“What does he look like?” Barak asked eagerly.
“He’s a great, red-haired brute of a boy.” Anheg laughed. “And when he gets hungry, you can hear him yell for a mile.”
Barak grinned rather foolishly.
When they reached the top of the stairs and came out in the shallow square before the great hall, two rosy-cheeked little girls in green cloaks were waiting impatiently for them. They both had long, reddish-blond braids and seemed to be only slightly older than Errand. “Poppa,” the youngest of the two squealed, running to Barak. The huge man caught her up in his arms and kissed her soundly. The second girl, a year or so older than her sister, joined them with a show of dignity but was also swept up in her father’s embrace.
“My daughters,” Barak introduced the girls to the rest of the party. “This is Gundred.” He poked his great red beard into the face of the eldest girl, and she giggled as his whiskers tickled her face. “And this is little Terzie.” He smiled fondly at the youngest.
“We have a little brother, Poppa,” the elder girl informed him gravely.
“What an amazing thing,” Barak replied, feigning a great show of astonishment.
“You knew about it already!” Gundred accused him. “We wanted to be the ones to tell you.” She pouted.
“His name’s Unrak, and he’s got red hair just the same as you have,” Terzie announced, “but he doesn’t have a beard yet.”
“I expect that will come in time,” Barak assured her.
“He dells a lot,” Gundred reported, “and he hasn’t got any teeth.”
Then the broad gateway to the Rivan Citadel swung open and Queen Islena, wearing a dark red cloak, emerged from within, accompanied by a lovely blond Arendish girl and by Merel, Barak’s wife. Merel was dressed all in green and she was carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Her expression was one of pride.
“Hail Barak, Earl of Trellheim and husband,” she said with great formality. “Thus have I fulfilled my ultimate duty.” She extended the bundle. “Behold your son Unrak, Trellheim’s heir.”
With a strange expression, Barak gently set his daughters down, approached his wife, and took the bundle from her. Very gently, his great fingers trembling, he turned back the blanket to gaze for the first time at his son’s face. Garion could see only that the baby had bright red hair, much the same color as Barak’s.
“Hail, Unrak, heir to Trellheim and my son,” Barak greeted the infant in his rumbling voice. Then he kissed the child in his hands. The baby boy giggled and cooed as his father’s great beard tickled his face. His two tiny hands reached up and clutched at the beard, and he bur rowed his face into it like a puppy.
“He’s got a good strong grip,” Barak commented to his wife, wincing as the infant tugged at his beard.
Merel’s eyes seemed almost startled, and her expression was unreadable.
“This is my son Unrak,” Barak announced to the rest of them, holding the baby up so that they could see him. “It may be a bit early to tell, but he shows some promise.”
Barak’s wife had drawn herself up with pride. “I have done well then, my Lord?”
“Beyond all my expectations, Merel,” he told her. Then, holding the baby in one arm, he caught her in the other and kissed her exuberantly. She seemed even more startled than before.
“Let’s go inside,” the brutish-looking King Anheg suggested. “It’s very cold out here, and I’m a sentimental man. I’d rather not have tears freezing in my beard.”
The Arendish girl joined Lelldorin and Garion as they entered the fortress.
“And this is my Ariana,” Lelldorin told Garion with an expression of total adoration on his face.
For a moment – for just a moment – Garion had some hope for his impossible friend. Lady Ariana was a slim, practical-looking Mimbrate girl, whose medical studies had given her face a certain seriousness. The look she directed at Lelldorin, however, immediately dispelled any hope. Garion shuddered inwardly at the total lack of anything resembling reason in the gaze these two exchanged. Ariana would not restrain Lelldorin as he crashed headlong into disaster after disaster; she would encourage him; she would cheer him on.
“My Lord hath awaited thy coming most eagerly,” she said to Garion as they followed the others along a broad stone corndor. The very slight stress she put on “My Lord” indicated that while Lelldorin might think that their marriage was one in name only, she did not.
