Belgarath the Sorcerer (32 page)

‘I
hate
the Vorduvians,' she said.

‘Me too. We'll have to endure them, though.'

‘I suppose.' She paused, her pale eyes hooded. ‘I heard about your recent bereavement,' she said tentatively. ‘You have my sincerest sympathy.'

‘Thank you.' I even managed to say it in a level tone.

‘Another possibility occurs to me,' she said then. ‘You and I are both currently at liberty. An alliance between
us
might be even more interesting than one between Riva and me. Torak isn't going to stay in Mallorea forever, you know. He's already sent scouting parties across the land-bridge. It's just a matter of time until there's an Angarak presence on
this
continent, and that'll bring in the Grolims. Don't you think we should start to get ready?'

I got
very
careful at that point. I was obviously dealing
with a political genius here. ‘You're tempting me again, Salmissra.' I was lying, of course, but I think I managed to convince her that I was interested in her obscene suggestion. Then I sighed. ‘Unfortunately, it's forbidden.'

‘Forbidden?'

‘By my Master, and I wouldn't even consider crossing him.'

She sighed. ‘What a shame. I guess that still leaves me with the Alorns. Maybe I'll invite Dras or Algar to pay a visit to Sthiss Tor.'

‘They have responsibilities in the north, Salmissra, and you have yours here. It wouldn't be much of a marriage, no matter which of them you chose. You'd seldom see each other.'

‘Those are the best kind of marriages. We wouldn't have so much chance to bore each other.' She brought the flat of her hand sharply down on the arm of her throne. ‘I'm not talking about love, Belgarath. I need an alliance, not entertainment. I'm in a very dangerous situation here. I was foolish enough to let a few things slip when I first came to the throne. The eunuchs know that I'm not just a silly girl consumed by her appetites. I'm sure that the candidates for my throne are already in training. As soon as one's chosen, the eunuchs will poison me. If I can't find an Alorn to marry, I'll have to take a Tolnedran - or an Arend. My life depends on it, old man.'

Then I finally understood. It wasn't ambition that was driving her so much as it was her instinct for self-preservation. ‘You
do
have an alternative, you know,' I told her. ‘Strike first. Dispose of your eunuchs before they're ready to dispose of you.'

‘I already thought of that, but it won't work. They all dose themselves with antidotes to every known poison.'

‘As far as I know, there's no antidote for a knife-thrust in the heart, Salmissra.'

‘We don't do things that way in Nyissa.'

‘Then your eunuchs won't be expecting it, will they?'

Her eyes narrowed. ‘No,' she agreed, ‘they wouldn't.' She suddenly giggled. ‘I'd have to get them all at once, of course, but a bloodbath of those dimensions would be quite an object lesson, wouldn't it?'

‘It'd be a long time before anybody ever tried to cross you again, dear.'

‘What a wonderful old man you are,' she said gratefully. ‘I'll have to find some way to reward you.'

‘I don't really have any need for money, Salmissra.'

She gave me a long, smoldering look. ‘I'll have to think of something else, then, won't I?'

I thought it might be a good idea to change the subject at that point. ‘What's happening to the south?' I asked her.

‘You tell
me
. The people down there are western Dals.
Nobody
knows what the Dals are doing. Somehow they're in contact with the Seers at Kell. I think we'd all better keep an eye on the Dals. In many ways they have a more dangerous potential than the Angaraks. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Torak's left the ruins of Cthol Mishrak. He's in a place called Ashaba in the Karandese mountains now. He's passing orders on to the Grolims through Ctuchik and Urvon. Nobody knows where Zedar is.' She paused. ‘Are you
sure
you wouldn't like to sit here beside me?' she offered again. ‘We wouldn't
really
have to get married, you know. I'm sure Aldur wouldn't object to a more informal arrangement. Come sit beside me, Belgarath, and we can talk about that reward I mentioned. I'm sure I'll be able to think of
something
you'd like.'

