Guardians of the West

  ‘It looks as if we’ve got a situation on our hands here,’ Garion said quietly to Kail, who had accompanied him. ‘I think we’d better try to put the best face on this meeting.’

  Kail looked at the angry faces of the townspeople pressing toward the wharves. ‘Perhaps you’re right, Belgarion,’ he agreed.

  ‘We’re going to have to put on a show of cordiality when we greet Anheg.’

  ‘You ask a great deal, Belgarion.’

  ‘I hate to put it this way, Kail, but I’m not asking. Those Chereks along the rail are Anheg’s personal bodyguard. If anything starts here, there’s going to be a lot of bloodshed—and probably the beginning of a war that none of us wants. Now smile, and let’s go welcome the King of Cherek.’

  To give it the best possible appearance, Garion led Kail up the gangway to the deck of Barak’s ship so that his meeting with King Anheg could take place in full view of the angry crowd. Barak, clad in a formal green doublet and looking even larger than he had the last time Garion had seen him, strode down the deck to meet them. ‘This is a very bleak time for us all,’ he declared as he shook hands first with Garion and then with Kail. ‘Anheg and Hettar are below with the ladies.’

  ‘Ladies?’ Garion asked.’

  ‘Islena and Merel.’

  ‘You’ve heard the rumors?’ Garion asked him.

  Barak nodded. ‘That’s one of the reasons we brought our wives.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Garion said approvingly. ‘A man who’s coming someplace to pick a fight doesn’t usually bring his wife along, and we all want to give this the best possible appearance.’

  ‘I’ll go down and get Anheg,’ Barak said, casting a quick glance at the ugly crowd gathered at the foot of his gangway.

  King Anheg’s brutish, black-bearded face was haggard and drawn when he emerged from belowdecks in his usual blue robe.

  ‘Anheg, my friend,’ Garion said in a voice intended to carry to the crowd. He hurried forward and caught the Cherek king in a rough embrace. ‘I think we should smile,’ he whispered. ‘We want to let those people know that we’re still the best of friends.’

  ‘Are we, Garion?’ Anheg asked in a subdued voice.

  ‘Nothing has changed at all, Anheg,’ Garion said firmly.

  ‘Let’s get on with this, then.’ Anheg raised his voice. ‘The royal house of Cherek extends its condolences to the Rivan Throne in this hour of grief,’ he declared formally.

  ‘Hypocrite!’ a voice from the crowd bellowed.

  Anheg’s face went bleak, but Garion moved quickly to the rail, his eyes angry. ‘Any man who insults my friend insults me,’ he said in a dreadfully quiet voice. ‘Does anyone here want to say anything to me?’

  The crowd drew back nervously.

  Garion turned back to Anheg. ‘You look tired,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve been tearing the palace apart—and most of Val Alorn as well—ever since I heard about what happened, but I haven’t been able to find a single clue.’ The blackbearded Cherek king stopped and looked straight into Garion’s face. His eyes had a pleading look in them. ‘I swear to you, Garion, upon my life, that I had nothing whatsoever to do with the death of Brand.’

  ‘I know that, Anheg,’ Garion said simply. He glanced at the still-angry crowd. ‘Maybe we’d better get Hettar and the ladies and go on up to the Citadel. The others are all there, and we want to get started.’ He turned to Kail. ‘As soon as we get there, I want you to send down some men to disperse these people. Have them seal off the foot of this quay. I don’t want any trouble here.’

  ‘Is it that bad?’ Anheg asked very quietly.

  ‘Just a precaution,’ Garion said. ‘I want to keep things under control until we get to the bottom of this.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  The funeral of Brand, the Rivan Warder, took place the following day in the Hall of the Rivan King. Garion, dressed all in black, sat on the basalt throne with Ce’Nedra at his side as the Rivan Deacon delivered the eulogy to the crowded Hall.

  The presence of King Anheg of Cherek at that sorrowful ceremony caused an angry undertone among the members of the Rivan nobility, and it was only their profound respect for Brand and Garion’s flinty gaze that prevented the whispers at the back of the Hall from becoming open accusations. Anheg, seated between Porenn and Cho-Hag, remained stony-faced throughout the services and he left the Hall immediately upon their conclusion.

