Relg struggled with that painful question.
"I think you've led a very sheltered life, Relg," she told the zealot. "I think you have a very limited idea of human suffering - of the kinds of things men can do to other men - and women - apparently with the full permission of the Gods."
"You should have killed yourself," he said stubbornly.
"Whatever for?"
"To avoid corruption, naturally."
"You are an innocent, aren't you? I didn't kill myself because I wasn't ready to die. Even in the slave pens, life can be sweet, Relg, and death is bitter. What you call corruption is only a small thing - and not even always unpleasant."
"Sinful womanl" he gasped.
"You worry too much about that, Relg," she advised him. "Cruelty is a sin; lack of compassion is a sin. But that other little thing? I hardly think so. I begin to wonder about you. Could it be that this UL of yours is not quite so stern and unforgiving as you seem to believe? Does he really want all these prayers and rituals and grovelings? Or are they your way to hide from your God? So you think that praying in a loud voice and pounding your head on the ground will keep him from seeing into your heart?"
Relg was making strangled noises.
"If our Gods really loved us, they'd want our lives filled with joy," she continued relentlessly. "But you hate joy for some reason - probably because you're afraid of it. Joy is not sin, Relg; joy is a kind of love, and I think the Gods approve of it - even if you don't."
"You're hopelessly depraved."
"Perhaps so," she admitted casually, "but at least I look life right in the face. I'm not afraid of it, and I don't try to hide from it."
"Why are you doing this?" he demanded of her in an almost tragic voice. "Why must you forever follow me and mock me with your eyes?"
"I don't really know," she replied, sounding almost puzzled. "You're not really that attractive. Since we left Rak Cthol, I've seen dozens of men who interested me much more. At first it was because I knew that I made you nervous and because you were afraid of me. I rather enjoyed that, but lately there's more to it than that. It doesn't make any sense, of course. You're what you are, and I'm what I am, but for some reason I want to be with you." She paused. "Tell me, Relg - and don't try to lie about it - would you really want me to go away and never see you again?"
There was a long and painful silence. "May UL forgive me!" Relg groaned finally.
"I'm sure he will, Relg," she assured him gently.
Garion moved quietly on down the corridor away from the open door. Something he had not understood before had begun to become quite clear. "You're doing this, aren't you?" he asked silently.
"Naturally, " the dry voice in his mind replied.
"But why those two?"
"Because it's necessary, Belgarion. I don't do things out of whim. We're all compelled by necessity - even I. Actually, what's going on between Relg and Taiba doesn't remotely concern you."
Garion was a little stung by that.
"I thought well-"
"You assumed that you were my only care - that you were the absolute center of the universe? You're not, of course. There are other things almost equally important, and Relg and Taiba are centrally involved in one of those things. Your participation in that particular matter is peripheral at the most."
"They're going to be desperately unhappy if you force them together, " Garion accused.
"That doesn't matter in the slightest. Their being together is necessary. You're wrong though. It will take them a while to get used to it, but once they do, they're both going to be very happy. Obedience to necessity does have its rewards, after all."
Garion struggled with that idea for a while, then finally gave up. His own problems intruded once more on his thoughts. Inevitably, as he always did when he was troubled, he went looking for Aunt Pol. He found her sitting before the cozy fire in her apartment, sipping a cup of fragrant tea and watching through the window as the rosy morning sunlight set the snowfields above the city ablaze.
"You're up early," she observed as he entered.
"I wanted to talk to you," he told her, "and the only way I ever get the chance to do what I want is to leave my room before the man with my schedule for the day shows up." He flung himself into a chair. "They never give me a minute to myself."
"You're an important person now, dear."
"That wasn't my idea." He stared moodily out the window. "Grandfather's all right now, isn't he?" he asked suddenly.
"What gave you that idea?"
"Well - the other day, when we gave Ce'Nedra the amulet - didn't he - sort of -?"
"Most of that came from you, dear," she replied.
"I felt something else."
"That could have been just me. It was a pretty subtle thing, and even I couldn't be sure if he had any part in it."
