me. I’m busy.”
To be quite honest about it, though, I wasn’t particularly interested
in Zedar’s location. Torak’s condition made Zedar largely irrelevant.
I circulated around in the Kingdoms of the West instead, looking in on
those families I’d been nurturing for all these centuries. Leildorin’s
family was at Wildantor, and they were deeply involved in various
crackpot schemes against the Mimbrates. The baron of Vo Mandor,
Mandorallen’s grandfather, was busy picking fights with his neighbors,
usually on spurious grounds. Hettar’s clan was raising horses,
preparing, although they didn’t realize it, for the coming of the
Horse-Lord. Durnik’s grandfather was a village blacksmith, and Relg’s
was a religious fanatic who spent most of his time admiring his own
purity. I had no idea of where Taiba’s family was, and I lost a lot of
sleep about that. I knew that her family was someplace in the world,
but I’d completely lost track of them after the Tolnedran invasion of
Maragor.
I stopped by Tol Honeth before I went north to visit Drasnia and
Cherek. I always like to keep an eye on the Borunes. The man on the
throne at that time was Ran Borune XXI, who, as it turned out, was
Ce’Nedra’s great-grandfather. I’ve mentioned the tendency of
Tolnedrans to marry their cousins several times in the past, I think,
and Ran Borune XXI was no exception. The Dryad strain in the Borune
family always breeds true in female children, and the men of the family
are absolutely captivated by Dryads. I think it’s in their blood.
Anyway, Ce’Nedra’s great-grandfather was forty or so when I stopped by
the palace, and his wife, Ce’Lanne, had flaming red hair and a
disposition to match. She made the emperor’s life very exciting, I
understand.
Tolnedrans were still keeping alive the fiction that my name was some
obscure Alorn title, and the scholars of history at the university had
concocted a wild theory about a
“Brotherhood of Sorcerers” out of whole cloth. Some chance remark by
Beldin or one of the twins probably had given rise to that, and the
creative historians expanded on it. We were supposed to be some sort
of religious order, I guess. One imaginative pedant even went so far
as to suggest that the enmity between my brothers and me and Torak’s
disciples was the result of a schism within the order at some time in
the distant past.
I never bothered to correct all those wild misconceptions because they
helped me to gain access to whichever Borune or Honethite or Vorduvian
currently held the throne, and that saved a lot of time.
It was winter when I reached Tol Honeth and presented myself at the
palace. Winters are not particularly severe in Tol Honeth, so at least
I hadn’t been obliged to plow through snowdrifts on my way to the
imperial presence.
“And so you’re Ancient Belgarath,” Ran Borune said when I was presented
to him.
“That’s what they tell me, your Majesty,” I replied.
“I’ve always wondered about that title,” he said. Like all the
Borunes, he was a small man, and his massive throne made him look just
a bit ridiculous.
“Tell me. Ancient One, is the title
“Belgarath” hereditary, or were you and your predecessors chosen by lot
or the auguries?”
“Hereditary, your Majesty,” I replied. Well, it was sort of true, I
guess, depending on how you define the word “hereditary.”
“How disappointing,” he murmured.
“It’d be much more interesting if all those Belgaraths had been
identified by some sign from on high. I gather that you’ve come to
bring me some important news?”
“No, your Majesty, not really. I happened to be in the vicinity, and I
thought I might as well stop by and introduce myself.”
“How very courteous of you. One of my ancestors knew one of yours, I’m
told–back during the war with the Angaraks.”
“So I understand, yes.”
He leaned back on that red-draped throne.
“Those must have been the days,” he said.
“Peace is all right, I guess, but wars are much more exciting.”
“They’re greatly overrated,” I told him.
“When you’re at war, you spend most of your time either walking or
sitting around waiting for something to happen. Believe me. Ran
Borune, there are better ways to spend your time.”
Then his wife burst into the throne room.
“What is this idiocy?” she demanded in a voice they could probably
have heard in Tol Vordue.
“Which particular idiocy was that, dear heart?” he asked quite
calmly.
