‘He’s not really hurt, is he?’
‘He’s still moving – a little bit – but they’ll need a blacksmith to get him out of his armor before the physicians can go to work on him.’
‘I still think it might work,’ Zakath said stubbornly.
‘We’ll give you a splendid funeral if it doesn’t. All right. It’s our turn. Let’s go get our lances.’
The blunted lances were padded at the tip with layer upon layer of woolly sheepskin tightly wrapped in canvas. The result was a round padded ball that looked totally humane, but which Garion knew would hurl a man from his saddle with terrific force, and it was not the impact of the lance that broke bones, but rather it was the violent contact with the ground. He was a bit distracted at the point when he began to focus his will, and so the best word he could come up with as a release for that will was ‘Make it that way.’ He was not entirely positive that it worked exactly as he had planned. His first opponent was hurled from his saddle at a point some five feet before Garion’s lance touched his shield. Garion adjusted the aura of force around their lances. Zakath’s technique, Garion saw with some surprise, worked flawlessly. A single, almost unnoticeable, twist of his forearm deflected his opponent’s lance, and then his own blunted lance smashed directly into the center of the knight’s shield. A man hurled forcefully from the back of a charging horse flies through the air for quite some distance, Garion noticed, and the crash when he hits the ground sounds much like that which might come from a collapsing smithy. Both their opponents were carried senseless from the field.
It was a bad day for the pride of Perivor. As their experience with their enhanced weapons increased, the Rivan King and the Emperor of Mallorea quite literally romped through the ranks of the steel-clad knights of Perivor, filling the dispensaries with row upon row of groaning injured. It was more than a rout. It soon reached disastrous proportions. At last, with even their unthinking Mimbrate heritage sobered by the realization that they were facing an invincible pair, the knights of Perivor gathered and took counsel with each other. And then, en masse, they yielded.
‘What a shame,’ Zakath said regretfully. ‘I was starting to enjoy this.’
Garion decided to ignore that.
As the two started back toward the stands to make the customary salute to the king, white-eyed Naradas came forward with an oily smile. ‘Congratulations, Sir Knights,’ he said. ‘You are men of great prowess and extraordinary skill. You have won the field and the laurels of the day. Mayhap you have heard of the great prize of honor and glory that is to be bestowed upon the champions of this field?’
‘No,’ Garion said flatly. ‘I can’t say that we have.’
‘You have contested this day for the honor of subduing a troublesome beast that betimes hath disturbed the peace of our fair kingdom.’
‘What kind of beast?’ Garion asked suspiciously.
‘Why, a dragon, of course, Sir Knight.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘HE’S TRICKED US again, hasn’t he?’ Beldin growled when they had returned to their quarters following the tourney. ‘White-eyes is beginning to irritate me just a bit. I think I’ll take some steps.’
‘Too noisy,’ Belgarath told him. ‘The people here are not entirely Mimbrate.’ He turned to Cyradis. ‘There’s a certain sound sorcery makes,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I know.’
‘Can you hear it?’
She nodded.
‘Are there other Dals here on the island who can hear it, as well?’
‘Yes, Ancient Belgarath.’
‘How about these counterfeit Mimbrates? They’re at least half Dal. Is it possible that some of them might be able to hear it, too?’
‘Entirely so.’
‘Grandfather,’ Garion said in a worried tone, ‘that means that half the people in Dal Perivor heard what I did to the lances.’
‘Not over the noise of the crowd, they didn’t.’
‘I didn’t know that would make a difference.’
‘Of course it does.’
‘Well,’ Silk said grimly, ‘I won’t use sorcery, and I can guarantee that there won’t be any noise.’
‘But there will be a certain amount of evidence, Kheldar,’ Sadi pointed out, ‘and since we’re the only strangers in the palace, there might be some embarrassing questions if they find Naradas with one of your daggers sticking out of his back. Why don’t you let me handle it? I can make things look much more natural.’
‘You’re talking about cold-blooded murder, Sadi,’ Durnik accused.
‘I appreciate your sensibilities, Goodman Durnik,’ the eunuch replied, ‘but Naradas has already tricked us twice and, each time he does, he delays us that much more. We have to get him out of the way.’
