Enchanters' End Game

by David Eddings

  ‘I expect it’s time for Garion and me to be going,’ Belgarath said, his face rather sentimental and misty.

  Aunt Pol, however, had quite obviously realized something. Her eyes narrowed slightly, then went very wide. ‘Just a moment, Old Wolf,’ she said to Belgarath with a faint hint of steel in her voice. ‘You knew about this from the very beginning, didn’t you?’

  ‘About what, Pol?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘That Durnik – that I—’ For the first time in his life Garion saw her at a loss for words. ‘You knew!’ she flared.

  ‘Naturally. As soon as Durnik woke up, I could feel something different in him. I’m surprised you didn’t feel it yourself. I had to work with him a bit to bring it out, though.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘You didn’t ask, Pol.’

  ‘You – I—’ With an enormous effort she gained control of herself. ‘All of these months you let me go on thinking that my power was gone, and it was there all the time! It was still there, and you put me through all of that?’

  ‘Oh, really, Pol. If you’d just stopped to think, you’d have realized that you can’t give it up like that. Once it’s there, it’s there.’

  ‘But our Master said—’

  Belgarath raised one hand. ‘If you’ll just stop and remember, Pol, all he really asked was if you’d be willing to limit your independence in marriage and go through life with no more power than Durnik has. Since there’s no way he could remove your power, he obviously had something else in mind.’

  ‘You let me believe—’

  ‘I have no control over what you believe, Pol,’ he replied in his most reasonable tone of voice.

  ‘You tricked me!’

  ‘No, Pol,’ he corrected, ‘you tricked yourself.’ Then he smiled fondly at her. ‘Now, before you go off into a tirade, think about it for a moment. All things considered, it didn’t really hurt you, did it? And isn’t it really nicer to find out about it this way?’ His smile became a grin. ‘You can even consider it my wedding present to you, if you’d like,’ he added.

  She stared at him for a moment, obviously wanting to be cross about the whole thing, but the look he returned her was impish. The confrontation between them had been obscure, but he had quite obviously won this time. Finally, no longer able to maintain even the fiction of anger, she laughed helplessly and put her hand affectionately on his arm. ‘You’re a dreadful old man, father,’ she told him.

  ‘I know,’ he admitted. ‘Coming, Garion?’

  Once they were in the hall outside, Belgarath began to chuckle.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Garion asked him.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for that moment for months,’ his grandfather said, still chortling. ‘Did you see her face when she finally realized what had happened? She’s been moping around with that look of noble self-sacrifice for all this time, and then she suddenly finds out that it was absolutely unnecessary.’ His face took on a wicked little smirk. ‘Your Aunt’s always been just a little too sure of herself, you know. Maybe it was good for her to go for a little while thinking that she was just an ordinary person. It might give her some perspective.’

  ‘She was right.’ Garion laughed. ‘You are a dreadful old man.’

  Belgarath grinned. ‘One does one’s best.’

  They went along the hallway to the royal apartment where the clothes Garion was to wear for his wedding were already laid out.

  ‘Grandfather,’ Garion said, sitting down to pull off his boots, ‘there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Just before Torak died, he called out to his mother.’

  Belgarath, tankard in hand, nodded.

  ‘Who is his mother?’

  ‘The universe,’ the old man replied.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Belgarath scratched thoughtfully at his short, white beard. ‘As I understand it, each of the Gods began as an idea in the mind of UL, the father of the Gods, but it was the universe that brought them forth. It’s very complicated. I don’t understand it entirely myself. Anyway, as he was dying, Torak cried out to the one thing that he felt still loved him. He was wrong, of course. UL and the other Gods did still love him, even though they knew that he had become twisted and totally evil. And the universe grieved for him.’

  ‘The universe?’

  ‘Didn’t you feel it? That instant when everything stopped and all the lights went out?’

  ‘I thought that was just me.’

  ‘No, Garion. For that single instant all the light in the universe went out, and everything stopped moving – everything – everywhere. A part of that was the grief of the universe for her dead son.’

