Polgara the Sorceress (89 page)

And then after the harvest was done and all the leaves had fallen from the trees, an itinerant storyteller stopped by to cadge a few meals out of Faldor. He was a shabbily-dressed old rascal with mismatched shoes and a piece of rope for a belt. His hair and beard were white and close-cropped, and he had glue on his fingers. He must have had, since everything he touched stuck to them. I knew that he was coming of course, since I’d sensed his familiar presence when he was still five miles beyond the gate.

No, I didn’t even consider locking the gate before he arrived. Well, not very seriously, anyway.

My goat recognized him, of course, and she smoothly jumped the gate of her stall and ran out to greet him, her tail wagging furiously. He smiled and scratched her ears,
and then he asked Durnik the smith where he might find ‘the owner of this fine establishment’.

He introduced himself to Faldor, pretending to be ‘the greatest storyteller in all of Sendaria’, which might even have been true, now that I think of it, and then he gravitated to my kitchen where all the food and drink was. He turned on his not inconsiderable charm and entertained my helpers while we prepared supper. He made it look as if he were trying to ingratiate himself with me when he took some time out from his random pilferage to play with Garion. I was being careful not to watch him
too
obviously, but I
did
happen to catch a glimpse of the tears that filled his eyes once or twice while he and Garion were playing a little game of ‘tickle-tickle, giggle-giggle’. My feelings for the Old Wolf softened noticeably at that point. Though he tries to hide it, father
does
have his sentimental side.

He paid for his supper that evening by telling stories after we’d all eaten. The one that got the most applause was the one he called ‘How Belgarath and four companions stole back the Orb of Aldur from the One-Eyed God of Angarak’. The farm hands went absolutely wild over that one. ‘My friend,’ Faldor said at the end of the story, ‘that was absolutely amazing! You told that story almost as if you’d actually been there in person!’

I had a little trouble keeping a straight face along about then. I’ll admit, however, that if he really sets his mind to it, my father can hold an audience spellbound for hours on end, and he never seems to tire of the sound of his own voice.

Then, after Faldor and his farmhands had all retired for the night and I’d shooed my helpers off to their beds, father, Garion and I had the kitchen to ourselves. I blew out most of the lamps, leaving only one still burning to dimly light my kitchen. I laid out a few things in preparation for tomorrow’s breakfast, and father was sitting off in a corner holding the sleeping little boy on his lap.

I caught a faint flicker of movement at the kitchen door, and I turned quickly. It was my little nanny goat, and her golden eyes glowed in the dim light. ‘You,’ I commanded her, ‘go back to the stables where you belong.’

‘Oh, leave her be, Pol,’ father said tolerantly. ‘She’s a member of the family too, you know.’

‘Peculiar notion,’ I murmured. Then I looked him squarely in the face. ‘Well, Old Wolf,’ I said quietly, ‘did you finally run Chamdar down?’

‘We didn’t even get close to him, Pol,’ he admitted, dropping his characterization and speaking very seriously. ‘I’m giving some thought to taking a run down to Rak Cthol and jerking out Ctuchik’s liver.’

‘Interesting notion. What’s he done lately that you don’t like?’

‘He’s sending counterfeit Chamdars into the west.’

‘Would you like to clarify that?’

‘He’s modified some ordinary Murgos – or Grolims, for all I know – to make them look exactly like Asharak the Murgo. That makes Drasnian intelligence absolutely worthless. Silk was terribly upset when I told him that he’d been following the wrong man. That was the only good thing to come out of the whole affair.’

‘That one went by a little fast, father.’

‘Our Prince Kheldar’s terribly impressed with himself, Pol. He was in dire need of a large dose of humility. His face almost fell off when I told him that he’d been wasting his time on a forgery.’

‘Then you haven’t really got any idea at all of where the real Chamdar might be?’

‘Not a clue, Pol. Not a clue. About the best I can do to distract him is to go Up into the Alom kingdoms and thrash around, making a lot of noise and spreading rumors. Chamdar’s got access to a lot of gold, so he can hire spies in addition to the Dagashi who’re probably standing at every crossroads from Val Alom to Sthiss Tor. The best way I know of to distract his Dagashi and his home-grown spies is to flop around waving my arms to make sure that a lot of Alorns are talking about “that funny old man who tells stories”. That’ll be the easy part. All it takes to get an Alom to start talking is a couple of tankards of ale, and all it takes to make him stop is about two dozen more.’ He looked at me gravely. ‘It isn’t much, Pol, but if s about the best I can come up with for the moment. You’re awfully exposed here,
you know. Maybe you’d better go back to your house on Lake Erat.’