‘He’s right, Durnik,’ Belgarath said.
‘Zith?’ Velvet suggested to Sadi.
He shook his head. ‘She won’t leave her babies – not even for the pleasure of biting someone. I have a few other things that are just as effective. They’re not quite as fast perhaps, but they get the job done.’
‘Zakath and I still have to come up against Zandramas,’ Garion said glumly, ‘and this time we’ll have to do it alone – because of that stupid tournament.’
‘It won’t be Zandramas,’ Velvet told him. ‘Ce’Nedra and I spoke with some of the young ladies here at court while you two were out there being magnificent. They told us that this “fearsome beast” has been showing up from time to time for centuries now, and Zandramas has only been active for a dozen years, hasn’t she? I really think the dragon you’ll be fighting will be the real one.’
‘I’m not so sure, Liselle,’ Polgara disagreed. ‘Zandramas can take the form of that dragon at any time. If the real one is asleep in her lair, it could very well be Zandramas who’s been out there terrorizing the countryside this time – all as a part of the scheme to force a confrontation before we get to the place of the meeting.’
‘I’ll know which it is as soon as I get a look at it,’ Garion said.
‘How?’ Zakath asked him.
‘The first time we met, I cut off about four feet of her tail. If the one we run into out there has a stub tail, we’ll know it’s Zandramas.’
‘Do we really have to go to this celebration tonight?’ Beldin asked.
‘It’s expected, uncle,’ Aunt Pol told him.
‘But I haven’t got a single solitary thing to wear, don’t y’ know,’ he said rogueishly, lapsing back into Feldegast’s brogue.
‘We’ll take care of you, uncle,’ she said ominously.
The affair that evening had been weeks in the planning. It was the grand finale of the tournament, and it involved dancing – in which Garion and Zakath, still in armor, could not participate. It involved a banquet – which visored, they could not eat. And it involved a great many flowery toasts to ‘These mighty champions, who have lent luster to our remote isle by their presence here,’ as the nobles in the court of King Oldorin vied with one another to heap extravagant praise on Garion and Zakath.
‘How long is this likely to go on?’ Zakath muttered to Garion.
‘Hours.’
‘I was afraid you might say that. Here come the ladies.’
Polgara, flanked by Ce’Nedra and Velvet, entered the throne room almost as if she owned it. Cyradis, strangely – or perhaps not – was not with them. Polgara, as usual, was gowned in royal blue velvet trimmed with silver. She looked magnificent. Ce’Nedra wore a cream-colored gown much like her wedding dress, although the seed pearls which had adorned her nuptial gown were missing. Her wealth of coppery-colored hair spilled down in curls over one shoulder. Velvet was gowned in lavender satin. Any number of the young knights of Perivor – those who could still walk after the day’s entertainment – were hopelessly smitten by the sight of her.
‘Time for some obscure introductions, I think,’ Garion muttered to Zakath. Pleading the necessity for anonymity, the ladies had remained in their quarters since t
heir arrival. Garion stepped forward and escorted them to the throne. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said to King Oldorin, bowing slightly, ‘though I may not, by reason of our need for concealment, tell thee in fulsome detail of their lands of origin, it would be discourteous of me – to both thee and to the ladies themselves – not to present them. I have the honor to present her Grace, the Duchess of Erat.’ That was safe. Nobody on this side of the world would have the faintest idea where Erat was.
Polgara curtsied with exquisite grace, ‘Your Majesty,’ she greeted the king in her rich voice.
He rose to his feet with alacrity. ‘Your Grace,’ he replied with a deep bow. ‘Thy presence here illuminates our poor palace.’
‘And, your Majesty,’ Garion went on, ‘Her Highness, Princess Xera.’ Ce’Nedra stared at him. ‘Your real name might be too well-known,’ he whispered to her.
Ce’Nedra recovered instantly. ‘Your Majesty,’ she said with a curtsy every bit as graceful as Polgara’s. After all, a girl can’t grow up in an imperial court without learning a few things.
‘Your Highness,’ the king responded. ‘Thy beauty doth rob my poor tongue of speech.’
‘Isn’t he nice?’ Ce’Nedra murmured.