“We’re very good friends,” Garion told her. He looked around, a bit embarrassed by the way these two kept staring into each others’ eyes. “Is this the Hall of the Rivan King, then?” he asked.
“‘Tis generally called so,” Ariana replied. “The Rivans themselves speak with more precision, however. Lord Olban, youngest son of the Rivan Warder, hath most graciously shown us throughout the fortress, and he doth speak of this as the Citadel. The Hall of the Rivan King is the throne room itself.”
“Ah,” Garion said, “I see.” He looked away quickly, not wanting to see the way all thought vanished from her eyes when they returned to their contemplation of Lelldorin’s face.
King Rhodar of Drasnia, wearing his customary red robe, was sitting in the large, low-beamed dining room where a fire crackled in a cavelike fireplace and a multitude of candles gave off a warm, golden light. Rhodar vastly filled a chair at the head of a long table with the ruins of his lunch spread before him. His crown was hung negligently on the back of his chair, and his round, red face was gleaming with perspiration. “Finally!” he said with a grunt. He waddled ponderously to greet them. He fondly embraced Polgara, kissed Queen Silar and Queen Layla, and took the hands of King Cho-Hag and King Fulrach in his own. “It’s been a long time,” he said to them. Then he turned to Belgarath. “What took you so long?” he asked.
“We had a long way to go, Rhodar,” the old sorcerer replied, pulling off his cloak and backing up to the broad-arched fireplace. “You don’t go from here to Rak Cthol in a week, you know.”
“I hear that you and Ctuchik finally had it out,” the king said.
Silk laughed sardonically. “It was a splendid little get-together, uncle.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.” King Rhodar looked inquiringly at Ce’Nedra and Adara, his expression openly admiring. “Ladies,” he said to them bowing politely, “if someone will introduce us, I’ll be more than happy to bestow a few royal kisses.”
“If Porenn catches you kissing pretty girls, she’ll carve out your tripes, Rhodar.” King Anheg laughed crudely.
As Aunt Pol made the introductions, Garion drew back a few paces to consider the havoc Lelldorin had caused in one short week. It was going to take months to unravel it, and there was no guarantee that it would not happen again – indeed, that it would not happen every time the young man got loose.
“What’s the matter with your friend?” It was the Princess Ce’Nedra, and she was tugging on Garion’s sleeve.
“What do you mean, what’s the matter with him?”
“You mean he’s always like that?”
“Lelldorin-” Garion hesitated. “Well, Lelldorin’s very enthusiastic about things, and sometimes he speaks or acts without stopping to think.” Loyalty made him want to put the best face on it.
“Garion.” Ce’Nedra’s gaze was very direct. “I know Arends, and he’s the most Arendish Arend I’ve ever met. He’s so Arendish that he’s almost incapacitated.”
Garion quickly came to the defense of his friend. “He’s not that bad.”
“Really? And Lady Ariana. She’s a lovely girl, a skilled physician and utterly devoid of anything remotely resembling thought.”
“They’re in love,” Garion said, as if that explained everything.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Love does things to people,” Garion told her. “It seems to knock holes in their judgment or something.”
“What a fascinating observation,” Ce’Nedra replied. “Do go on.”
Garion was too preoccupied with the problem to catch the dangerous lilt in her voice. “As soon as somebody falls in love, all the wits seem to dribble out of the bottom of his head,” he continued moodily.
“What a colorful way to put it,” Ce’Nedra said.
Garion even missed that warning. “It’s almost as if it were some kind of disease,” he added.
“Do you know something, Garion?” the princess said in a conversational, almost casual tone of voice. “Sometimes you make me positively sick.” And she turned and walked away, leaving him staring after her in open-mouthed astonishment.
“What did I say?” he called after her, but she ignored him.
After they had all dined, King Rhodar turned to Belgarath. “Do you suppose we might have a look at the Orb?” he asked.
“Tomorrow,” the old man answered. “We’ll reveal it when it’s returned to its proper place in the Hall of the Rivan King at midday.”