When you consider all the trouble I've had with a long string of Salmissras, my feelings about that particular one are just a bit unusual, but then so was she. The selection of each new Queen of Nyissa is based almost entirely on physical appearance. At a certain point in the life of a reigning queen, twenty candidates for the succession are chosen. The palace eunuchs have a painting of the original Salmissra, and they go through the kingdom comparing that painting to the faces of all the twelve-year-old girls they can find. Twenty are selected and are taken to country estates lying in the vicinity of Sthiss Tor for training. When the old queen dies, the twenty are closely examined, and one of them is elevated to the throne. The other nineteen are killed. It's brutal, but it
is
politically sound. Appearance and manner are the deciding factors in the election. Intelligence is not taken into consideration. In that kind of random selection, however, you have as much chance of choosing a genius as an idiot. Quite clearly, they got a bright one this time. She was beautiful, of course. Salmissra always is. She had all of the proper mannerisms, naturally, since her very life had depended on learning those mannerisms. She had, however, been clever enough to conceal her intelligence, her sense of humor, and the sheer force of her personality - until
after
she'd ascended the throne. Once she'd been crowned queen, she thought she was safe. I imagine that the palace eunuchs were
very
upset when they discovered her true nature - upset enough at any rate to start planning her assassination.

I liked her. She was an intelligent young woman making the best of a bad situation. As she'd mentioned, the various
drugs she took to maintain her appearance made her infertile, but she'd already come up with a solution to that problem. I've always sort of wondered what might have happened if she
had
married. It might have changed the course of history in that part of the world.

I lingered in her palace for a couple of weeks, and then I rather regretfully moved on. My hostess was generous enough to lend me her royal barge, and I went up the River of the Serpent to the rapids in style for a change.

When the barge reached the rapids, I went ashore on the north bank and took the trail that wound up into the mountains toward Maragor.

It was a relief to get up out of the Nyissan swamps. For one thing, I didn't have to keep a constant eye out for snakes anymore, and for another, I wasn't continually trailing a cloud of mosquitoes. I'm not really sure which of them is worse. The air grew cooler as I ascended into that spur of mountains, and the forests thinned out. I've always rather liked mountains.

There was a bit of trouble at the border of Maragor. The Marags were still practicing that ritual cannibalism Beldin had told me about, and the border guards tended to look upon travelers as a food source. I didn't have too much trouble persuading them that I probably wouldn't taste good, though, and then I went northeast toward the capital at Mar Amon.

I believe I've hinted at some of the peculiarities of the Marag culture before, but I suspect I'll have to be a little more specific at this point. The God Mara was just a bit overly enthusiastic about physical beauty. For a woman, this presents no particular problem; she either has it or she hasn't. A man, however, has to work on it. Masculine beauty involves muscle development, so Marag men spent a great deal of time lifting heavy things over their heads. That gets boring after a while, though, and there's not much point in having bushel-baskets full of muscles if you don't use them for something. The men of Maragor devised con
tests of various sorts - running, jumping, throwing things, swimming, and the like. Unfortunately, if you develop enough muscles, they'll eventually start to squeeze your head and reduce the size of your brain. In time, most of the men of Maragor were all as beautiful as marble statues - and almost as intelligent. They were totally incapable of even taking care of themselves, and so the women had to take over. They owned all the property, and they housed their childlike heroes in dormitories and arranged various athletic competitions that kept those beautiful specimens of manhood happy.

There were far more women among the Marags than there were men, but that didn't really cause any problems, since Marag men wouldn't really have made good husbands anyway. The Marags got along very well without marriage. They were happy, they enjoyed life, and they were kind and generous to each other. They seemed to be incapable of the jealousy and irrational possessiveness that mars other cultures.

 

I think that covers everything. For various reasons, Polgara has always had a low opinion of the Marags, and if I take this
too
much further, it'll just give her another excuse to scold me.

