Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  "You must have been amazingly eloquent, Captain." Garion laughed.

  "A bout or two with belaying pins helped a bit," the captain conceded. "Finally I had to issue a challenge, though. None of these blockheads can refuse a challenge, so I proposed a race around the island. Twenty ships started out, and only mine finished. They started listening about then. I spent the next five years in the yards supervising construction. Then the king finally let me go back to sea. I got me a baronetcy out of it—not that it matters. I think I’ve even got a castle somewhere."

  A brazen blast came from the wharf as, in true Mimbrate fashion, the knights of the king's court saluted them on their horns. "Isn't that pitiful?" the captain said. "I don't think there's a man on the whole island who can carry a tune." He looked appraisingly at Garion. "I heard tell that you're making for the Turim reef."

  "Korim reef," Garion corrected absently.

  "You've been listening to the landsmen, I see. They can't even pronounce the name right. Anyway, before you get your mind set in stone about where you want to land, send for me. There's some very ugly water around that reef. It's not the sort of place where you want to make mistakes, and I’ve got some fairly accurate charts."

  "The king told us there weren't any charts of the reef."

  The captain winked slyly. "The rumors I mentioned earlier stirred some ship captains to try to follow me," he admitted, "although 'chase' would probably be a more accurate word. Rewards cause that sort of thing sometimes. Anyhow, I was passing near the reef in calm weather once, and I decided to take some soundings. It never hurts to have a place to hide where others are afraid to follow you.”

  "What's your name, Captain?" Garion asked him.

  "Kresca, young master."

  "I think we can drop that. Garion will do just fine."

  "Whatever you like, Garion. Now get oifmy quarterdeck so I can maneuver this old tub out of the harbor.”

  The speech was different, and it was halfway around the world, but Captain Kresca was so much like Barak's friend Grel-dik that Garion felt suddenly very secure. He went below to join the others. "We’ve had a bit of luck," he told them. "Our captain is a Melcene. He's not overburdened with scruples, but he has got charts of the reef. He's probably the only man in these waters who does. He's offered to advise us when the time comes to decide on where we want to land."

  "That was helpful of him," Silk said.

  "Maybe, but I think his main concern is not ripping the bottom out of his ship."

  "I can relate to that," Silk said. "As long as I'm on board, anyway."

  "I'm going back up on deck," Garion said then. "Staying in a stuffy compartment on the first day of a voyage always makes me a little queasy for some reason."

  "And you 're the ruler of an island? " Poledra said.

  "It's just a question of getting adjusted, Grandmother."

  "Of course."

  The sea and sky were unsettled. The heavy cloud bank was still coming in from trie west, sending long, ponderous combers rolling in from that direction, waves that had in all probability started somewhere off the east coast of Cthol Murgos. Although, as king of an island nation, Garion knew that the phenomenon was not unusual, he nonetheless felt a certain sense of superstitious apprehension when he saw that the surface winds were moving westward while those aloft, as proclaimed by the movement of the clouds, moved east. He had seen this happen many times before, but mis time he could not be positive that the weather was responding to natural causes or to something else. Idly he wondered what those two eternal awarenesses might have done had he and his friends not found a ship. He had a momentary vision of the sea parting to provide a broad highway across its bottom, a highway littered with startled fish. He began to feel less and less in charge of his own destiny. Even as he had on the long trek to Cthol Mishrak, he became increasingly certain that the two prophecies were herding him toward Korim for a meeting that, though he himself might not have chosen it, was the ultimate Event toward which the entire universe had been yearning since the beginning of days. A plaintive "Why me?" hovered on his lips.

  And then Ce'Nedra was there, burrowing under his arm as she had during those first few heady days when they had finally discovered that they did, in fact, love each other. "What are you thinking about, Garion?" she asked softly. She had changed out of the antique green satin gown she had worn at the palace and now wore a gray dress of utilitarian wool.

  "I'm not, really. Probably worrying comes a lot closer."

  "What's mere to worry about? We're going to win, aren't we?"

  “That hasn't been decided yet.”

