Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress

by David Eddings

  Everything was in its proper place. We were ready.

  I stepped into the doorway and paused, looking directly at the fellow in the Tolnedran mantle at the duke’s side. Krachack had known me the instant he’d laid eyes on me, and I was hoping that this Murgo would as well.

  Then, while his eyes were still starting out of their sockets, I went on into the plain view of everybody in the room. My gown had been designed to attract attention, and it still worked. Heads swivelled. People broke off what they were saying in mid-sentence to stare at me. Lammer’s bow-string twanged.

  The steel-tipped arrow made a crunching sound as it drove directly into the Murgo’s forehead. The distance wasn’t really that great, and Lammer’s bow had strong limbs. The arrow plunged through the Murgo’s brain, and it protruded a foot or more out behind his head. He did look just a bit peculiar with the feathered fletching of the arrow decorating his forehead. His body stiffened as he jerked into an erect position.

  ‘Assassin!’ I shouted, augmenting my voice so that the sentries on the city wall probably heard me. ‘Get the duke to safety!’

  And that’s how I overthrew the government of Asturia. One arrow, one shout, and it was done. The good ones are always simple.

  Even as that pseudo Tolnedran slowly toppled backward, Mangaran was moving. ‘To the duke!’ he bellowed. ‘Shield him with your bodies!’

  At first the startled courtiers hung back. There was always the possibility of more arrows, and very few in the room were that fond of Oldoran. But Mangaran had already hurled his own body on that of the confused duke, and others rushed forward to join him. Other courtiers were drawing their swords and looking around for somebody to stab.

  Asrana was screaming in a masterful imitation of hysteria.

  I moved quickly around the outskirts of the crowd to the door behind the throne. ‘This way, my Lord Mangaran!’ I shouted. ‘Bring the duke! The rest of you, guard this door! There’s treason afoot!’ I wanted to nail that down.

  Then I cast a hideous illusion directly in front of the stupefied Oldoran’s bleary eyes, and he was the only one who could see it. He began to scream and gibber in absolute terror, even as several courtiers picked him up bodily and followed Earl Mangaran to the doorway where I stood. I intensified the illusion before the duke’s eyes, and his screaming grew even louder as he struggled to free himself. I definitely wanted that screaming to continue.

  ‘Should I make the announcement?’ Mangaran muttered to me as he led the little cluster of men carrying the duke through the door.

  ‘Not yet,’ I replied quietly. ‘Let him scream for a while. I’ll be along in a few moments to examine him.’ I let them on through the doorway and then firmly shut the door and set my back against it. ‘Find that assassin!’ I commanded. ‘Hunt him down!’

  That gave everyone who wasn’t busy guarding the door something to do. A quick search with my mind had revealed the fact that Lammer had already left the palace grounds and was sitting in a tavern several streets away. The searchers did find his bow and a quiver of arrows up in the gallery, however. Lammer, I noted, was a thoroughgoing professional.

  Not everyone in the throne-room joined in that disorganized search for the mysterious bowman, though. About a half-dozen distraught-looking Asturian nobles were gathered around the dead Murgo’s body. Some of them were even wringing their hands, and one was openly weeping. I caught Asrana’s eye and crooked one finger at her.

  She came to me immediately. ‘Yes, Polly?’ she said.

  ‘Wipe that silly grin off your face, Asrana,’ I told her, and I didn’t say it out loud.

  ‘How are you – ?’ she started.

  ‘Hush! Listen, don’t talk. Fix the names of those men around the body by the throne firmly in your mind. Those are the ones we’ll have to watch out for.’ Then I spoke aloud to her – just loud enough to be heard by the courtiers guarding the door. ‘Calm yourself, dear,’ I told her. “The duke’s safe, and the Earl Mangaran’s with him.’

  ‘Did he get hurt?’ she asked, wincing as Oldoran gave vent to a particularly piercing shriek.

  ‘He’s distraught, Asrana. The shock of this attempt on his life has unsettled him just a bit, I think. Here. Take my place. If anyone tries to rush this door, give up your life to hold them off.’

  She lifted her chin and assumed a heroic pose. ‘I will!’ she declared. ‘They’ll have to rip me to pieces and spill out all my blood. They will not pass!’

