Magician's Gambit

by David Eddings

  "Yes, dear?" Polgara looked up from the button she was sewing on one of Garion's tunics. She wore a pale blue dress, open at the throat in the heat.

  "What is sorcery? I was always told that such things didn't exist." It seemed like a good place to start the discussion.

  Polgara smiled at her. "Tolnedran education tends to be a bit onesided."

  "Is it a trick of some kind?" Ce'Nedra persisted. "I mean, is it like showing people something with one hand while you're taking something away with the other?" She toyed with the laces on her sandals.

  "No, dear. It's nothing at all like that."

  "Exactly how much can one do with it?"

  "We've never explored that particular boundary," Polgara replied, her needle still busy. "When something has to be done, we do it. We don't bother worrying about whether we can or not. Different people are better at different things, though. It's somewhat on the order of some men being better at carpentry while others specialize in stonemasonry."

  "Garion's a sorcerer, isn't he? How much can he do?" Now why had she asked that?

  "I was wondering where this was leading," Polgara said, giving the tiny girl a penetrating look.

  Ce'Nedra blushed slightly.

  "Don't chew on your hair, dear," Polgara told her. "You'll split the ends."

  Ce'Nedra quickly removed the curl from between her teeth.

  "We're not sure what Garion can do yet," Polgara continued. "It's probably much too early to tell. He seems to have talent. He certainly makes enough noise whenever he does something, and that's a fair indication of his potential."

  "He'll probably be a very powerful sorcerer then."

  A faint smile touched Polgara's lips. "Probably so," she replied. "Always assuming that he learns to control himself."

  "Well," Ce'Nedra declared, "we'll just have to teach him to control himself then, won't we?"

  Polgara looked at her for a moment, and then she began to laugh. Ce'Nedra felt a bit sheepish, but she also laughed.

  Garion, who was standing not far away, turned to look at them. "What's so funny?" he asked.

  "Nothing you'd understand, dear," Polgara told him.

  He looked offended and moved away, his back stiff and his face set. Ce'Nedra and Polgara laughed again.

  When Captain Greldik's ship finally reached the point where rocks and swiftly tumbling water made it impossible to go any farther, they moored her to a large tree on the north bank, and the party prepared to go ashore. Barak stood sweating in his mail shirt beside his friend Greldik, watching Hettar oversee the unloading of the horses. "If you happen to see my wife, give her my greetings," the red-bearded man said.

  Greldik nodded. "I'll probably be near Trellheim sometime during the coming winter."

  "I don't know that you need to tell her that I know about her pregnancy. She'll probably want to surprise me with my son when I get home. I wouldn't want to spoil that for her."

  Greldik looked a little surprised. "I thought you enjoyed spoiling things for her, Barak."

  "Maybe it's time that Merel and I made peace with each other. This little war of ours was amusing when we were younger, but it might not be a bad idea to put it aside now - for the sake of the children, if nothing else."

  Belgarath came up on deck and joined the two bearded Chereks. "Go to Val Alorn," he told Captain Greldik. "Tell Anheg where we are and what we're doing. Have him get word to the others. Tell him that I absolutely forbid their going to war with the Angaraks just now. Ctuchik has the Orb at Rak Cthol, and if there's a war, Taur Urgas will seal the borders of Cthol Murgos. Things are going to be difficult enough for us without that to contend with."

  "I'll tell him," Greldik replied doubtfully. "I don't think he'll like it much, though."

  "He doesn't have to like it," Belgarath said bluntly. "He just as to do it."

  Ce'Nedra, standing not far away, felt a little startled when she heard the shabby-looking old man issuing his peremptory commands. How could he speak so to sovereign kings? And what if Garion, as a sorcerer, should someday have a similar authority? She turned and gazed at the young man who was helping Durnik the smith calm an excited horse. He didn't look authoritative. She pursed her lips. A robe of some kind might help, she thought, and maybe some sort of book of magic in his hands - and perhaps just the hint of a beard. She narrowed her eyes, imagining him so robed, booked and bearded.

