David Eddings: Magician's Gambit

“You said Aunt Pol did that.”

“I lied,” the old man admitted casually. “I do that fairly often. The whole point, though, is that you’ve always had this ability. It was bound to come out sooner or later. I wouldn’t feel too unhappy about what you did to Chamdar. It was a little exotic perhaps—not exactly the way I might have done it—but there was a certain justice to it, after all.”

“It’s always going to be there, then?”

“Always. That’s the way it is, I’m afraid.”

The Princess Ce’Nedra felt rather smug about that. Belgarath had just confirmed something she herself had told Garion. If the boy would just stop being so stubborn, his Aunt and his grandfather and of course she herself—all of whom knew much better than he what was right and proper and good for him—could shape his life to their satisfaction with little or no difficulty.

“Let’s get back to this other voice of yours,” Belgarath suggested. “I need to know more about it. I don’t want you carrying an enemy around in your mind.”

“It’s not an enemy,” Garion insisted. “It’s on our side.”

“It might seem that way,” Belgarath observed, “but things aren’t always what they seem. I’d be a lot more comfortable if I knew just exactly what it is. I don’t like surprises.”

The Princess Ce’Nedra, however, was already lost in thought. Dimly, at the back of her devious and complex little mind, an idea was beginning to take shape—an idea with very interesting possibilities.

The trip up to the rapids of the River of the Serpent took the better part of a week. Although it was still swelteringly hot, they had all by now grown at least partially accustomed to the climate. Princess Ce’Nedra spent most of her time sitting on deck with Polgara, pointedly ignoring Garion. She did, however, glance frequently his way to see if she could detect any signs of suffering.

Since her life was entirely in the hands of these people, Ce’Nedra felt keenly the necessity for winning them over. Belgarath would be no problem. A few winsome little-girl smiles, a bit of eyelash fluttering, and a spontaneous-seeming kiss or two would wrap him neatly around one of her fingers. That particular campaign could be conducted at any time she felt it convenient, but Polgara was a different matter. For one thing, Ce’Nedra was awed by the lady’s spectacular beauty. Polgara was flawless. Even the white lock in the midnight of her hair was not so much a defect as it was a sort of accent—a personal trademark. Most disconcerting to the princess were Polgara’s eyes. Depending on her mood, they ranged in color from gray to a deep, deep blue and they saw through everything. No dissimulation was possible in the face of that calm, steady gaze. Each time the princess looked into those eyes, she seemed to hear the clink of chains. She definitely had to get on Polgara’s good side.

“Lady Polgara?” the princess said one morning as they sat together on deck, while the steaming, gray-green jungle slid by on either bank and the sweating sailors labored at their oars.

“Yes, dear?” Polgara looked up from the button she was sewing on one of Garion’s tunics. She wore a pale blue dress, open at the throat in the heat.

“What is sorcery? I was always told that such things didn’t exist.” It seemed like a good place to start the discussion.

Polgara smiled at her. “Tolnedran education tends to be a bit onesided.”

“Is it a trick of some kind?” Ce’Nedra persisted. “I mean, is it like showing people something with one hand while you’re taking something away with the other?” She toyed with the laces on her sandals.

“No, dear. It’s nothing at all like that.”

“Exactly how much can one do with it?”

“We’ve never explored that particular boundary,” Polgara replied, her needle still busy. “When something has to be done, we do it. We don’t bother worrying about whether we can or not. Different people are better at different things, though. It’s somewhat on the order of some men being better at carpentry while others specialize in stonemasonry.”

“Garion’s a sorcerer, isn’t he? How much can he do?” Now why had she asked that?

“I was wondering where this was leading,” Polgara said, giving the tiny girl a penetrating look.

Ce’Nedra blushed slightly.

“Don’t chew on your hair, dear,” Polgara told her. “You’ll split the ends.”

Ce’Nedra quickly removed the curl from between her teeth.

“We’re not sure what Garion can do yet,” Polgara continued. “It’s probably much too early to tell. He seems to have talent. He certainly makes enough noise whenever he does something, and that’s a fair indication of his potential.”

“He’ll probably be a very powerful sorcerer then.”

A faint smile touched Polgara’s lips. “Probably so,” she replied. “Always assuming that he learns to control himself.”

“Well,” Ce’Nedra declared, “we’ll just have to teach him to control himself then, won’t we?”

Polgara looked at her for a moment, and then she began to laugh. Ce’Nedra felt a bit sheepish, but she also laughed.

Garion, who was standing not far away, turned to look at them. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Nothing you’d understand, dear,” Polgara told him.

He looked offended and moved away, his back stiff and his face set. Ce’Nedra and Polgara laughed again.

When Captain Greldik’s ship finally reached the point where rocks and swiftly tumbling water made it impossible to go any farther, they moored her to a large tree on the north bank, and the party prepared to go ashore. Barak stood sweating in his mail shirt beside his friend Greldik, watching Hettar oversee the unloading of the horses. “If you happen to see my wife, give her my greetings,” the red-bearded man said.

Greldik nodded. “I’ll probably be near Trellheim sometime during the coming winter.”

“I don’t know that you need to tell her that I know about her pregnancy. She’ll probably want to surprise me with my son when I get home. I wouldn’t want to spoil that for her.”

Greldik looked a little surprised. “I thought you enjoyed spoiling things for her, Barak.”

“Maybe it’s time that Merel and I made peace with each other. This little war of ours was amusing when we were younger, but it might not be a bad idea to put it aside now—for the sake of the children, if nothing else.”

Belgarath came up on deck and joined the two bearded Chereks. “Go to Val Alorn,” he told Captain Greldik. “Tell Anheg where we are and what we’re doing. Have him get word to the others. Tell him that I absolutely forbid their going to war with the Angaraks just now. Ctuchik has the Orb at Rak Cthol, and if there’s a war, Taur Urgas will seal the borders of Cthol Murgos. Things are going to be difficult enough for us without that to contend with.”

“I’ll tell him,” Greldik replied doubtfully. “I don’t think he’ll like it much, though.”

“He doesn’t have to like it,” Belgarath said bluntly. “He just as to do it.”

Ce’Nedra, standing not far away, felt a little startled when she heard the shabby-looking old man issuing his peremptory commands. How could he speak so to sovereign kings? And what if Garion, as a sorcerer, should someday have a similar authority? She turned and gazed at the young man who was helping Durnik the smith calm an excited horse. He didn’t look authoritative. She pursed her lips. A robe of some kind might help, she thought, and maybe some sort of book of magic in his hands—and perhaps just the hint of a beard. She narrowed her eyes, imagining him so robed, booked and bearded.

Garion, obviously feeling her eyes on him, looked quickly in her direction, his expression questioning. He was so ordinary. The image of this plain, unassuming boy in the finery she had concocted for him in her mind was suddenly ludicrous. Without meaning to, she laughed. Garion flushed and stiffly turned his back on her.