Errand kissed Polgara and started toward the door.
“Tell Durnik that I said the two of you can enjoy yourselves this morning,” she told him. She gave Garion a direct look. “I think I’m going to be busy here for a few hours.”
“All right,” Errand said, and went out into the corridor. He gave only the briefest of thoughts to the problem which had made Garion and Ce’Nedra so unhappy. Polgara had already taken the matter in hand, and Errand knew that she would fix things. The problem itself was not a large one, but it had somehow been exploded into something of monstrous proportions by the arguments it had caused. The smallest misunderstanding, Errand realized, could sometimes fester like a hidden wound, if words spoken in haste and in heat were allowed to stand without apology or forgiveness. He also realized that Garion and Ce’Nedra loved each other so much that they were both extremely vulnerable to those hasty and heated words. Each had an enormous power to hurt the other. Once they were both made fully aware of that, the whole business could be allowed to blow over.
The corridors of the Citadel of Riva were lighted by torches held in iron rings protruding from the stone walls.
Errand walked down a broad hallway leading to the east side of the fortress and the steps leading to the parapet and the battlements above. When he reached the thick east wall, he paused to look out one of the narrow windows that admitted a slender band of steel-gray light from the dawn sky. The Citadel was high above the city, and the gray stone buildings and narrow, cobblestone streets below were still lost in shadows and morning mist. Here and there, lighted windows gleamed in the houses of early risers. The clean salt smell of the sea, carried by an onshore breeze, wafted over the island kingdom. Contained within the ancient stones of the Citadel itself was the sense of desolation the people of Riva Iron-grip had felt when they had first glimpsed this rocky isle rising grim and storm-lashed out of a laden sea. Also within those stones was that stern sense of duty that had made the Rivans wrest their fortress and their city directly from the rock itself, to stand forever in defense of the Orb of Aldur.
Errand climbed the flight of stone stairs and found Durnik standing at the battlements, looking out over the Sea of the Winds that was rolling endlessly in to crash in long, muted combers against the rocky shore.
“She finished with your hair, I see,” Durnik noted.
Errand nodded. “Finally,” he said wryly.
Durnik laughed. “We can both put up with a few things if they please her, can’t we?” he said.
“Yes,” Errand agreed. “She’s talking with Belgarion right now. I think she wants us to stay away until they’ve talked it all out.”
Durnik nodded. “That’s the best way, really. Pol and Garion are very close. He’ll tell her things when they’re alone that he wouldn’t say if we were around. I hope she can get things straightened out between him and Ce’Nedra.”
“Polgara will fix it,” Errand assured him.
From somewhere in a meadow high above them where the morning sun had already touched the emerald grass, a shepherdess lifted her voice to sing to her flock. She sang of love in a pure, unschooled voice that rose like bird song.
“That’s the way love should be,” Durnik said. “Simple and uncomplicated and clear -just like that girl’s voice.”
“I know.” Errand said. “Polgara said we could go visit the horse -whenever you’re finished up here.”
“Of course,” Durnik said, “and we could probably stop by the kitchen and pick up some breakfast along the way.”
“That’s an awfully good idea, too,” Errand said.
The day went very well. The sun was warm and bright, and the horse frolicked in the exercise yard almost like a puppy.
“The king won’t let us break him,” one of the grooms told Durnik. “He hasn’t even been trained to a halter yet. His Majesty said something about this being a very special horse -which I don’t understand at all. A horse is a horse, isn’t it?”
“It has to do with something that happened when he was born,” Durnik explained.
“They’re all born the same,” the groom said.
“You had to have been there,” Durnik told him.
At supper that evening, Garion and Ce’Nedra were looking rather tentatively across the table at each other, and Polgara had a mysterious little smile playing across her lips.
When they had all finished eating, Garion stretched and yawned somewhat theatrically. “For some reason I’m feeling very tired tonight,” he said. “The rest of you can sit up and talk if you’d like, but I think I’ll go to bed.”
“That might not be a bad idea, Garion,” Polgara told him.
He got to his feet, and Errand could feel his trembling nervousness. With an almost agonizing casualness he turned to Ce’Nedra. “Coming, dear?” he asked, putting an entire peace proposal into those two words.
Ce’Nedra looked at him, and her heart was in her eyes.
“Why -uh- yes, Garion,” she said with a rosy little blush, “I believe I will. I seem to be very tired, too.”
“Good night, children,” Polgara said to them in tones of warm affection. “Sleep well.”
“What did you say to them?” Belgarath asked his daughter when the royal couple had left the room hand in hand.
“A great many things, father,” she replied smugly.
“One of them must have done the trick,” he said. “Durnik, be a good fellow and top this off for me.” He passed his empty tankard to Durnik, who sat beside the ale barrel. Polgara was so pleased with her success that she did not even comment on that.
It was well after midnight when Errand awoke with a slight start.
“You’ re a very sound sleeper,”
a voice that seemed to be inside his mind said to him.
“I was dreaming,” Errand replied.
“I noticed that,”
the voice said drily.”Pull on some clothes. I need you in the throne room.”
Errand obediently got out of bed and pulled on his tunic and his short, soft Sendarian boots.
“Be quiet,”
the voice told him.”Let’s not wake up Polgara and Durnik.”
Quietly they left the apartment and went down the long, deserted corridors to the Hall of the Rivan King, the vast throne room where, three years before, Errand had placed the Orb of Aldur in Garion’s hand and had forever changed the young man’s life.
The huge door creaked slightly as Errand pulled it open, and he heard a voice inside call out, “Who’s there?”
“It’s only me, Belgarion,” Errand told him.
The great Hall was illuminated by the soft blue radiance of the Orb of Aldur, standing on the pommel of the huge sword of Riva, hanging point downward above the throne.
“What are you doing wandering around so late, Errand?” Garion asked him. The Rivan King was sprawled on his throne with his leg cocked up over one of the arms.
“I was told to come here,” Errand replied.
Garion looked at him strangely. “Told?Who told you?”
“You know.” Errand said, stepping inside the Hall and closing the door. “Him.”
Garion blinked. “Does he talk toyou , too?”
“This is the first time. I’ve known about him, though.”
“If he’s never-” Garion broke off and looked sharply up at the Orb, his eyes startled. The soft blue light of the stone had suddenly changed to a deep, angry red. Errand could very clearly hear a strange sound. For all of the time he had carried the Orb, his ears had been filled with the crystalline shimmer of its song, but now that shimmer seemed to have taken on an ugly iron overtone, as if the stone had encountered something or someone that filled it with a raging anger.
“Beware!
” that voice which they both heard quite clearly said to them in tones which could not be ignored.”Beware Zandramas!”
CHAPTER FIVE
As soon as it was daylight, the two of them went in search of Belgarath. Errand could sense that Garion was troubled and he himself felt that the warning they had received concerned a matter of such importance that everything else must be set aside in the face of it. They had not really spoken much about it during those dark, silent hours while they sat together in the Hall of the Rivan King, waiting for the first light to touch the eastern horizon. Instead, they had both watched the Orb of Aldur closely, but the stone, after that one strange moment of crimson anger, had returned to its customary azure glow.
They found Belgarath seated before a recently rekindled fire in a low-beamed hall close to the royal kitchens. On the table not far from where he sat lay a large chunk of bread and a generous slab of cheese. Errand looked at the bread and cheese, realizing suddenly that he was hungry and wondering if Belgarath might be willing to share some of his breakfast. The old sorcerer seemed lost in thought as he gazed into the dancing flames, and his stout gray cloak was drawn about his shoulders, though the hall was not cold.