He turned to regard his daughter, his face set. "Why don't you go ahead and say it, Pol? I'm sure you won't be happy until you do."
"Why, father," she said, her glorious eyes wide with feigned innocence, "what makes you think I was going to say anything?"
He grunted.
"I'm sure you realize by now all by yourself that you drank a bit too much ale last night," she continued. "You don't need me to tell you that, do you?"
"I'm not really in the mood for any of this, Polgara," he told her shortly.
"Oh, poor old dear," she said in mock commiseration. "Would you like to have me stir something up to make you feel better?"
"Thank you, but no," he replied. "The aftertaste of your concoctions lingers for days. I think I prefer the headache."
"If a medicine doesn't taste bad, it isn't working," she told him. She pushed back the hood of the cape she wore. Her hair was long, very dark, and touched just over her left brow with a single lock of snowy white. "I did warn you, father," she said relentlessly.
"Polgara," he said, wincing, "do you suppose we could skip the 'I told you so?' "
"You heard me warn him, didn't you, Durnik?" Polgara asked her husband.
Durnik was obviously trying not to laugh.
The old man sighed, then reached inside his tunic and took out a small flagon. He uncorked it with his teeth and took a long drink. .
"Oh, father," Polgara said disgustedly, "didn't you get enough last night?"
"Not if this conversation is going to linger on this particular subject, no." He held out the flagon to his daughter's husband. "Durnik?" he offered.
"Thanks all the same, Belgarath," Durnik replied, "but it's a bit early for me."
"Pol?" Belgarath said then, offering a drink to his daughter.
"Don't be absurd."
"As you wish." Belgarath shrugged, recorking the bottle and tucking it away again. "Shall we move along then?" he suggested. "It's a very long way to the Vale of Aldur." And he nudged his horse into a walk.
Just before the wagon rolled down on the far side of the hill, Errand looked back toward Camaar and saw a detachment of mounted men coming out through the gate. Glints and flashes of reflected sunlight said quite clearly that at least some of the garments the men wore were made of polished steel. Errand considered mentioning the fact, but decided not to. He settled back again and looked up at the deep blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. Errand liked mornings.
In the morning a day was always full of promise. The disappointments usually did not start until later.
The soldiers who had ridden out of Camaar caught up with them before they had gone another mile. The commander of the detachment was a sober-faced Sendarian officer with only one arm. As his troops fell in behind the wagon, he rode up alongside.
"Your Grace," he greeted Polgara formally with a stiff little bow from his saddle.
"General Brendig," she replied with a brief nod of acknowledgment. "You're up early "
"Soldiers are almost always up early, your Grace."
"Brendig," Belgarath said rather irritably, "is this some kind of coincidence, or are you following us on purpose?"
"Sendaria is a very orderly kingdom, Ancient One," Brendig answered blandly. "We try to arrange things so that coincidences don't happen."
"I thought so," Belgarath said sourly. "What's Fulrach up to now?"
"His Majesty merely felt that an escort might be appropriate."
"I know the way, Brendig. I've made the trip a few times before, after all."
"I'm sure of it, Ancient Belgarath," Brendig agreed politely. "The escort has to do with friendship and respect."
"I take it then that you're going to insist?"
"Orders are orders, Ancient One."
"Could we skip the 'Ancient?' " Belgarath asked plaintively.
"My father's feeling his years this morning, General." Polgara smiled, "All seven thousand of them."
Brendig almost smiled. " Of course, your Grace."
"Just why are we being so formal this morning, my Lord Brendig?" she asked him. "I'm sure we know each other well enough to skip all that nonsense."
Brendig looked at her quizzically. "You remember when we first met?" he asked.
"As I recall, that was when you were arresting us, wasn't it?" Durnik asked with a slight grin.
"Well-" Brendig coughed uncomfortably, "-not exactly, Goodman Durnik. I was really just conveying his Majesty's invitation to you to visit him at the palace. At any rate, Lady Polgara -your esteemed wife- was posing as the Duchess of Erat, you may remember."
"Durnik nodded. "I believe she was, yes.
"I had occasion recently to look into some old books of heraldry and I discovered something rather remarkable. Were you aware, Goodman Durnik, that your wife really is the Duchess of Erat?"
Durnik blinked. "Pol?" he said incredulously.
Polgara shrugged. "I'd almost forgotten," she said. "It was a very long time ago."
"Your title, nonetheless, is still valid, your Grace," Brendig assured her. "Every landholder in the District of Erat pays a small tithe each year into an account that's being held in Sendar for you."
"How tiresome," she said.
"Wait a minute, Pol," Belgarath said sharply, his eyes suddenly very alert. "Brendig, just how big is this account of my daughter's -in round figures?"
"Several million, as I understand it," Brendig replied.
"Well," Belgarath said, his eyes going wide. "Well, well, well."
Polgara gave him a level gaze. "What have you got in your mind, father?" she asked him pointedly.
"It's just that I'm pleased for you, Pol," he said expansively. "Any father would be happy to know that his child has done so well." He turned back to Brendig. "Tell me, General, Just who's managing my daughter's fortune?"
"It's supervised by the crown, Belgarath," Brendig replied.
"That's an awful burden to lay on poor Fulrach," Belgarath said thoughtfully, "considering all his other responsibilities. Perhaps I ought to-"
"Never mind, Old Wolf," Polgara said firmly.
"I just thought-"
"Yes, father. I know what you thought. The money's fine right where it is."
Belgarath sighed. "I've never been rich before," he said wistfully.