Polgara the Sorceress (18 page)

‘That’s the whole idea, Beldaran,’ I said lightly, trying to keep my concern for her out of my voice. ‘Medicine’s
supposed
to taste bad. If it’s bad enough, you get well just so that you don’t have to drink any more of it.’

She laughed wearily, and then went into an extended bout of coughing.

I sat over my sister’s bed for the next day and a half while Argak, Arell, and Balten concocted other medications. Argak’s first compound did little more than alleviate some of Beldaran’s more obvious symptoms, and we all concluded that we were going to have to take more heroic measures.

Argak’s next concoction put Beldaran into a deep sleep. ‘It’s a natural part of the healing process,’ I lied to Riva and Daran. My colleagues and I had enough to worry about already, and we didn’t need the two of them hovering over us adding to our anxiety.

This was not going the way I’d hoped. My studies had made me arrogant, and I’d been convinced that with a little help from my teachers I could cure
any
ailment. Beldaran’s illness, however, stubbornly refused to respond to any measures we could devise. I frequently went for days with only brief naps, and I began to develop an irrational conviction that my sister’s illness had somehow become conscious, aware of everything we were trying to do to save her and thwarting us at every turn. I finally concluded that we’d have to go beyond the limitations of the physician’s art to save Beldaran. In desperation, I sent my thought out to the twins.
‘Please!’
I silently shouted over the countless leagues between the Isle and the Vale.
‘Please! I’m losing her! Get word to my father! I need him, and I need him in a hurry!’

‘Can you hold off the illness until he gets there?’
Beltira demanded.

‘I
don’t
know,
uncle. We’ve tried everything we know. Beldaran doesn’t respond to anything we can come up with. She’s sinking, uncle. Get hold of father immediately. Get him here as quickly as you can.’

‘Try to stay calm, Polgara,’
Belkira told me, his voice very crisp.
‘There’s a way you can support her until Belgarath gets there. Use your Will. Give her some of
your
strength. There are things we can do that others can’t.’

That
possibility hadn’t even occurred to me. We’d extended the procedures we were using to the very edge – almost experimenting – and some of the medications we were dosing Beldaran with were extremely dangerous – particularly in her weakened condition. If Belkira were right, I could support her with my Will and thus we could make use of even more dangerous medications.

I hurried down the corridor to the royal apartment and I found an Alorn priest who’d somehow managed to slip past the guards in the corridor. He was performing some obscene little ceremony that involved burning something that gave off a cloud of foul-smelling green smoke.
Smoke? Smoke
in the sick-room of someone whose lungs are failing? ‘What are you doing, you idiot?’ I almost screamed at him.

‘This is a sacred ceremony,’ he replied in a lofty tone of voice. ‘A mere woman wouldn’t understand it. Leave at once.’

‘No. You’re the one who’s leaving. Get out of here.’

His eyes widened in shocked outrage. ‘How dare you?’ he demanded.

I quenched his smoldering fire and blew the stink of it away with a single thought.

‘Witchcraft!’
he gasped.

‘If that’s what you want to call it,’ I told him from between clenched teeth. ‘Try a little of this, you feeble-minded fool.’ I clenched my Will and said, ‘Rise up!’ lifting him about six feet above the floor. I left him hanging there for a while. Then I translocated him to a spot several hundred yards out beyond the walls of the Citadel.

I was actually going to let him fall at that point. He was hundreds of feet above the snowy city and I was sure that he’d have plenty of time to regret what he’d done while he plummeted down toward certain death.

‘Pol! No!’
It was mother’s voice, and it cracked like a whip inside my head.

‘But–’

‘I said no! Now put him down!’
Then she paused for a moment.
‘Whenever it’s convenient, of course,’
she added.

‘It shall be as my mother wishes,’
I said obediently. I turned to my sister and gently infused her wasted body with my Will, leaving the priest of Belar suspended, screaming and whimpering, over the city. I left him out there for a few hours – six or eight, ten at the very most – to give him time to contemplate his sins. He
did
attract quite a bit of attention as he hovered up there like a distraught vulture, but all priests adore being the center of attention, so it didn’t really hurt him.