  ‘Brave girl,’ I murmured. Then I opened the door and went into the small antechamber where the duke was busy having hysterics. I drew Mangaran off to one side. ‘All right, my Lord,’ I murmured softly to him. ‘Part one is over. Now it’s time to move on to part two.’

  ‘Do you have any other surprises up your sleeve, Polgara?’ he murmured in reply. ‘I almost lost my grip when that Murgo’s forehead sprouted feathers.’

  ‘I rather thought you might like it. I’m going to examine the duke, and my diagnosis is going to be that he’s temporarily lost control of his senses.’

  ‘Temporarily?’

  “That’s an interim diagnosis, Mangaran. It’ll serve as an excuse for us to transport him to the monastery. We’ll pull long faces and talk about lingering after effects later. You’re going to have to identify me when you make your announcement, my Lord. Introduce me, and I’ll advise the courtiers of my findings. My name’s known well enough that nobody’s going to argue with me. I’ll tell them that the duke needs a safe place for his recovery, and then you suggest the monastery. It’s a logical place – peace, quiet, security, and lots of monks around to see to his needs. We’d better get on with this, Earl Mangaran. I want him inside that monastery before the Marquis Torandin’s party breaks up. I don’t want any unrestrained creativity about alternatives cropping up. Once the duke’s safely tucked in that monastery, we can protest that it’s unsafe to move him.’

  ‘You’ve covered just about everything, haven’t you, Polgara?’

  ‘I’ve certainly tried. Look worried while I examine his Grace.’

  ‘Why should I worry? You’ve tied up all the loose ends.’

  ‘Simulate worry, Mangaran. Let’s move right along here.’

  Oldoran was still gaping at the illusion I’d set before his eyes and gibbering in terror as I leaned over to examine him. His breath was acrid, and his entire body exuded the foul reek of the confirmed drunkard. Getting that close to him wasn’t pleasant. Given his current condition, I didn’t have to be too subtle when I probed at his mind. There wasn’t very much of it left, as I recall. Then I continued to probe, moving systematically through his major organs. His liver, naturally, was almost in ruins, and his kidneys were right on the verge of shutting down completely. His arteries were almost clogged shut, and his heart was faltering. My original estimate that he had no more than six months to live might have been just a little optimistic.

  ‘Very well, my Lord Mangaran,’ I said in a professional tone of voice for the benefit of the others in the room. ‘I’ve finished my examination. His Grace is in a serious condition – quite possibly even critical. He needs complete rest and quiet. Someone else will have to assume his duties until he recovers.’

  ‘I shall so advise the court, my Lady,’ he assured me, also speaking for the others in the rooms. ‘I am not a physician, however. Might I prevail upon you to describe his Grace’s condition to the court?’

  ‘Of course, my Lord.’ Then we went back out into the hub-bub of the throne room, leaving the door slightly ajar so that the courtiers could hear Oldoran’s screaming.

  Mangaran went to the throne, glanced briefly at the sprawled body of the Murgo in the Tolnedran mantle, and raised his voice to address the crowd. ‘My Lords and Ladies,’ he said in a tone filled with feigned concern, ‘his Grace’s condition is, I’m afraid, far more serious than we’d imagined. The shock of this foul attempt upon his life has aggravated an illness which none of us has suspected.’ He made a rueful face. ‘I’m not well-versed in
the functions of the human body,’ he confessed. ‘I’m not even exactly sure how my blood gets from one place to another. Fortunately, a visitor to Vo Astur is among the finest physicians in all the world. She has examined his Grace and has reached certain conclusions, which she has agreed to share with us. The lady in question has a towering reputation, and I’m certain that most of you have heard of her. My Lords and Ladies, may I present the Lady Polgara, daughter of Ancient Belgarath.’

  There were all the usual gasps of astonishment – and disbelief – and they were followed by some dubious applause.

