"Who's that?" Belgarath asked. "Did you tell anybody you were coming here?"
"No," Garion frowned, "not really." He went to the window and looked down. A tall, hawk-faced Algar with a flowing back scalp lock sat astride a lathered and exhausted looking horse. "Hettar!" Garion called down to him. "What's the matter?"
"Let me in, Garion," Hettar replied. "I have to talk with you."
Belgarath joined Garion at the window. "The door's around on the other side," he called down. "I'll open it for you. Be careful of the stone on that fifth step," he cautioned, as the tall man started around the tower. "It's loose."
"When are you going to fix that, Grandfather?" Garion asked. He felt the faint, familiar surge as the old man opened the door.
"Oh, I'll get to it one of these days."
Hettar's hawk-like face was bleak as he came up into the round room at the top of the tower.
"What's all the urgency, Hettar?" Garion asked. "I've never seen you ride a horse into the ground like that."
Hettar took a deep breath. "You've got to go back to Riva immediately, Garion," he said.
"Is something wrong there?" Garion asked, a sudden chill coming over him.
Hettar sighed. "I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, Garion, but Ce'Nedra sent word for me to get you as fast as I possibly could. You've got to go back to Riva al once."
Garion steeled himself, a dozen dreadful possibilities arising in his imagination. "Why?" he asked quietly.
"I'm sorry, Garion -more sorry than I can possibly say- but Brand has been murdered."
PART THREE – ALORIA
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lieutenant Bledik was one of those sober-minded young Sendarian officers who took everything very seriously. He arrived at the Lion Inn in the port city of Camaar promptly on time and was escorted upstairs by the aproned innkeeper. The rooms in which Garion and the others were staying were airy and well furnished and looked out over the harbor. Garion stood at the window holding aside one of the green drapes and looking out as if it might be possible to penetrate all those leagues of open water and see what was happening at Riva."You sent for me, your Majesty?" Bledik asked with a respectful bow.
"Ah, Lieutenant, come in," Garion said, turning from the window. "I have an urgent message for King Fulrach. How fast do you think you can get to Sendar?"
The lieutenant considered it. One look at his sober face told Garion that the young man always considered everything. Bledik pursed his lips, absently adjusting the collar of his scarlet uniform. "If I ride straight through and change horses at every hostel along the way, I can be at the palace by late tomorrow afternoon."
"Good," Garion said. He handed the young officer the folded and sealed letter to the Sendarian king. "When you see King Fulrach, tell him that I've sent Lord Hettar of Algaria to all of the Alorn Kings to tell them that I'm calling a meeting of the Alorn Council at Riva and that I'd like to have him there as well."
"Yes, your Majesty."
"And tell him that the Rivan Warder has been murdered."
Bledik's eyes widened, and his face went pale. "No!" he gasped. "Who was responsible?"
"I don't know any of the details yet, but, as soon as we can hire a ship, we're going across to the island."
"Garion, dear," Polgara said from her chair by the window, "you explained everything in the letter. The lieutenant has a long way to go, and you're delaying him."
"You're probably right, Aunt Pol," he admitted. He turned back to Bledik. "Will you need any money or anything?" he asked.
"No, your Majesty."
"You'd better get started then."
"At once, your Majesty." The lieutenant saluted and went out.
Garion began to pace up and down on the costly Mallorean carpet while Polgara, dressed in a plain blue traveling gown, continued to mend one of Errand's tunics, her needle flashing in the sunlight streaming through the window." How can you be so calm?" he demanded of her.
"I'm not, dear," she replied. "That's why I'm sewing."
"What's taking them so long?" he fretted.
"Hiring a ship takes time, Garion. It's not exactly like buying a loaf of bread."
"Who could possibly have wanted to hurt Brand?" he burst out. He had asked that same question over and over in the week or more since they had left the Vale. The big, sad-faced Warder had been so totally devoted to Garion and the Rivan Throne that he had possessed virtually no separate identity. So far as Garion knew, Brand had not had an enemy in the world.
"That's one of the first things we'll want to find out when we get to Riva," she said. "Now please try to calm yourself. Pacing about doesn't accomplish anything and it's very distracting."
It was almost evening when Belgarath, Durnik, and Errand returned, bringing with them a tall, gray-haired Rivan whose clothing carried those distinctive smells of salt-water and tar that identified him as a sailor.
"This is Captain Jandra," Belgarath introduced him. "He's agreed to ferry us across to the Isle."
"Thank you, Captain," Garion said simply.
"My pleasure, your Majesty." Jandra replied with a stiff bow.
"Have you just come in from Riva?" Polgara asked him.
"Yesterday afternoon, my Lady."
"Have you any idea at all about what happened there?"
"We didn't get too many details down at the harbor, my Lady. Sometimes the people up at the Citadel are sort of secretive -no offense, your Majesty. There are all kinds of rumors going about the city, though -most of them pretty farfetched. About all I can say for certain is that the Warder was attacked and killed by a group of Chereks.
"Chereks!" Garion exclaimed.
"Everyone agrees on that point, your Majesty. Some people say that all the assassins were killed. Others say that there were some survivors. I couldn't really say for sure, but I know that they did bury six of them."
"Good," Belgarath grunted.
"Not if there were only six to begin with, father," Polgara told him. "We need answers, not bodies."
"Uh -pardon me, your Majesty." Jandra said a little uncomfortably. "It might not be my place to say this, but some of the rumors in the city say that the Chereks were officials of some kind from Val Alorn and that they were sent by King Anheg."
"Anheg? That's absurd."