“We did it because the queen commanded us to do it!”
“It wasn’t her idea, though!” The other one overrode his companion.
“A foreigner came to Sthiss Tor and spoke with Eternal Salmissra. It
was only then that she summoned us to the throne room.”
“Have you any idea of who this foreigner might have been?” I asked
him.
“N-no!” he stammered.
“Please don’t hurt me any more!”
“Relax,” I told him.
“Is there anything else you’d like to share with me?”
“One of the young princes escaped us,” the first one blurted.
“He swam out into the harbor.”
“And drowned?” one of the Rivan guards demanded before I could head
off that question.
“No. A bird saved him.”
“A bird?”
“I wouldn’t pay too much attention to him,” I said quickly.
“Nyissans see things that aren’t there all the time.”
The Rivan gave me a suspicious look.
“Have you ever been really drunk?” I asked him.
“Well, maybe once or twice.”
“Nyissans have found ways to get in that condition without beer.”
“I’ve heard about that,” he admitted.
“Now you’ve seen it. These two were still so drunk when I woke them up
that they were probably seeing blue sheep and purple goats.” I looked
at Brand.
“Do we need anything else?”
“I don’t. Do you?”
“No, I guess that just about covers it.” I waved one hand and put the
two assassins back to sleep. I didn’t want that one to talk about
birds any more.
Certain versions of The Book of Alorn mention that story about the
bird.
Now you know where it came from. I’ve ridiculed the idea every time it
came up, but there were still Rivans who believed it.
“What should we do with these two?” the fellow with the quick
questions asked me.
I shrugged.
“That’s entirely up to you. I’ve got what I needed out of them.
Coming, Brand?”
The two of us left the prison cell and went directly to Brand’s private
quarters.
“You realize that this means war, don’t you, Belgarath?” he said.
“I suppose so,” I agreed.
“It’d look suspicious if we didn’t mount a punitive expedition against
Nyissa at this point. Let’s not do anything out of character. I don’t
want people to start making wild guesses right now.”
“I’ll send messages to Val Alorn, Boktor, and the Algarian
stronghold.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll take care of that myself. Now let’s go fish my
daughter and your king out of the bay. I want a ship moved to the end
of the main wharf. Have the sailors tie it up there and then go
ashore. I don’t want anybody at all on board. Then you and I are
going to take a little trip.”
“Belgarath! I can’t leave now!”
“You’ll have to. I don’t know how to sail a ship. We’ve got to get
Polgara and Prince Geran to the coast of Sendaria, and we can’t let
anybody else know they’re on board.”
“I can sail the ship, Belgarath, but I’m going to need a crew.”
“You’ve got one. Pol and I’ll take care of manning your sails. We’ll
drop anchor a few miles north of Camaar. Pol will take the prince into
hiding, I’ll go to Val Alorn, and you’ll go to Camaar to commandeer a
crew from any Rivan ships in the harbor and get back here as quick as
you can to start mobilizing. Let’s go down to the harbor.”
When the ship had been moved and the sailors had gone down the wharf,
to the city, I sort of sauntered out to the end and stood looking
ostentatiously out to sea.
“Pol,” I said quietly, “are you still there?”
“Where else would I be, you old fool?”
I let that slide by.
“Stay where you are,” I told her.
“Brand’s coming around with a small boat.”
“What took you so long?”
“We had to wait until it got dark. I don’t want anybody to see what
we’re doing.”
“What were you talking about earlier–that business about hiding the
Rivan King?”
“We don’t have any choice, Pol. The Isle of the Winds isn’t safe for
the boy. We have to get him away from the Orb. Torak knows exactly
where it is, and if the boy stays anywhere near it, we’ll be able to
count on a steady stream of assassins coming here to try to kill
him.”
“I thought Salmissra sent the assassins.”
“She did, but somebody else put her up to it.”
“Who?”
“I’m not sure. The next time I see her, I’ll ask her.”
“Under the circumstances, you might have a little trouble getting into
Sthiss Tor.”
“I rather doubt that, Pol,” I answered grimly.
“I’m going to take a few Alorns with me.”
“A few?”
“The Chereks, the Rivans, the Drasnians, and the Algars. I’m going to
take all of Aloria with me when I go, Pol. I don’t think I’ll have any
trouble getting into Sthiss Tor at all.” I glanced over my shoulder
and then looked back out to sea.
“Here comes Brand with the boat. We’ll get you and the boy safely
aboard ship, and then we’ll sail.”
“Sail? Where?”
“Sendaria, Pol. We’ll decide what we’re going to do when we get
there.”
PART FIVE
THE SECRET
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Even though the assassination of Gorek and most of his family was
foreordained and necessary, I still have twinges of guilt about it.
Maybe if I’d been just a bit more alert, I’d have interpreted that
passage in the Mrin an hour–even a half hour– sooner, and Pol and I
could have reached Riva in time. Maybe if Pol hadn’t argued with me
for quite so long-Maybe, maybe, maybe. Sometimes it seems when I look
back on my life it’s nothing but a long string of regretful maybes. The
maybe that really stands out, though, is the one that suggests that I’m
not emotionally equipped to deal with predestination. It makes me feel
helpless, and I don’t like that. I always seem to think that there
might have been something I could have done to change the outcome. A
turnip can just sit there saying
“What will be will be.” I’m supposed to be a little more
resourceful.
Ah, well . . .
It took us the usual two days to reach the Sendarian coast. Brand’s
eyes got a little wild the first time I reset his sails without even
getting up from where I was sitting. That happens fairly often, you
know. Despite the fact that people are intellectually aware of
sorcery, when the real thing happens right in front of their eyes, it
tends to upset them. I’m not sure what he’d expected, though. I had
told him that Polgara was going to be lending a hand with the mechanics
of sailing that ship, but he should have known better. Prince Geran
was only about six years old, and he’d just watched his entire family
being murdered. He needed Pol far more than I did. I’d only said it
to Brand to head off one of those tiresome arguments about the possible
and the impossible.
Have you ever had that peculiar feeling that what’s happening now has
happened before? One of the reasons you have is because it’s really
true. The interruption of the Purpose of the universe had locked
everything in one spot, and time and events were simply marching in
place.
This might help to explain those “repetitions” Garion and I used to
talk about. In my case, though, I get not only the feeling that
something’s happened before, but also a slightly different feeling that
something’s going to happen again. I got that feeling with bells on it
as we approached the Sendarian coast.
It was a blustry morning in early summer with the clouds playing ducks
and drakes with the sun, and Polgara and the young prince had just come
up on deck. It wasn’t particularly warm, and Pol drew the little boy
protectively close and half enclosed him with her blue cloak just as
the sun momentarily broke through. Somehow that brief image seemed to
freeze and lock itself in my mind. I can still call it back with
absolute clarity–not that I really have to. I’ve seen Polgara
hovering over a long succession of sandy-haired little boys with that
obscure pain in her eyes once or twice in every generation for the past
thirteen hundred years and more. Protecting those little boys wasn’t
the only reason she’d been born, but it was certainly one of the
important ones.
We dropped anchor in a secluded cove about five miles north of Camaar
and then we went ashore in the ship’s longboat.
“Camaar’s that way,” I told Brand, pointing south.
“Yes, Ancient One, I know.” Brand was polite enough not to take
offense when somebody pointed out the obvious.
“Round up a crew and get back to Riva,” I instructed.
“I’ll go to Val Alorn and tell Valcor what’s happened. He’ll be along
with his fleet to pick you and your army up in a couple of weeks, I’d