servant helped him into the robe, then bowed and quietly left the room. Garion went to the table, seated himself, lifted the cover from the tray, and assaulted breakfast vigorously.
When he had finished eating, he sat for a time in a large, blue-upholstered armchair looking out the window at the snowy crags looming above the city. The storm that had raked the coast for days had blown off - at least for the moment; the winter sun was bright, and the morning sky very blue. The young Rivan King stared for a time out his window, lost in thought.
Something nagged at the back of his memory - something he had heard once but had since forgotten. It seemed that there was something he ought to remember that involved Princess Ce'Nedra. The tiny girl had fled from the Hall of the Rivan King almost immediately after the sword had so flamboyantly announced his identity the previous day. He was fairly sure that it was all mixed together. Whatever it was that he was trying to recall had been directly involved in her flight. With some people it might be better to let things quiet down before clearing the air, but Garion knew that this was not the proper way to deal with Ce'Nedra. Things should never be allowed to fester in her mind. That only made matters worse. He sighed and began to dress.
As he walked purposefully through the corridors, he met with startled looks and hasty bows. He soon realized that the events of the preceding day had forever robbed him of his anonymity. Someone Garion could never catch a glimpse of his face - even went so far as to follow him, probably in the hope of performing some service. Whoever it was kept a discrete distance behind, but Garion caught occasional glimpses of him far back along the corridor - a gray-cloaked man who moved on strangely noiseless feet. Garion did not like being followed, whatever the reason, but he resisted the urge to turn around and tell the man to go away.
The Princess Ce'Nedra had been given several rooms just down the hall from Aunt Pol's apartments, and Garion steeled himself as he raised his hand to rap on the door.
"Your Majesty," Ce'Nedra's maid greeted him with a startled curtsy.
"Would you please ask her Highness if I might have a word with her?" Garion asked.
"Certainly, your Majest
y," the girl replied and darted into the next chamber.
There was a brief murmur of voices and then Ce'Nedra swept into the room. She wore a plain gown, and her face was as pale as it had been the previous day. "Your Majesty," she greeted him in an icy voice, and then she curtsied, a stiff little curtsy that spoke whole volumes.
"Something's bothering you," Garion said bluntly. "Would you like to get it out in the open?"
"Whatever your Majesty wishes," she replied.
"Do we have to do this?"
"I can't imagine what your Majesty is talking about."
"Don't you think we know each other well enough to be honest?"
"Of course. I suppose I'd better accustom myself to obeying your Majesty immediately."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't pretend that you don't know," she flared.
"Ce'Nedra, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." She looked at him suspiciously, then her eyes softened just a bit.
"Perhaps you don't at that," she murmured. "Have you ever read the Accords of Vo Mimbre?"
"You taught me how to read yourself," he reminded her, "about six or eight months ago. You know every book I've read. You gave me most of them yourself."
"That's true, isn't it?" she said. "Wait just a moment. I'll be right back." She went briefly into the adjoining room and returned with a rolled parchment. "I'll read it to you," she told him. "Some of the words are a little difficult."
"I'm not that stupid," he objected.
But she had already begun to read. " `-And when it shall come to pass that the Rivan King returns, he shall have Lordship and Dominion, and swear we all fealty to him as Overlord of the Kingdoms of the West. And he shall have an Imperial Princess of Tolnedra to wife, and-"'
"Wait a minute," Garion interrupted her with a strangled note in his voice.
"Was there something you didn't understand? It all seems quite clear to me."
"What was that last part again?"
"-`he shall have an Imperial Princess of Tolnedra to wife, and"'
"Are there any other princesses in Tolnedra?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then that means-" He gaped at her.
"Precisely." She said it like a steel trap suddenly snapping shut.
"Is that why you ran out of the Hall yesterday?"
"I did not run."
"You don't want to marry me." It was almost an accusation.
"I didn't say that."
"Then you do want to marry me?"
"I didn't say that either - but it doesn't really matter, does it? We don't have any choice at all - neither one of us."
"Is that what's bothering you?"
Her look was lofty. "Of course not. I've always known that my husband would be selected for me."
"What's the problem, then?"
"I'm an Imperial Princess, Garion."
"I know that."
"I'm not accustomed to being anyone's inferior."
"Inferior? To who - whom?"
"The Accords state that you are the Overlord of the West."
"What does that mean?"
"It means, your Majesty, that you outrank me."
"Is that all that's got you so upset?"
Her look was like a drawn dagger. "With your Majesty's permission, I believe I'd like to withdraw." And without waiting for an answer, she swept from the room.
Garion stared after her. This was going too far. He considered going immediately to Aunt Pol to protest, but the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that she would be totally unsympathetic. Too many little things began to click together all at once. Aunt Pol was not merely a party to this absurd notion; she had actively done everything in her power to make absolutely sure that there was no escape for him. He needed someone to talk to - someone devious enough and unscrupulous enough to think a way out of this. He left Ce'Nedra's sitting room and went looking for Silk.
