other since the cracking of the world almost 5400 years ago.
What seems to upset the Malloreans the most is the fact that
a document referred to as ‘The Mallorean Gospels’ is
circulated among the slaves. Mallorean Grolims have been
attempting for centuries to destroy all existing copies in
Dalasia, and now the self-same work appears in southern
Cthol Murgos – with no possible explanation for its
presence. I am afire with curiosity I must have a copy of these
‘Mallorean Gospels’. I will not rest easy until I have read
them.
This spring Belgarion issued a general invitation to the
monarchs of the entire world to attend a conference in the
city of Sendar. To take the note of peremptoriness from the
invitation, he urged those monarchs unable to attend to
send envoys. The avowed purpose of this conference is ‘to
examine world tensions and to seek peaceful solutions to
frictions between nations.’ This is an ambitious proposal,
but one which derives more from idealism than from any
sense of how the world really operates. Our Belgarion still
has a great deal of growing to do, I fear. I will attend his
conference, however, (scheduled for mid-autumn). I look
forward to meeting rulers of nations and principalities
lying on the far side of the world.
The conference,* rather naturally, produced almost no
* This was heavily revised, eliminating the meeting between Belgarath
and Urvon and the confrontation between Polgara and Zandramas. The
conference did not happen, and Cyradis visited the town of Rheon after
Garion had put down the Bear-cult uprising at the end of Guardians of the
West.
concrete results. Belgarion, however, seems not
particularly disappointed. The fact that we did talk to each other
seems to be enough to satisfy him. Many of the world’s
rulers were, of course, unable to attend. Urgit was not
present, nor was ‘Zakath. Surprisingly, however, both
sent envoys. The King of Darshiva is in his eighties, and
his envoy expressed the old man’s regret at being unable
to attend. The King of Jenno, one of the seven kingdoms
of Karanda, is under house arrest for some misfeasa’nce of
office. (How can you arrest a king?!!) A number of the
visitors at the court of Fulrach, who acted as official host,
had no royal title but were of sufficient stature that no
one questioned their right to be present. Belgarath
attended, as did Polgara, Durnik and the foundling,
Errand. From Mal Yaska, the holy city of the Mallorean
Grolims, came Urvon, the third disciple of Torak. The
meeting between Urvon and Belgarath was chilling. I
don’t believe they’ve ever met, but they have known of
each other for eons. I’m certain that Urvon had no love
for Ctuchik and Zedar, his fellow disciples, but the fact
that Belgarath destroyed them both in little more than a
single year must give Torak’s sole remaining disciple
certain qualms. Moreover, I’m certain that Urvon came
into the presence of Belgarion with some highly charged
emotions. Belgarion did, after all, kill Urvon’s God.
Accompanying Urvon was a strange veiled and hooded
woman. I do not know in what capacity she was present.
I rather strongly doubt that she was Urvon’s mistress. She
seems to have been along as an advisor of some sort.
None of us ever spoke to her or saw her face. The single
look which passed between her and Polgara, however,
froze my blood.
Another peculiar visitor – also a woman – came with her
eyes bound and escorted and guided by a towering and
awesomely muscled mute. When we politely questioned
her presence, she declared in a firm, clear voice,’I am here as
a representative of my people, and I am here to observe.’
When we pressed her concerning exactly who her people
were, she replied in that infuriating way some women have,
‘I’m sorry but I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand.’ I
witnessed also a peculiar little ceremony involving the ‘
women. Urvon’s companion, her face still heavily veiled,
approached the blind-folded woman and acknowledged
her with the briefest of nods. Then Polgara also approached,
and she too nodded. Astonishingly, the totally blind-folded
woman ‘ I know she could not see – responded to each nod.
There was no trace of cordiality in those greetings, however.
They were not unlike the curt nods exchanged by men about
to engage in a duel. I’m not certain what’s going on, but I’m
most definitely certain that I don’t want to be in the way
when whatever it is happens.
One good thing that did come of the conference is that
Belgarion managed to make peace between Drosta and
Kheldar. The peace was not to the liking of either
party, but in the end, both of them bowed to the Rivan
King’s will Drosta will be allowed to keep the
expropriated holdings, but he will be obliged to pay Kheldar and
Yarblek a certain royalty percentage, such amounts to be
determined by a Rivan accountant. Thus, Drosta has to
operate his stolen holdings at his own expense and pay a
royalty; Kheldar and Yarblek have no operational expenses,
but their profits are substantially reduced. It’s an
interesting arrangement, but it will only succeed for as long as
Belgarion stands over all parties with a club.
5387
THE die is finally cast. Brand approached Belgarion
with a near-ultimatum, pointing out that producing
an heir is the King’s foremost responsibility. Belgarion
agreed to consult with Polgara
about the problem of Ce’Nedra’s childlessness. Brand
then regretfully stated,
‘Should Polgara’s aid fail, it will be necessary for you to put
aside your barren Tolnedran queen. We will then conduct a
search to find a fertile Alorn girl for you to marry.’ In some
unknown way, Ce’Nedra overheard this statement. The
scene which followed, I’m told, was absolutely dreadful.
it is difficult to foretell what the future will bring. I had
thought that with the death of Torak, the world might
return to that golden age which had existed before the God
of Angarak took the Orb and used it to crack the world. The
peace of that simple former age will never return, I’m
afraid. The cracking of the world seems to have been more
than just a physical event. The hearts of men were also
divided, and we will never again return to our previous
innocence. In some ways that’s a shame, but I’m not
entirely sure I’d care for a bovinely placid world. The world
we have now is full of dangers, but at least it is not dull.
ANHEG ,
KING OF CHEREK
* The amount of labor involved in creating a world tends to make most
fantasists a little reluctant about manufacturing another one. An
accidental conversation between my agent and another publisher, however,
resulted in Elenium/Tamuli, and I discovered that building the second
world isn’t nearly as difficult as that first one was. I built the world of
Elenium in six weeks. Experience does pay off, I guess. Alternating
between two entirely different worlds as we did when Malloreon and
Elenium were coming in tandem, however, is an open invitation to
schizophrenia. It splits your head right down the middle. I found myself
unconsciously reaching for Sparhawk when I was in the middle of a
Garion book. Maybe someday we’ll manufacture a third world-just to
find out if we still know how to do it. We’ll see.
AFTERWARD
Wasn’t that educational? My training (regardless of what it might
say on my academic degrees) was in the field of literary criticism, a
field which has strayed from its original purpose, I think. The great
critics of the eighteenth century believed that a close examination of
the classics would improve current writing, and that the purpose of
criticism was to produce ‘how to write good stuff’ essays. Criticism
should be distinguished from book reviews. ‘My favorite writer is
better than your favorite writer’ is just a trifle juvenile, and ‘I could
write a better book than this if I really wanted to’ is even worse.
As I said earlier, this collection provides a kind of running
description of a process. It included a lot of groping. Some things
that looked very interesting just didn’t work. Other things jumped off
the page right in the middle of the actual writing. Not unfrequently,
the story would take the bit in its teeth and run away, dragging us
along behind it.
As I’ve mentioned before, when the urge to write an epic fantasy
seizes the unwary reader, he will usually rush to his typewriter, and
that’s his first mistake. If he leaps into the swamp right away, he’ll
probably produce a chapter or two and then find that he’s run out of
story’ largely because he doesn’t know where he’s going.
Papa Tolkien once wrote, ‘I wisely started with a map.’ I’m not
sure how wise my doodle was, but my inadvertent following of the
same path also dictated much of our story. People who live on a
rocky seacoast usually become sailors (translation: pirates). People