‘And lastly, your Majesty,’ Garion concluded, ‘but certainly not the least, the Margravine of Turia,’ he introduced Velvet, making the name up on the spur of the moment.
Velvet curtsied. ‘Your Majesty,’ she said. When she straightened, she was smiling, leveling the full impact of her dimples upon him.
‘My Lady,’ the king faltered, bowing once again, ‘thy smile doth stop my heart.’ He looked around, a bit puzzled. ‘Methinks I do remember another lady among thy companions, Sir Knight,’ he said to Garion.
‘A poor blind girl, your Majesty,’ Polgara interceded, ‘who hath but recently joined us. Courtly entertainments, I fear, would be lost on one who lives in darkness perpetual. She is in the care of the enormous man in our company, one of her family’s faithful retainers, who hath guided and protected her since the melancholy occasion when the light of day forever vanished from her eyes.’
Two great tears of sympathy trickled down the king’s cheeks. Arends, even transplanted ones, were, after all, an emotional people.
Then other companions entered, and Garion was glad that his visor hid his grin. Beldin’s face was like a thundercloud. His hair and beard had been washed and combed, and he wore a blue robe not unlike Belgarath’s white one. Garion proceeded with a group of introductions as fraudulent as the previous ones, concluding with, ‘And this, your Majesty, is Master Feldegast, a supremely talented jester, whose rare japes do lighten the weary miles for us all.’
Beldin scowled at him and then made a cursory bow. ‘Ah, yer Majesty, ’tis overwhelmed I am by the splendor of yer city an’ yer magnificent palace here. ’Tis a match fer Tol Honeth, Mal Zeth, an’ Melcene – all of which places I have seen in th’ plyin’ of me trade an’ demonstratin’ me unspeakable talents, don’t y’ know.’
The king was grinning broadly. ‘Master Feldegast,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘In a world full of sorrow, such men as thou art rare and precious.’
‘Ah, isn’t it grand of y’ t’ say it, yer Majesty?’
Then, with the formalities over, Garion and the others drifted away to mingle. A determined-looking young lady advanced on Garion and Zakath. ‘You are the greatest knights on life, my Lords,’ she greeted them with a curtsy, ‘and the exalted stations of your companions do proclaim louder than words that ye are both men of high, mayhap even royal, rank.’ She gave Garion a smoldering look. ‘Art thou perchance betrothed, Sir Knight?’ she asked.
Another one of those repetitions, Garion groaned inwardly. ‘Married, my Lady,’ he replied. This time he knew how to deal with the situation.
‘Ah,’ she said, her eyes clearly disappointed. Then she turned to Zakath. ‘And thou, my Lord?’ she asked, ‘art thou espoused as well – or betrothed, perchance?’
‘Nay, my Lady,’ Zakath answered, sounding puzzled.
Her eyes brightened.
Garion stepped in at that point. ‘It is time, my friend, for thee to consume yet another draft of that admittedly foul-tasting potion.’
‘Potion?’ Zakath asked in a baffled voice.
Garion sighed. ‘Thy malady worsens, I perceive,’ he said, feigning a sorrowful voice. ‘This forgetfulness of thine is, I fear me, a precursor of the more violent symptoms which will inevitably ensue. Pray to all seven Gods that we may conclude our quest ’ere the hereditary madness, the curse of thy family, o’erwhelms thee quite.’
The determined-looking young lady backed away, her eyes wide with fright.
‘What are you talking about, Garion?’ Zakath muttered.
‘I’ve been through this before. The girl was looking for a husband.’
‘That’s absurd.’
‘Not to her, it wasn’t.’
And then the dancing started. Garion and Zakath drew off to one side to watch. ‘It’s a silly pastime, isn’t it?’ Zakath observed. ‘I’ve never known why any sane man would choose to waste time on it.’
‘Because the ladies love to dance,’ Garion told him. ‘I’ve never met one who didn’t. It’s in their blood, I think.’ He looked toward the throne and saw that King Oldorin was unoccupied at the moment. He sat smiling and tapping his foot in time to the music. ‘Let’s find Belgarath and go talk with the king. This might be a good time to ask about that chart.’
