grandfather.’
‘I won’t use it in front of them, then. If she can do magic things,
why didn’t she just wiggle her fingers and make the crazy lady not
crazy any more?’
‘I guess there are some things that magic can’t do.’
That was a terrible let-down for Prince Geran. He’d long felt that
some training in magic might be very useful when he became king.
The people in father’s government always seemed to be worrying
about money, and if the king could just wave his hand and fill the
room with it, they could all take the rest of the day off and go
fishing, or something.
Mother took up the story of Aunt Pol’s search for the madwoman,
Alara, and it seemed to Geran that he could almost see the frigid
mountains and dark forests around the village of Annath as Aunt
Pol continued her desperate search. He almost held his breath,
hoping that the gloomy part he was sure was coming might be averted.
It wasn’t, though.
‘I hate it when a story does that,’ he said.
‘This isn’t exactly a story, Geran,’ mother explained..’This really
happened exactly the way Aunt Pol says it did.’
‘Are we going to get to any happy parts soon?’
‘Why don’t you stop asking questions and find out?’
That seemed totally uncalled for to Geran.
Mother continued to read, and after a few minutes, Geran raised
his hand slightly, even as he would have in his class-room. ‘Could
I ask just one question, mother?’
‘If you wish.’
‘How did grandfather know that Chamdar was burning down that
house?’
‘Your grandfather knows all kinds of things, Geran – even things
he’s not supposed to know. This time, though, I think that voice he
carries around in his head told him about it.’
‘I wish I had a voice inside my head to tell me things. That might
keep me out of a lot of trouble.’
‘Amen!’ mother agreed fervently. Then she went on with the story.
When she got to the part about Aunt Pol’s house on the shores
of Lake Erat, Geran interrupted again without even thinking about
it. ‘Have you ever been there, mother? – Aunt Pol’s house, I mean.’
‘A couple of times,’ mother replied.
‘Is it really as big as she says it is?’
‘Bigger, probably. Someday she might take you there and you’ll
be able to see it for yourself.’
‘That’d be just bully, mother!’ he said excitedly.
‘What is it with this “bully” business?’
‘All the boys my age say that a lot. It sort of means “very, very
nice”. It’s a real good word. Everybody uses it all the time.’
‘Oh, one of those. It’ll pass – eventually.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’ Then mother went back to her reading.
Prince Geran’s eyelids began to droop when the story got as far as
Faldor’s farm. That part wasn’t really very exciting, and somewhere
during that endless discussion of how to make a pot of stew, the
Crown Prince of Riva drifted off to sleep.
The little boy’s regular breathing told Queen Ce’Nedra that she’d
lost her audience. She slipped a scrap of paper between the pages
of the book, and then she leaned back reflectively.
Aunt Pol’s book had filled in all the gaps Ce’Nedra had noticed
in Belgarath’s book – and then some. The wealth of characters, many
of them the towering figures of legend, quite nearly filled the Rivan
Queen with awe. Riva Iron-grip was here, and Brand, the man who’d
struck down a God. Beldaran, the most beautiful woman in history,
was here. Asrana and Ontrose had nearly broken Ce’Nedra’s heart.
Aunt Pol’s book had virtually erased the entire library of the History
Department of the University of Tol Honeth and replaced it with
what had really happened.
The staggering march of history was right here on the Rivan
Queen’s lap. She opened it again and read the part she loved the
most, that quiet little scene in the kitchen at Faldor’s farm when
Polgara was no longer the Duchess of Erat, but merely the cook on
a remote Sendarian farm. Rank meant absolutely nothing there,
however. What really mattered was Polgara’s gentle, unspoken
realization that in spite of all his flaws and his seeming desertion of her
mother before she and Beldaran were born, Polgara really loved her
vagabond father. The animosity she’d clung to for all those centuries
had been rather gently evaporated.
That subterranean little game Aunt Pol and her father had played
with each other for centuries had produced a surprise winner, a
winner they hadn’t even realized was taking part in their game.
They’d spent three thousand years nipping at each other in
halfserious play, and for all that time, the wolf Poledra had watched
them play, patiently waiting for them to squirm around into the
exact position where she wanted them to be, and then she had
pounced.
‘You’d understand that, wouldn’t you, Wolf?’ she murmured to
her son’s companion.
Wolf opened his golden eyes and thumped his tail briefly in
acknowledgment on the bed.
That startled Ce’Nedra just a bit. Wolf seemed to know exactly
what she was thinking. Who was this Wolf, anyhow? She quickly
pushed that thought into the back of her mind. The possibility that
Wolf might not be who – or what – he seemed was something
Ce’Nedra wasn’t prepared to deal with just now. For now, the
discovery that Poledra had won that game was enough for one evening.
Reluctant or not, though, there was one realization that crashed in
on the Rivan Queen. Her husband’s family pre-dated the cracking of
the world, and there was no getting around the fact that it was the
most important family in human history. When Ce’Nedra had first
met Garion, she’d rather scornfully dismissed him as an illiterate,
orphaned scullery boy from Sendaria, and she’d been wrong on all
points. She herself had taught Garion how to read, but she was forced
to admit that all she’d really done had been to open the book for him.
She’d almost had to run to keep up with him once he’d learned the
alphabet. He’d washed a few pots and pans in Faldor’s kitchen, but
he was a king, not a scullery boy. Garion wasn’t a Sendarian, either,
and as for his being an orphan, he was the farthest thing in the world
from being an orphan. His family stretched back to the dawn of time.
Ce’Nedra had fretted about the possibility that her husband might
outrank her, but he didn’t just outrank her, he transcended her. That
really went down hard for the Rivan Queen.
She sighed. A whole group of unpleasant realizations were
crowding in on Ce’Nedra. She glanced at her own reflection in her son’s
smeary mirror, and she lightly touched her deep red hair with her
fingers. ‘Well,’ she sniffed, ‘at least I’m prettier than he is.’
Then she realized just how ridiculous that final defense was, and
she laughed in spite of herself. She threw up her arms in surrender.
‘I give up,’ she said, still laughing.
Then she slipped out of bed, tucked the bolster up under Geran’s
chin and lightly kissed him. ‘Sleep well, my dear little Prince,’ she
murmured.
Then, not knowing exactly why, she stroked Wolf’s head. ‘You
too, dear friend,’ she said to him. ‘Watch over our little boy.’
The Wolf looked at her gravely with those calm golden eyes, and
then he did something totally unexpected. He gave the side of her
‘face a quick, wet lick with his long tongue.
Ce’Nedra giggled in spite of herself, trying to wipe her cheek.
‘She threw her arms around Wolf’s massive head and hugged him.
Then the Rivan Queen blew out the candle, tiptoed out of the
room, and quietly closed the door behind her.
Wolf lay there on the foot of Geran’s bed looking at the dying fire
in the fireplace with those golden eyes of his for quite a long time.
Everything seemed to be as it was supposed to be, so Wolf sighed
contentedly, stretched his muzzle out on his front paws, and went
back to sleep.