  "Of course you're going to win. You always do."

  "This time's a little different, Ce'Nedra." He sighed. "It's not just the meeting, though. I've got to choose my successor, and the one I choose is going to be the new Child of Light—and most probably a God. If I pick the wrong person, it's possible that I'll create a God who'll be an absolute disaster. Could you imagine Silk as a God? He'd be out there picking the pockets of the other Gods and inscribing off-color jokes in the constellations."

  "He doesn't really seem to have the right kind of temperament for it," she agreed. "I like him well enough, but I'm afraid UL might disapprove very strongly. What else is bothering you?"

  "You know what else. One of us isn't going to live through tomorrow.”

  "You don't really have to concern yourself about that, Gar-ion," she said wistfully. "It's going to be me. I’ve known that from the very beginning."

  "Don't be absurd. I can make sure it's not you."

  "Oh? How?"

  "I'll just tell them that I won't make the Choice if they hurt you in any way."

  "Garion!" she gasped. "You can't do that! You'll destroy the universe if you do!"

  “So what? The universe doesn't mean anything to'me without you, you know."

  "That's very sweet, but you can't do it. You wouldn't do it anyway. You’ve got too great a sense of responsibility.”

  "What makes you think you're going to be the one?"

  "The tasks, Garion. Every one of us has a task—some of us more than one. Belgarath had to find out where the meeting's going to take place. Velvet had to kill Harakan. Even Sadi had a task. He had to kill Naradas. I have no task—except to die."

  Garion decided at that point to tell her. "You did have a task, Ce'Nedra," he told her, "and you did it very well."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You wouldn't remember it. After we left Kell, you were very drowsy for several days.”

  "Yes, I remember that."

  "It wasn't because you were sleepy. Zandramas was tampering with your mind. She's done it before. You remember that you got sick on your way to Rak Hagga?"

  "Yes."

  "It was a different kind of sickness, but it was Zandramas again. She's been trying to take control of you for more than a year now.”

  Ce'Nedra stared at him.

  "Anyway, after we left Kell, she managed to put your mind to sleep. You wandered off and, out there in the forest, you thought you met Arell."

  "Arell? She's dead."

  "I know, but you thought you met her all the same, and she gave you what you thought was our baby. Then this supposed Arell asked you some questions, and you answered them."

  "What kind of questions?"

  "Zandramas had to find out where the meeting was supposed to take place, and she couldn't go to Kell. She posed as Arell so she could ask you those questions. You told her about Perivor, about the map, and about Korim. That was your task.”

  "I betrayed you?" Her look was stricken.

  "No. You saved the universe. Zandramas absolutely has to be at Korim at the right time. Somebody had to tell her where to go, and that was your task.”

  "I don't remember any of this."

  “Of course not. Aunt Pol erased the memory of it from your mind. It wasn't really your fault, and you'd have been overcome with remorse if you'd been able to remember what happened."

&n
bsp; "I still betrayed you."

  "You did what had to be done, Ce'Nedra." Garion smiled a bit wistfully. "You know, both sides in this have been trying to do the same thing. We—and Zandramas, of course—have been trying to find Korim and to keep the other side from finding out where it is so that we can win by default. It was never going to happen that way, though. The meeting absolutely has to take place before Cyradis can choose. The prophecies weren't going to let it happen any other way. Both sides have wasted a great deal of effort trying to do something that simply could not be done. We should have all realized that from the very beginning. We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble. About the only consolation I have is that Zandramas wasted a lot more effort than we did.

  "I'm still certain that it's going to be me."

  "Nonsense."

  "I just hope they let me hold my baby before I die," she said sadly.

  "You're not going to die, Ce'Nedra."

  She ignored him. "I want you to take care of yourself, Gar-ion," she said firmly. "Be sure that you eat right, dress warmly in winter, and make sure that our son doesn't forget me."

  "Ce'Nedra, will you stop this?"

  "One last thing, Garion," she plowed on relentlessly. "After I've been gone for a while, I want you to marry again. I don't want you moping around the way Belgarath has for the last three thousand years."