Belgarath was leaning against one of the buttresses, watching the dancers with a slightly bored look on his face. ‘Grandfather,’ Garion said to him, ‘nobody’s talking to the king right now. Why don’t we go ask him about that map?’
‘Good idea. This party’s likely to last well into the night, so there won’t be much chance for a private audience.’
They approached the throne and bowed. ‘Might we have a word with thee, your Majesty?’ Garion asked.
‘Of course, Sir Knight. Thou and thy companion are my champions, and it would be churlish of me indeed not to lend an ear to thee. What is this matter which concerns thee?’
‘It is but a small thing, your Majesty. Master Garath here—’ Garion had dropped the ‘Bel’ in making the introduction. ‘– as I told thee earlier, is mine eldest advisor and he hath guided my steps since earliest childhood. In addition, he is a scholar of some note and hath recently turned his attention to the study of geography. There hath been a long-standing dispute among geographers concerning the configuration of the world of antiquity. By purest chance, Master Garath happened to hear of an ancient chart which, his informant assured him, is kept here in the palace in Dal Perivor. Beset by raging curiosity, Master Garath hath implored me to inquire of thee if thou knowest if such a chart doth indeed exist, and if perchance thou dost, if thou wilt give him permission to peruse it.’
‘Indeed, Master Garath,’ the king said, ‘I do assure thee that thine informant was not in error. The chart you seek is one of our most prized relics, for it is the self-same chart which guided our ancestors to the shores of this isle eons ago. As soon as we have leisure, I will be most happy to provide thee access to it in furtherance of thy studies.’
Then Naradas stepped from behind the purple drape at the back of the throne. ‘There will be, I fear me, scant time for studies for some while, your Majesty,’ he said, sounding just a bit smug. ‘Forgive me, my King, but I chanced to overhear thy last remark as I was hurrying to bring thee perhaps distressing news. A messenger hath arrived from the east advising that the foul dragon doth even now ravage the village of Dal Esta not three leagues from here. The beast is unpredictable in its depradations and may lurk in the forest for days ’ere it emerge again. It well may be that this tragic occurrence is to our advantage. Now is the time to strike. What better opportunity than this for our two brave champions to sally forth and rid us of this nuisance? And I do perceive that these powerful knights do rely heavily upon the advice of this ancient man, and it is fitting therefore that he
should accompany them to guide their strategy.’
‘Well spoken, Erezel,’ the silly king agreed enthusiastically. ‘I had feared me that flushing the beast from hiding might have consumed weeks. Now it is accomplished in the space of a single night. Venture forth then, my champions and Master Garath. Rid my kingdom of this dragon, and no boon ye ask shall be denied thee.’
‘Thy happy discovery was timely, Master Erezel,’ Belgarath said. The words were bland, but Garion knew his grandfather well enough to recognize their implication. ‘As his Majesty hath said, thou hast saved us much time this night. As soon as I have leisure, I will think of some way to thank thee properly.’
Naradas shrank back slightly, his face apprehensive. ‘No thanks are necessary, Master Garath,’ he said. ‘I did no more than my duty to my king and his realm.’
‘Ah yes,’ Belgarath said, ‘duty. We all have many duties, don’t we? Commend me to the Child of Dark when next thou prayest to her. Advise her that, as is foreordained, we shall meet anon.’
Then he turned and, with Garion and Zakath close behind him, he strode out among the dancers and left the throne room. So long as he had been in the presence of strangers, the old man’s expression had been neutral. Once they reached the deserted corridor, however, he began to swear savagely. ‘I was right on the verge of getting my hands on that chart,’ he fumed. ‘Naradas has done it to me again.’
‘Should I go back and get the others?’ Garion asked.
‘No. They’d all want to go along, and that’d only start an argument. We’ll leave a note.’
‘Again?’
‘These repetitions are cropping up more and more regularly, aren’t they?’
‘Let’s hope Aunt Pol doesn’t react the same way this time.’
‘What are you two talking about?’ Zakath asked.
‘Silk, Grandfather, and I slipped out of Riva when we went to meet Torak,’ Garion explained. ‘We left a note, but Aunt Pol didn’t take it too well. As I understand it, there was a lot of swearing and a number of explosions.’