"There has to be some way we can find out."
"There's only one way, Garion, and that's for him to do something."
"All right, let's go off with him someplace and have him try - something sort of small, maybe."
"And how would we explain that to him?"
"You mean he doesn't know?" Garion sat up quickly.
"He might, but I rather doubt it."
"You didn't tell him?"
"Of course not. If he has any doubts whatsoever about his ability, he'll fail, and if he fails once, that will be the end of it."
"I don't understand."
"A very important part of it is knowing that it's going to work. If you aren't absolutely sure, then it won't. That's why we can't tell him."
Garion thought about it. "I suppose that makes sense, but isn't it sort of dangerous? I mean, what if something really urgent comes up, and he tries to do something about it, and we all of a sudden find out that he can't?"
"You and I would have to deal with it then, dear."
"You seem awfully calm about it."
"Getting excited doesn't really help very much, Garion."
The door burst open, and Queen Layla, her hair awry and her crown slipping precariously over one ear, stormed in. "I won't have it, Polgara," she declared angrily. "I absolutely won't have it. You've got to talk to him. Oh, excuse me, your Majesty," the plump little queen added, noticing Garion. "I didn't see you." She curtsied gracefully.
"Your Highness," Garion replied, getting up hurriedly and bowing in return.
"With whom did you wish me to speak, Layla?" Aunt Pol asked."
"Anheg. He insists that my poor husband sit up and drink with him every night. Fulrach's so sick this morning that he can barely lift his head off the pillow. That great bully of a Cherek is ruining my husband's health."
"Anheg likes your husband, Layla. It's his way of showing his friendship."
"Can't they be friends without drinking so much?"
"I'll talk to him, dear," Aunt Pol promised.
Mollified somewhat, Queen Layla departed, curtsying again to Garion.
Garion was about to return to the subject of Belgarath's infirmity when Aunt Pol's maid came in to announce Lady Merel.
Barak's wife entered the room with a somber expression. "Your Majesty," she greeted Garion perfunctorily.
Garion rose again to bow and politely respond. He was getting rather tired of it.
"I need to talk with you, Polgara," Merel declared.
"Of course," Aunt Pol replied. "Would you excuse us, Garion?"
"I'll wait in the next room," he offered. He crossed to the door, but did not close it all the way. Once again his curiosity overcame his good manners.
"They all keep throwing it in my face," Merel blurted almost before he was out of the room.
"What's that?"
"Well-" Merel hesitated, then spoke quite firmly. "My lord and I were not always on the best of terms," she admitted.
"That's widely known, Merel," Aunt Pol told her diplomatically.
"That's the whole problem," Merel complained. "They all keep laughing behind their hands and waiting for me to go back t
o being the way I was before." A note of steel crept into her voice. "Well, it's not going to happen," she declared, "so they can laugh all they want to."
"I'm glad to hear that, Merel," Aunt Pol replied.
"Oh, Polgara," Merel said with a helpless little laugh, "he looks so much like a great shaggy bear, but he's so gentle inside. Why couldn't I have seen that before? All those years wasted."
"You had to grow up, Merel," Aunt Pol told her. "It takes some people longer, that's all."
After Lady Merel had left, Garion came back in and looked quizzically at Aunt Pol. "Has it always been like that?" he asked her. "What I mean is - do people always come to you when they've got problems?"
"It happens now and then," she replied. "People seem to think that I'm very wise. Usually they already know what they have to do, so I listen to them and agree with them and give them a bit of harmless support. It makes them happy. I set aside a certain amount of time each morning for these visits. They know that I'm here if they feel the need for someone to talk to. Would you care for some tea?"
He shook his head. "Isn't it an awful burden - all these other people's problems, I mean?"
"It's not really that heavy, Garion," she answered. "Their problems are usually rather small and domestic. It's rather pleasant to deal with things that aren't quite so earthshaking. Besides, I don't mind visitors whatever their reason for coming."