  Garion thought about that. ‘He had to die, though, didn’t he?’

  Belgarath nodded. ‘It was the only way that things could get back on the right course. Torak had to die so that things could go toward what they’re supposed to. Otherwise, everything would have ultimately wound up in chaos.’

  A sudden strange thought struck Garion. ‘Grandfather,’ he said, ‘who is Errand?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Belgarath replied. ‘Perhaps he’s just a strange little boy. Perhaps he’s something else. You’d probably better start changing clothes.’

  ‘I was trying not to think about that.’

  ‘Oh, come now. This is the happiest day of your life.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It might help if you keep saying that to yourself.’

  By general consent, the Gorim of Ulgo had been selected to perform the ceremony uniting Garion and Ce’Nedra in marriage. The frail, saintly old man had made the journey from Prolgu in short, easy stages, carried by litter through the caves to Sendaria, then conveyed in King Fulrach’s royal carriage to the city of Sendar and thence by ship to Riva. The revelation of the fact that the God of the Ulgos was the father of the other Gods had struck theological circles like a thunderclap. Entire libraries of turgid philosophical speculation had instantly become obsolete, and priests everywhere now stumbled about in a state of shock. Grodeg, the High Priest of Belar, fainted dead away at the news. The towering ecclesiastic, already crippled for life by the wounds he had received during the battle of Thull Mardu, did not take this final blow well. When he recovered from his swoon, his attendants found that his mind had reverted to childhood, and he spent his days now surrounded by toys and brightly colored bits of string.

  The royal wedding, of course, took place in the Hall of the Rivan King, and everyone was there. King Rhodar was in crimson, King Anheg in blue. King Fulrach wore brown, and King Cho-Hag the customary Algar black. Brand, the Rivan Warder, his face made even more somber by the death of his youngest son, was dressed in Rivan gray. There were other royal visitors as well. Ran Borune XXIII in his gold-colored mantle was strangely jovial as he bantered with the shaven-headed Sadi. Oddly enough, the two of them got on well together. The possibilities of the new situation in the west appealed to them both, and they were obviously moving toward an accommodation of some sort. King Korodullin wore royal purple and stood about with the other kings – although he spoke but little. The blow to his head during the battle of Thull Mardu had affected his hearing, and the young king of Arendia was obviously uncomfortable in company.

  In the very center of the gathered monarchs stood King Drosta lek Thun of Gar og Nadrak, wearing a curiously unattractive yellow doublet. The nervous, emaciated king of the Nadraks spoke in short little bursts, and when he laughed, there was a shrill quality in his voice. King Drosta made many arrangements that afternoon – some of which he even intended to honor.

  Belgarion of Riva, of course, did not participate in those discussions – which was probably just as well. The Rivan King’s mind was a trifle distracted at that moment. Dressed all in blue, he paced nervously in a nearby antechamber where he and Lelldorin awaited the fanfare which was to summon them into the great hall. ‘I wish this was all over,’ he said for the sixth time.

  ‘Just be patient, Garion,’ Lelldorin adv
ised him again.

  ‘What are they doing out there?’

  ‘Probably waiting for word that her Highness is ready. At this particular time, she’s far more important than you are. That’s the way weddings are, you know.’

  ‘You’re the lucky one. You and Ariana just ran off and got married without all this fuss.’

  Lelldorin laughed ruefully. ‘I didn’t really escape it. Garion,’ he said, ‘just postponed it for a while. All the preparations here have inflamed my Ariana. As soon as we return to Arendia, she wants us to have a proper wedding.’

  ‘What is it about weddings that does such strange things to the female mind?’

  ‘Who can say?’ Lelldorin shrugged. ‘A woman’s mind is a mystery – as you’ll soon discover.’

  Garion gave him a sour look and adjusted his crown once again. ‘I wish it were all over,’ he said again.