  Garion, obviously feeling her eyes on him, looked quickly in her direction, his expression questioning. He was so ordinary. The image of this plain, unassuming boy in the finery she had concocted for him in her mind was suddenly ludicrous. Without meaning to, she laughed. Garion flushed and stiffly turned his back on her.

  Since the rapids of the River of the Serpent effectively blocked all further nagivation upriver, the trail leading up into the hills was quite broad, indicating that most travelers struck out overland at that point.

  As they rode up out of the valley in the midmorning sunlight, they passed rather quickly out of the tangled jungle growth lining the river and moved into a hardwood forest that was much more to Ce'Nedra's liking. At the crest of the first rise, they even encountered a breeze that seemed to brush away the sweltering heat and stink of Nyissa's festering swamps. Ce'Nedra's spirits lifted immediately. She considered the company of Prince Kheldar, but he was dozing in his saddle, and Ce'Nedra was just a bit afraid of the sharp-nosed Drasnian. She recognized immediately that the cynical, wise little man could probably read her like a book, and she didn't really care for that idea. Instead she rode forward along the column to ride with Baron Mandorallen, who led the way, as was his custom. Her move was prompted in part by the desire to get as far away from the steaming river as possible, but there was more to it than that. It occurred to her that this might be an excellent opportunity to question this Arendish nobleman about a matter that interested her.

  "Your Highness," the armored knight said respectfully as she pulled her horse in beside his huge charger, "dost think it prudent to place thyself in the vanguard thus?"

  "Who would be so foolish as to attack the bravest knight in the world?" she asked with artful innocence.

  The baron's expression grew melancholy, and he sighed.

  "And why so great a sigh, Sir Knight?" she bantered.

  "It is of no moment, your Highness," he replied.

  They rode along in silence through the dappled shade where insects hummed and darted and small, scurrying things skittered and rustled in the bushes at the side of the trail.

  "Tell me," the princess said finally, "have you known Belgarath for long?"

  "All my life, your Highness."

  "Is he highly regarded in Arendia?"

  "Highly regarded? Holy Belgarath is the paramount man in the world! Surely thou knowest that, Princess."

  "I'm Tolnedran, Baron Mandorallen," she pointed out. "Our familiarity with sorcerers is limited. Would an Arend describe Belgarath as a man of noble birth?"

  Mandorallen laughed. "Your Highness, holy Belgarath's birth is so far lost in the dim reaches of antiquity that thy question has no meaning."

  Ce'Nedra frowned. She did not particularly like being laughed at. "Is he or is he not a nobleman?" she pressed.

  "He is Belgarath," Mandorallen replied, as if that explained everything. "There are hundreds of barons, earls by the score, and lords without number, but there is only one Belgarath. All men give way to him."

  She beamed at him. "And what about Lady Polgara?"

  Mandorallen blinked, and Ce'Nedra saw that she was going too fast for him. "The Lady Polgara is revered above all women," he said in puzzled response. "Highness, could I but know the direction of throe inquiry, I might provide thee with more satisfactory response."

  She laughed. "My dear Baron, it's nothing important or serious just curiosity, and a way to pass the time as we ride."

  Durnik the smith came forward at a trot just then, his sorrel horse's hoofbeats thudding on the packed earth of the trail. "Mistress Pol wants you to wait f
or a bit," he told them.

  "Is anything wrong?" Ce'Nedra asked.

  "No. It's just that there's a bush not far from the trail that she recognized. She wants to harvest the leaves - I think they have certain medicinal uses. She says it's very rare and only found in this part of Nyissa." The smith's plain, honest face was respectful as it always was when he spoke of Polgara. Ce'Nedra had certain private suspicions about Durnik's feelings, but she kept them to herself. "Oh," he went on, "she said to warn you about the bush. There might be others around. It's about a foot tall and has very shiny green leaves and a little purple flower. It's deadly poisonous - even to touch."

  "We will not stray from the trail, Goodman," Mandorallen assured him, "but will abide here against the lady's permission to proceed." Durnik nodded and rode on back down the trail.

  Ce'Nedra and Mandorallen pulled their horses into the shade of a broad tree and sat waiting. "How do the Arends regard Garion?" Ce'Nedra asked suddenly.

  "Garion is a good lad," Mandorallen replied, somewhat confused.

