Polgara the Sorceress (29 page)

‘Very well, my Lord Mangaran,’ I said in a professional tone of voice for the benefit of the others in the room. ‘I’ve finished my examination. His Grace is in a serious condition – quite possibly even critical. He needs complete rest and quiet. Someone else will have to assume his duties until he recovers.’

‘I shall so advise the court, my Lady,’ he assured me, also speaking for the others in the rooms. ‘I am not a physician, however. Might I prevail upon you to describe his Grace’s condition to the court?’

‘Of course, my Lord.’ Then we went back out into the hub-bub of the throne room, leaving the door slightly ajar so that the courtiers could hear Oldoran’s screaming.

Mangaran went to the throne, glanced briefly at the sprawled body of the Murgo in the Tolnedran mantle, and raised his voice to address the crowd. ‘My Lords and Ladies,’ he said in a tone filled with feigned concern, ‘his Grace’s condition is, I’m afraid, far more serious than we’d imagined. The shock of this foul attempt upon his life has aggravated an illness which none of us has suspected.’ He made a rueful face. ‘I’m not well-versed in the functions of the human body,’ he confessed. ‘I’m not even exactly sure how my blood gets from one place to another. Fortunately, a visitor to Vo Astur is among the finest physicians in all the world. She has examined his Grace and has reached certain conclusions, which she has agreed to share with us. The lady in question has a towering reputation, and I’m
certain that most of you have heard of her. My Lords and Ladies, may I present the Lady Polgara, daughter of Ancient Belgarath.’

There were all the usual gasps of astonishment – and disbelief – and they were followed by some dubious applause.

I stepped to Mangaran’s side. ‘My Lords and Ladies,’ I began. ‘I’d not intended to make my presence here in Vo Astur public, but the current crisis requires me to come forward to make certain things known to you. Your duke is gravely ill, and this heartless attempt on his life has exacerbated his condition.’ I paused – just a bit theatrically, I suppose. ‘As you can hear, your duke is a bit distraught just now.’ I glanced back toward the door to the room where the duke was still screaming. ‘His grace is suffering from a rare condition known as interstitial conjunctive morbialis, which afflicts not only the body, but the mind as well. In short, his Grace hovers on the verge of total physical and mental collapse.’

Don’t bother tearing medical texts apart looking for ‘interstitial conjunctive morbialis’. You won’t find it, since it’s pure gibberish that I made up right there on the spot.

It sounds absolutely awful, though, doesn’t it?

‘Can it be cured, Lady Polgara?’ Asrana asked me.

‘I can’t be certain,’ I replied. “The malady is so rare that there probably haven’t been more than a half-dozen cases since the disease was first identified over a century ago.’

‘What course of treatment would you advise, Lady Polgara?’ Mangaran asked me.

‘The duke must have total rest and quiet,’ I replied. ‘I’d advise removing him from the palace here to some secure place where he’ll be safe from further attempts on his life and where he can have absolute rest. If he remains here in the palace, the affairs of state will inevitably begin to intrude upon him, and he’ll die.’

‘Die?’
Asrana gasped. ‘Is it
that
serious?’

‘Probably even more so,’ I replied. ‘His life hangs by a thread.’ I turned to Earl Mangaran. ‘Is there some nearby
place where his Grace might be taken to begin his recovery?’ I asked. ‘A place such as I’ve just described?’

‘Well,–’ He said it just a bit dubiously. “There’s a monastery about an hour’s ride from here, Lady Polgara. It has high walls, and the monks there spend most of their lives in silent meditation. It’s secure, certainly, and it
is
quiet.’

I pretended to think about it. ‘It
might
serve our purposes.’ I didn’t want to sound
too
enthusiastic.

‘And who will assume his Grace’s duties during his recovery?’ one of our ‘patriots’ demanded.

Asrana stepped forward. ‘I’m just a silly woman,’ she said, ‘but it seems to me that someone already
has.
Earl Mangaran seems to have everything under control. Since he’s volunteered, why don’t we let
him
take care of things during the duke’s temporary incapacity?’

‘Yes,’ an elderly noble, also one of our cohorts, agreed. ‘Mangaran will do nicely, I think. The Privy Council may want to discuss the matter, but in the interim, I’d suggest that the earl should continue to make decisions. We
do
have the Wacites on our eastern frontier, after all, so we don’t want any signs of division or weakness to encourage them to attack.’