  I stepped to Mangaran’s side. ‘My Lords and Ladies,’ I began. ‘I’d not intended to make my presence here in Vo Astur public, but the current crisis requires me to come forward to make certain things known to you. Your duke is gravely ill, and this heartless attempt on his life has exacerbated his condition.’ I paused – just a bit theatrically, I suppose. ‘As you can hear, your duke is a bit distraught just now.’ I glanced back toward the door to the room where the duke was still screaming. ‘His grace is suffering from a rare condition known as interstitial conjunctive morbialis, which afflicts not only the body, but the mind as well. In short, his Grace hovers on the verge of total physical and mental collapse.’

  Don’t bother tearing medical texts apart looking for ‘interstitial conjunctive morbialis’. You won’t find it, since it’s pure gibberish that I made up right there on the spot.

  It sounds absolutely awful, though, doesn’t it?

  ‘Can it be cured, Lady Polgara?’ Asrana asked me.

  ‘I can’t be certain,’ I replied. “The malady is so rare that there probably haven’t been more than a half-dozen cases since the disease was first identified over a century ago.’

  ‘What course of treatment would you advise, Lady Polgara?’ Mangaran asked me.

  ‘The duke must have total rest and quiet,’ I replied. ‘I’d advise removing him from the palace here to some secure place where he’ll be safe from further attempts on his life and where he can have absolute rest. If he remains here in the palace, the affairs of state will inevitably begin to intrude upon him, and he’ll die.’

  ‘Die?’ Asrana gasped. ‘Is it that serious?’

  ‘Probably even more so,’ I replied. ‘His life hangs by a thread.’ I turned to Earl Mangaran. ‘Is there some nearby place where his Grace might be taken to begin his recovery?’ I asked. ‘A place such as I’ve just described?’

  ‘Well,–’ He said it just a bit dubiously. “There’s a monastery about an hour’s ride from here, Lady Polgara. It has high walls, and the monks there spend most of their lives in silent meditation. It’s secure, certainly, and it is quiet.’

  I pretended to think about it. ‘It might serve our purposes.’ I didn’t want to sound too enthusiastic.

  ‘And who will assume his Grace’s duties during his recovery?’ one of our ‘patriots’ demanded.

  Asrana stepped forward. ‘I’m just a silly woman,’ she said, ‘but it seems to me that someone already has. Earl Mangaran seems to have everything under control. Since he’s volunteered, why don’t we let him take care of things during the duke’s temporary incapacity?’

  ‘Yes,’ an elderly noble, also one of our cohorts, agreed. ‘Mangaran will do nicely, I think. The Privy Council may want to discuss the matter, but in the interim, I’d suggest that the earl should continue to make decisions. We do have the Wacites on our eastern frontier, after all, so we don’t want any signs of division or weakness to encourage them to attack.’

  Mangaran sighed. ‘If it is the will of the court – ’ He even managed to sound reluctant.

  The still gibbering duke was hustled into a carriage for his trip to the monastery an hour or so before the party at the Marquis Torandin’s house broke up. We left the Murgo’s body where it had fallen to help persuade the returning party-goers that there really had been an assassination attempt, and with only a few exceptions the courtiers all agreed that Mangaran should continue to stand in Oldoran’s stead.

  It was almost dawn by the time I fell into bed to snatch a couple of hours sleep.

  ‘Interstitial conjunctive morbialis?’ father’s voice asked mildly. ‘What’s that, Pol?’

  ‘It’s very rare, father.’

  ‘It must be. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before.’

  ‘Probably not. This is the first case I’ve ever seen. Go away, Old Man. Let me get some sleep. I’ll call you when it’s time for you to make your speech.’

  Our coup had gone off quite smoothly. Such opposition as there was had been thrown into total disarray by the speed at which we had moved, and the sudden appearance in the throne-room of the legendary Belgarath the Sorcerer about mid-morning of the day following our little coup more or less set our arrangements in stone. Father, always a performer, strode into the throne-room garbed in an almost incandescent white robe. He carried a staff, which the gullible Asturians assumed could be used to fell vast forests, blow the tops off mountains, and turn whole generations into regiments of toads. Father, quite naturally, took all the credit, and then he strongly suggested that it was his decision that Earl Mangaran assume the reins of the government.

  The dead Murgo who’d subverted Duke Oldoran was buried with Lammer’s arrow still stuck through his head, and since most of his underlings were Angaraks incapable of making decisions on their own, they had to wait for new instructions from Rak Cthol. Ctuchik had been getting all sorts of bad news lately, and I had every intention of going on to Vo Mimbre to send him some more.

