‘ ‘Urgit and I have been in communication with each other, and I find him to be a rare fellow—quite nearly as droll as his brother. I think we’ll get on well together. The bureaucracy very nearly went into collective apoplexy when I announced the autonomy of the Dalasian Protectorates. It’s my feeling
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that the Dais must be permitted to go their own way, but many members of the bureaucracy have vested interests there, and they sniveled and complained and pouted almost as much as the generals did. That came to an abrupt halt however, when I announced my intention to have Brador conduct a thorough audit of the affairs of every bureau chief in the government. The sound of a massive divestiture of all holdings in the protectorates was well-nigh deafening.
“Rather surprisingly, an ancient Grolim arrived at the palace shortly after we returned from Dal Perivor. I was about to send him away, but Eriond insisted rather firmly that he remain. The old fellow had some unpronounceable Grolim name, but Eriond changed it to Pelath for some reason. The old boy has a sweet disposition, but he sometimes speaks very strangely. The language he uses sounds very much like that of the Ashabine Oracles or the Mallorean Gospels of the Dais. Very peculiar.”
“I’d almost forgotten that,” Garion interrupted his reading.
“What’s that, dear?” Ce’Nedra asked him, looking up from her knitting.
“Do you remember that old Grolim we met in Peldane? That night when the chicken bit you?”
“Yes. He seemed like a very nice old man.”
“He was more than that, Ce’Nedra. He was also a prophet, and the Voice told me that he was going to become Eriond’s first disciple.”
“Eriond has a very long arm, hasn’t he? Keep reading, Garion.”
“Cyradis, Pelath, and I have conferred extensively with Eriond and we’ve all agreed that his status should remain concealed for the time being at least. He is such an innocent that I don’t want to expose him to the depths of human depravity and chicanery just yet. Let’s not discourage him so early in his career. We all remembered Torak and his overpowering hunger for worship, but when we offered to worship Eriond, he just laughed at us. Did Polgara perhaps leave something out when she was raising him?
“We did make one exception, however. A group of us, accompanied by the third, seventh, and ninth armies, visited Mal Yaska. The Temple Guardmen and Chandim attempted to flee, but Atesca rather effectively rounded them up. I waited
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until Eriond was off for his morning ride on that unnamed horse of his and spoke quite firmly with the assembled Gro-lims. I didn’t want to cause Eriond any distress, but I indicated to the Grolims that I would be most unhappy if they did not change their religious affiliation forthwith. Atesca stood at my side, playing with his sword, so they immediately got my drift. Then, with no warning at all, Eriond appeared in the Temple. (How does that horse of his move so fast? The last time he had been observed that morning, he had been more than three leagues from the city.) He told them that black robes were not really all that attractive and that white ones would become them much more. Then, wim no more than a faint smile, he actually changed the color of every Grolim robe in the temple. So much for his anonymity in that part of Mallorea, I’m afraid. Next he told them that they’d no longer need their knives, and every dagger in the place disappeared. Then he extinguished the fires in the sanctum and decorated the altar with flowers. I have since been advised that these trifling modifications are universal here in Mallorea. Urgit is presently investigating to determine if similar conditions prevail in Cthol Murgos. Our new God, I think, will take a bit of getting used to.
‘ ‘To make it short, the Grolims all fell down on their faces. I still suspect that at least some of those conversions may have been fraudulent, so I ‘m not contemplating a demobilization of the army just yet. Eriond told them to get back on their feet and go out and care for the sick, the poor, the orphaned, and the homeless.
“On our way back to Mal Zeth, Pelath pulled his horse in beside mine, smiled that sickeningly sweet smile of his at me, and said, ‘My Master believes that it’s time for you to change your status, Emperor of Mallorea.* That gave me a bit of a turn. I was about half afraid that Eriond might suggest that I abdicate and take up sheepherding or something. Then Pelath went on. ‘My Master believes that youVe delayed something for quite long enough.’
“Oh?” I said cautiously.
‘ ‘The delay is causing the Seeress of Kell a certain distress. My Master strongly suggests that you ask her to marry you. He wants that settled before anything comes along to interfere.”
‘ ‘So, when we got to Mal Zeth, I made what I thought was a very sensible proposal—and Cyradis turned me down flat!
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I thought my heart would stop. Then our mystic little Seeress waxed eloquent. She told me—at great length—what she thought of sensible. I’ve never seen her behave that way before. She was actually passionate, and some of the words she used, though archaic, were hardly flattering. I had to look some of them up, they were so obscure.”
“Good for her,” Ce’Nedra said fiercely.
“Just to make peace,” the letter went on, “I fell to my knees and made a fatuous and embarrassingly gushy proposal, and she was moved by my eloquence to relent and accept me.”
“Men!” Ce’Nedra snorted.
“The cost of die wedding very nearly bankrupted me. I even had to borrow money from one of Kheldar’s business associates—at an outrageous rate of interest. Eriond officiated, of course, and having a God perform the ceremony really nailed down the lid on my coffin. At any rate, Cyradis and I were married last month, and I can truly say that I’ve never been happier in my life.”
“Oh,” Ce’Nedra said with that familiar catch in her voice, ‘dial’s just lovely.” She went to the handkerchief. “There’s more,” Garion told her. “Keep going,” she said, dabbing at her eyes.
“The Angarak Malloreans were not really pleased that I had chosen to marry a Dal, but they’re wisely keeping their displeasure to themselves. I *ve changed a great deal, but not thai much. Cyradis is having some difficulty adapting to her new status, and I simply cannot convince her that jewels are a necessary adornment for an empress. She wears flowers instead, and the slavish imitation of the ladies of the .court has caused universal despair in the hearts of the jewelers here in Mal Zeth.
“I. was going to have my distant cousin, the Archduke Otrath, shortened by the length of his head, but he’s such a pathetic foot that I discarded the idea and sent him home instead. Following a suggestion your friend Beldin made in Dal Perivor, I ordered the cretin to set his wife up in a palace in the City of Melcene and never to go near her again for the
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rest of his life. I understand that the lady is something of a scandal in Melcene, but she probably deserves some recompense for putting up with that silly ass for all those years.
“That’s about all from here, Garion. We’re really hungry for news of all our friends and we send them our warmest greetings and affection.
“Sincerely, “JCstf Zakath and Empress Cyradis
“Note that I’m deleting that ostentatious prefix. Oh, by the way, my cat was unfaithful to me again a few months ago. Would Ce’Nedra like a kitten?—or maybe one for your new daughter? I can send two, if you’d like. “Z”
In the early winter of that year, the Rivan Queen grew increasingly discontent, a discontentment and a waspish temper almost in direct proportion to her increasing girth. Some ladies might be uniquely suited for pregnancy; the Rivan Queen was uniquely not. She was snippy with her husband; she was short with her son; and on one occasion she even made an awkward attempt to kick the un-offending young wolf. The wolf nimbly dodged the kick, then looked with some puzzlement at Garion. “Has one somehow given offense?” he asked.
“No,” Garion told him. “It is only that one’s mate is in some distress. The time of her whelping is approaching, and this always makes the shes of the man-things uncomfortable and short-tempered. ”
“Ah,” the wolf said. “The man-things are very strange.”
“Truly,” Garion agreed.
It was Greldik, naturally, who delivered Poledra to the Isle of the Winds in the middle of a howling blizzard.
“How did you find your way?” Garion asked the fur-clad seaman as the two of them sat before the fire in the low-beamed dining hall with tankards of ale in their hands.