The little man was not in his room, and the servant who was making up the bed kept bowing as he stammered out his apologies at not having the slightest notion of where Silk might be. Garion left quickly.
Since the apartment Barak shared with his wife and children was only a few steps down the corridor, Garion went there, trying not to look back at the gray-cloaked attendant he knew was still following him. "Barak," he said, knocking on the big Cherek's door, "it's me, Garion. May I come in?"
The Lady Merel opened the door immediately and curtsied respectfully.
"Please, don't do that," Garion begged her.
"What's the trouble, Garion?" Barak asked from the green-covered chair where he sat, bouncing his infant son on his knee.
"I'm looking for Silk," Garion replied, entering the large, comfortable room that was littered with clothes and children's toys.
"You're a little wild around the eyes," the big man noted. "Is something wrong?"
"I've just had some very unsettling news," Garion told him, shuddering. "I need to talk to Silk. Maybe he can come up with an answer for me."
"Would you like some breakfast?" Lady Merel suggested.
"I've already eaten, thank you," Garion replied. He looked at her a bit more closely. She had undone the rather severe braids she customarily wore, and her blond hair framed her face softly. She wore her usual green gown, but her carriage seemed not to have the rigidity it had always had. Barak, Garion noted, had also lost a bit of the grim defensiveness that had always been there previously when he was in the presence of his wife.
Barak's two daughters entered the room then, one on each side of Errand. They all sat down in the corner and began playing an elaborate little game that seemed to involve a great deal of giggling.
"I think my daughters have decided to steal him." Barak grinned. "Quite suddenly I'm up to my ears in wife and children, and the funny part about it is that I don't seem to mind it at all."
Merel threw him a quick, almost shy smile. Then she looked over at the laughing children, "The girls absolutely adore him," she said, and then turned back to Garion. "Have you ever noticed that you can't look directly into his eyes for more than a moment or so? He seems to be looking right into your heart."
Garion nodded. "I think it might have something to do with the way he trusts everybody," he suggested. He turned back to Barak. "Do you have any idea where I might find Silk?"
Barak laughed. "Walk up and down the halls and listen for the rattle of dice. The little thief's been gambling ever since we got here. Durnik might know. He's been hiding out in the stables. Royalty makes him nervous."
"It does the same thing to me," Garion said.
"But you are royalty, Garion," Merel reminded him.
"That makes me even more nervous," he replied.
There was a series of back hallways that led to the stables, and Garion decided to follow that route rather than pass through the more stately corridors where he might encounter members of the nobility. These narrower passageways were used for the most part by servants going to and from the kitchen, and Garion reasoned that most of the minor household staff would probably not recognize him yet. As he walked quickly along one of the passageways with his head down to avoid any chance recognition, he caught another glimpse behind him of the man who had dogged his steps ever since he had left the royal apartment. Irritated finally to the point where he no longer cared about concealing his identity, Garion turned to confront his pursuer. "I know you're there," he declared. "Come out where I can see you." He waited, tapping his foot impatiently.
The hallway behind him remained empty and silent.
"Come out here at once," Garion repeated, his voice taking on an unaccustomed note of command. But there was no movement, no sound. Garion thought for a moment of retracing his steps to catch this persistent attendant in the act of creeping along behind him, but just then a servant carrying a tray of dirty dishes came along from the direction Garion had just come.
"Did you see anybody back there?" Garion asked him.
"Ba
ck where?" the servant said, obviously not recognizing his king.
"Back along the hall."
The servant shook his head. "I haven't seen anyone since I left the apartments of the King of Drasnia," he replied. "Would you believe that this is his third breakfast? I've never seen anybody eat so much." He looked curiously at Garion. "You shouldn't be back here, you know," he warned. "If the head cook catches you, he'll thrash you. He doesn't like anybody in this hall who doesn't have business here."
"I'm just on my way to the stables," Garion told him.
"I'd move right along, then. The head cook's got a vicious temper."
"I'll keep that in mind," Garion assured him.
Lelldorin was coming out of the stable, and he gave Garion a startled look as the two of them approached each other in the snowy courtyard. "How did you manage to escape from all the officials?" he asked. Then, as if remembering, he bowed.
"Please don't do that, Lelldorin," Garion told him.
"The situation is a bit awkward, isn't it?" Lelldorin agreed.
"We'll behave toward each other the same as we always have behaved," Garion said firmly. "At least until they tell us we can't. Have you any idea where Silk might be?"
"I saw him earlier this morning," Lelldorin replied. "He said he was going to visit the baths. He looked a bit unwell. I think he celebrated last night."
"Let's go find him," Garion suggested. "I've got to talk to him."
They found Silk sitting in a tiled stone room thick with steam. The little man had a towel about his waist and he was sweating profusely.
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