  "Absolutely not. Besides, nothing's going to happen to you."

  "We'll see. Promise, Garion. You weren't meant to be alone, and you need somebody to take care of you."

  "Have you almost finished with this?" It was Poledra. She stepped out from behind the foremast in a businesslike way. "It's all very pretty and sweetly melancholy, I'm sure, but isn't it just a trifle overdramatic? Garion's right, Ce'Nedra. Nothing's going to happen to you, so why don't you fold up all this nobility and put it away in a closet someplace?"

  "I know what I know, Poledra," Ce'Nedra said stubbornly.

  "I hope you won't be too disappointed when you wake up the day after tomorrow and find that you're in perfect health."

  "Who's it going to be, then?"

  "Me," Poledra said simply. "I’ve known about it for over three thousand years now, so I’ve had time to get used to it. At least I have this day with the ones I love before I have to leave for good. Ce'Nedra, that wind is very chilly. Let's go below before you catch cold." ,

  "She's just like your Aunt Pol, isn't she?" Ce'Nedra said over her shoulder as Poledra firmly led her toward the stair leading belowdecks.

  "Naturally," Garion called back.

  "It's started, I see," Silk said from not far away.

  "What's started?"

  "The gushy farewells. Just about everybody's convinced that he's the one who won't see the sun go down tomorrow. I'd imagine that they'll all come up here one by one to say good-bye to you. I thought I'd be first—sort of to get it out of the way—but Ce'Nedra beat me to it.”

  "You? Nothing could kill you, Silk. You're too lucky."

  "I’ve made my own luck, Garion. It's not that hard to tamper with dice." The little man's face grew reflective. "We’ve really had some good times, haven't we? I think they outweigh the bad ones, and that's about ali a man can hope for."

  "You're as maudlin as Ce'Nedra and my grandmother were."

  "It does sort of seem that way, doesn't it? And that's very unbecoming. Don't be too sad about it, Garion. If I do happen to be the one, it should spare me the discomfort of making a very unpleasant decision.”

  "Oh? What decision is that?"

  "You know my views on marriage, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes. You’ve spoken on the subject many, many times."

  Silk sighed. "All that to the contrary, I think I'm going to have to make up my mind about Liselle."

  "I wondered how long that would take you."

  "You knew?" Silk looked surprised.

  "Everybody knew, Silk. She set out to get you, and she did exactly that."

  "That's depressing—to get trapped finally when I'm in my dotage."

  "I'd hardly say you're that far gone."

  "I must be even to be considering something like this," Silk said moodily. "Liselle and I could continue to go on the way we have been, I suppose, but sneaking down hallways to her bedroom in the middle of the night seems a little disrespectful for some reason, and I'm too fond of her for that."

  "Fond?"

  "All right then," Silk snapped. "I'm in love with her. Does it make you feel better to have me come right out and say it?"

  "I just wanted to get it clear, that's all. Is this the first time you’ve admitted it—even to yourself?"

  "I’ve been trying to avoid that. Do you suppose we could talk about something else?" He looked around. "I wish he'd go find another piece of air to fly in,” he said in a grouchy tone of voice.

  "Who?"

  "That blasted albatross. He's back again." Silk pointed. Gar-ion, turned and saw the white seabird with its enormous wings Oil station once more just ahead of the bowsprit. The cloud bank to the west had grown more and more purpie as the morning had progressed, and against that backdrop the snowy bird .seemed almost to glow with an unearthly incandescence.

  "That's very strange," Garion said.

  “I just wish I knew what he was up to," Silk said. "I'm going below. I don't want to look at him anymore." He took Garionls hand in his. "We’ve had fun," he said gruffly. "Take care of yourself.”

  "You don't have to leave."

  "I have to make room for all the others waiting in line to see you, your Majesty." Silk grinned. "I think you're in fora depressing day. I 'm going to go find out if Beldin's found an ale barrel yet." With a jaunty wave, the little man turned and went to the stairway leading below.

