Belgarath the Sorcerer (30 page)

In this particular case, the besieging baron decided to round up all the local serfs and behead them in plain view of the defender's castle.

That's when
I
took a hand in the game. As it happened, I was standing on a hilltop, and I posed dramatically there with my staff outstretched. ‘Stop!' I roared, enhancing my voice to such an extent that they probably heard me in Nyissa. The baron and his knights wheeled to gape; the knight who was preparing to chop off a serf's head paused momentarily to look at me, and then he raised his sword again.

He dropped it the next instant, however. It's a little hard to hold on to a sword when the hilt turns white-hot in your hands. He danced around, howling and blowing on his burned fingers.

I descended the hill and confronted the murderous Mimbrate baron. ‘You will
not
perpetrate this outrage!' I told him.

‘What I do is none of thy concern, old man,' he replied, but he didn't really sound very sure of himself.

‘I'm
making
it my concern! If you even
attempt
to harm these people, I'll tear out your heart!'

‘Kill this old fool,' the baron told one of his knights.

The knight dutifully reached for his sword, but I gathered my Will, leveled my staff, and said, ‘Swine.'

The knight immediately turned into a pig.

‘Sorcery!' the baron gasped.

‘Precisely. Now pack up your people and go home - and turn those serfs loose.'

‘My cause is just,' he asserted.

‘Your methods aren't. Now get out of my sight, or you'll grow a snout and a curly tail right where you stand.'

‘The practice of sorcery is forbidden in the realm of the Duke of Vo Mimbre,' he told me - as if it made any difference.

‘Oh, really? How are you going to stop me?' I pointed my staff at a nearby tree-stump and exploded it into splinters. ‘You're pressing your luck, my Lord Baron. That could just as easily have been you. I told you to get out of my sight. Now do it before I lose my temper.'

‘Thou wilt regret this, Sorcerer.'

‘Not as much as you will if you don't start moving right now.' I gestured at the knight I'd just converted into ambulatory bacon, and he returned to his own form. His eyes were bulging with horror. He took one look at me and fled screaming.

The stubborn baron started to say something, but he evidently changed his mind. He ordered his men to mount
up and then sullenly led them off toward the south.

‘You can go back to your homes,' I told the serfs. Then I went back up to my hilltop to watch and to make sure that the baron didn't try to circle back on me.

I suppose I could have done it differently. There hadn't really been any need for that direct confrontation. I could have driven the baron and his knights off without ever revealing myself, but I'd lost my temper. I get into trouble that way fairly often.

Anyway, two days later I began to see lurid descriptions of a ‘foul sorcerer' nailed to almost every tree I passed. The descriptions of me were fairly accurate, but the reward offered for my capture was insultingly small.

I decided at that point to go directly on to Tolnedra. I was certain that I could deal with any repercussions resulting from my display of bad temper, but why bother? Arendia was starting to bore me anyway, and I've been chased out of a lot of places in my time, so one more wasn't going to make that much difference.

I crossed the River Arend, the traditional border between Arendia and Tolnedra, early one morning in late spring. The north bank of the river was patrolled by Mimbrate knights, of course, but that wasn't really any problem. I
do
have certain advantages, after all.

I paused for a time in the Forest of Vordue to give some thought to my situation. When my Master had roused me from my drunken stupor back in Camaar, he hadn't really given me any instructions, so I was more or less on my own. There wasn't any place I really had to go, and no particular urgency about getting there. I still felt my responsibilities, however. I suppose I was what you might call a disciple emeritus, a vagabond sorcerer wandering around poking my nose into things that were probably none of my business. If I happened to come across anything significant, I could pass it on to my brothers back in the Vale. Aside from that, I was free to wander wherever I chose. My grief hadn't really diminished, but I was learning to live with it and to keep it rather tightly controlled. The years in Camaar had taught me the futility of trying to hide from it.

And so, filled with a kind of suppressed melancholy, I set off toward Tol Honeth. As long as I was here anyway, I thought I might as well find out what the empire was up to.

There was a certain amount of political maneuvering going on in the Grand Duchy of Vordue as I passed through on my way south. The Honeths were in power again, and the Vordue family always took that as a personal affront. There were abundant signs that the second Honethite Dynasty was in its twilight. That's a peculiar thing about
dynasties in any of the world's kingdoms. The founder of a dynasty is usually vigorous and gifted, but as the centuries roll by, his successors become progressively less so. The fact that they almost invariably marry their cousins might have something to do with it. Controlled inbreeding might work out all right with horses and dogs and cattle, but when it comes to humans, keeping it in the family's not a good idea. Bad traits will breed true the same as good ones will, and stupidity seems to float to the surface a lot faster than courage or brilliance.

At any rate, the Honethite emperors had been going downhill for the past century or so, and the Vorduvians were slavering with anticipation, feeling that their turn on the throne was just around the corner.