  Father, Mangaran, Asrana and I gathered in Asrana’s apartments after everything had been nailed down to discuss our options at this point. ‘My father might not agree with me,’ I told them, ‘but I think our next step should be some peace overtures to Kathandrion of Vo Wacune. Let’s shut down this silly war.’ I looked at father. ‘Any objections?’ I asked him.

  ‘This is your party, Pol,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Do it any way you like.’

  ‘I’d more or less intended to, father.’ I cocked an eyebrow at Asrana and Mangaran. ‘I’m going on to Vo Mimbre,’ I advised them. Try not to get creative while I’m gone. Watch Oldoran’s relatives and those half-dozen or so courtiers who were so upset by the sudden passing of the fellow in the Tolnedran mantle. There are probably other Murgos lurking about, though, and I think they’ll also pose as Tolnedrans when they start showing up at court. I think the best way to deal with them would be to lean heavily on that “interim” business. Theoretically, you’re just filling in for Oldoran until he regains his health, my Lord Mangaran. Pretend that you don’t have the authority to sign treaties or agree to more informal arrangements. Tell them that they’ll have to wait until the duke recovers. That should stall anything new for about half a year. Ctuchik’s plan has a definite time-table, I think, and an enforced six-month delay should seriously disrupt it. The Dagashi will have to just mark time, but I won’t. I’ll be able to stop things at Vo Mimbre, and they won’t be able to do a thing about it.’

  ‘Did you teach her how to be so devious, Holy Belgarath?’ Mangaran asked my father.

  ‘No,’ father replied. ‘It seems to be a natural talent. I’m terribly proud of her, though.’

  ‘An actual compliment, father?’ I said. ‘I think I’ll faint.’

  Asrana had been eyeing my father with a speculative look.

  ‘That’s a terrible mistake, dear,’ I told her. ‘You don’t really want to get involved with him.’

  ‘I can take care of myself, Polly,’ she said, her eyes still on my father.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said. Then I threw up my hands and left for Vo Mimbre.

  Chapter 15

  My father suggested that I stop at Vo Mandor to talk with the current baron on my way south, so Lady and I went down across the vast, deforested plain of the Mimbrate duchy. Even then that landscape was depressingly dotted with the ruins of towns, villages, and isolated castles. I’m sure that Asturia and Wacune were littered with the souveni
rs of idiocies past as well, but those old wounds moldered discreetly in the forests which covered the two northern duchies. In Mimbre the grey stone ghosts of castles and the like were always painfully visible and were thus a constant reminder of the sorry history of Arendia. There are those who pass through the plains of Mimbre who find the ruins picturesque and romantic, but that’s usually long after the smoke and stench have been blown away and the seasons have washed off the blood.

  There wasn’t much danger that Mandorallen’s ancestral home would ever be part of the nameless ruins of the tides of civil war. Vo Mandor was probably what they had in mind when they coined the word ‘unassailable’. It stood atop a rocky knoll, and in the process of construction the builders had hacked away the sides of that knoll to obtain the necessary building stones. The end result was a fortress situated atop a jutting peak with sheer sides hundreds of feet high that defied assault – not that it hadn’t been tried a few times, Arends being what they are and all.

  As I thought about it, I reached the conclusion that the site of their place of origin may have played a significant role in the formation of the character of that long, unbroken line of the Barons of Vo Mandor. If you grow up with the conviction that no one can possibly hurt you, it tends to make you just a bit rash.

  The town of Vo Mandor surrounded the baron’s walled keep, and the town itself was also walled. It was approached by a long, steep causeway that was frequently interrupted by drawbridges designed to impede access. All in all, Vo Mandor was one of the bleaker places on earth.

  The view from the top was magnificent, though.

  Mandorin, the then-current baron, was a blocky widower in his mid-forties. He had massive shoulders, silver-shot dark hair, and a beautifully manicured beard. His manners were exquisite. When he bowed, the act was a work of art, and his speech was so sprinkled with interjected compliments that it often took him about a quarter of an hour to wend his way through a sentence.