  ‘I’ve never seen him like this,’ Barak said quietly to Garion after the ceremony. ‘No one has ever accused him of murder before, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.’

  ‘No one’s accusing him now,’ Garion replied quickly.

  ‘Turn around and look at the faces of your subjects, Garion,’ Barak said sadly. ‘There’s an accusation in every single eye.’

  Garion sighed. ‘I don’t have to look. I know exactly what they’re thinking.’

  ‘When do you want to start the meetings?’

  ‘Let’s wait a bit,’ Garion decided. ‘I don’t particularly want Anheg going through the corridors of the Citadel while all these mourners are drifting about with daggers in their belts.’

  ‘Sound thinking,’ Barak agreed.

  They gathered about midafternoon in the blue-draped council chamber in the south tower. As soon as Kail had closed the door, Anheg rose and faced them. ‘I want to state right at the outset that I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened here,’ he declared. ‘Brand was always one of my closest friends, and I’d have cut off my arm before I’d have hurt him. You have my word for that—both as a king and as an Alorn.’

  ‘No one’s accusing you of anything, Anheg,’ Cho-Hag said quietly.

  ‘Ha! I’m not nearly as stupid as I look, Cho-Hag—and even if I were, I still have ears. The people here in Riva have done everything short of spitting in my face.’

  The silvery-haired Earl of Seline leaned back in his chair. ‘I think perhaps that all of these suspicions—totally unfounded, of course—stem from that letter the assassins presented when they came here. Might it not be the quickest way to proceed to begin by examining that document?’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ Garion said. He turned to Kail. ‘Could we see the letter?’

  ‘Ah—Ancient Belgarath has it, Sire,’ Kail said.

  ‘Oh—that’s right,’ Belgarath said. ‘I’d almost forgotten.’ He reached inside his gray tunic, drew out a folded parchment, and handed it to the old Sendarian nobleman.

  ‘It looks more or less in order,’ the Earl mused after he had read it.

  ‘Let me see that,’ Anheg demanded. He held the document distastefully, scowlng as he read. ‘That’s my signature, all right,’ he admitted, ‘and my seal, but I certainly didn’t write this.’

  Garion had a thought. ‘Do you always read everything they bring you to sign?’ he asked. ‘I know that there are times when they bring me whole stacks of things to sign, and I just write my name at the bottom of each one. What I’m getting at is—could someone have slipped this into a pile of other documents so that you signed it without knowing what it said?’

  Anheg shook his head. ‘That happened to me once,’ he said. ‘Now I read everything before I sign it. Not only that, I dictate every document I put my name to. That way I know it says exactly what I want it to say.’ He thrust the letter toward Garion. ‘Look at this,’ he said, pointing at the second paragraph. ‘“Foreasmuch as trade is the lifeblood of both our kingdoms —” and so on. Blast it, Garion! I’ve never used the word “foreasmuch” in my entire life.’

  ‘How do we reconcile this, then?’ the Earl of Seline asked. ‘We have authenticated the signature and seal. King Anheg declares that he not only reads everything he signs but that he also dictates every letter and proclamation personally. And yet we find textual inconsistencies in the document.’

  ‘Seline,’ Anheg said acidly, ‘did you ever dabble in law? You sound a greal deal like a lawyer.’

  The Earl laughed. ‘Merely trying to be concise, your Maje
sty,’ he said.

  ‘I hate lawyers.’

  The damning letter was central to the discussions for the remainder of the day, but nothing was resolved. Garion went wearily to bed that night as confused and filled with doubts as he had been when they started.

  He slept badly and woke late. As he lay in the canopied royal bed, still trying to sort out his thoughts, he could hear voices coming from the adjoining room. Almost idly he began to identify those voices. Ce’Nedra was there, of course, and Aunt Pol. Queen Layla’s giddy laugh made her easily identifiable. Nerina and Ariana, because of their Mimbrate dialect, were as easy. There were others as well, but the individuality of their voices was lost in the general chatter.

