“Anything that makes you happy, love.” I will never understand
women.
Beldin and I spoke together at some length about Belzedar’s growing
aloofness, but we ultimately concluded that there wasn’t very much we
could do about it.
Then Beldin raised another issue that was of more immediate concern.
“There’s trouble in Maragor,” he told me.
“Oh?”
“I was on my way back from Nyissa when I heard about it. I was in a
hurry, so I didn’t have time to look into it very deeply.”
“What’s going on?”
“Some idiot misread one of their sacred texts. Mara must have been
about half asleep when he dictated it. Either that, or the scribe who
was writing it down misunderstood him. It hinges on the word “assume.”
The Marags are taking the word quite literally, I understand. They’ve
taken to making raids across their borders. They capture Tolnedrans or
Nyissans and take them back to Mar Amon. They have a big religious
ceremony, and the captives are killed. Then the Marags eat them.”
“They do what?”
“You heard me, Belgarath. The Marags are practicing ritual
cannibalism.”
“Why doesn’t Mara put a stop to it?”
“How should I know? I’m going back down there as soon as the Master
allows me to leave. I think one of us had better have a long talk with
Mara. If word of what’s going on gets back to Nedra or Issa, there’s
going to be big trouble.”
“What else can go wrong?” I exploded in exasperation.
“Lots of things, I’d imagine. Nobody ever promised you that life was
going to be easy, did they? I’ll go to Mar Amon and see what I can do.
I’ll send for you if I need any help.”
“Keep me posted.”
“If I find out anything meaningful. How are you and Poledra getting
along?”
I smirked at him.
“That’s disgusting, Belgarath. You’re behaving like some downy-cheeked
adolescent.”
“I know, and I’m enjoying every minute of it.”
“I’m going to go call on the twins, I’m sure they’ll be able to put
their hands on a barrel of good ale. I’ve been in Nyissa for the past
few decades, and the Nyissans don’t believe in beer. They have other
amusements.”
“Oh?”
“Certain leaves and berries and roots make them sooo happy. Most
Nyissans are in a perpetual fog. Are you coming to visit the twins
with me?”
“I don’t think so, Beldin. Poledra doesn’t like the smell of beer on
my breath.”
“You’re hen-pecked, Belgarath.”
“It doesn’t bother me in the slightest, brother.” I smirked at him
again, and he stumped away muttering to himself.
The Alorn clan wars re-erupted several times over the next few hundred
years. The Bear-cult was still agitating the outlying clans, but the
kings of Aloria were able to keep things under control, usually by
attacking cult strongholds and firmly trampling cult members into the
ground.
There’s a certain direct charm about the Alorn approach to problems, I
suppose.
I think it was about the middle of the nineteenth century when I
received an urgent summons from Beldin. The Nyissans had been making
slave raids into Maragor, and the Marags responded by invading the
lands of the Serpent People. I spoke extensively with Poledra and told
her in no uncertain terms that I wanted her to stay in the Vale while I
was gone. I asserted what minimal authority a pack leader might have
at that point, and she seemed to accept that authority–although with
Poledra you could never really be entirely sure. She sulked, of
course. Poledra could be absolutely adorable when she sulked. Garion
will probably understand that, but I doubt that anyone else will.
I kissed my wife’s pouty lower lip and left for Maragor–although I’m
not sure exactly what Beldin thought I might be able to do. Attempting
to rein in the Marags was what you might call an exercise in futility.
Marag men were all athletes who carried their brains in their biceps.
The women of Maragor encouraged that, I’m afraid. They want stamina,
not intelligence.
All right, Polgara, don’t beat it into the ground. I liked the Marags.
They had their peculiarities, but they did enjoy life.
The Marag invasion of Nyissa turned out to be an unmitigated
disaster.
The Nyissans, like the snakes they so admired, simply slithered off
into the jungle, but they left a few surprises behind to entertain the
invaders.
