David and Leigh Eddings – Belgarath the Sorcerer

marriage to the grand duke of the Borune family in the first place was

to gain access to the priceless resources of the Wood of the Dryads.

There were forests in the mountains east of Tol Honeth and around Tol

Rane, of course, but those forests were fir, pine, and spruce–all

softwoods. The only significant source of hardwoods in Tolnedra was

the forest of Vordue in the north, and the Vorduvians charged

outrageous prices for their lumber. The Honeths had been eyeing the

oaks in the Wood of the Dryads with undisguised greed for centuries.

My promise to the grand duke that this marriage eventually would result

in a Borune Dynasty on the Imperial Throne had won him over to my side,

but when I casually mentioned that one of the stipulations of the

marriage contract would be the inviolability of the Wood, the grand

duchess went up in flames.

She was a Honethite to the core, however, so after an initial outburst,

she resorted to guile. I knew perfectly well that her objection was

based on economics, but she pretended that it was theological. Religion

is almost always the last refuge of the scoundrel–and the grand

duchess was a scoundrel if I ever met one. It sort of runs in her

family. Back before the cracking of the world, the Gods had frowned on

interracial marriages.

Alorns didn’t marry Nyissans, and Tolnedrans didn’t marry Arends.

Torak, of course, was the one who took it to extremes. My proposal

involved an inter species union, and Dellon’s mother took her case to

the priests of Nedra. Priests are bigots by nature, so she enlisted

their aid without much difficulty.

That brought everything to a standstill. I was still shuttling back

and forth between the Wood and Tol Borune, so she had plenty of

opportunity to sneak around behind my back and gain support in her

opposition.

“My hands are tied, Belgarath,” the grand duke told me when I returned

to Tol Borune after a trip down into the Wood.

“The priests absolutely forbid this marriage.”

“Your wife’s playing politics, your Grace,” I told him bluntly.

“I know, but as long as the priests of Nedra are on her side, there’s

nothing I can do.”

I fumed about it for a while, and then I came up with a solution. The

grand duchess wanted to play politics, and I was going to show her that

I could play, too.

“I’ll be gone for a while, your Grace,” I told him.

“Where are you going? Back to the Wood?”

“No. I have to see somebody in Tol Honeth.”

This was during the early years of the second Vorduvian Dynasty, and I

knew just the man to see. When I reached Tol Honeth, I went to the

Imperial Palace and bullied enough functionaries to get a private

audience with the emperor, Ran Vordue II.

“I’m honored, Ancient One,” he greeted me.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, Ran Vordue,” I told him.

“I haven’t got much time, and we have some interests that coincide

right now. What would you say if I told you that the Honeths are right

on the verge of gaining access to an unlimited supply of hardwood?”

“What?” he exploded.

“I thought you might feel that way about it. The fortunes of your

family are based almost entirely on the Forest of Vordue. If the

Honeths gain access to the Wood of the Dryads, you can expect the price

of hardwood lumber to head for the cellar. I’m trying to arrange a

marriage that’ll keep the Honeths out of the Wood–permanently. The

Borune grand duchess is a Honethite, though, and she’s fighting me on

theological grounds. Is the High Priest of Nedra by any chance related

to you?”

“My uncle, actually,” he replied.

“I thought there might be some connection. I need a dispensation from

him to permit the son of the House of Borune to marry a Dryad

princess.”

“Belgarath, that’s an absurdity!”

“Yes, I know, but I need one anyway. The marriage must take place.”

“Why?”

“I’m manipulating history, Ran Vordue. This marriage really doesn’t

have much to do with what’s going to happen in Tolnedra. It’s aimed at

Torak, and it’s not going to hit him for about three thousand years.”

“You can actually see that far into the future?”

“Not really, but my Master can. Your interest in this matter is sort

of peripheral. We have different reasons for it, but we both want to

keep the Honeths out of the Wood of the Dryads.”

He squinted thoughtfully at the ceiling.

“Would it help if my uncle went to Tol Borune and performed the

ceremony in person?” he asked me.

That idea hadn’t even occurred to me.

“Why, yes, Ran Vordue,” I replied with a broad grin,

“I think it might.”

“I’ll arrange it.” Then he grinned back at me.

“Confusion to the Honeths,” he said.

“I might want to drink to that.”

And so Dellon and Xoria were married, and the House of Borune was

inseparably linked to the Dryads.

Oh, incidentally, the groom’s mother didn’t attend the wedding. She

wasn’t feeling very well.

The whole business had taken me almost three years, but considering how

important it was, I felt it was time well spent. I was in a smugly

self-congratulatory frame of mind when I started back for the Vale.

Even now, when I look back on it, I nearly sprain my arm trying to pat

myself on the back.

It was late winter when I went through the Tolnedran Mountains, so I

made most of the trip as a wolf. Wolves are much better adapted to

making their way in snow-covered mountains than men are, so I fall back

on my alternative form in those situations almost out of habit.

When I came down out of the mountains into the southern end of the

Vale, I resumed my normal form, and the sound of the twins’ combined

voices was roaring inside my head almost before my tail disappeared.

“Don’t shout!” I shouted back at them.

“Where have you been?” Beltira’s voice demanded.

“In Tolnedra. You knew that.”

“We’ve been trying to reach you for a week now.”

“I had to cross the mountains, so I went wolf.” That had always been

one of the drawbacks involved in taking another form. It interfered

with our peculiar method of communication. If the brother who was

trying to reach you didn’t know that you’d changed, his thought was

very likely to miss you entirely.

“What’s the matter?” I sent out the question.

“Beldaran’s very ill. Polgara’s gone to the Isle to see what she can

do.” He paused.

“You’d better get there in a hurry, Belgarath.”

A cold knot of fear settled in my chest.

“I’ll cut up across Ulgoland to Camaar,” I told them.

“Let Polgara know that I’m coming.”

“We might need to reach you. Are you going wolf again?”

“No. I’ll fly–a falcon, I think.”

“You don’t fly very well, Belgarath.”

“Maybe it’s time I learned. I’m changing right now.”

My concern for Beldaran was so overpowering that I didn’t even think

about the things that normally interfere with my flying, and after

about half an hour I was cutting through the air like an arrow shot

from a bow. I even experimented with translocation a time or two, but

that didn’t work out very well–largely because I reverted to my own

form in the process and found myself ten miles from where I’d started

and trying to fly without benefit of wings. I gave up on that idea and

did it the old-fashioned way.

I was exhausted by the time I reached Camaar two days later, but I

grimly pressed on across the Sea of the Winds.

I’d made very good time, but I still got there too late. Beldaran had

already died.

Polgara was inconsolable, and Riva was almost in the same condition as

I’d been after Poledra’s death. There was no point in trying to talk

to either one of them, so I went looking for my grandson.

I found him atop the highest tower of the Citadel. It appeared that he

had cried himself out, and he was standing, puffy-eyed and somber, at

the battlements. He was full-grown now, and he was very tall.

“All right, Daran,” I said to him harshly, “get away from there.”

“Grandfather!”

“I said to get away from there.” I wasn’t going to take any chances

with him. A sudden upsurge of despair could very well push him into

doing something foolish. I’d have time for my own grief later on.

Right now I had to concentrate on his.

“What are we going to do, grandfather?” he wept.

“We’re going to go on, Daran. It’s what we always do. Now tell me

what happened.”

He pulled himself together.

“Mother’s been catching cold every winter for years now. Aunt Pol told

us that it’d weakened her lungs. This past winter it was much worse.

She started coughing up blood. That’s when father sent for Aunt Pol.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *