POLGARA THE SORCERESS BY DAVID EDDINGS

love poetry. Her reading habits may have distorted her view of

reality just a bit. She took me around to the various lords and ladies

of the court, and even in the face of my protests, she insisted on

introducing me as ‘Polgara the Sorceress’. Despite her shortcomings,

I liked her. I also liked Crown Prince Alleran, her son. Alleran was

a sturdy little boy of about ten who had a very unarendish streak

of good sense in him. Unfortunately, his parents were doing their

very best to educate that trait out of him before he reached maturity.

I hadn’t really wanted to take up residence in the ducal palace,

but Kathandrion wouldn’t hear of my lodging anywhere else, and

so I had to put up with certain inconveniences which were made

all the worse by Elisera’s quaint introductions that stressed

something I’d rather she’d glossed over. There’s a great deal of nonsense

abroad that concerns words like ‘magic’, ‘sorcery’, ‘witchcraft’, and

the like, and most people simply lump all those designations

together and assume that those of us who are talented in the field

can perform any feat that’s grown out of the fevered imaginations

of various poets bent on outdoing the competition. All the young

and not so young – ladies-in-waiting at Kathandrion’s court were

fascinated by the idea of love potions, as I recall. No matter how

patiently I explained the impossibility of such a concoction, I was

still approached by teary-eyed hopefuls who were absolutely

positive that there was a simple chemical answer to their most pressing

problem. Most of them seemed very unhappy with my answer, but

I’d no sooner sent one suppliant away with a pout on her face when

another approached me, usually in private, with the teary assertion

that she’d absolutely die if Baron so-and-so didn’t immediately fall

madly in love with her.

There was another problem as well, although I rather doubt that

ce’Nedra would see it as a problem. Duke Kathandrion

casually advised me that he, Mangaran, and Corrolin had agreed that I

should receive an annual stipend ‘for services rendered’, and they

each dutifully set aside an absurd amount of gold for my use. No

matter how much I protested that I didn’t need money, I couldn’t

seem to get my point across. I thought that I might raise the issue

when we all gathered for our annual meeting that summer at the

Great Arendish Fair, but when I got there and talked with Asrana,

the Baroness of Vo Mandor, she pointed a few things out to me.

‘Just take the money, Polly,’ she advised. ‘You’ll hurt their feelings

if you don’t, and what’s more important, you’ll lower your status

if you start giving your services away free If they don’t pay for

those services, they won’t value them. In time, they’ll start treating

you as if you were a servant, and I don’t think you’d like that. Smile

and take the money.’

‘What am I going to do with it?’ I demanded. ‘They’re giving me

far too much, and all it’s going to do is pile up until it starts to

become a nuisance.’

‘Buy something with it – an estate somewhere, or a house in

town.’

Now there was an idea that hadn’t even occurred to me. At least

if I had my own house, I could get away from the weepy-eyed girls

seeking love potions to entrap vacant-eyed young men who hadn’t

yet realized that boys and girls are different from each other. The

more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea, and so I broached

the subject to Kathandrion as we rode on back to Vo Wacune after

the meeting.

‘Art thou discontented with the lodgings I have provided thee,

my Lady?’ he asked, sounding a bit hurt.

‘The quarters, I do assure thee, my Lord, are exquisite. It is their ‘

location which doth stand at the core of my dissatisfaction. SO long

as I am within the confines of thy palace, I am at the mercy of those

who yearn to achieve certain goals without exerting themselves.’ I

told him about that steady procession of young ladies who hungered

and thirsted for unearned love and about others. no less parched

and starved, who longed for mystic assistance in business dealings,

intercession with the dice-cup, interference in the outcome of jousting

matches, and other absurdities.

‘I shall forbid them entry into the wing of my palace wherein

thou art housed,’ he suggested.

‘Kathandrion,’ I said to him patiently, ‘you can forbid to your

heart’s content, and all they’ll do is ignore you. We’re dealing with

obsessions here. These people all believe that they deserve the things

they’re yearning for and that I’ve been commanded by the Gods to

come to Vo Wacune for no other reason than to arrange matters so

that they get them. Nothing short of physical violence will keep

them away from my door as long as I’m in the palace. That’s why

I’m going to need a house of my own – with a fence and a locked

gate. It’s the only way I’ll get any sleep. I’m sure there are houses

for sale in Vo Wacune. Could I prevail upon you to ask around for

me and see if you can find something suitable? Don’t evict anybody

or anything like that, but find me a place where I can hide. If I hear

any more about love potions, I think I’ll scream.’

‘I had not realized that the nobles at court had been so cruelly

imposing upon thee, my Lady Polgara. I shall let it be known

discreetly that thou art in search of a more permanent habitation.’

‘I’d appreciate that, my Lord.’

‘Would it really work?’ he asked curiously, slipping out of ‘high

style’.

‘Which was that, my Lord?’

‘A love potion. Can you actually mix something up that would make somebody fall in love?’

‘Oh, dear,’ I sighed. ‘Not you, too. No, Kathandrion. There’s

absolutely nothing that’d have that effect. There are some herbs out of

Nyissa that’ll arouse lust, but nothing in all the world that’ll awaken

love. I know that love potions play a large part in Arendish epics,

but in real life, there’s no such thing. It’s a literary device and

nothing more.’

‘Ah,’ he sighed. ‘How painful it is to have one’s illusions

shattered.’

‘I think that one missed me,’ I confessed.

My favorite epic tragedy doth hinge upon this literary convention

thou hast described.

I fear me that I will never again be able to read its stately lines

with any degree of satisfaction. I will sorely lament

its loss.’

‘It looks as if I’ve got further to go than I thought,’ I half-muttered.

‘What sayest thou, my Lady?’

‘Nothing, Kathandrion.’ I laughed and laid a fond hand on his

wrist.

The house I ultimately purchased was not far from the palace. It

was quite large, but very reasonably priced – largely because a

generation or so of neglect had caused it to fall into such disrepair

as to make it almost uninhabitable. I could have taken care of that

myself, I suppose, but to do it that way would have merely spread

the infection which was driving me out of the palace. My first step

in the renovation of my house, therefore, involved the hiring of

workmen to patch the roof, shore up the foundations, replace the

broken glass, chase out the birds and squirrels who’d taken up

residence inside, and to dismantle the brewery an enterprising

tavern-owner had set up in the basement without bothering to take

out a lease on the premises. I soon discovered that day-laborers in

Vo Wacune came in three grades: bad, worse, and awful.

I stopped by one morning to see how things were progressing,

and I found that they weren’t. My workmen were nowhere in sight,

and nothing had been done since my last visit. There were still holes

in the roof you could throw a cat through, none of the rotting

floor-boards had been replaced, and not even one pane of glass had

been set into the window-frames. I stalked through the echoing ruin

testing the outer limits of uncle Beldin’s vocabulary.

“Tis a rare thing t’ find a lady so gifted with th’ language,’

someone behind me said in a thick Wacite brogue.

I spun around and saw a sturdy fellow with his face framed by

a fringe of red beard leaning against my doorframe casually paring

his fingernails with an evil-looking dirk. ‘Who are you?’ I demanded,

‘and what are you doing here?’

‘Th’ name’s Killane, Lady-o, an’ yer unspeakable eloquence has

drawn me here as bees are drawn t’ honey, don’t y’ know. What

seems t’ be th’ problem?’

‘This is the problem” I burst out, waving my arms at the shambles

around me. ‘Last week I hired some men to clean up this mess.

They took my money quickly enough, but they seem to have

forgotten where the house is.’

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