“Aren’t you going to shorten your sail?” Belgarath asked him.
“What for?”
“Because if you leave full sail up in this kind of wind, you’ll uproot your mast.”
“You stick to your sorcery, Belgarath,” Greldik told him, “and leave the sailing to me. We’re making good time, and the deck-planking starts to buckle up long before the mast is in any danger.”
“How long before?”
Greldik shrugged. ” Almost a minute or so -most of the time.”
Belgarath stared at him. “I think I’ll go below”‘ he said at last.
“That’s a good idea.”
By evening the wind had abated, and Greldik’s ship continued across a quieter sea as night fell. There were only occasional glimpses of the stars, but they were sufficient; when the sun rose the next morning, it was, as the wayward captain had predicted, dead astern. By midmorning, the dark, rocky crags and jagged peaks that formed the crest of the Isle of the Winds were poked above the western horizon, and their ship was once again plunging like a spirited horse through the whitecaps under a crisp blue sky. A broad grin split Greldik’s bearded face as his ship swooped and lurched and shuddered her way through the hammering seas, throwing out great sheets of sparkling spray each time she knifed into a wave.
“That’s avery unreliable man,” Polgara said, giving the captain a disapproving stare.
“He really seems to be a good sailor, Pol,” Durnik said mildly.
“That’s not what I was talking about, Durnik.”
“Oh.”
The ship tacked smoothly between two rocky headlands and into the sheltered harbor of the city of Riva. The gray stone buildings mounted steeply upward toward the grim, menacing battlements of the Citadel which brooded over the city and the harbor below.
“This place always looks so bleak,” Durnik noted. “Bleak and uninviting.”
“That was sort of the idea when they built it, Durnik,” Belgarath replied. “They didn’t really want many visitors.”
Then, at the end of a starboard tack, Greldik swung his tiller hard over, and his ship, her prow knifing through the dark water, ran directly at the stone quay jutting out from the foot of the city. At the last possible moment he swung his tiller again. To the flapping of her patched sails, the ship coasted the last few yards and bumped gently against the salt-crusted stones of the quay.
“Do you think anybody saw us coming and told Garion?” Durnik asked.
“Evidently so,” Belgarath replied, pointing toward the arched gate that had just swung open to reveal the broad flight of stone stairs mounting upward within the thick, high walls protecting the seaward side of Riva. A number of official-looking men were coming through the gate; in the center of the group strode a tall young man with sandy-colored hair and a serious expression on his face.
“Let’s step over to the other side of the ship,” Belgarath suggested to Durnik and Errand. “I want to surprise him.”
“Welcome to Riva, Captain Greldik.” Errand recognized Garion’s voice, even though it sounded older, more sure now.
Greldik squinted appraisingly over the rail. “You’ve grown, boy,” he said to the King of Riva. A man as free as Greldik almost never felt the need for using customary terms of respect.
“It’s been going around lately,” Garion replied dryly. “Almost everybody my age has come down with it.”
“I’ve brought you some visitors,” Greldik told him.
Grinning, Belgarath moved across the deck to the quayside railing with Durnik and Errand close behind him.
“Grandfather?” Garion’s face was completely astonished. “What are you doing here? And Durnik -and Errand?”
“Actually it was your aunt’s idea,” Belgarath told him.
“Is Aunt Pol here, too?”
“Of course I am,” Polgara replied calmly, emerging from the low-roofed cabin under the stern.
” Aunt Pol!” Garion exclaimed, looking dumfounded.
“Don’t stare, Garion,” she told him, adjusting the collar of her blue cloak. “It’s impolite.”
“But, why didn’t you let me know you were coming? What are you all doing here?”
“Visiting, dear. People do that from time to time.”
When they joined the young king on the quay, there were the usual embraces and handshakes and the long looks into each others’ faces that go with reunions. Errand, however, was much more interested in something else. As they started the climb up through the gray city toward the Citadel brooding above it, he tugged once at Garion’s sleeve. “Horse?” he asked.