“You’re surely not going to send my daughter to the Isle of the Winds
in the dead of winter!”
“It’s not my fault that her birthday comes in the wintertime,
Ce’Lanne.”
“It’s as much your fault as it is mine!”
He coughed, looking slightly embarrassed.
“The Rivans can wait until summer!” she stormed on.
“The treaty states that she has to be there on her sixteenth birthday,
love, and Tolnedrans don’t violate treaties.”
“Nonsense! You cut corners on treaties all the time!”
“Not this one. The world’s peaceful right now, and I’d like to keep it
that way. Tell Ce’Bronne to start packing. Oh, by the way, this is
Ancient Belgarath.”
She flicked only one brief glance at me.
“Charmed,” she said shortly.
Then she continued her tirade, citing all sorts of reasons why it was
totally impossible for her daughter, Princess Ce’Bronne, to make the
trip to Riva.
I decided to step in at that point. I knew that Princess Ce’Bronne
wasn’t the one we were waiting for, but I didn’t want the Borunes
getting into the habit of ignoring one of the key provisions of the
Accords of Vo Mimbre.
“I’m going to Riva myself, your Imperial Highness,” I told Ran Borune’s
flaming little wife.
“I’ll escort your daughter personally, if you’d like. I can guarantee
her safety and make sure that she’s treated with respect.”
“How very generous of you, Belgarath,” Ran Borune stepped in quickly.
“There you have it, Ce’Lanne. Our daughter will be in good hands. The
Alorns have enormous respect for Ancient Belgarath here. I’ll make all
the arrangements personally.” He was very smooth, I’ll give him that.
He’d lived with his empress long enough to know how to get around
her.
And so I escorted her Imperial little Highness, Princess Ce’Bronne, to
the Isle of the Winds for her ritual presentation in the Hall of the
Rivan King as the Accords of Vo Mimbre required. Ce’Bronne was as
fiery as her mother and as devious as her grand niece What she couldn’t
get by screaming, she usually got by wheedling. I rather liked her.
She sulked for the first few days on board the ship that carried us
north, and I finally got tired of it.
“What is your problem, young lady?” I demanded at breakfast on our
fourth day out from Tol Honeth.
“I don’t want to marry an Alorn!”
“Don’t worry about it,” I told her.
“You won’t have to.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“The Rivan King hasn’t arrived yet. He won’t be along for quite some
time.”
“Any Alorn can show up at Riva and claim to be Iron-grip’s
descendant.
I could be forced to marry a commoner.”
“No, dear,” I told her.
“In the first place, no Alorn would do that, and in the second, an
imposter couldn’t pass the test.”
“What test?”
“The true Rivan King’s the only one who can take Iron-grip’s sword down
off the wall in the throne room. An imposter couldn’t get it off the
stones with a sledgehammer. The Orb will see to that.”
“Have you ever seen this mysterious jewel?”
“Many times, dear. Trust me. You’re not going to be forced to marry
an Alorn.”
“Because I’m not good enough?” she flared. She could change direction
in the blink of an eye.
“That has nothing to do with it, Ce’Bronne,” I told her.
“It’s just not time yet. Too many other things have to happen
first.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I’m sure she was trying to find some insult in
what I’d just told her.
“Well,” she said finally in a somewhat ungracious manner, “all right–I
guess. But I’m going to hold you to your word on this, Old Man.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Princess.”
And so I got the Imperial Princess Ce’Bronne to Riva on time, and the
Alorn ladies in the Citadel pampered and flattered her into some
semblance of gracious behavior. She made her obligatory appearance in
the throne room and waited the required three days, and then I took her
home again.
“There now,” I said to her as we disembarked on one of the marble
wharves at Tol Honeth, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Well,” she replied,
“I guess not.” Then she laughed a silvery laugh, threw her tiny arms
around my neck, and kissed me soundly.
I waited around Tol Honeth until spring arrived, and then I
commandeered a Cherek war-boat to take me north. I went to Trellheim