The next visitor, however, was Queen Islena, and her problem was more serious. Garion withdrew again when the maid announced that the Queen of Cherek wished to speak privately with the Lady Polgara; but, as before, his curiosity compelled him to listen at the door of the adjoining chamber.
"I've tried everything I can think of, Polgara," Islena declared, "but Grodeg won't let me go."
"The High Priest of Belar?"
"He knows everything, naturally," Islena confirmed. "All his underlings reported my every indiscretion to him. He threatens to tell Anheg if I try to sever my connection with the Bear-cult. How could I have been so stupid? He's got his hand around my throat."
"Just how indiscreet have you been, Islena?" Aunt Pol asked the queen pointedly.
"I went to some of their rituals," Islena confessed. "I put a few cult members in positions in the palace. I passed some information along to Grodeg."
"Which rituals, Islena?"
"Not those, Polgara," Islena replied in a shocked voice. "I'd never stoop to that."
"So all you really did was attend a few harmless gatherings where people dress up in bearskins and let a few cultists into the palace where there were probably a dozen or more already anyway - and pass on a bit of harmless palace gossip? - It was harmless, wasn't it?"
"I didn't pass on any state secrets, Polgara, if that's what you mean," the queen said stiffly.
"Then Grodeg doesn't really have any hold over you, Islena."
"What should I do, Polgara?" the queen asked in an anguished voice.
"Go to Anheg. Tell him everything."
"I can't."
"You must. Otherwise Grodeg will force you into something worse. Actually, the situation could be turned to Anheg's advantage. Tell me exactly how much you know about what the cult is doing?"
"They've begun creating chapters among the peasants, for one thing."
"They've never done that before," Aunt Pol mused. "The cult's always been restricted to the nobility and the priesthood."
"I can't be sure," Islena told her, "but I think they're preparing for something major - some kind of confrontation."
"I'll mention it to my father," Aunt Pol replied. "I think he'll want to take steps. As long as the cult was the plaything of the priesthood and the minor nobility, it wasn't really all that important, but rousing the peasantry is quite another thing."
"I've heard a few other things as well," Islena continued. "I think they're trying to penetrate Rhodar's intelligence service. If they can get a few people in the right places in Boktor, they'll have access to most of the state secrets in the West."
"I see." Aunt Pol's voice was as cold as ice.
"I heard Grodeg talking once," Islena said in a tone of distaste. "It was before he found out that I didn't want anything more to do with him. He'd been reading the auguries and the signs in the heavens, and he was talking about the return of the Rivan King. The cult takes the term 'Overlord of the West' quite seriously. I honestly believe that their ultimate goal is to elevate Belgarion to the status of Emperor of all the West - Aloria, Sendaria, Arendia, Tolnedra - even Nyissa."
"That's not how the term was meant to be interpreted," Aunt Pol objected.
"I know," Islena replied, "but Grodeg wants to twist it until it comes out that way. He's a total fanatic, and he wants to convert all the people of the West to Helar - by the sword, if necessary."
"That idiot!" Aunt Pol raged. "He'd start a general war in the West if he tried that - and even set the Gods to wrangling. What is there about Alorns that makes them continually want to expand to the south? Those boundaries were established by the Gods themselves. I think it's time for someone to put his foot down on Grodeg's neck firmly. Go to Anheg immediately. Tell him everything and then tell him that I want to see him. I imagine that my father's going to want to discuss the matter with him as well."
"Anheg's going to be furious with me, Polgara," Islena faltered.
"I don't think so," Aunt Pol assured her. "As soon as he realizes that you've exposed Grodeg's plan, he'll probably be rather grateful. Let him think that you went along with Grodeg simply to get more information. That's a perfectly respectable motive - and it's the sort of thing a good wife would do."
"I hadn't thought of that," Islena said, already sounding more sure of herself. "It would have been a brave thing to do, wouldn't it?"
"Absolutely heroic, Islena," Aunt Pol replied. "Now go to Anheg."
"I will, Polgara." There was the sound of quick, determined steps, and then a door closed.
"Garion, come back in here." Aunt Pol's voice was firm. He opened the door.