It was early summer when I reached Tol Honeth. Since it was their native city, the Honethite emperors had devoted much of their time - and most of the imperial treasury - to improving the capital. Any time the Honeths are in power in Tolnedra, an investment in marble quarries will yield handsome returns.

I crossed the north bridge to the city and paused at the gate to answer the perfunctory questions of the legionnaires standing guard there. Their armor was very impressive, but they weren't. I made a mental note of the fact that the legions seemed to be getting badly out of condition. Somebody was going to have to do something about that.

The streets were crowded. The streets of Tol Honeth always are. Everybody in Tolnedra who thinks he's important gravitates to the capital. Proximity to the seat of power is very important to certain kinds of people.

In a roundabout sort of way I was a religious personage, so, as I had in Arendia, I went looking for a church. The main temple of Nedra had been moved since I'd last been in Tol Honeth, so I had to ask directions. I knew better than to ask any of the richly dressed merchant princes passing by with perfumed handkerchiefs held to their noses and haughty expressions on their faces. Instead, I found an
honest man replacing broken cobblestones. ‘Tell me, friend,' I said to him, ‘which way should I go to reach the Temple of Nedra?'

‘It's over on the south side of the imperial palace,' he replied. ‘Go on down to the end of this street and turn left.' He paused and squinted at me. ‘You'll need money to get in,' he advised me.

‘Oh?'

‘It's a new custom. You have to pay the priest at the door to get inside - and pay another priest to get near the altar.'

‘Peculiar notion.'

‘This is Tol Honeth, friend. Nothing's free here, and the priests are just as greedy as everybody else.'

‘I think I can come up with something they'd rather have than money.'

‘I wouldn't make any large wagers on that. Good luck.'

‘I think you dropped something there, friend,' I told him, pointing at the large copper Tolnedran penny I'd just conjured up and dropped on the stones by his left knee. He
had
been helpful, after all.

He quickly snatched up the penny - probably the equivalent of a day's wages - and looked around furtively.

‘Be happy in your work,' I told him and moved off down the street.

The temple of Nedra was like a palace, an imposing marble structure that exuded all the warmth of a mausoleum. The common people prayed outside in little niches along the wall. The inside was reserved for the people who could afford to pay the bribes. ‘I need to talk with the High Priest,' I told the clergyman guarding the huge door.

He looked me up and down disdainfully. ‘Absolutely out of the question. You should know better than even to ask.'

‘I
didn't
ask. I told you. Now go fetch him - or get out of my way and I'll find him myself.'

‘Get away from here.'

‘We're not getting off to a good start here, friend. Let's
try it again. My name's Belgarath, and I'm here to see the High Priest.'

‘Belgarath?' He laughed sardonically. ‘There's no such person. Go away.'

I translocated him to a spot several hundred yards up the street and marched inside. I was definitely going to have words with the High Priest about this practice of charging admission to a place of worship; not even Nedra would have approved of that. The temple was crawling with priests, and each one seemed to have his hand out. I avoided confrontations by the simple expedient of creating a halo, which I cocked rather rakishly over one ear. I'm not certain if Tolnedran theology includes a calendar of saints, but I
did
get the attention of the priests -
and
their whole-hearted cooperation. And I didn't even have to pay for it.

The High Priest's name was Arthon, and he was a paunchy man in an elaborately jeweled robe. He took one look at my halo and greeted me with a certain apprehensive enthusiasm. I introduced myself, and he became
very
nervous. It wasn't really any of
my
business that he was violating the rules, but I saw no reason to let him know that. ‘We've heard about your adventures in Mallorea, Holy Belgarath,' he gushed at me. ‘Did you really kill Torak?'

‘Somebody's been spinning moonbeams for you, Arthon,' I replied. ‘I'm not the one who's supposed to do that. We just went there to recover something that'd been stolen.'

‘Oh.' He sounded disappointed. ‘To what do we owe the honor of your visit, Ancient One?'

I shrugged. ‘Courtesy. I was passing through, and I thought I ought to look in on you. Has anyone heard from Nedra?'

‘Our God has departed, Belgarath,' he reminded me.

‘
All
the Gods have departed, Arthon. They
do
have ways to keep in touch, though. Belar spoke to Riva in a dream, and Aldur came to me the same way no more than a couple
of months ago. Pay attention to your dreams. They might be significant.'

‘I did have a peculiar dream about six months ago,' he recalled. ‘It seemed that Nedra spoke to me.'

‘What did he say?'

‘I forget now. I think it had something to do with money.'

‘Doesn't it always?' I thought about it for a moment. ‘It probably involved this new custom of yours. I don't think Nedra would approve of the practice of charging admission to the temple. He's the God of
all
Tolnedrans, not just the ones who can afford to buy their way into your church.'

A wave of consternation crossed his face. ‘But -' he started to protest.

‘I've seen some of the creatures who live in Hell, Arthon,' I told him quite firmly. ‘You
don't
want to spend any time with them. It's up to you, though. What's happening here in Tolnedra?'