Mangaran sighed. ‘If it is the will of the court – ’ He even managed to sound reluctant.

The still gibbering duke was hustled into a carriage for his trip to the monastery an hour or so before the party at the Marquis Torandin’s house broke up. We left the Murgo’s body where it had fallen to help persuade the returning party-goers that there really had been an assassination attempt, and with only a few exceptions the courtiers all agreed that Mangaran should continue to stand in Oldoran’s stead.

It was almost dawn by the time I fell into bed to snatch a couple of hours sleep.

‘Interstitial conjunctive morbialis?’
father’s voice asked mildly.
‘What’s that, Pol?’

‘It’s very rare, father.’

‘It must be. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before.’

‘Probably not. This is the first case I’ve ever seen. Go away,
Old Man. Let me get some sleep. I’ll call you when it’s time for you to make your speech.’

Our coup had gone off quite smoothly. Such opposition as there was had been thrown into total disarray by the speed at which we had moved, and the sudden appearance in the throne-room of the legendary Belgarath the Sorcerer about mid-morning of the day following our little coup more or less set our arrangements in stone. Father, always a performer, strode into the throne-room garbed in an almost incandescent white robe. He carried a staff, which the gullible Asturians assumed could be used to fell vast forests, blow the tops off mountains, and turn whole generations into regiments of toads. Father, quite naturally, took all the credit, and then he strongly suggested that it was
his
decision that Earl Mangaran assume the reins of the government.

The dead Murgo who’d subverted Duke Oldoran was buried with Lammer’s arrow still stuck through his head, and since most of his underlings were Angaraks incapable of making decisions on their own, they had to wait for new instructions from Rak Cthol. Ctuchik had been getting all sorts of bad news lately, and I had every intention of going on to Vo Mimbre to send him some more.

Father, Mangaran, Asrana and I gathered in Asrana’s apartments after everything had been nailed down to discuss our options at this point. ‘My father might not agree with me,’ I told them, ‘but I think our next step should be some peace overtures to Kathandrion of Vo Wacune. Let’s shut down this silly war.’ I looked at father. ‘Any objections?’ I asked him.

‘This is your party, Pol,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Do it any way you like.’

‘I’d more or less intended to, father.’ I cocked an eyebrow at Asrana and Mangaran. ‘I’m going on to Vo Mimbre,’ I advised them. Try not to get creative while I’m gone. Watch Oldoran’s relatives and those half-dozen or so courtiers who were so upset by the sudden passing of the fellow in the Tolnedran mantle. There are probably other Murgos lurking about, though, and I think they’ll
also
pose as Tolnedrans when they start showing up at court. I think the best
way to deal with them would be to lean heavily on that “interim” business. Theoretically, you’re just filling in for Oldoran until he regains his health, my Lord Mangaran. Pretend that you don’t have the authority to sign treaties or agree to more informal arrangements. Tell them that they’ll have to wait until the duke recovers. That should stall anything new for about half a year. Ctuchik’s plan has a definite time-table, I think, and an enforced six-month delay should seriously disrupt it. The Dagashi will have to just mark time, but I won’t. I’ll be able to stop things at Vo Mimbre, and they won’t be able to do a thing about it.’

‘Did
you
teach her how to be so devious, Holy Belgarath?’ Mangaran asked my father.

‘No,’ father replied. ‘It seems to be a natural talent. I’m terribly proud of her, though.’

‘An actual compliment, father?’ I said. ‘I think I’ll faint.’

Asrana had been eyeing my father with a speculative look.

‘That’s a terrible mistake, dear,’ I told her. ‘You don’t really want to get involved with him.’

‘I can take care of myself, Polly,’ she said, her eyes still on my father.

‘Oh dear,’ I said. Then I threw up my hands and left for Vo Mimbre.

My father suggested that I stop at Vo Mandor to talk with the current baron on my way south, so Lady and I went down across the vast, deforested plain of the Mimbrate duchy. Even then that landscape was depressingly dotted with the ruins of towns, villages, and isolated castles. I’m sure that Asturia and Wacune were littered with the souvenirs of idiocies past as well, but those old wounds moldered discreetly in the forests which covered the two northern duchies. In Mimbre the grey stone ghosts of castles and the like were always painfully visible and were thus a constant reminder of the sorry history of Arendia. There are those who pass through the plains of Mimbre who find the ruins picturesque and romantic, but that’s usually long after the smoke and stench have been blown away and the seasons have washed off the blood.