‘No, father, I’ll stay right here. My manor house is just a little too isolated, and it’s very important for Garion to have people around him while he’s growing up. A hermit wouldn’t make a very good king.’

‘And you actually like it here, don’t you Pol?’ he asked shrewdly.

‘It’s as good a place as any, father. I’m doing something that I like to do, and very few people stop by here. I like these people, and they like me. I’m as happy here as I’d be anyplace, I guess. Besides, if Garion grows up here, he’ll be honest, anyway, and honesty’s a rare commodity on thrones lately, I’ve noticed.’

‘Do you really want to submerge yourself in this rustic setting, Pol?’

‘I think that maybe I do, father. I’m still bleeding from what happened in Annath, and steady work and quiet surroundings help to heal that sort of thing.’

‘It is a step down the social scale, Pol. You started out as the Duchess of Erat, ruling over this entire kingdom, and now you’re only the head cook on a remote farm. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to take Garion to Sulturn or Muros and buy him an apprenticeship the way you’ve done with the others?’

‘No, father. Garion’s not like the others. He’s going to be the Child of Light – if he isn’t already – and I don’t want to clutter his mind with cabinetry, tombstones, or shoe-making. I want him to have a good mind, but one that’s uncluttered and undeveloped. That’s the best way I know of to prepare him for some of the surprises that’ll pop up as he goes along.’

‘I don’t see how keeping him stupid is going to prepare him for what’s in store for him.’

‘How old were you when you stumbled across the Master’s tower that snowy night seven thousand years ago?’

‘Not very. Fifteen or sixteen at the most, I think.’

‘You turned out all right – except for a few bad habits – and you were probably much stupider than Garion’s going to be. I’ll see to that personally.’

‘You’re going to stay here, then?’

‘I think I should, father. I’m having one of those feelings. This is the place where Garion’s supposed to grow up. It’s not fancy, and he won’t be important here, but this is the place. I knew that when I first saw it. It’s a little isolated and awfully provincial, but there are people here who Garion absolutely has to get to know, and I’ll do what’s right for him, no matter what it costs me.’

Father lifted the drowsing baby and stroked his bushy face across the little boy’s nose. Garion giggled, and father laughed. ‘Garion, my boy,’ he said expansively, ‘you may just be the luckiest fellow in the world to have your Aunt Pol to look after you.’ Then the old fraud gave me a sly look and winked. ‘That’s except for me, of course. She’s been looking after
me
for longer than I care to remember. I guess that makes us both lucky, wouldn’t you say?’

Garion giggled again.

I looked fondly at this shabby old man and the giggling baby, and I remembered something uncle Beltira had said a long time ago. He’d been explaining the unspoken game father and I have been playing with each other for centuries. He’d told the young prince that our sometimes spiteful-seeming remarks were not what they really appeared on the surface. The gentle twin had smiled and had said, ‘It’s just their way to avoid coming right out and admitting that they’re genuinely fond of each other, Geran. They’d be too embarrassed to admit that they love each other, so they play this little game instead. It’s their own private and peculiar way to keep saying “I love you” over and over again. They might not even know it themselves, but they say it to each other almost every time they meet.’

I was ruefully forced to admit that the twins and Beldin had seen through our little subterfuge all the time – even if father and I hadn’t. I’d spent three thousand and more years trying to avoid that simple admission, but finally it was so obvious to me that I wondered why I’d gone to all the trouble. I loved my father. It was as simple as that. I loved him in spite of his many flaws and bad habits. That stunning realization brought tears of happiness to my eyes as that love filled my heart.

‘There, now,’
mother’s voice echoed a little smugly in my mind.
‘That wasn’t really all that hard, was it?’
There was a slight difference to that usually sourceless voice this time, however. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen doorway. I turned sharply and stared unbelievingly at the little nanny-goat standing there looking intently at me with her mischievous golden eyes.

‘Somebody had to feed the baby, Pol,’
mother’s voice explained.
‘I thought it might be best to keep it in the family.’

I gave up entirely at that point and burst out in a sort of rueful laughter.

‘What’s so funny, Pol?’ father asked me in a puzzled voice.

‘Nothing, father,’ I replied. ‘Nothing at all.’