I sustained Beldaran with the sheer force of my Will for almost ten days, but despite my best efforts and every medication my teachers and I could think of, her condition continued to deteriorate. She was slipping away from me, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. I was exhausted by now, and strange thoughts began to cloud my enfeebled mind. I have very little coherent memory of those horrible
ten days, but I
do
remember Beltira’s voice coming to me about midnight when a screaming gale was swirling snow around the towers of the Citadel.
‘Pol! We’ve found Belgarath! He’s on his way to the Isle right now!’

‘Thank the Gods!’

‘How is she?’

‘Not good at all, uncle, and my strength’s starting to fail.’

‘Hold on for just a few more days, Pol. Your father’s coming.’

But we didn’t have a few more days. I sat wearily at my sister’s bedside through the interminable hours of that long, savage night, and despite the fact that I was channeling almost every bit of my Will into her wasted body, I could feel her sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness.

And then mother appeared at my side. It was not just her voice this time. She was actually there, and she was weeping openly. ‘Let her go, Pol,’ she told me.

‘No! I will
not
let her die!’

‘Her task is complete, Polgara. You
must
let her go. If you don’t, we’ll lose both of you.’

‘I can’t go on without her, mother. If she goes, I’ll go with her.’

‘No, you won’t. It’s not permitted. Release your Will.’

‘I
can’t
mother. I
can’t.
She’s the center of my life.’

‘Do it, my daughter. The Master commands it – and so does UL.’.

I’d never heard of UL before. Oddly, no one in my family had ever mentioned him to me. Stubbornly, however, I continued to focus my Will on my dying sister.

And then the wall beside Beldaran’s bed started to shimmer, and I could see an indistinct figure within the very stones. It was very much like looking into the shimmery depths of a forest pool to see what lay beneath the surface. The figure I saw there was robed in white, and the sense of that presence was overwhelming. I’ve been in the presence of Gods many times in my life, but I’ve never encountered a presence like that of UL.

Then the shimmering was gone, and UL himself stood across my sister’s bed from me. His hair and beard were like snow, but there were no other marks of age on that eternal face. He lifted one hand and held it out over
Beldaran’s form, and as he did so, I felt my Will being returned to me. ‘No!’ I cried. ‘Please! No!’

But he ignored my tearful protest. ‘Come with me, beloved Beldaran,’ he said gently. ‘It is time to go now.’

And a light infused my sister’s body. The light seemed to rise as if it were being sighed out of the wasted husk which was all that was left of her. The light had Beldaran’s form and face, and it reached out to take the hand of UL.

And then the father of the Gods looked directly into my face. ‘Be well, beloved Polgara,’ he said to me, and then the two glowing forms shimmered back into the wall.

Mother sighed. ‘And now our Beldaran is with UL.’

And I threw myself across my dead sister’s body, weeping uncontrollably.

Mother was no longer with me. I felt a terrible vacancy as I clung to my dead sister, weeping and screaming out my grief. The center of my world was gone, and all of the rest of it collapsed inward.

I have very little memory of what happened during the rest of that dreadful night. I think that people came into my sister’s room, but I didn’t even recognize their faces. There was weeping, I’m fairly sure of that, but I really can’t be certain.

And then Arell was there, solid, dependable, a rock I could cling to. She held me in her arms, rocking me back and forth until someone – Argak, I think – handed her a cup. ‘Drink this, Pol,’ she instructed, holding the cup to my lips.

It was bitter, and I momentarily thought that it might be poison. What a perfect solution. All the pain would go away now. I drank eagerly, and my weeping gradually subsided as I sank down into blank oblivion in Arell’s arms.

I was in my own bed when I awoke, and I can’t really say how much time had passed. Arell sat at my bedside, and I vaguely noticed that the windows had been barred while I slept. ‘Your father’s here, Pol,’ Arell told me when my eyes opened.

‘How nice of him to take the trouble,’ I replied bitterly. Arell had not poisoned me, and I felt somehow betrayed by that fact.

‘That’s about enough of that, Polgara.’ Arell’s tone was crisp. ‘People die. It happens. This isn’t the time for accusations or recriminations. The death of a loved one can either tear a family apart or it can bind the survivors closer together. Which do you want it to be, Pol?’ Then she stood up, smoothing the front of her grey dress. ‘Don’t go looking for anything sharp, dear. I’ve had your room purged of
everything with an edge, and stay away from the windows. Now get dressed, wash your face in cold water, and comb your hair. You’re a mess.’ Then she left, and I got out of bed to lock the door behind her.

It was evening again, though I couldn’t tell you what day it was, and father came knocking at my door. ‘It’s me, Pol. Open up.’

‘Go away,’ I told him.

‘Open the door, Pol. I need to talk to you.’

‘Get away from me, father.’ Even as I said it, I knew that it was more than a little silly. No lock in this world will keep my father out if he really wants in. I gave up and opened the door.

He was all business, though his face was bleak. He bluntly reminded me that our overriding responsibility now was the Rivan line. Riva himself was totally incapacitated by his grief, and somebody had to assume his duties – both as king and as the guardian of the Orb. Daran was only twenty, but he was Riva’s heir and therefore the only possible choice. ‘The Angaraks have eyes everywhere, Pol,’ father reminded me, ‘and if there’s any sign of weakness here, you can expect a visit from Ctuchik – or maybe even from Torak himself.’

That
brought me up short. I pushed my grief and desolation back. ‘What do we do?’

‘You’re going to pull yourself together and take charge here. I’m putting Daran into your hands. I’ve talked with Brand, and he fully understands the situation. He’ll help you as much as he can, but the ultimate responsibility’s still yours. Don’t fail me, Pol. I’ll take you to Brand’s quarters. He’s talking with Daran there right now. They’re Alorns, Pol, so keep a tight rein on them.’

‘You’ll be here, won’t you?’

‘No. I have to leave.’

‘You’re not even going to stay for the funeral?’ That shocked me for some reason. Father’s always been a bit informal, but –

‘I’ve got the funeral in my heart, Pol, and no amount of ceremony or preaching by some tiresome priest is going to make it go away.’

It was only an off-hand remark, but it reminded me that I had a score to settle with a certain priest of Belar. If Elthek, the Rivan Deacon, hadn’t pretended to be so hysterically afraid of witchcraft, my sister might have received proper medical attention soon enough to save her life. A desire for revenge isn’t really very admirable, but it
does
tend to stiffen one’s back in the face of sorrow. Now I had
two
reasons to get hold of myself – Elthek and Ctuchik. I had enemies on both sides of the theological fence.

Father took me to Kamion’s book-lined study, and then he left us.

There are precedents for a regency,’ Kamion told my sorrowing nephew and me, ‘quite a few, actually. The fact that a man’s a king doesn’t automatically exempt him from ordinary human incapacity.’

‘Lord Brand,’ Daran objected, ‘the people won’t accept me as their ruler. I’m too young.’

‘Your father was even younger than you are when he established the kingdom, Daran,’ I reminded him.

‘But he had the Orb, Aunt Pol.’

‘Right. And now
you
have it.’

He blinked. ‘Nobody but father can touch the Orb.’

I smiled at him. I suppose it was a sad smile, but the fact that I could do it at all surprised me. ‘Daran,’ I said, ‘your father put your hand on the Orb before you were twenty-four hours old. It knows who you are.’

‘Could he take the sword down off the wall?’ Kamion asked me intently.

‘I’m not entirely positive. I’ll look into it.’

That
would
give his Highness’ regency a visible sign of legitimacy and head off objections from any quarter.’

‘I think I’m getting a glimmer of an idea here, gentlemen,’ I told them. ‘I’ll have to speak with my Master about it – and with Riva himself – but if I’m right, there won’t be any objections to Daran’s regency from anyone.’

‘And then I can deal with the Rivan Deacon,’ Daran said, his young face hardening.