Pharmacology is an art-form in Nyissa, and not all of the berries and
leaves that grow in their jungles make people feel good. Any number of
them seem to have the opposite effect–although it’s sort of hard to
say for sure. It’s entirely possible that the thousands of Marags who
stiffened, went into convulsions, and died as the result of eating an
apparently harmless bit of food were made ecstatic by the various
poisons that took them off.
Grimly the Marags pressed on, stopping occasionally to roast and eat a
few prisoners of war. They reached Sthiss Tor, the Nyissan capital,
but Queen Salmissra and all of the inhabitants had already melted into
the jungles, leaving behind warehouses crammed to the rafters with
food.
The dim-witted Marags feasted on the food–which proved to be a
mistake.
Why am I surrounded by people incapable of learning from experience?
I wouldn’t have to see too many people die from “indigestion” to begin
to have some doubts about my food source. Would you believe that the
Nyissans even managed to poison their cattle herds in such a subtle way
that the cows looked plump and perfectly healthy, but when a Marag ate
a steak or roast or chop from one of those cows, he immediately turned
black in the face and died frothing at the mouth? Fully half of the
males of the Marag race died during that abortive invasion.
Things were getting out of hand. Mara wouldn’t just sit back and watch
the Nyissans exterminate his children for very long before he’d decide
to intervene, and once he did that, torpid Issa would be obliged to
wake up and respond. Issa was a strange God. After the cracking of
the world, he’d simply turned the governance of the Snake People over
to his High Priestess, Salmissra, and had gone into hibernation. I
guess it hadn’t occurred to him to do anything to prolong her life, and
so in time she died. The Serpent People didn’t bother to wake him when
she did. They simply selected a replacement.
Beldin and I went looking for the then-current Queen Salmissra so that
we could offer to mediate a withdrawal of the Marags. We finally found
her in a house deep in the jungles, a house almost identical to her
palace in Sthiss Tor. She’s probably got those houses scattered all
over Nyissa.
We presented ourselves to her eunuchs, and they took us to her throne
room, where she lounged, admiring her reflection in a mirror.
Salmissra–like all the other Salmissras–absolutely adored herself.
“I think you’ve got a problem, your Majesty,” I told her bluntly when
Beldin and I were ushered into her presence.
“Do you want my brother and me to try to end this war?”
The Serpent Woman didn’t seem to be particularly interested.
“Do not expend thine energy, Ancient Belgarath,” she said with a yawn.
All of the Salmissras have been virtually identical to the first one.
They’re selected because of their resemblance to her and trained from
early childhood to have that same chill, indifferent personality.
Actually it makes them easier to deal with. Salmissra–any one of the
hundred or so who’ve worn the name–is always the same person, so you
don’t have to adjust your thinking.
Beldin, however, managed to get her attention.
“All right,” he told her with an indifference that matched her own,
“it’s the dry season.
Belgarath and I’ll set fire to your stinking jungles. We’ll burn
Nyissa to the ground. Then the Marags will have to go home.”
That was the only time I’ve ever seen any of the Salmissras display any
emotion other than sheer animal lust. Her pale eyes widened, and her
chalk-white skin turned even whiter.
“Thou wouldst not!” she exclaimed.
Beldin shrugged.
“Why not? It’ll end this war, and if we get rid of all the assorted
narcotics, maybe your people can learn to do something productive.
Don’t toy with me, Snake Woman, you’ll find that I play rough. Let the
Marags go home, or I’ll burn Nyissa from the mountains to the sea.
There won’t be a berry or a leaf left–not even the ones that sustain
you. You’ll get old almost immediately, Salmissra, and all those
pretty boys you’re so fond of will lose interest in you almost as
fast.”
She glared at him, and then her colorless eyes began to smolder.
“You interest me, ugly one,” she told him.
“I’ve never coupled with an ape before.”
“Forget it,” he snarled.
“I like my women fat and hot-blooded.
You’re too cold for me, Salmissra.” That was my brother for you. He