  In time the fanfare echoed through the Hall of the Rivan King, the door opened, and, trembling visibly, Garion adjusted his crown one last time and marched out to meet his fate. Although he knew most of the people in the hall, the faces around him were all a blur as he and Lelldorin walked past the peat fires glowing in the pits in the floor toward the throne where his great sword once more hung in its proper place with the Orb of Aldur glowing on its pommel.

  The hall was hung with buntings and banners, and there was a vast profusion of spring flowers. The wedding guests, in silks, satins, and brightly colored brocades, seemed themselves almost like some flower garden as they twisted and strained to watch the entrance of the royal bridegroom.

  Awaiting him before the throne stood the white-robed old Gorim of Ulgo, a smile on his gentle face. ‘Greetings, Belgarion,’ the Gorim murmured as Garion mounted the steps.

  ‘Holy Gorim,’ Garion replied with a nervous bow.

  ‘Be tranquil, my son,’ the Gorim advised, noting Garion’s shaking hands.

  ‘I’m trying, Holy One.’

  The brazen horns sounded yet another fanfare, and the door at the back of the hall swung wide. The Imperial Princess Ce’Nedra, dressed in her creamy, pearl-studded wedding gown, stood in the doorway with her cousin Xera at her side. She was stunning. Her flaming hair streamed down across one shoulder of her gown, and she wore the varicolored golden circlet of which she had always been so fond. Her face was demure, and a delicate little blush colored her cheeks. She kept her eyes downcast, although once she flickered a quick glance at Garion, and he saw the little twinkle that lurked behind her thick lashes. He knew then with absolute certainty that all that demure modesty was a pose. She stood long enough to allow all to look their fill at her perfection before, accompanied by the sound of gently cascading harps, she came down the aisle to meet her quivering bridegroom. In a ceremony Garion thought just a trifle overdone, Barak’s two little daughters preceded the bride, strewing her path with flowers.

  When she reached the dais, Ce’Nedra rather impulsively kissed the kindly old Gorim’s cheek and then took her place at Garion’s side. There was a fragrance about her that was strangely flowerlike – a fragrance that for some reason made Garion’s knees tremble.

  The Gorim looked out at the assemblage and began to speak. ‘We are gathered today,’ he began, ‘to witness the last unraveling of the Prophecy which has guided all our lives through the deadliest of peril and brought us safely to this happy moment. As foretold, the Rivan King has returned. He has met our ancient foe and he has prevailed. His reward stands radiant at his side.’

  Reward? Garion had not considered it in precisely that light before. He thought about it a bit as the Gorim continued, but it didn’t really help all that much. He felt a sharp little nudge in his ribs.

  ‘Pay attention,’ Ce’Nedra whispered.

  It got down to the questions and answers shortly after that. Garion’s voice cracked slightly, but that was only to be expected. Ce’Nedra’s voice, however, was clear and firm. Couldn’t she at least pretend to be nervous – just a little?

  The rings which they exchanged were carried on a small velvet cushion by Errand. The child took his duties quite seriously, but even on his small face there was that slightly amused look. Garion resented that. Was everyone secretly laughing at him?

  The ceremony concluded with the Gorim’s benediction, which Garion did not hear. The Orb of Aldur, glowing with an insufferable smugness, filled his ears with its song of jubilation during the Gorim’s blessing, adding its own peculiar congratulations.

  Ce’Nedra had turned to him. ‘Well?’ she whispered.

  ‘Well what?’ he whispered back.

  ‘Aren’t you going to kiss me?’

  ‘Here? In front of everybody?’

  ‘It’s customary.’

  ‘It’s a stupid custom.’

  ‘Just do it, Garion,’ she said with a warm little smile of encouragement. ‘We can discuss it later.’

  Garion tried for a certain dignity in the kiss – a kind of chaste formality in keeping with the general tone of the occasion. Ce’Nedra, however, would have none of that. She threw herself into the business with an enthusiasm which Garion found slightly alarming. Her arms locked about his neck and her lips were glued to his. He irrationally wondered just how far she intended to go with this. His knees were already beginning to buckle.