‘Would you care to define “deal with”, your Highness?’ Kamion asked politely.

‘I haven’t entirely decided yet, Lord Brand. I’m torn
between running a sword into his belly and twisting it or burning him at the stake. Which do you prefer, Aunt Pol?’

Alorns!
‘Let’s get your authority firmly established
before
the blood-bath, Daran,’ I suggested. ‘Let Elthek worry for a while before you run your sword into him or start using him for firewood. We have other things to take care of first.’

‘I guess you’re right, Aunt Pol,’ he conceded. ‘Do you have the authority to close the harbor, Lord Brand?’

‘I suppose so, your Highness,’ Kamion replied, ‘but why?’

‘This is an island, Lord Brand. If we close the harbor, Elthek can’t get away from me.’

‘Oh, dear,’ I sighed.

It was much later when I was alone in my chambers that I was finally able to reach out with my mind.
‘Mother, I need you.’
Then I waited, growing more apprehensive by the moment.

‘Yes, Pol?’
Her voice was filled with fathomless sorrow.

‘Can Daran take up his father’s sword?’

‘Of course he can, Pol.’

‘And will the sword respond to him in the same way it responds to Riva?’

‘Naturally. What’s this all about, Pol?’

‘Alorn politics, mother. Riva can’t function just now, so Daran’s going to have to rule the Isle until his father recovers. I want to head off any arguments before they even get started.’

‘Don’t overdo things, Pol.’

‘Of course not, mother.’

It’s always been my opinion that funerals should be private affairs for just the immediate family, but my sister had been the queen of the Rivans, and that called for a state funeral.

The Rivan Deacon will officiate, of course,’ Kamion advised my nephew and me. ‘It’s unfortunate, but – ’

‘No. He
won’t,’
Daran said firmly.

‘Your Highness?’

‘Elthek killed my mother. If he even comes near the funeral, I’ll chop him all to pieces. There’s a chaplain here in the Citadel.
He’ll
officiate.’

‘That’s your Highness’s final word on the matter?’

‘It is, Lord Brand.’ Then Daran stormed away.

‘I’ll talk to him, Kamion,’ I said quietly. ‘The Deacon won’t officiate, but I
do
want him to be present. Something’s going to happen that I want him to see.’

‘Secrets, Pol?’

‘Just a little surprise, old friend. I’m going to make the transfer of power
very
visible.’

Elthek was offended, naturally, but Kamion was smooth enough to unruffle his feathers, using such terms as ‘personal spiritual advisor’, and ‘the wishes of the immediate family’.

The formal funeral was conducted in the Hall of the Rivan King, and my sister’s bier was directly in front of the throne where Riva, sunk in bottomless melancholy, sat brooding over his wife’s pale body.

The priest who officiated was a gentle, kindly old man who was clearly not a Cultist. He gave us what comfort he could, but I doubt that any of us heard much of what he said. Elthek, the Rivan Deacon, sat near the front of the Hall, his face filled with injured pride. He was a tall, thin man with burning eyes and a grey-shot beard that reached almost to his waist. At one point during the family chaplain’s sermon, I caught Elthek glaring at me, and then his face twisted into a smirk that said volumes. He seemed almost delighted that I’d failed to save my sister’s life. He came very close to joining Belar out among the stars at that point.

Beldaran was interred in a hastily prepared royal mausoleum at the end of a long hallway inside the Citadel, and Riva wept openly as the heavy stone lid of the crypt slid gratingly over her. Then Kamion and I escorted him back to the Hall. I’d spoken with my distraught brother-in-law for a time just before the funeral, so he knew exactly what to do. ‘My friends,’ he addressed the assembled nobles and clergy, ‘I will be going into seclusion for some time. The kingdom will be secure, however.’ He went to his throne, reached up, and took his huge sword down from the wall. As it always did when he took it in his hand, the sword burst into blue fire, but it appeared that even the Orb grieved for my sister because the fire seemed to me to be a bit subdued. The grieving king turned to face the assem
blage, holding the flaming symbol of his authority aloft.

There was an absolute, almost fearful silence among the mourners. ‘My son, Prince Daran, will stand in my stead,’ Riva declared in tones that clearly brooked no opposition. ‘You will obey him even as you would obey me.’ Then he switched the sword around in those huge hands, taking it by its fiery blade and extending the hilt to Daran. ‘Thus I transfer all power to my son!’ he boomed.

Somewhere a bell started to ring, a deep-toned sound that seemed to shake the very stones around us. I knew with absolute certainty that no bell on the Isle was large enough to make that sound. Daran reverently took the sword from his father and raised it above his head. The fire of the Orb burst forth, running up that massive blade and enveloping the young prince in a sort of nimbus of blue light.

‘All hail Daran!’ Kamion commanded in a great voice, ‘Regent of the Isle of the Winds!’

‘Hail Daran!’ the crowd echoed.

Elthek’s face was pale with fury and his hands were trembling. He obviously hadn’t even considered the possibility of a regency, and certainly not a regency so supernaturally accepted. Clearly, he’d assumed that the grief-stricken Riva would try to continue to perform the duties of the throne, and a situation like that would have been almost made to order for the Rivan Deacon’s gradual usurpation of power. Kamion would have been shunted off to one side, and Elthek, speaking for the distraught Riva, would have insinuated himself into a position of unassailable authority. The blazing sword of the Rivan King in the hands of Daran effectively cut off Elthek’s path to power, and the Deacon was clearly unhappy about it. I managed to catch his eye, and just to rub it in a bit, I returned his smirk.

Riva, as he’d announced, went into seclusion, and Daran, Kamion and I took over the reins of government. Daran flatly – and wisely, I think – refused to sit on his father’s throne, but presided instead from a plain chair placed behind a common table piled high with the documents which are the curse of every ruler in the world.

I discovered that winter and early spring just how tedious
affairs of state can really be, and I marveled at the hunger some men have for a throne – any throne. Alorns are basically an informal people, and an Alorn king is usually nothing more than a glorified clan-chief who’s readily accessible to any of his subjects. That’s fine outside in the open, I suppose, but once the business of running a kingdom moves indoors, problems start to crop up. The formal setting of a throne room calls for formal speeches, and this unfortunately brings out the worst in some people. Oratory, however grand, is really nothing more than a way for a pompous man to stand up and in effect say, ‘Look at me,’ and most of the ‘petitions to the throne’ Daran was forced to endure were pure nonsense.

‘Must they go on and on like that?’ Daran complained one rainy evening after we’d closed up shop for the day.

‘It’s just a way of showing off, your Highness,’ Kamion explained.

‘I can see them, Kamion,’ Daran said. ‘They don’t have to wave their arms and make speeches. Can’t we do
something
to cut all this nonsense short?’

‘You could shorten your work-day, dear,’ I suggested.

‘What?’

‘You could hold court for an hour every morning and then pack up and go back to your office. The fact that others are waiting in line and time is limited might encourage those orators to get to the point.’ Then another idea came to me.
‘Or,
you could require each speaker to hold an iron rod in his hand while he’s talking.’

‘What good would that do?’

I smiled. ‘I’ll just gradually heat the rod until it’s white-hot, Daran. I think the speaker might hurry right along once his hand starts to smoke.’

‘I
like
that one,’ Daran said.

‘Unfortunately, it smacks of witchcraft,’ Kamion observed, ‘and Elthek might want to make an issue of it. I think we can come up with something else.’

What Kamion devised positively reeked of genius. The next morning a portly baron was reading aloud – badly – from a prepared text presenting all sorts of reasons why he should be exempt from certain provisions of the tax-code.

‘I think I’ve come up with the answer to our problem,’ Kamion murmured to Daran and me. He strolled to the edge of the dais, stepped down and casually approached the speaker. ‘May I see that, old boy?’ he asked politely, holding his hand out for the sheaf of paper in the baron’s hand. Then he firmly took the document from the startled noble and glanced at it. ‘Very interesting,’ he said. ‘His Highness will consider it and let you know what his decision is in a month or so.’