 

Oh, one last thing. The Marags didn't have a single ruler. They had a ‘Council of Matriarchs' instead - nine middle-aged and presumably wise women who made all the decisions. It was a little unusual, but it worked out fairly well.

Maragor lay in a pleasant, fertile basin in the southern part of the Tolnedran mountains. There are extensive mineral deposits in those mountains, and the turbulent streams that run down into the basin where the Marags lived pass through those deposits and carry with them assorted minerals and a fair number of gem-stones. Unless you know what to look for, diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds
appear to be no more than common pebbles. Gold, however, is plainly visible on the bottom of every brook in Maragor. The Marags ignored it. They had a barter economy and were largely self-sufficient, so they had no real interest in trade with other nations. Thus, they didn't need money. Their idea of beauty leaned in the direction of personal physical attractiveness, so they didn't bother with jewelry. Once you've eliminated money and jewelry, gold becomes largely meaningless. It's too soft and too heavy to have any real practical use.

It did get
my
attention, however. I dallied a bit on my journey from the border to the capital and managed to pick up a fairly large pouchful of gold nuggets. It's hard to walk away when there are lumps of gold lying in plain sight.

It was autumn when I reached Mar Amon, a beautiful city that lay a few leagues to the west of the large lake in the center of Maragor. I went to the temple of Mara and introduced myself to the High Priestess. There were priests, of course, but as was the case in the rest of Marag society, men played a decidedly minor role in their religion. The High Priestess was a tall, handsome woman in her mid-forties, and her name was Terell. I talked with her for a while, and I soon realized that she had no interest at all in the outside world. That was probably the fatal flaw in the Marag culture. No place is so isolated that you can safely ignore the rest of mankind - particularly when your streambeds are cluttered with free gold.

Despite the fact that I don't have rippling biceps and a neck like a tree-trunk, the women of Mar Amon found me attractive. My celebrity may have played a part in that. The average Marag male's sole claim to fame was most likely the fact that he'd won a foot race some years back, and his conversation tended to be a little elemental. Women, as you may have noticed, like to talk. You may have
also
noticed that I do, too.

I drifted around Mar Amon, and many a conversation that I struck up by saying ‘good morning' to a Marag lady
who might be out sweeping off her doorstep lasted for several weeks. The women of Maragor were generous and friendly, so I always had something to eat and a place to sleep.

There are all manner of things that a man can do to take his mind off his troubles. I'd tried one of them in Camaar, and that didn't turn out too well. The one I tried in Mar Amon wasn't nearly as self-destructive, but the end result was probably the same. Extensive sensuality can erode your mind almost as much as extensive drinking can. It's not as hard on your liver, though.

 

Let's not take this any further, shall we?

 

I spent nine years in Mar Amon, drifting along in a sort of haze, and after the first few years I was on a first-name basis with every lady in town.

Then one spring, Beldin came looking for me. I was having breakfast in the kitchen of a lovely young woman when he came stumping through the door with a face that looked like a thundercloud. ‘What do you think you're doing, Belgarath?' he demanded.

‘Having breakfast at the moment. What does it look like?'

‘It looks to me like you're living in sin.'

‘You sound like an Ulgo, Beldin. The definition of sin varies from culture to culture. The Marags don't consider these informal arrangements sinful. How did you manage to find me?'

‘It wasn't too hard,' he growled. ‘You left a very wide trail.' He came over to the table and sat down. Wordlessly, my hostess brought him some breakfast. ‘You're a legend in Camaar, you know,' he continued, still scowling at me. ‘They've never seen
anybody
who could get as drunk as you used to.'

‘I don't do that any more.'

‘No. I noticed that you've found other entertainments instead. You disgust me. The very sight of you sickens me.'

‘Don't look, then.'

‘I
have
to. This wasn't my idea. For all of me you can drown yourself in cheap beer and roll around with every woman you come across. I came after you because I was
sent
after you.'

‘Give Aldur my apologies. Tell him that I've retired.'