"You were listening?" It wasn't really a question.
"Well-"
"We're going to have to have a talk about that," she told him. "But it doesn't really matter this time. Go find your grandfather and tell him that I want to see him immediately. I don't care what he's doing. Bring him to me now."
"But how do we know he can do anything?" Garion demanded. "I mean, if he's lost his power-"
"There are many kinds of power, Garion. Sorcery is only one of them. Now go fetch him at once."
"Yes, Aunt Pol," Garion replied, already moving toward the door.
Chapter Sixteen
THE HIGH PRIEST of Belar was an imposing-looking man nearly seven feet tall. He had a long gray beard and burning eyes sunk deep in their sockets beneath bristling black eyebrows. He arrived from Val Alorn the following week after the seemingly endless negotiations had finally produced the official betrothal document. Accompanying him as a kind of retinue were two dozen hard-faced warriors dressed in bearskins.
"Bear-cultists," Barak observed sourly to Garion and Silk as the three of them stood atop the wall of the Citadel, watching the High Priest and his men mounting the steps from the harbor in the bright spring sunshine.
"I didn't say anything about bringing soldiers with him," Garion objected indignantly.
"I imagine he took it upon himself," Silk replied. "Grodeg's very good at taking things upon himself."
"I wonder how he'd like it if I threw him into a dungeon," Garion said hotly. "Do I have a dungeon?"
"We could improvise one, I suppose." Barak grinned at him. "Some nice damp cellar someplace. You might have to import some rats, though. The island's reputed to be free of them."
"You're making fun of me," Garion accused his friend, flushing slightly.
"Now you know I wouldn't do that, Garion," Barak replied, pulling at his beard.
"I'd talk with Belgarath before I had Grodeg clapped in irons, though," Silk suggested. "The political implications mi
ght go a bit further than you intend. Whatever you do, don't let Grodeg talk you into letting him leave any of his men behind. He's been trying to get a foothold on the Isle of the Winds for twenty years now. Not even Brand has had the nerve to let him go that far."
"Brand?"
"Isn't it obvious? I wouldn't want to say that Brand's a cult member, but his sympathies certainly lie in that direction."
Garion was shocked at that, and a little sick. "What do you think I ought to do?" he asked.
"Don't try to play politics with these people," Barak replied. "Grodeg's here to conduct the official betrothal ceremony. Just let it go at that."
"He'll try to talk to me, though," Garion fretted. "He's going to try to make me lead an invasion of the southern kingdoms so that he can convert the Arends and Tolnedrans and Nyissans to the worship of Belar."
"Where did you hear that?" Silk asked curiously.
"I'd rather not say," Garion evaded.
"Does Belgarath know?"
Garion nodded. "Aunt Pol told him."
Silk chewed thoughtfully on a fingernail. "Just be stupid," he said finally.
"What?"
"Pretend to be a simple country bumpkin with no idea of what's going on. Grodeg's going to do everything he can to get you alone so he can wring concessions out of you. Just keep smiling and nodding foolishly, and every time he makes a proposal, send for Belgarath. Let him think that you can't make a single decision on your own."
"Won't that make me seem - well -?"
"Do you really care what he thinks?"
"Well, not really, I guess, but"
"It will drive him crazy," Barak pointed out with a wicked grin. "He'll think that you're a complete idiot - a ripe plum ready for picking. But he'll realize that if he wants you, he'll have to fight Belgarath to get you. He'll be tearing out his beard in frustration before he leaves."
He turned and looked admiringly at Silk. "That's really a terrible thing to do to a man like Grodeg, you know."
Silk smirked. "Isn't it though?"
The three of them stood grinning at each other and finally burst into laughter.
The official betrothal ceremony was conducted the following day. There had been a great deal of haggling about who should enter the Hall of the Rivan King first, but that difficulty had been overcome by Belgarath's suggestion that Garion and Ce'Nedra could enter arm in arm. "This is all in preparation for a wedding, after all," he had pointed out. "We might as well start off with a semblance at least of friendship."