“To be honest with you, I hadn’t really thought about it. Brand’s always been here. He seemed as permanent as the stones of the Citadel itself.”
“Who’s been doing his work since he was killed, your Majesty?” the silvery haired old Earl of Seline asked.
“His second son, Kail.”
“You have many other responsibilities, Belgarion,” the Earl pointed out. “You really do need someone here to manage the day-to-day details -at least until the present crisis has passed. I don’t think, however, that any final decision about the post of Warder needs to be made just now. I’m sure that if you asked him, Kail would continue to perform his father’s duties without a formal appointment.”
“He’s right, Garion,” Ce’Nedra said. “Kail’s absolutely devoted to you. He’ll do anything you ask him to do.”
“If this young man is doing an adequate job, it’s probably best to let him continue,” Seline suggested. Then he smiled briefly. “There’s an old Sendarian adage that says, ‘If it isn’t broken, don’t try to fix it.’ ”
The following morning an ungainly-looking ship with elaborate structures fore and aft wallowed into the harbor under an obviously top-heavy spread of sail. Garion, who stood atop the battlements of the Citadel talking quietly with Javelin, frowned as he looked down at it. “What kind of ship is that?” he asked. “I don’t recognize the construction.”
“It’s Arendish, your Majesty. They feel the need to make everything look like a castle.”
“I didn’t know that the Arends evenhad any ships.”
“They don’t have very many,” Javelin replied. “Their vessels have a tendency to capsize whenever they encounter a stiff breeze.”
“I guess we’d better go down and see who it is.”
“Right,” Javelin agreed.
The passengers aboard the clumsy Arendish vessel proved to be old friends. Mandorallen, the mighty Baron of Vo Mandor, stood at the rail, gleaming in full armor. At his side stood Lelldorin of Wildantor, and with them were their wives, Nerina and Ariana, both ornately gowned in dark, rich brocades.
“We came instantly upon our receipt of the news of thy tragedy, Garion,” Mandorallen shouted across the intervening water as the Arendish crew laboriously maneuvered their awkward ship toward the quay upon which Garion and Javelin waited. “Duty and affection, both for thee and they foully murdered Warder, impel us to aid thee in thy rightful search for vengeance. Korodullin himself would have joined us but for an illness which hath laid him low.”
“I suppose I should have expected this,” Garion murmured.
“Are they likely to complicate matters?” Javelin asked quietly.
Garion shuddered. “You have no idea.”
It was not until two days later that theSeabird, with Barak at the tiller, rounded the headland and sailed into the harbor. The rails were lined with burly Cherek warriors in chainmail shirts. Their faces were alert, and their eyes were wary as Barak steered his ship up to the quay.
When Garion reached the foot of the long flight of stone steps leading down from the Citadel, a sizable crowd had gathered. The mood of that crowd was ugly, and most of the men who stood there with grim faces had weapons at their sides.
“It looks as if we’ve got a situation on our hands here,” Garion said quietly to Kail, who had accompanied him. “I think we’d better try to put the best face on this meeting.”
Kail looked at the angry faces of the townspeople pressing toward the wharves. “Perhaps you’re right, Belgarion,” he agreed.
“We’re going to have to put on a show of cordiality when we greet Anheg.”
“You ask a great deal, Belgarion.”
“I hate to put it this way, Kail, but I’m notasking. Those Chereks along the rail are Anheg’s personal bodyguard. If anything starts here, there’s going to be a lot of bloodshed -and probably the beginning of a war that none of us wants. Now smile, and let’s go welcome the King of Cherek.”
To give it the best possible appearance, Garion led Kail up the gangway to the deck of Barak’s ship so that his meeting with King Anheg could take place in fullview of the angry crowd. Barak, clad in a formal green doublet and looking even larger than he had the last time Garion had seen him, strode down the deck to meet them. “This is a very bleak time for us all,” he declared as he shook hands first with Garion and then with Kail. “Anheg and Hettar are below with the ladies.”
“Ladies?” Garion asked.