Garion looked at him. “He’s in the stables, Errand. He’ll be happy to see you.”
Errand smiled and nodded.
“Does he still talk that way?” Garion asked Durnik. “Just one word at a time like that? I thought -well-”
“Most of the time he speaks normally -for his age,” Durnik replied, “but he’s been thinking about the colt ever since we left the Vale and sometimes, when he gets excited, he slips back to the old way.”
“He listens, though,” Polgara added, “which is more than I can say about another boy when he was that age.”
Garion laughed. “Was I really that difficult, Aunt Pol?”
“Not difficult, dear. You just didn’t listen.”
When they arrived at the Citadel, the Rivan Queen greeted them under the high, thick-walled arch of the front gate. Ce’Nedra was as exquisite as Errand remembered her. Her coppery-colored hair was caught at the back of her head by a pair of golden combs, and the ringlets tumbled down her back in a flaming cascade. Her green eyes were large. She was tiny, not much taller than Errand, but she was every inch a queen. She greeted them all regally, embracing Belgarath and Durnik and lightly kissing Polgara’s cheek.
Then she held out both hands to Errand, and he took them in his and looked into her eyes. There was a barrier there, the faintest hint of the defensive tightening with which she kept the hurt away. She drew him to her and kissed him; even in that gesture, he could feel the unhappy tenseness that she was probably no longer even aware of. As she removed her soft lips from his cheek, Errand once again looked deeply into her eyes, letting all the love and hope and compassion he felt for her flow into his gaze. Then, without even thinking, he reached out his hand and gently touched her cheek. Her eyes went very wide, and her lip began to tremble. That faint touch of agate-hard defensiveness about her face began to crumble. Two great tears welled up in her eyes; then, with a brokenhearted wail, she turned and stumbled blindly, her arms outstretched. “Oh, Lady Polgara!” she cried.
Polgara calmly took the sobbing little queen in her arms and held her. She looked directly into Errand’s face, however, and one of her eyebrows was raised questioningly. Errand returned her look and gave her a calm, answering nod.
“Well,” Belgarath said, slightly embarrassed by Ce’Nedra’s sudden weeping. He scratched at his beard and looked around the inner courtyard of the Citadel and the broad granite steps leading up to the massive door. “Have you got anything to drink handy?” he asked Garion.
Polgara, her arms still about the weeping Ce’Nedra, gave him a level look. “Isn’t it a bit early, father?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he replied blandly. “A bit of ale helps to settle the stomach after a sea voyage.”
“There’s always some excuse, isn’t there?”
“I can usually manage to think of something.”
Errand spent the afternoon in the exercise yard at the rear of the royal stables. The chestnut-colored colt was not really a colt any more, but rather a full-grown young stallion. His dark coat was glossy , and his muscles rippled under that coat as he ran in a wide circle about the yard. The single white patch on his shoulder seemed almost incandescent in the bright sunlight.
The horse had known somehow that Errand was coming and had been restive and high-strung all morning. The stableman cautioned Errand about that. “Be careful of him,” he said. “He’s a bit flighty today for some reason.”
“He’ll be fine now,” Errand said, calmly unlatching the door to the young horse’s stall.
“I wouldn’t go-” the stableman started sharply, half reaching out as if to pull the boy back, but Errand had already entered the stall with the wide-eyed animal. The horse snorted once and pranced nervously, his hooves thudding on the straw-covered floor. He stopped and stood quivering until Errand put out his hand and touched that bowed neck. Then everything was all right between them. Errand pushed the door of the stall open wider and, with the horse contentedly nuzzling at his shoulder, led the way out of the stable past the astonished groom.
For the time being, it was enough for the two of them just to be together -to share the bond which was between them and had somehow existed even before they had met and, in a peculiar way, even before either of them was born. There would be more later, but for now this was enough.