  The cheer which resounded through the hall saved him. The trouble with kissing in public was that one was never sure just how long one should keep it up. If it were too short, people might suspect a lack of regard; if it were too long, they might begin to snicker. Grinning rather foolishly, Belgarion of Riva turned to face the wedding guests.

  The wedding ball and the supper which was part of it immediately followed the ceremony. Chatting gaily, the wedding guests trooped through a long corridor to a brightly decorated hall which had been converted into a grand ballroom ablaze with candles. The orchestra was composed of Rivan musicians under the direction of a fussy Arendish concertmaster, who strove mightily to keep the independent Rivans from improvising on those melodies which pleased them.

  This was the part Garion had dreaded the most. The first dance was to be a solo affair featuring the royal couple. He was expected to march Ce’Nedra to the center of the floor and perform in public. With a sudden horror, he realized – even as he and his radiant bride went to the center of the room – that he had forgotten everything Lelldorin had taught him.

  The dance which was popular at that particular season in the courts of the south was graceful and quite intricate. The partners were to face in the same direction, the man behind and slightly to one side of the woman. Their arms were supposed to be extended and their hands joined. Garion managed that part without too much trouble. It was all those quick, tiny little steps in time to the music that had him worried.

  In spite of everything, though, he did quite well. The fragrance of Ce’Nedra’s hair, however, continued to work on him, and he noted that his hands trembled visibly as the two of them danced. At the end of the first melody, the wedding guests applauded enthusiastically; as the orchestra took up the second tune, they all joined in, and the floor was filled with whirling colors as the dance became general.

  ‘I guess we didn’t do too badly,’ Garion murmured.

  ‘We were just fine,’ Ce’Nedra assured him.

  They continued to dance.

  ‘Garion,’ she said after a few moments.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you really love me?’

  ‘Of course I do. What a silly thing to ask.’

  ‘Silly?’

  ‘Wrong word,’ he amended quickly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Garion,’ she said after a few more measures.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I love you too, you know.’

  ‘Of course I know.’

  ‘Of course? Aren’t you taking a bit much for granted?’

  ‘Why are we arguing?’ he asked rather plaintively.

  ‘We aren’t arguing, Garion,’ she told him loftily. ‘We’re discussing.’

 
; ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘That’s all right then.’

  As was expected, the royal couple danced with everyone. Ce’Nedra was passed from king to king like some royal prize, and Garion escorted queens and ladies alike to the center of the floor for the obligatory few measures. Tiny blond Queen Porenn of Drasnia gave him excellent advice, as did the stately Queen Islena of Cherek. Plump little Queen Layla was motherly – even a bit giddy. Queen Silar gravely congratulated him, and Mayaserana of Arendia suggested that he’d dance better if he weren’t quite so stiff. Barak’s wife, Merel, dressed in rich green brocade, gave him the best advice of all. ‘You’ll fight with each other, of course,’ she told him as they danced, ‘but never go to sleep angry. That was always my mistake.’

  And finally Garion danced with his cousin Adara.

  ‘Are you happy?’ he asked her.

  ‘More than you could ever imagine,’ she replied with a gentle smile.

  ‘Then everything worked out for the best, didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Garion. It’s as if it had all been fated to happen. Everything feels so right, somehow.’

  ‘It’s possible that it was fated,’ Garion mused. ‘I sometimes think we have very little control over our own lives – I know I don’t.’

  She smiled. ‘Very deep thoughts for a bridegroom on his wedding day.’ Then her face grew gravely serious. ‘Don’t let Ce’Nedra drive you to distraction,’ she advised. ‘And don’t always give in to her.’

  ‘You’ve heard about what’s been happening?’

  She nodded. ‘Don’t take it too seriously, Garion. She’s been testing you, that’s all.’

  ‘Are you trying to say that I still have to prove something?’

  ‘With Ce’Nedra – probably every day. I know your little princess, Garion. All she really wants is for you to prove that you love her – and don’t be afraid to say it to her. I think you’ll be surprised at how agreeable she’ll be if you just take the trouble to tell her that you love her – frequently.’