At the foot of the throne they all stopped, and Wolf bowed rather coldly. Aunt Pol, her eyes frosty, curtsied, and Barak and Silk bowed in a courtly manner. Durnik and Garion followed suit, though not nearly as gracefully.
“If it please your Majesty,” Brendig’s voice came from behind them, “these are the ones you sought.”
“I knew you could be depended upon, Lord Brendig,” the King replied in a rather ordinary-sounding voice. “Your reputation is well deserved. You have my thanks.” Then he looked at Mister Wolf and the rest of them, his expression undecipherable.
Garion began to tremble.
“My dear old friend,” the king said to Mister Wolf. “It’s been too many years since we met last.”
“Have you lost your wits entirely, Fulrach?” Mister Wolf snapped in a voice which carried no further than the king’s ears. “Why do you choose to interfere with me – now, of all times? And what possessed you to outfit me in this absurd thing?” He plucked at the front of his white robe in disgust. “Are you trying to announce my presence to every Murgo from here to the hook of Arendia?”
The king’s face looked pained. “I was afraid you might take it this way,” he said in a voice no louder than Mister Wolf’s had been. “I’ll explain when we can speak more privately.” He turned quickly to Aunt Pol as if trying to preserve the appearance at least of dignity. “It’s been much too long since we have seen you, dear Lady. Layla and the children have missed you, and I have been desolate in your absence.”
“Your Majesty is too kind,” Aunt Pol said, her tone as cold as Wolf’s. The king winced. “Pray, dear Lady,” he apologized, “don’t judge me too hastily. My reasons were urgent. I hope that Lord Brendig’s summons did not too greatly inconvenience you.”
“Lord Brendig was the soul of courtesy,” Aunt Pol said, her tone unchanged. She glanced once at Brendig, who had grown visibly pale.
“And you, my Lord Barak,” the king hurned on as if trying to make the best of a bad situation, “how fares your cousin, our dear brother king, Anheg of Cherek?”
“He was well when last I saw him, your Majesty,” Barak replied formally. “A bit drunk, but that’s not unusual for Anheg.”
The king chuckled a bit nervously and turned quickly to Silk. “Prince Kheldar of the Royal House of Drasnia,” he said. “We are amazed to find such noble visitors in our realm, and more than a little injured that they chose not to call upon us so that we might greet them. Is the King of the Sendars of so little note that he’s not even worth a brief stop?”
“We intended no disrespect, your Majesty,” Silk replied, bowing, “but our errand was of such urgency that there was no time for the usual courtesies.”
The king flickered a warning glance at that and surprisingly wove his fingers in the scarce perceptible gestures of the Drasnian secret language. Not here. Too many ears about. He then looked inquiringly at Durnik and Garion.
Aunt Pol stepped forward.
“This is Goodman Durnik of the District of Erat, your Majesty,” she said, “a brave and honest man.”
“Welcome, Goodman Durnik,” the king said. “I can only hope that men may also one day call me a brave and honest man.”
Durnik bowed awkwardly, his face filled with bewilderment. “I’m just a simple blacksmith, your Honor,” he said, “but I hope all men know that I am your Honor’s most loyal and devoted subject.”
“Well-spoken, Goodman Durnik,” the king said with a smile, and then he looked at Garion.
Aunt Pol followed his glance.
“A boy, your Majesty,” she said rather indifferently. “Garion by name. He was placed in my care some years ago and accompanies us because I didn’t know what else to do with him.”
A terrible coldness struck at Garion’s stomach. The certainty that her casual words were in fact the bald truth came crashing down upon him. She had not even tried to soften the blow. The indifference with which she had destroyed his life hurt almost more than the destruction itself.
“Also welcome, Garion,” the king said. “You travel in noble company for one so young.”
“I didn’t know who they were, your Majesty,” Garion said miserably. “Nobody tells me anything.”
The king laughed in tolerant amusement.
