Polgara the Sorceress

‘Yes, but I’ve had more practice. Are things coming to a head here?’

‘They’re getting close, so don’t dawdle, father. Let’s step right along here.’

The next morning we all watched fifty or so Mimbrate knights, mounted and steel clad, go clanking out of the courtyard with banners flying. It was probably only on an off-chance that I heard the words, ‘Bear-Cult’ come from somewhere in the crowd. I circulated a bit, and I didn’t actually have to go far in search of a repetition. It seemed that everybody in the palace was talking about that peculiar Alorn aberration. It was obvious that Ctuchik’s underlings had been busily spreading wild stories. The goals of the Cult were absurd enough already, but the rumors that were circulating that morning left absurdity far behind. The purpose, obviously, was to stir hatred, fear, and distrust. It had been the unity of Torak’s brothers that had defeated the Dragon-God during the War of the Gods, and Ctuchik was doing everything in his power to dismember that unity.

I suppose I might have tried to squelch all those rumors, but I’d long since discovered that there’s no real way to stop a rumor once it’s gained a foothold.

It was late afternoon of the following day when father’s thought resounded in my head. ‘Rejoice, my beloved daughter,’ he announced, ‘for I, with all my unspeakable skill, have accomplished the task you dropped in my lap.’

‘Will you please be serious, father? Did Ran Vordue agree to meet the duke?’

‘Of course he did. Have I ever disappointed you?’

‘Frequently, as a matter of fact. Have you got his message?’

‘It’s somewhere in one of my pockets, I think. Oh, incidentally, when I give the letter to Corrolin, I’m going to suggest that he make a religious pilgrimage.

‘A what?’

‘I’ll ask him to put on some humble-looking clothes and ride on down-river to that monastery at the mouth of the River Arend that’s just across from Tol Vordue. The duke’s right on the verge of going to war, and Arends always make some show of praying for victory before they go out to do violence upon their neighbors. It’s a quaint custom of the race. A pilgrimage is sort of private, so Corrolin won’t be taking much of an escort with him – just you and Mandorin, if I can arrange it. It shouldn’t be too difficult to slip him across the river to Tol Vordue once we reach the coast. Was that sort of what you had in mind?’

‘It should work out just fine, father. When will you be arriving here in Vo Mimbre?’

‘Tomorrow morning. I’m going to have to stop and get something to eat. I guess I startled Ran Vordue so much that he forgot his manners. He didn’t offer me any supper, and I’m absolutely famished. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Sleep well, Pol.’

And I did that. I’d probably deny it were someone to suggest it, but I always feel more secure when father takes a hand in something I’m working on. He has his faults, but once he gets down to business, he’s as inexorable as the tides.

The next morning I suggested to Baron Mandorin that we might want to ‘go out for a little ride, just to stir up our blood’, and once we were some distance to the norm of the city, we entered a fairly extensive grove of trees and found my father dozing beside a merry little stream that burbled busily over stones back in amongst the trees. He opened one eye as we dismounted. ‘What kept you?’ he asked us, and when he stood up, I saw that he was wearing a coarse brown monk’s robe made of burlap.

‘What’s this?’ I asked him.

‘It’s just my uniform, Pol,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to be duke’s escort as we ride on down-river.’ Then he looked at Mandorin. ‘Amazing,’ he said. ‘Your hair hasn’t turned white yet.’

Mandorin gave him a puzzled look.

‘You’ve been associating with my daughter, haven’t you?’

‘Will you please drop all the joking around, father?’ I demanded with some exasperation.

‘Probably not, but we can talk about that later. How’ve you been, Mandorin?’

‘Well, Ancient One, well.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. If I remember correctly, there’s a small room back behind the duke’s throne. It’s where he usually hangs his robe. Go on back to Vo Mimbre and ask him to step in there for a moment. Pol and I’ll be waiting for the two of you there. I’ll talk with Corrolin for a bit, and then we’ll set out for the monastery.’

‘What if – ’I started.

He sighed that long-suffering sigh that always irritates me. ‘Please, Pol,’ he said. ‘I’ve already covered all the “what-ifs”. Go ahead, Mandorin. Pol and I’ll be waiting in that cloak-room.’

Mandorin remounted, took Lady’s reins, and rode off, and then father and I fell back on our alternative mode of transportation and were safely ensconced in that half-hidden little attiring-room about a quarter of an hour before the Baron of Vo Mandor even got back inside the palace.

‘Ah, there you are, your Grace,’ father said when Mandorin and Corrolin entered the room. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’ He didn’t even bother to rise.

Father had draped his monk’s robe across the back of an unoccupied chair, and the duke saw only a seedy-looking vagabond with bad manners sitting in a room where he had no apparent business. ‘What doth this mean, Baron Mandorin?’ he demanded sharply of our friend.

‘My Lord,’ Mandorin replied, ‘I have the distinct honor to present Holy Belgarath, Disciple of the God Aldur, who hath but recently arrived from Tol Honeth with an urgent communication from His Imperial Majesty, Ran Vordue of Tolnedra.’

‘I do confess that I am overwhelmed,’ Corrolin replied, bowing deeply to my vagrant father.

‘Hail, Corrolin,’ father said, still not bothering to get up. ‘I knew your father quite well.’ Then he fished around inside his tunic and drew out a folded sheet of parchment with a beribboned wax seal on it. ‘His Imperial Majesty asked me to stop by and give this to you. Please forgive all our subterfuge in this matter, but the contents of Ran Vordue’s note should probably be kept secret.’

The word ‘secret’ always seems to light fires in the eyes of Arends, and Corrolin was no exception. He took the letter and then looked dubiously at me.

‘My niece is privy to the contents of the message, my Lord,’ Mandorin advised him. ‘Indeed, she was instrumental in its delivery.’