  "But hardly noble," she prompted him.

  "Highness," Mandorallen told her delicately, "throe education, I fear, hath led thee astray. Garion is of the line of Belgarath and Polgara. Though he hath no rank such as thou and I both have, his blood is the noblest in the world. I would give precedence to him without question should he ask it of me - which he would not, being a modest lad. During our sojourn at the court of King Korodullin at Vo Mimbre, a young countess pursued him most fervently, thinking to gain status and prestige by marriage to him."

  "Really?" Ce'Nedra asked with a hard little edge coming into her voice.

  "She sought betrothal and trapped him often with blatant invitation to dalliance and sweet conversation."

  "A beautiful countess?"

  "One of the great beauties of the kingdom."

  "I see." Ce'Nedra's voice was like ice.

  "Have I given offense, Highness?"

  "It's not important."

  Mandorallen sighed again.

  "What is it now?" she snapped.

  "I perceive that my faults are many."

  "I thought you were supposed to be the perfect man." She regretted that instantly.

  "Nay, Highness. I am marred beyond thy conception."

  "A bit undiplomatic, perhaps, but that's no great flaw - in an Arend."

  "Cowardice is, your Highness."

  She laughed at the notion. "Cowardice? You?"

  "I have found that fault in myself," he admitted.

  "Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "If anything, your fault lies in the other direction."

  "It is difficult to believe, I know," he replied. "But I assure thee with great shame that I have felt the grip of fear upon my heart."

  Ce'Nedra was baffled by the knight's mournful confession. She was struggling to find some proper reply when a great crashing rush burst out of the undergrowth a few yards away. With a sudden start of panic, her horse wheeled and bolted. She caught only the briefest glimpse of something large and tawny leaping out of the bushes at her - large, tawny, and with a great gaping mouth. She tried desperately to cling to her saddle with one hand and to control her terrified horse with the other, but its frantic flight took him under a low branch, and she was swept off its back to land unceremoniously in the middle of the trail. She rolled to her hands and knees and then froze as she faced the beast that had so clumsily burst forth from concealment.

  She saw at once that the lion was not very old. She noted that, though his body was fully developed, he had only a half grown mane. Clearly, he was an adolescent, unskilled at hunting. He roared with frustration as he watched the fleeing horse disappear back down the trail, and his tail lashed. The princess felt a momentary touch of amusement - he was so young, so awkward. Then her amusement was replaced by irritation with this clumsy young beast who had caused her humiliating unhorsing. She rose to her feet, brushed off her knees, and looked at him sternly. "Shoo!" she said with an insistent flip of her hand. She was, after all, a princess, and he was only a lion - a very young and foolish lion.

  The yellow eyes fell on her then and narrowed slightly. The lashing tail grew suddenly quite still. The young lion's eyes widened with a sort of dreadful intensity, and he crouched, his belly going low to the ground. His upper lip lifted to reveal his very long, white teeth. He took one slow step toward her, his great paw touching down softly.

  "Don't you dare," she told him indignantly.

  "Remain quite still, Highness," Mandorallen warned her in a deathly quiet voice. From the corner of her eye she saw him slide out of his saddle. The lion's eyes flickered toward him with annoyance.

  Carefully, one step at a time, Mandorallen crossed the intervening space until he had placed his armored body between the lion and the princess. The Lion watched him warily, not seeming to realize what he was doing until it was too late. Then, cheated of another meal, the cat's eyes went flat with rage. Mandorallen drew his sword very carefully; then, to Ce'Nedra's amazement, he passed it back hilt - first to her. "So that thou shall have means of defending thyself, should I fail to withstand him," the knight explained.

  Doubtfully, Ce'Nedra took hold of the huge hilt with both hands. When Mandorallen released his grip on the blade, however, the point dropped immediately to the ground. Try though she might, Ce'Nedra could not even lift the huge sword.

  Snarling, the lion crouched even lower. His tail lashed furiously for a moment, then stiffened out behind him. "Mandorallen, look out!" Ce'Nedra screamed, still struggling with the sword.

  The lion leaped.