“As you grow older, Garion,” he said, “you’ll probably find that during these days such innocence is the most comfortable state in which to live. I’ve been told things of late that I’d much prefer not to know.”
“May we speak privately now, Fulrach?” Mister Wolf said, his voice still irritated.
“In good time, my old friend,” the king replied. “I’ve ordered a banquet prepared in your honor. Let’s all go in and dine. Layla and the children are waiting for us. There will be time later to discuss certain matters.” And with that he rose and stepped down from the dais.
Garion, sunk in his private misery, fell in beside Silk. “Prince Kheldar?” he said, desperately needing to take his mind off the shocking reality that had just fallen upon him.
“An accident of birth, Garion,” Silk said with a shrug. “Something over which I had no control. Fortunately I’m only the nephew of the King of Drasnia and far down in the line of succession. I’m not in any immediate danger of ascending the throne.”
“And Barak is-?”
“The cousin of King Anheg of Cherek,” Silk replied. He looked over his shoulder. “What is your exact rank, Barak?” he asked.
“The Earl of Trellheim,” Barak rumbled. “Why do you ask?”
“The lad here was curious,” Silk said.
“It’s all nonsense anyway,” Barak said, “but when Anheg became king, someone had to become Clan-Chief. In Cherek you can’t be both. It’s considered unlucky – particularly by the chiefs of the other clans.”
“I can see why they might feel that way.” Silk laughed.
“It’s an empty title anyway,” Barak observed. “There hasn’t been a clan war in Cherek for over three thousand years. I let my youngest brother act in my stead. He’s a simpleminded fellow and easily amused. Besides, it annoys my wife.”
“You’re married?” Garion was startled.
“If you want to call it that,” Barak said sourly.
Silk nudged Garion warningly, indicating that this was a delicate subject.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Garion demanded accusingly. “About your titles, I mean.”
“Would it have made any difference?” Silk asked.
“Well – no,” Garion admitted, “but ” He stopped, unable to put his feelings about the matter into words. “I don’t understand any of this,” he concluded lamely.
“It will all become clear in time,” Silk assured him as they entered the banquet hall.
The hall was almost as large as the throne room. There were long tables covered with fine linen cloth and once again candles everywhere. A servant stood behind each chair, and everything was supervised by a plump little woman with a beaming face and a tiny crown perched precariously atop her head. As they all entered, she came forward quickly.
“Dear Pol,” she said, “you look just wonderful.” She embraced Aunt Pol warmly, and the two began talking together animatedly.
“Queen Layla,” Silk explained briefly to Garion. “They call her the Mother of Sendaria. The four children over there are hers. She has four or five others – older and probably away on state business, since Fulrach insists that his children earn their keep. It’s a standard joke among the other kings that Queen Layla’s been pregnant since she was fourteen, but that’s probably because they’re expected to send royal gifts at each new birth. She’s a good woman, though, and she keeps King Fulrach from making too many mistakes.”
“She knows Aunt Pol,” Garion said, and that fact disturbed him for some reason.
“Everybody knows your Aunt Pol,” Silk told him.
Since Aunt Pol and the queen were deep in conversation and already drifting toward the head of the table, Garion stayed close to Silk. Don’t let me make any mistakes, he gestured, trying to keep the movements of his fingers inconspicuous.
Silk winked in reply.
Once they were all seated and the food began to arrive, Garion began to relax. He found that all he had to do was follow Silk’s lead, and the intricate niceties of formal dining no longer intimidated him. The talk around him was dignified and quite incomprehensible, but he reasoned that no one was likely to pay much attention to him and that he was probably safe if he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on his plate.
An elderly nobleman with a beautifully curled silvery beard, however, leaned toward him. “You have traveled recently, I’m told,” he said in a somewhat condescending tone. “How fares the kingdom, young man?”
Garion looked helplessly across the table at Silk. What do I say? he gestured with his fingers.
Tell him that the kingdom fares no better nor no worse than might be anticipated under the present circumstances, Silk replied.