“Islena and Merel.”
“You’ve heard the rumors?” Garion asked him.
Barak nodded. “That’s one of the reasons we brought our wives.”
“Good idea,” Garion said approvingly. “A man who’s coming someplace to pick a fight doesn’t usually bring his wife along, and we all want to give this the best possible appearance.”
“I’ll go down and get Anheg,” Barak said, casting a quick glance at the ugly crowd gathered at the foot of his gangway .
King Anheg’s brutish, black-bearded face was haggard and drawn when he emerged from below-decks in his usual blue robe.
“Anheg, my friend,” Garion said in a voice intended to carry to the crowd. He hurried forward and caught the Cherek king in a rough embrace. “I think we should smile,” he whispered. “We want to let those people know we’re still the best of friends.”
“Are we, Garion?” Anheg asked in a subdued voice.
“Nothing has changed at all, Anheg,” Garion said firmly.
“Let’s get on with this, then.” Anheg raised his voice. “The royal house of Cherek extends its condolences to the Rivan Throne in this hour of grief,” he declared formally.
“Hypocrite!” a voice from the crowd bellowed.
Anheg’s face went bleak, but Garion moved quickly to the rail, his eyes angry. “Any man who insults my friend insults me,” he said in a dreadfully quiet voice. “Does anyone here want to say anything tome?”
The crowd drew back nervously.
Garion turned back to Anheg. “You look tired,” he said.
“I’ve been tearing the palace apart -and most of Val Alorn as well- ever since I heard about what happened, but I haven’t been able to find a single clue.” The black-bearded Cherek king stopped and looked straight into Garion’s face. His eyes had a pleading look in them. “I swear to you, Garion, upon my life, that I had nothing whatsoever to do with the death of Brand.”
“I know that, Anheg,” Garion said simply. He glanced at the still-angry crowd. “Maybe we’d better get Hettar and the ladies and go up to the Citadel. The others are all there, and we want to get started.” He turned to Kail. “As soon as we get there, I want you to send down some men to disperse these people. Have them seal off the foot of this quay. I don’t want any trouble here.”
“Is it that bad?” Anheg asked very quietly.
“Just a precaution,” Garion said. “I want to keep things under control until we get to the bottom of this.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The funeral of Brand, the Rivan Warder, took place the following day in the Hall of the Rivan King. Garion, dressed all in black, sat on the basalt throne with Ce’Nedra at his side as the Rivan Deacon delivered the eulogy to the crowded Hall.
The presence of King Anheg of Cherek at that sorrowful ceremony caused an angry undertone among the members of the Rivan nobility, and it was only their profound respect for Brand and Garion’s flinty gaze that prevented the whispers at the back of the Hall from becoming open accusations.
Anheg, seated between Porenn and Cho-Hag, remained stony-faced throughout the services and he left the Hall immediately upon their conclusion.
“I’ve never seen him like this,” Barak said quietly to Garion after the ceremony. “No one has ever accused him of murder before, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”
“No one’s accusing him now.” Garion replied quickly.
“Turn around and look at the faces of your subjects, Garion,” Barak said sadly. “There’s an accusation in every single eye.”
Garion sighed. “I don’t have to look. I know exactly what they’re thinking.”
“When do you want to start the meetings?”
“Let’s wait a bit,” Garion decided. “I don’t particularly want Anheg going through the corridors of the Citadel while all these mourners are drifting about with daggers in their belts.”
“Sound thinking,” Barak agreed.
They gathered about midafternoon in the blue-draped council chamber in the south tower. As soon as Kail had closed the door, Anheg rose and faced them. “I want to state right at the outset that I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened here,” he declared. “Brand was always one of my closest friends, and I’d have cut off my arm before I’d have hurt him. You have my word for that -both as a king and as an Alorn.”
“No one’s accusing you of anything, Anheg,” Cho-Hag said quietly.
“Ha! I’m not nearly as stupid as I look, Cho-Hag -and even if I were, I still have ears. The people here in Riva have done everything short of spitting in my face.”