  Silk's prediction proved to be all too accurate. One by one, Garion's friends came up on deck to take leave of him, each firmly convinced that he would be the one to die. Alt in all, it was a very gloomy day.

  It was almost twilight when the last of the self-composed epitaphs had been completed. Garion leaned on the rail, looking back at the phosphorescent wake glowing behind their ship.

  "Bad day, I take it?" It was Silk again.

  "Dreadful. Did Beldin find any ale?"

  "I don't recommend any of that for you. You'll need your wits about you tomorrow. I just came up to make sure that all the gloom your friends have been piling on you doesn't make you start thinking about drowning yourself." Silk frowned. "What's that?" he asked.

  "What's what?"

  "That booming noise." He looked toward the bow. "There it is," he said tensely.

  The purple sky had turned almost black with the onset of evening, a black pierced here and there with patches of angry red, the light of the setting sun glowing through tfie clouds. There was a rusty-colored blur low on the horizon, a blur that seemed to be wearing a white necklace of frothy surf.

  Captain Kresca came forward with the rolling walk of a man who spends little time ashore. "That's it, good masters," he told them. "That's the reef."

  Garion stared out at the Place Which Is No More, his thoughts and emotions stumbling over each other.

  And then the albatross gave a strange cry, a cry that seemed almost triumphant. The great pearly-white bird dipped its pinions once, then continued toward Korim on seemingly motionless wings.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Oskatat the Seneschal moved with a certain deliberate speed through the corridors of the Drojim Palace toward the throne room of Urgit, high King of Cthol Murgos. Oskatat's scarred face was bleak, and his mind was troubled. He stopped before the closely guarded door to the throne room. "I will speak with his Majesty," he declared.

  The guards hastily opened the door for him. Although by mutual agreement between himself and King Urgit, Oskatat still bore only the title of Seneschal, the guards, like everyone else in the palace, recognized the fact that he was second only to the king himself in authority in Cthol Murgos.

  He found his rat-faced monarch in light conversation wi
th Queen Praia and Queen Mother Tamazin, Oskatat's own wife. "Ah, there you are, Oskatat," Urgit said. "Now my little family is complete. We've been discussing some extensive remodeling of the Drojim Palace. All these jewels and the tons of gold on the ceilings are in terribly bad taste, wouldn't you say? Besides, I need the money I'll be able to get for all that trash for the war effort."

  "Something important has come up, Urgit," Oskatat told his king. By royal command, Oskatat always called his king by his first name in private conversations.

  "That's depressing," Urgit said, sprawling deeper into the cushions on his throne. Taur Urgas, Urgit's supposed father, had scornfully rejected such comforts as cushions, preferring to set an example of Murgo hardihood by sitting for hours on cold stone. About all that brainless gesture had gained the mad king had been a fistula, which had added quite noticeably in the later years of his life to his irritability.

  "Sit up straight, Urgit," Lady Tamazin, the king's mother, said absently.

  "Yes, mother," Urgit replied, straightening slightly on his throne. "Go ahead, Oskatat," he said, "but please drop it on me gently. Lately I’ve noticed that 'important things' usually turn out to be disasters."

  "I’ve been in contact with Jaharb, Chief Elder of the Da-gashi," Oskatat reported. "At my request, he's been trying to pinpoint the location of Agachak the Hierarch. We've finally found him—or at least found the port he sailed from when he left Cthol Murgos."

  "Astonishing," Urgit said with a broad grin. "For once you've actually brought me some good news. So Agachak has left Cthol Murgos. We can hope that it's his intention'to sail off the edge of the world. I'm glad you told me about this, Oskatat. I'll sleep much better now that that walking corpse no longer contaminates what's left of my kingdom. Were Jaharb's spies able to find out his intended destination?"

  "He's bound for Mallorea, Urgit. Judging from his actions, he appears to believe that the Sardion is there. He went to Thull Mardu and pressured King Nathel into accompanying him."

  Urgit suddenly laughed uproariously. "He actually did it!" he exclaimed with delight.