There wasn’t much danger that Mandorallen’s ancestral home would ever be part of the nameless ruins of the tides of civil war. Vo Mandor was probably what they had in mind when they coined the word ‘unassailable’. It stood atop a rocky knoll, and in the process of construction the builders had hacked away the sides of that knoll to obtain the necessary building stones. The end result was a fortress situated atop a jutting peak with sheer sides hundreds of feet high that defied assault – not that it hadn’t been tried a few times, Arends being what they are and all.

As I thought about it, I reached the conclusion that the site of their place of origin may have played a significant role in the formation of the character of that long, unbroken line of the Barons of Vo Mandor. If you grow up with the conviction that no one can possibly hurt you, it tends to make you just a bit rash.

The town of Vo Mandor surrounded the baron’s walled
keep, and the town itself was also walled. It was approached by a long, steep causeway that was frequently interrupted by drawbridges designed to impede access. All in all, Vo Mandor was one of the bleaker places on earth.

The view from the top was magnificent, though.

Mandorin, the then-current baron, was a blocky widower in his mid-forties. He had massive shoulders, silver-shot dark hair, and a beautifully manicured beard. His manners were exquisite. When he bowed, the act was a work of art, and his speech was so sprinkled with interjected compliments that it often took him about a quarter of an hour to wend his way through a sentence.

I liked him, though. Isn’t that odd? Perhaps it’s a character defect. Good manners are such a rarity that I’ll endure excessive language and all sorts of bowing and scraping just to avoid the casual incivility so common in most of the rest of the world.

‘My Lady Polgara,’ the maroon-clad baron greeted me in the courtyard of his grim fortress, ‘the walls of my poor house do tremble as the very leaves at the presence of the paramount lady in all this world within their confines – e’en as the mountains themselves must be seized by convulsive ague as the sense of thy passage doth strike them into their very vitals.’

‘Nicely put, my Lord,’ I congratulated him. ‘Gladly would I linger in this happy place to hear more of thine exquisite speech, but necessity, that cruelest of masters, doth compel me to unseemly – even discourteous – haste.’ I’ve read my share of Arendish epics, and if Baron Mandorin thought he could outtalk me, he was greatly mistaken. I’ve learned over the years that the best way to deal with Arends is to talk them into insensibility. The only problem with that is that they’re as patient as stones, so it takes a while.

Eventually Baron Mandorin escorted me to his private study, a book-lined room carpeted and draped in blue high in the east tower of his castle, and we got down to business –
after
he’d fetched me a cushion to support my back in the already padded chair he offered me, set a plate of sweetmeats close at hand on the polished, dark wood table, sent
for a pot of tea, and placed a footstool close by – just on the off chance that my feet might be tired.

‘Knowest thou my father, my Lord?’ I asked.

‘Holy Belgarath?’ he replied. ‘Intimately, my Lady – which doth raise the question whether any person in all this world could possibly know so towering an individual.’

‘I do, my Lord, and father doesn’t always tower. Sometimes he stoops, but we digress. It hath come to mine attention – and to my father’s – that there is discord in Arendia.’

Mandorin made a rueful face. ‘That, dear Lady, is the most cursory description of several eons of Arendish history it hath ever been my sad pleasure to hear. For ‘certes, discord lieth at the very soul of Arendish existence.’

‘Yes, I’ve noticed that. In this particular situation, however, the discord hath its origins outside the boundaries of this most unhappy of realms. Wacune was rent by dissention, and Asturia hath but recently enjoyed the overturn of its government.’

‘Thou speakest as if these events had already passed into the pages of history, my Lady.’

‘Yes, my Lord, they did.’

‘I do surmise that it was
thy
hand which stilled the waves of contention in the northern duchies.’

‘I had some part in it, yes,’ I admitted modestly. ‘I exposed the identity of an outside agitator to Duke Kathandrion of Wacune and then proceeded on to Vo Astur and overthrew the government of the incompetent Duke Oldoran. Now I’ve come to Mimbre.’

‘I do sense a certain ominous tone in that particular pronouncement, my Lady.’

