Polgara the Sorceress

His answering grin was almost vicious. ‘I owe you, Polgara,’ he said.

‘I didn’t exactly follow that.’

‘My family has certain interests in the commerce with Arendia. If we sell out now, we’ll make a very handsome profit, and if you close the Arendish borders to all Tolnedrans, those holdings are going to be worthless. We’ll make vast amounts of money, and the northern families – who aren’t among my dearest friends anyway – will take a sound drubbing.’

‘What a shame,’ I murmured.

‘Isn’t it, though? And, since I command the legions, I think my army’s going to be far too busy with other matters to have time to run north to force the Arendish frontier.’

‘Isn’t that tragic?’ Ran Borune and I were getting along very well.

‘One favor, Polgara – in return for my withholding the legions from the northern families.’

‘Feel free to ask, dear boy.’

‘You will let me know when you’re going to re-open those borders, won’t you? Perhaps a week in advance? Long enough for me to buy up most of the assets of the Vorduvians, Honeths, and Horbites, at any rate. I should be able to buy them out at well below cost. Then, when normal commerce with Arendia resumes, I’ll make millions.’

‘I always like to help a friend get ahead in the world,’ I said.

‘Polgara, I love you!’ he exclaimed exultantly.

‘Ran Borune!’ I said in feigned shock, ‘we’ve only just met!’

He laughed, and then he danced a little jig of pure delight. ‘I’ll skin them, Polgara!’ he crowed. ‘I’ll skin them alive! I’ll put those arrogant northerners in debt for generations!’

‘After you’ve stripped off their hides, you don’t necessarily have to keep my part in our little arrangement a secret. I think it’d be sort of nice to have all of northern Tolnedra shudder every time someone so much as whispers my name.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ he promised. Then he pointed at his ailing rose-bush. ‘What kind of fish?’ he asked.

‘Carp, I think,’ I replied. They’re bigger – and fatter.’

‘I’ll get right at it. Would you like to go fishing with me?’

‘Some other time, perhaps. I’d better get on back to Arendia. I’ll close the borders in two weeks. That should give you time enough to swindle the northerners.’

‘Come by any time, Polgara. My doors are always open to you.’

I changed form at that point. Ran Borune and I were getting along famously, but I did want him to remember exactly who I was. I circled him, brushing his startled face with my wing-tips, and then I flew off.

There are many ways to head off a war, but I’m particularly proud of that one. Not only did I virtually ruin the people who were most offending me, but I also gained a friend.

Arendia remained peaceful after that, and I even began to arrange a few intermarriages to help blur the distinctions which had always been so helpful in starting new wars.

It was early in the twenty-eighth century – about 2710, I believe – when the dukes, Gonerian of Wacune, Kanallan of Asturia, and Enasian of Mimbre made a suggestion that I thought was just a bit on the ridiculous side, but they were so enthusiastic about the whole idea that I somewhat reluctantly went along with them. I think the notion probably originated with Enasian, since the Mimbrates have always been addicted to epic poetry and its overblown conventions. What they proposed was nothing less than a grand tournament involving nobles from all four duchies, with the winner of that tournament – assuming that anyone survived a week or so of formalized mayhem – to be designated my champion.

What did I need with a champion?

They were all so terribly sincere, though. ‘Dear Lady,’ Enasian said, with actual tears standing in his eyes, ‘thou must have a knight-protector to shield thee from insult and affront. Rude scoundrels, perceiving thine unprotected state, might exceed the bounds of courteous behavior and offer thee incivilities. My brother dukes and I, of course, would leap to thy defense, but it seemeth to me – and Gonerian and Kanallan do heartily agree – that thou shouldst have an invincible knight at arms at thine immediate disposal to chastise knavery whensoever it doth rear its ugly head.’

He was so sincere that I hadn’t the heart to point out the obvious to him. I needed someone to protect and defend me almost as much as I needed a third foot. The more I thought about it, though, the more I came to realize that a ‘sporting event’ – particularly one involving formalized violence – could be a fairly good substitute for war, just in case someone hungered for the ‘good old days’.

Because of its centralized location, we decided to hold the tournament on a field adjoining the Great Arendish Fair. Stands were erected to provide seating for the spectators, lists for jousting with lances and war-horses were laid out, and, sensing a probable need for them, I brought the entire faculty of the College of Practical Medicine in Sulturn along with me to tend to the casualties.

Since the festivities were held in my honor, I was able to ban the more potentially lethal events. I firmly banned the grand melee, for example. There was some pouting about that, but I felt that a generalized tavern-brawl involving men in full armor might tax the capacity of our field-hospital. I also forbade the use of battle-axes and chain maces, and insisted on blunted lances. Quite naturally, the core of the tournament was the exquisitely formal jousting matches – colorful events where knights in shining armor and wearing red or gold or deep blue surcoats charged each other across the bright green turf attempting to unhorse each other with twenty-foot lances. Since even the winner of such an event is likely to hear bells ringing in his head for several hours after his victory, we interspersed other events so that the knights might recover. There were archery contests for the yeomen, catapult matches judged on distance and accuracy for the engineers, and weight lifting, pole-tossing and rock throwing contests for the serfs and freemen. There were other entertainments as well – juggling, singing, and dancing.

It was all very festive, but it went on for weeks, and quite naturally I had to sit through all of it wondering just what the prize might be for inhuman patience.

Eventually, as was fairly obvious he would be from the first round of jousting matches, the ultimate winner was the then-current Baron of Mandor, a massively muscular Mimbrate knight named Mandorathan. I knew him quite well, since my father had urged me to keep an eye on his family. Father quite obviously had plans for the Mandors.