  Mandorallen flung his steel-cased arms wide and stepped forward to meet the cat's charge. They came together with a resounding crash, and Mandorallen locked his arms around the beast's body. The lion wrapped his huge paws around Mandorallen's shoulders and his claws screeched deafeningly as they raked the steel of the knight's armor. His teeth grated and ground as he gnawed and bit at Mandorallen's helmeted head. Mandorallen tightened his deadly embrace.

  Ce'Nedra scrambled out of the way, dragging the sword behind her, and stared wide-eyed with fright at the dreadful struggle.

  The lion's clawing became more desperate, and great, deep scratches appeared on Mandorallen's armor as the Mimbrate's arms tightened inexorably. The roars became yowls of pain, and the lion struggled now not to fight or kill, but to escape. He wriggled and thrashed and tried to bite. His hind paws came up to rake furiously on Mandorallen's armored trunk. His yowls grew more shrill, more filled with panic.

  With a superhuman effort, Mandorallen jerked his arms together. Ce'Nedra heard the cracking of bones with a sickening clarity, and an enormous fountain of blood erupted from the cat's mouth. The young lion's body quivered, and his head dropped. Mandorallen unclenched his locked hands, and the dead beast slid limply from his grasp to the ground at his feet.

  Stunned, the princess stared at the stupendous man in blood-smeared and clawed armor standing before her. She had just witnessed the impossible. Mandorallen had killed a lion with no weapon but his mighty arms-and all for her!

  Without knowing why, she found herself crowing with delight. "Mandorallen!" She sang his name. "You are my knight!"

  Still panting from his efforts, Mandorallen pushed up his visor. His blue eyes were wide, as if her words had struck him with a stunning impact. Then he sank to his knees before her. "Your Highness," he said in a choked voice, "I pledge to thee here upon the body of this beast to be thy true and faithful knight for so long as I have breath."

  Deep inside her, Ce'Nedra felt a profound sort of click - the sound of two things, fated from time's beginning to come together, finally meeting. Something - she did not know exactly what - but something very important had happened there in that sun-dappled glade.

  And then Barak, huge and imposing, came galloping up the trail with Hettar at his side and the others not far behind. "What happened?" the big Cherek demanded, swinging down from his horse.

  Ce'Nedra waited until they had all rein
ed in to make her announcement. "The lion there attacked me," she said, trying to make it sound like an everyday occurrence. "Mandorallen killed him with his bare hands."

  "I was in fact wearing these, Highness," the still-kneeling knight reminded her, holding up his gauntleted fists.

  "It was the bravest thing I've ever seen in my life," Ce'Nedra swept on.

  "Why are you down on your knees?" Barak asked Mandorallen. "Are you hurt?"

  "I have just made Sir Mandorallen my very own knight," Ce'Nedra declared, "and as is quite proper, he knelt to receive that honor from my hands." From the corner of her eye she saw Garion in the act of sliding down from his horse. He was scowling like a thundercloud. Silently, Ce'Nedra exulted. Leaning forward then, she placed a sisterly kiss on Mandorallen's brow. "Rise, Sir Knight," she commanded, and Mandorallen creaked to his feet.

  Ce'Nedra was enormously pleased with herself.

  The remainder of the day passed without incident. They crossed a low range of hills and came down into a little valley as the sun settled slowly into a cloudbank off to the west. The valley was watered by a small stream, sparkling and cold, and they stopped there to set up their night's encampment. Mandorallen, in his new role as knight-protector, was suitably attentive, and Ce'Nedra accepted his service graciously, casting occasional covert glances at Garion to be certain that he was noticing everything.

  Somewhat later, when Mandorallen had gone to see to his horse and Garion had stomped off to sulk, she sat demurely on a moss-covered log congratulating herself on the day's accomplishments.

  "You're playing a cruel game, Princess," Durnik told her bluntly from the spot a few feet away where he was building a fire.

  Ce'Nedra was startled. So far as she could remember, Durnik had never spoken directly to her since she had joined the party. The smith was obviously uncomfortable in the presence of royalty and, indeed, seemed actually to avoid her. Now, however, he looked straight into her face, and his tone was reproving.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she declared.

  "I think you do." His plain, honest fact was serious, and his gaze was steady.