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.