  Garion slowly sat up, feeling almost as if he had not slept at all. He pushed the down-filled comforter aside and swung his feet to the floor. He did not really want to face this day. He sighed and stood up. Briefly he looked at the solid black doublet and hose he had worn the day before, then shook his head. To continue to dress in mourning might in some obscure way be taken as a silent accusation. That must be avoided at all costs. The situation involving King Anheg was so delicate at the moment that the slightest hint could push it into crisis. He crossed to the heavy wardrobe where he kept his clothes, selected one of his customary blue doublets, and began to dress.

  The conversation in the adjoining room broke off suddenly at the sound of a knock on the door.

  ‘Am I welcome here?’ he heard Queen Islena ask in a subdued voice.

  ‘Of course you are,’ Aunt Pol replied.

  ‘I had thought that —’ Islena faltered, then began again. ‘Considering everything, I had thought that perhaps it might be better if I stayed away.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Queen Layla declared. ‘Do come in, Islena.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement.

  ‘I swear to you all that my husband is innocent of this atrocity,’ Islena said in a clear voice.

  ‘No one is saying that he was not, Islena,’ Aunt Pol replied quietly.

  ‘Not openly perhaps, but there are ugly suspicions everywhere.’

  ‘I’m certain that Garion and the others will get to the bottom of it,’ Ce’Nedra said firmly. ‘Then everything will be cleared up.’

  ‘My poor Anheg did not sleep at all last night,’ Islena told them sadly. ‘I know that he looks brutish, but inside he’s really very sensitive. This has hurt him deeply. Once he even cried.’

  ‘Our lords will requite the tears thy husband hath shed upon the body of the foul villain who lurks behind this monstrous act,’ the Baroness Nerina declared. ‘And the foolish men who doubt his true fidelity shall be covered with shame for their lack of trust, once the truth is out.’

  ‘I can only hope that you’re right,’ Islena said.

  ‘This is a mournful topic, ladies,’ Garion’s cousin Adara told the rest of them, ‘and it has nothing to do with the real reason we’re all here.’

  ‘And what reason is that, gentle Adara?’ Ariana asked.

  ‘The baby, Ariana,’ Adara replied. ‘We’ve come to see your baby again, Ce’Nedra. I’m sure he’s not still sleeping, so why don’t you bring him in here so that we can all fuss over him?’

  Ce’Nedra laughed. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  The council meeting began again about midmorning. The kings and their advisors gathered once more in the blue-draped council chamber. The golden sunlight of a late summer morning streamed in through the windows and a gentle sea breeze stirred the draperies. There was no particular formality in these sessions, and the monarchs and the others lounged comfortably in the velvet-upholstered chairs scattered about the room.

  ‘I really don’t think we’ll accomplish too much by chewing on that letter for another day,’ Belgarath began. ‘Let’s agree that it’s obviously a forgery of some kind and move on.’ He looked at Kail. ‘Did your father have any enemies here on the island?’ he asked. ‘Someone wealthy enough and powerful enough to hire Cherek assassins?’

  Kail frowned. ‘No one can go through life without stepping on a few toes, Ancient One,’ he replied, ‘but I don’t think anybody was holding that kind of grudge.’

  ‘In truth, my friend,’ Mandorallen told him, ‘some men, when they feel that they have been offended, will nurture their rancor in silence and with dissembling guise conceal their enmity until opportunity doth present itself to revenge themselves. The history of Arendia is replete with stories of such acts.’

  ‘It’s a possibility,’ King Fulrach agreed. ‘And it might be better if we start close to home before we begin to go further afield.’

  ‘A list might be useful,’ Javelin suggested. ‘If we write down the name of every man on the Isle of the Winds whom Brand might possibly have offended, we can start eliminating them. Once we have the list narrowed down, we can start investigating. If the man behind this is a Rivan, he’d either have had to visit Cherek or had some contact with Chereks sometime in the recent past.’

  It took the remainder of the morning to compile the list. Kail sent for certain documents, and they all considered each of the decisions Brand had made during the past five years. Since the Warder had functioned as the kingdom’s chief magistrate, there had been many decisions and usually a winner and a loser in each case.

  After lunch, they began the winnowing process, discarding the names of those men without sufficient wealth or power to be able to obtain the services of paid assassins.

  ‘It’s narrowing down a bit,’ Javelin said as he struck off another name. He held up the list. ‘We’ve got this down to almost manageable proportions.’

  There was a respectful knock on the door. One of the guards posted there spoke briefly with someone outside, then came over to Barak and murmured something to him. The big red-bearded man nodded, rose, and followed him from the room.

  ‘How about this one?’ Javelin asked Kail, pointing at another name.

  Kail scratched at one cheek. ‘I don’t think so,’ he replied.

  ‘It was a dispute over land,’ Javelin pointed out, ‘and some people get very intense where land is concerned.’

  ‘It was only a pasture,’ Kail recalled, ‘and not a very big one. The man has more land than he can keep track of anyway.’

  ‘Why did he go to the law, then?’

  ‘It was the other man who brought the matter to my father.’

  Barak came back into the room. ‘Anheg,’ he said to his cousin, ‘Greldik’s here. He’s got something fairly important to tell you.’

  Anheg started to rise, then looked around. ‘Have him come in here,’ he said shortly. ‘I don’t want anybody thinking that I’ve got any secrets.’

  ‘We’ve all got secrets, Anheg,’ Queen Porenn murmured.

  ‘My situation is somewhat peculiar, Porenn.’ He pushed his dented crown back into place from where it had slipped down over one ear.

  The bearded and fur-clad Greldik pushed past the guards and came into the chamber at that point. ‘You’ve got trouble at home, Anheg,’ he growled bluntly.

  ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘I just came back from Jarviksholm,’ Greldik replied. ‘They’re very unfriendly there.’

  ‘There’s nothing new about that.’

  ‘They tried to sink me,’ Greldik said. ‘They’ve lined the tops of the cliffs on both sides of the inlet leading up to the city with catapults. The boulders were coming down like hailstones for a while.’

  Anheg scowled. ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘Probably because they didn’t want me to see what they’re doing.’

  ‘What could they be doing that they’d want to keep that secret?’

  ‘They’re building a fleet.’

  Anheg shrugged. ‘Lots of people build ships in Cherek.’

  ‘A hundred at a time?’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘I was busy dodging boulders, so I couldn’t get an exact count, but the entire upper end of the inlet is lined with yards. The keels have
all been laid, and they’re starting on the ribs. Oh, they’re working on the city walls, too.’

  ‘The walls? They’re already higher than the walls of Val Alorn.’

  ‘They’re even higher now.’

  Anheg scowled. ‘What are they up to?’

  ‘Anheg, when you build a fleet and start strengthening your fortifications, it usually means that you’re getting ready for a war. And when you try to sink the ship of a man known to be friendly to the crown, that usually means that the war is going to be with your king.’

  ‘He does have a point, Anheg,’ Barak said.

  ‘Who’s in control at Jarviksholm right now?’ Garion asked curiously.

  ‘The Bear-cult,’ Anheg said in disgust. ‘They’ve been filtering into the town from all over Cherek for the past ten years.’

  ‘This is very serious, Anheg,’ Barak said.

  ‘It’s also totally out of character,’ Javelin pointed out. ‘The cult has never been interested in confrontational politics before.’

  ‘What kind of politics?’ Anheg asked.

  ‘Another way of saying open war with the crown,’ the Drasnian Chief of Intelligence explained.

  ‘Say what you mean, man.’

  ‘An occupational peculiarity,’ Javelin shrugged. ‘Always before, the cult has tried to work from within—trying to gather enough support to be able to coerce the kings of the Alorn nations to follow their policies. I don’t think they’ve ever even considered open rebellion before.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything, I guess,’ Hettar suggested.

  Javelin was frowning. ‘It’s not at all like them,’ he mused, ‘and it’s a direct reversal of a policy they’ve followed for the past three thousand years.’

  ‘People change sometimes,’ General Brendig said.

  ‘Not the Bear-cult,’ Barak told him. ‘There isn’t room enough in a cultist’s mind for more than one idea.’

  ‘I think you’d better get off your behind and get back to Val Alorn, Anheg,’ Greldik suggested. ‘If they get those ships in the water, they’ll control the whole west coast of Cherek.’

  Anheg shook his head. ‘I have to stay here,’ he declared. ‘I’ve got another matter that’s more important right now.’