“More likely a symptom,” she observed. “Angarak rulers always seem to be unstable in one way or another.” She turned to look at her father. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Have you heard anything from Riva? How are Garion and Ce’Nedra doing?”
“I haven’t heard a sound -oh, a few official things. ‘The Rivan King is pleased to announce the appointment of Earl what’s-his-name as Rivan ambassador to the Kingdom of Drasnia.’ That sort of thing, but nothing in the least bit personal.”
“Weare sure he knows how to write, aren’t we?” she demanded exasperatedly. “I’m sure that he’s not so busy that he hasn’t had the time to write at leastone letter in the last two years.”
“He did,” Errand said quietly. He might not have mentioned the letter, but it seemed very important to Polgara.
She looked at him sharply. “What did you say?” she asked.
“Belgarion wrote to you last winter,” Errand said. “The letter got lost, though, when the ship his messenger was aboard sank.”
“If the ship sank, then how do you-”
“Pol,” Belgarath said in a tone that seemed uncharacteristically firm, “why don’t you let me handle this?” He turned to Errand. “You say that Garion wrote a letter to Polgara last winter?”
“Yes,” Errand said.
“But that the letter was lost when the messenger’s ship sank?”
Errand nodded.
“Why didn’t he write another one then?”
“He doesn’t know that the ship sank.”
“But you do?”
Errand nodded again.
“Do you by any chance know what the letter said?”
“Yes.”
“Do you suppose you could recite it for us?”
“I guess I could, if you want. Belgarion’s going to write another one in a week or so, though.”
Belgarath gave him a strange look. “Why don’t you tell us what the first one said? That way we won’t miss anything.”
“All right,” Errand agreed. He frowned, concentrating very hard. “He started out by saying, ‘Dear Aunt Pol and Durnik.’ I think that’s sort of nice, don’t you?”
“Just recite the letter, Errand,” Belgarath said patiently. “Save the comments for later.”
“All right.” Errand stared thoughtfully into the fire.
“‘I’m sorry I haven’t written earlier,”‘ he recited, “‘but I’ve been terribly busy learning how to be a good king. It’s easy enough to be King -all you need is to be born into the right family. To be a good king is harder, though. Brand helps me as much as he can, but I still have to make a lot of decisions about things that I don’t really understand.
“Ce’Nedra is well -at least I think so. We’re hardly talking to each other any more, so it’s kind of hard to say for sure. Brand is a bit concerned that we haven’t had any children yet, but I don’t think he needs to worry. So far as I can tell, we’re never going to have any children, and maybe it’s just as well. I really think we should have gotten to know each other a little better before we got married. I’m sure that there’s some way that we could have called it off. Now it’s too late. We’ll just have to make the best of it. If we don’t see each other too much, we can usually manage to be civil to each other -at least civil enough to keep up appearances.
” ‘Barak came by in that big War boat of his last summer, and we had a very good visit. He told me all about-‘ ”
“Just a moment, Errand.” Polgara stopped the recitation. “Does he say any more about the trouble he’s having with Ce’Nedra?”
“No, ma’am,” Errand replied after a moment during which he quickly ran through the rest of the letter in his mind.
“He wrote about Barak’s visit and some news he got from King Anheg and a letter from Mandorallen. That’s about all. He said that he loves you and misses you very much. That’s how he ended it.”
Polgara and Belgarath exchanged a very long look. Errand could feel their perplexity, but he was not sure exactly how to set their minds at rest about the matter.
“You’re sure that’s the way the letter went?” Belgarath asked him.
Errand nodded. “That’s what he wrote.”
“And you knew what was in the letter as soon as he wrote it?”
Errand hesitated. “I don’t know if it was like that, exactly. It doesn’t really work that way, you know. You have to sort of think about it, and I didn’t really think about it until the subject came up -when Polgara was talking about it just now.”
“Does it matter how far away the other person is?” Belgarath asked curiously.