‘Set thy fears to rest, Baron Mandorin. Thine heart is pure, and thou hast nothing to fear from me. I doubt that I shall have occasion to turn thee into a toad nor stand thee on empty air some miles above us.’

He smiled and inclined his head slightly. ‘Prithee, my Lady,’ he said, ‘when we have leisure, might I beg instruction in the fine art of extravagant speech from thee?’

‘You’re doing fine already, Mandorin,’ I told him in ordinary language. ‘You don’t need any lessons. To work, then. In both Wacune and Asturia, there were men who
seemed
to be Tolnedran, but were not. They proposed to Kathandrion and separately to Oldoran an alliance with Ran Vordue, dangling the undisputed crown of Arendia before their eyes as a prize for acceptance. Doth this perchance resonate in any way within thy recent memory?’

I didn’t really need to ask, since his face had gone pale and his eyes were very wide.

‘It has a familiar ring to it, I gather?’

‘Indeed, my Lady. A similar proposal hath been broached to our own Duke Corrolin.’

‘I’d rather thought it might have been. Art thou, perchance, within the circle of Duke Corrolin’s immediate advisors?’

‘I do sit on the Privy Council,’ he admitted, ‘and I must confess that I was sore-tempted by this fortuitous offer of alliance with the mighty Tolnedran empire.’

‘I think I’ll need some details, Baron Mandorin. Before I can unseat an opponent, I need to know which horse he’s riding.’

He pondered that, evidently reassessing certain events which had recently taken place in Vo Mimbre. ‘Some months ago a Tolnedran diplomat did, in fact, arrive in the golden city with a proposal, which he assured Duke Corrolin did come directly from the Imperial throne. His credentials did appear immaculate.’

‘Did the Tolnedran ambassador to the court at Vo Mimbre recognize him, my Lord?’

‘The current ambassador from Tol Honeth had fallen ill a month perhaps ‘ere Kadon, the emissary in question, did enter the gates of Vo Mimbre. The illness is obscure, and it doth baffle the finest physicians in all of Mimbre. I do fear me that his Excellency’s days are numbered.’

‘Most convenient, my Lord. Coincidence, though rampant in this troubled world, doth sometimes require some small nudge from human agency to flower.’

‘Poison?’ he gasped, catching my meaning.

‘Quite possibly, my lord. I fear me that certain Nyissan compounds are entering the politics of the other western kingdoms. Prithee, expound unto me the details of the proposal carried to Vo Mimbre by the emissary Kadon.’

‘It doth bear a characteristic Tolnedran stamp, my Lady Polgara, for ‘certes, as all the world doth know, the Tolnedran mind is a masterpiece of complexity and devious motivation. In short, though it doth wound me sorely to offend thy delicate sensibilities by such brutal brevity, I shall speak unto thee in unadorned terms.’

‘I’d appreciate that, Lord Mandorin.’

Aren’t you proud of me? I didn’t once scream at him while he was exploring the outer limits of his vocabulary.

‘As thou art well aware, having but recently come from the northern duchies, great antagonism did exist between Duke Kathandrion of Wacune and the now deposed Duke Oldoran of Asturia, and the Wacites do poise themselves on the Asturian border, bent on nothing less than the obliteration of their cousins to the west. Kadon suggested to our beloved Duke Corrolin that this contention in the north might prove to be an opportunity too golden to be permitted to escape, and he offered the aid of the legions in grasping this prize.’

‘How, my Lord? What exactly were the legions supposed to do?’

‘Granted safe passage by his Grace Corrolin, forty legions are to march north and poise themselves in northern-most Mimbre. When Duke Kathandrion’s forces do march into Asturia and encircle Vo Astur, the legions will move to fortify the border between Wacune and Asturia. E’en as the legions march, the forces of Duke Corrolin will cross over into the foothills of Ulgoland, move north, and take up positions along Wacune’s eastern frontier. When Kathandrion’s forces begin their assault on Vo Astur, the Mimbrate army will invade Wacune from the east. By virtue of the legions lining the border between the two northern duchies, Kathandrion will be unable to rush home to defend his homeland. Vo Wacune will fall, and Kathandrion and Oldoran are to be permitted to fight a war of mutual extinction in the forests of Asturia. Then, when but few tattered remnants of the armies of Wacune and Asturia do remain, Duke Corrolin, with the aid of the legions, is to sweep both Kathandrion and Oldoran into the dust-bin of history, and
all of Arendia will swear fealty to Corrolin, and he will become our undisputed king.’ Mandorin, caught up in spite of himself, delivered this last in ringing tones of exaltation.