‘Oh, not too much, Belgarath.' He said it just a bit evasively, and I could almost smell what he was trying to hide.

I sighed. ‘Don't be coy, Arthon,' I told him wearily. ‘The Church is
not
supposed to get involved in politics. You've been taking bribes, haven't you?'

‘How did you know that?' His voice was a little shrill.

‘I can read you like a book, Arthon. Give the money back and keep your nose out of politics.'

‘You must pay a call on the emperor,' he said, skillfully sidestepping the issue.

‘I've met members of the Honeth family before. One's pretty much the same as the others.'

‘His Majesty will be offended if you don't call on him.'

‘Spare him the anguish then. Don't tell him that I've been here.'

He wouldn't hear of that, of course. He definitely didn't want me to start probing into the question of who was bribing him, nor of how large his share of the admission fees was, so he escorted me to the palace, which was teeming with members of the Honeth family. Patronage is the
absolute soul of Tolnedran politics. Even the toll-takers at the most remote bridges in the empire change when a new dynasty comes into power.

The current emperor was Ran Honeth the Twenty-something or other, and he'd discarded imbecility in favor of the unexplored territory of idiocy. As is usually the case in such situations, an officious relative had assumed his defective kinsman's authority, scrupulously prefacing each of his personal decrees with, ‘The emperor has decided …' or some other absurdity, thus maintaining the dignity of the cretin on the throne. The relative, a nephew in this case, kept Arthon and me cooling our heels in an anteroom for two days while he escorted all manner of high-ranking Tolnedrans immediately into the imperial presence.

Eventually, I got tired of it. ‘Let's go, Arthon,' I told Nedra's priest. ‘We both have better things to do.'

‘We
cannot
!' Arthon gasped. ‘It would be considered a mortal insult!'

‘So? I've insulted
Gods
in my time, Arthon. I'm not going to worry about hurting the feelings of a half-wit.'

‘Let me talk with the Lord High Chamberlain again.' He jumped to his feet and hurried across the room to speak with the imperial nephew.

The nephew was a typical Honeth. His first response was to look down his nose at me. ‘You will await his Imperial Majesty's pleasure,' he told me in a lofty tone.

Since he was feeling so lofty, I stood him on a vacant patch of empty air up near the rafters so that he could
really
look down on people. I'll grant you that it was petty, but then so was he. ‘Do you think that his Imperial Majesty's pleasure might have worked its way around to us yet, old boy?' I asked him in a pleasant tone. I left him up there for a little while to make sure that he got my point, and then I brought him down again.

We got in to see the emperor immediately.

This particular Ran Honeth was sitting on the imperial throne sucking his thumb. The blood-line had deteriorated
even further than I'd imagined. I nudged at the corner of his mind and didn't find anything in there. He haltingly recited a few imperial pleasantries - I shudder to think of how long it must have taken him to memorize them - and then he regally gave Arthon and me permission to withdraw. His entire performance was somewhat marred by the fact that forty some-odd years of sucking his thumb had grossly misaligned his front teeth. He looked like a rabbit, and he lisped outrageously.

I assessed the mood of the imperial nephew as Arthon and I bowed our way out of the throne room, and I decided that it might be a good time for me to leave Tol Honeth. As soon as the fellow regained his composure, the trees in the neighborhood were almost certainly going to flower with more of those posters. This was getting to be a habit.

I thought about that as I made my way toward Tol Borune. Ever since I'd abandoned my career as a common drunk, I'd been misusing my gift. The Will and the Word is a fairly serious thing, and I'd been turning it into a bad joke. Despite my grief, I was still my Master's disciple, not some itinerant trickster. I suppose I could excuse myself by pointing to my emotional state during those awful years, but I don't think I will. I'm supposed to know better.

I by-passed Tol Borune, largely to avoid any more opportunities to turn offensive people into pigs or to stick them up in the air just for fun. That was probably a good idea; I'm sure the Borunes would have irritated me. I've got a fair amount of respect for the Borune family, but they can be awfully pig-headed sometimes.

 

Sorry, Ce'Nedra. Nothing personal intended there.

 

At any rate, I traveled through the lands of the Anadile family and finally reached the northern edge of the Wood of the Dryads. The passing centuries have altered the countryside down there to some degree, but now that I think back on it, I followed almost exactly the same route
as I did three thousand years later when a group of friends and I were going south on the trail of the Orb. Garion and I have talked about ‘repetitions' any number of times, and this
may
have been another of those signals that the purpose of the universe had been disrupted. Then again, the fact that I followed the same route
might
have been due to the fact that it was the natural way south and also the fact that I was familiar with it. Once you get a theory stuck in your head, you'll go to almost any lengths to twist things around to make them fit.

Even in those days the Wood of the Dryads was an ancient oak forest with a strange kind of serene holiness about it. Humans have a tendency to compartmentalize their religion to keep it separate from everyday life. The Dryads live in the center of
their
religion, so they don't even have to think - or talk - about it. That's sort of refreshing.