‘Oh, really? You
can't
retire, you clot. You signed on willingly, and you can't go back on that just because you're feeling sorry for yourself.'

‘Go away, Beldin.'

‘Oh no, Belgarath. Our Master sent me to take you back to the Vale, and I'm going to obey him, even if you aren't. We can do it the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. It's entirely up to you. You can come along peacefully - all in one piece - or I'll
take
you back in chunks.'

‘That might take a little doing, brother mine.'

‘Not really. If all the childish tricks you played on your way here are any indication, you don't have enough of your talent left to blow out a candle. Now stop wallowing in self-pity and come back home where you belong.' He stood up.

‘No.' I also stood up.

‘You're disgusting, Belgarath. Do you
really
think that this past twelve years of dissipation and debauchery have changed anything? Poledra's still dead, your daughters are still in the Vale, and you still have responsibilities.'

‘I'll pass them on to you, brother. Enjoy them.'

‘I guess we'd better get started, then.'

‘Started with what?'

‘Fighting.' And he promptly punched me in the belly.

Beldin is enormously strong, and his blow knocked me completely across the room. I lay on the floor gasping and trying to get my breath back. He stumped after me and kicked me in the ribs. ‘We can do this all week, if you want,' he growled. Then he kicked me again.

My principles had been eroded by the years of what he chose to call dissipation and debauchery, but not so much
that I was going to elevate our discussion from a physical one to something more serious, and he knew that. As long as he stuck to kicks and punches, I couldn't respond with anything
except
kicks and punches. I finally got to my feet, and we pounded on each other for a while. Peculiarly, it made me feel better, and I rather think Beldin knew that it would.

Finally, we both collapsed on the floor, half exhausted.

With a great effort, he rolled his gnarled and twisted body over and hit me. ‘You've betrayed our Master!' he bellowed at me. Then hit me again. ‘You've betrayed Poledra!' He blackened one of my eyes. ‘You've betrayed your daughters!' In a remarkable display of agility for a man lying on the floor, he kicked me in the chest. ‘You've betrayed the memories of Belsambar and Belmakor! You're no better than Zedar!' He drew back that massive fist again.

‘Hold it,' I told him, weakly raising one hand.

‘Have you had enough?'

‘Obviously.'

‘Are you coming back to the Vale with me?'

‘All right - if it's
that
important to you.'

He sat up. ‘Somehow I knew you'd see it my way. Have you got anything to drink around here?'

‘Probably. I couldn't vouch for it though. I haven't had a drink since I left Camaar.'

‘You've probably worked up quite a thirst, then.'

‘I don't think I should, Beldin.'

‘Don't worry, you're not like other drunks. You were drinking in Camaar for a specific reason. That part of it's past now. Just don't let it get ahead of you again.'

The Marag lady whose kitchen we'd just wrecked brought us each a tankard of ale. It tasted awful to me, but Beldin seemed to like it. He liked it enough to have three more, at any rate. I didn't even finish the first one. I didn't want to go down
that
road again. Just in passing, I'd like to let you know that over the centuries I've spent far more time
holding
tankards than I have drinking from them.
People can believe what they want to, but I've slept in enough gutters for one lifetime, thanks all the same.

The next morning we apologized to my hostess for all the damage we'd done and left for the Vale. The weather was fine, so we decided to walk rather than assume other forms. There was no particular urgency about getting home. ‘What's been going on?' I asked Beldin when we were about a mile out of Mar Amon.

‘The Angaraks have been coming across the land-bridge,' he replied.

‘Yes, so I understand. Salmissra told me about those scouting parties.'

‘It's gone a little further than that. As closely as I've been able to tell, the entire population of Cthol Mishrak has been coming across. The soldiers came over to this side first, and they moved down the coast. They've been building a fortress at the mouth of one of those rivers that runs down to the Sea of the East. They call their fort Rak Goska, and they refer to themselves as Murgos. They're still Angaraks, but they seem to feel a need to distinguish themselves from the people who stayed in Mallorea.'