“No,” Errand replied, “I don’t think so. It just seems to be there when I want it to be.”
“No one can do that, father.” Polgara said to the old man. “No one hasever been able to do that.”
“Apparently the rules have changed,” Belgarath said thoughtfully. “I think we’ll have to accept it as genuine, don’t you?”
She nodded. “He doesn’t have any reason to make it up.”
“I think you and I are going to have to have some very long talks together, Errand,” the old man said.
“Perhaps,” Polgara said, “but not just yet.” She turned back to the boy. “Could you repeat what Garion said about Ce’Nedra for me?”
Errand nodded. ” ‘Ce’Nedra is well -at least I think so. We’re hardly talking to each other any more, so it’s kind of hard to say for sure. Brand is a bit concerned that-‘ ”
“That’s fine, Errand,” she said, raising one hand slightly. Then she looked into the boy’s face. After a moment, one of her eyebrows shot up. “Tell me,” she said, very carefully choosing her words, “do you know what’s wrong between Garion and Ce’Nedra?”
“Yes,” Errand replied.
“Would you tell me?”
“If you want. Ce’Nedra did something that made Garionvery angry, and then he did something that embarrassed her in public, and that madeher angry. She thinks that he doesn’t pay enough attention to her and that he spends all his time on his work so that he won’t have to spend any with her.
He thinks that she’s selfish and spoiled and doesn’t think about anybody but herself. They’re both wrong, but they’ve had a lot of arguments about it and they’ve hurt each other so much with some of the things they’ve said that they’ve both given up on being married to each other. They’re terribly unhappy.”
“Thank you, Errand,” she said. Then she turned to Durnik. “We’ll need to pack a few things,” she said.
“Oh?” He looked a bit surprised.
“We’re going to Riva,” she said quite firmly.
CHAPTER FOUR
At Camaar, Belgarath ran across an old friend in a tavern near the harbor. When he brought the bearded, furclad Cherek to the inn where they were staying, Polgara gave the swaying sailor a penetrating look. “How long have you been drunk, Captain Greldik?” she asked bluntly.
“What day is it?” His reply was vague.
She told him.
“Astonishing.” He belched. “Par’n me,” he apologized.
“I appear to have lost track of several days somewhere. Do you know by any chance whatweek it is?”
“Greldik,” she said, “do you absolutelyhave to get drunk every time you’re in port?”
Greldik looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, scratching at his beard. “Now that you mention it, Polgara, I believe I do. I hadn’t really thought about it that way before, but now that you suggest it-”
She gave him a hard stare, but the look he returned was deliberately impudent.
“Don’t waste your time, Polgara,” he suggested. “I’m not married; I’ve neverbeen married; and I’m not ever going toget married. I’m not ruining any woman’s life by the way I behave, and it’s absolutely certain that no woman is ever going to ruin mine. Now, Belgarath says that you want to go to Riva. I’ll round up my crew, and we’ll leave on the morning tide.”
“Will your crew be sober enough to find their way out of the harbor?”
He shrugged. “We might bump into a Tolnedran merchantman or two on the way out, but we’ll find our way to the open sea eventually. Drunk or sober, my crew is the best afloat. We’ll put you on the quay at Riva by midafternoon on the day after tomorrow -unless the sea freezes solid between now and then, in which case it might take a couple hours longer.” He belched again. “Par’n me,” he said, swaying back and forth and peering at her with his bleary eyes.
“Greldik,” Belgarath said admiringly, “you’re the bravest man alive.”
“The sea doesn’t frighten me,” Greldik replied.
“I wasn’t talking about the sea.”
About noon of the following day, Greldik’s ship was running before a freshening breeze through foaming whitecaps.
A few of the less indisposed members of his crew lurched about the deck tending the lines and keeping a more or less alert eye on the stern where Greldik, puffy-eyed and obviously suffering, clung to the tiller.