‘And you and your duke actually
believed
this absurdity?’ I asked, hoping to dash some cold water into the face of this enthusiast.

‘I am well-versed in the arts of war. Lady Polgara,’ he said in slightly injured tones. ‘I found no fault nor flaw in this strategy.’

I sighed. ‘Oh dear,’ I murmured, covering my eyes theatrically with one hand. ‘Lord Mandorin,’ I said to him, ‘think for a moment. Northern Arendia is one vast forest. Kathandrion and Oldoran would
not
meet Corrolin – or the legions – in pitched battle. They would simply melt into the trees. Northern Arends are born with longbows in their hands. The armored knights of Mimbre and the stately ranks of the Tolnedran legions would melt like snow in the spring in sudden rain-squalls of yard-long arrows. There’s a man named Lammer in Vo Astur who can thread a needle with an arrow at two hundred paces. Neither the Mimbrates nor the legions would ever have seen the men who killed them. Armor is decorative, but it won’t stop an arrow.’

‘A most unseemly way to make war,’ he complained.

‘There’s nothing seemly nor polite about war, Baron,’ I told him. ‘Is it polite to pour boiling pitch on visitors? Is it seemly to bash people’s heads in with maces? Is it courteous to run a twenty-foot lance through the body of someone who disagrees with you? But we can discuss courtesy in all its divine intricacies later. Ran Vordue is a Tolnedran. He will not do
anything
without getting paid for it. To put it in its bluntest terms, what’s in it for him?’

The baron’s face grew troubled. ‘I would die ere offending thee, my Lady,’ he said, ‘but the attachment of thy father to the Alorns is widely known, and thine own sojourn on the Isle of the Winds is legendary. The alliance which Ran Vordue hath proposed is but an initial step in his grand design, the intent of which is the destruction of the Alorns.’

‘And
that
idea seemed like a good one to Corrolin?’ I asked incredulously. ‘Doth his Grace perchance have an extra hole in his head? It seemeth me that his brains are
leaking out. The Alorns, as all the world doth know, have their faults, but no sane man chooses to make war upon them. Hath this supposed Tolnedran, Kadon, seen fit to advise the Privy Council in Vo Mimbre of a grand strategy whereby Arendia and Tolnedra can hope to survive a confrontation with those howling savages of the far north?’

His face went a trifle stiff. ‘We are Arends, my Lady,’ he told me a bit coldly, ‘and are not without our own skills – and our own bravery. Moreover, the Tolnedran legions are the most highly-trained soldiers in all the world.’

‘I am not disparaging thy bravery nor thy skill at arms, my Lord, but an average Alorn doth stand some seven feet tall and is given a sword to play with whilst still in his cradle. Moreover, by ties of blood and religion, the Alorns think and move as one. Though Tolnedra might wish it otherwise, Aloria doth still exist, stretching from Gar og Nadrak to the Isle of the Winds. An attack upon Aloria is, it seemeth me, tantamount to suicide.’ I probably went a little too far there. Arends
do
have their pride, after all. ‘I’m sorry, Mandorin,’ I apologized. ‘The rashness of the proposal startled me, that’s all.’ I considered the situation. ‘Prithee, my Lord,’ I said, ‘did his Grace actually contemplate this action with nothing more than the unsupported declarations of Kadon to guide him?’

‘Nay, my Lady. Simple observation lent weight to Kadon’s proposal. I do assure thee that Tolnedran legions are even now massing on the southern bank of the River Arend, doubtless preparing for the long march to the point at which the boundaries of the three duchies do converge. Moreover, a Tolnedran general hath also come to Vo Mimbre to confer with the commanders of our forces.’

That truly troubled me. If Ctuchik were also subverting Tolnedra, I had a
real
problem on my hands. ‘We can discuss this further as we travel the road to Vo Mimbre, my Lord,’ I told Mandorin. ‘It doth appear that what transpires in the golden city hath far greater complexity than what I encountered to the north.’ I paused again. ‘I think that it might not be wise for my name to start echoing through the halls of the ducal palace upon our arrival. I suppose you’d better adopt me, Mandorin.’