Polgara the Sorceress

‘What for?’ he replied. He pointed at a window. ‘It’s right out there. Go look for yourself.’

You see what I mean about Algar?

I was of two minds about the double-pronged courtship of this pair of kings. They were huge men, both in terms of their physical size and their exalted rank. Their very presence kept my other suitors away. On the one hand, I resented that. I’d been having fun, and then they’d come along and spoiled it. On the other hand, though, their presence spared me hours of listening to the babble of assorted young men whose brains had been shut down by the various exotic substances coursing through their veins.

Cold logic – and mother’s continued presence in my mind – advised me that this sojourn on the Isle of the Winds was a period of training preparing me for things to come. The fact that I was the daughter of ‘Belgarath the Sorcerer’ assured me that I’d be spending periods of my life at various royal courts. I’d need to know all the tricks those periods would inevitably involve. The inane, self-aggrandizing babble of my adolescent admirers taught me how to endure ‘small talk’ – nobody can talk smaller than an adolescent male on the prowl. Dras and Algar, their minds filled with the burdens of state, taught me about the serious matters that are going on while all those young butterflies are busy admiring themselves.

It was uncle Beldin who pointed out the obvious to my father, and then father had a word with King Cherek Bear-shoulders, advising him that I was not a candidate for the queenly throne of either Drasnia nor Algaria. That took some of the fun out of my little game, but I still had all those strutting young peacocks around to entertain me.

Then one morning as I was passing down the corridor toward the hall where I customarily held court, mother spoke firmly to me. ‘Haven’t you had about enough of this, Pol?’

‘I’m just passing the time, mother,’ I told her.

‘Don’t waste the effort of trying to come up with lame excuses, Pol. You’ve managed to put aside your fascination with being dirty. Now it’s time to leave this other game behind as well.’

‘Spoilsport.’

‘That will do, Polgara.’

I sighed. ‘Oh, all right.’ I wasn’t really very gracious about it.

I decided that I needed one last triumph, though. I’d been playing the empty-headed charmer – little more than a thing in the eyes of my suitors. As mother had pointed out earlier, thinghood’s rather degrading. Since I was going to leave all that behind, I thought it might be appropriate to let the other players in the game know just exactly who I really was. I loitered in the corridor considering options.

The easiest thing, of course, would have been a display of my ‘talent’. I toyed with the notion of levitation. I was almost positive that even the braggart Taygon would get my point if I were to come floating into the hall about ten feet off the floor and trailing clouds of glory, but I dismissed the idea almost immediately. It was just too juvenile. I wanted them to realize that I was above them, but really –

Then I remembered something. Back in the Vale I’d frequently joined in the chorus of my birds, and I’d picked up certain tricks.

I entered the hall with a feigned show of pensiveness and drifted on to the far end to speak briefly with the musicians. The middle-aged lutanist who led the little group was delighted with the notion. I guess he was tired of being ignored by this flock of peacocks. He stepped to the front of the little platform where the musicians performed their unnoticed art. ‘My lords and ladies,’ he announced, ‘the Lady Polgara has graciously agreed to favor us with a song.’

The applause was gratifying, but hardly well-educated. They’d never heard me sing before. As vapid as my suitors were, though, they’d have applauded me even if my voice came out like the raucous squawking of a crow.

It didn’t, though.

My lutanist friend took up a melody that seemed to be of Arendish origin. It was set in a minor key, at any rate, and that seemed to fit in with the Arendish proclivity to view their lives in terms of classic tragedy. I didn’t know the words to the song, so I improvised on the spot.

I enjoy singing – as Durnik may have noticed – and I began in a clear, girlish soprano. When we reached the second verse, however, I added harmony in a contralto voice. Singing in two voices at the same time is rather pleasant, but my audience wasn’t really ready for it. There were assorted gasps and a lot of wide-eyed looks, and, more importantly, an absolute silence.

In the third verse I added a soaring coloratura that reached high above the soprano and modified the contralto harmony to accommodate that third voice.

Then, in the fourth verse, just to nail my point home, I divided my three voices and sang in counterpoint, not only musically but also linguistically. It was rather like a round, when each singer repeats her predecessor’s first phrase a measure or so later to provide a complex harmony. I sang in three different voices, and each of those voices sang different words.

There were some very wild-eyed looks out there when I concluded my song. I gravely curtsied to my admirers, and then I slowly walked toward the door. For some reason my suitors didn’t crowd around me this time. Isn’t that odd? They opened a path for me instead, and some of their expressions verged on an almost religious exaltation.

Kamion, my urbane blond suitor, stood near the door. His expression was one of yearning regret as I passed out of his life forever. With exquisite grace he bowed to me as I went out from that place, never to return.

My sister’s wedding was fast approaching, and, though we didn’t talk about it, we both wanted to spend as much time with each other as possible. Since Beldaran was to be queen, a fair number of young Rivan ladies had attached themselves to her. After her wedding and subsequent coronation, they would become her ladies in waiting. I’ve noted that a king can be a remote, even isolated person, since his power is all the company he really needs. Queens, though, like other women, need company. I also noted that I made my sister’s companions just a bit nervous. I suppose that’s not too surprising. Beldaran’s disposition was sunny, and mine wasn’t, for one thing. Beldaran was about to be married to a man she loved to the point of distraction, and about all that lay in my future was the loss of a sister who’d always been the absolute center of my life. Moreover, Beldaran’s companions had heard of my farewell performance for the adolescents, and sorcerers – sorceresses in my case – always seem to make people nervous.