David Eddings - Queen of Sorcery

“Oh.” He delicately let the subject drop.

After they had eaten breakfast and carefully quenched their fire with water from the stream, they saddled their horses and started off through the Wood. Mister Wolf walked ahead with the tiny Dryads still gathered around him, laughing and chattering like happy children. The murmuring of the trees about them was no longer unfriendly, and they moved through a kind of welcoming rustle from a million leaves.

It was late afternoon by the time they reached a large clearing in the center of the Wood. Standing alone in the middle of the clearing was an oak so large that Garion could hardly accept the idea that anything so enormous could be alive. Here and there in its mossy trunk were openings almost like caverns, and its lower limbs were as broad as highways and they spread out to shade nearly the entire clearing. There was about the tree a sense of vast age and a patient wisdom. Tentatively Garion felt a faint touch on his mind, almost like the soft brush of a leaf against his face. The touch was unlike anything he had ever felt before, but it also seemed to welcome him.

The tree was literally alive with Dryads, clustering randomly on the limbs like blossoms. Their laughter and girlish chatter filled the air like birdsongs.

“I’ll tell my mother you’ve arrived,” the one called Xera said and went toward the tree.

Garion and the others dismounted and stood uncertainly near their horses. From overhead Dryads peered curiously down at them, whispering among themselves and giggling often.

For some reason the frank, mirthful stares of the Dryads made Garion feel very self conscious. He moved closer to Aunt Pol and noticed that the others were also clustering around her as if unconsciously seeking her protection.

“Where’s the princess?” she asked.

“She’s just over there, Mistress Pol,” Durnik answered, “visiting with that group of Dryads.”

“Keep your eye on her,” Aunt Pol said. “And where’s my vagrant father?”

“Near the tree,” Garion replied. “The Dryads seem very fond of him.”

“The old fool,” Aunt Pol said darkly.

Then, from a hollow in the tree some distance above the first broad limbs, another Dryad appeared. Instead of the short tunic the others wore, this one was garbed in a flowing green gown, and her golden hair was caught in with a circlet of what appeared to be mistletoe. Gracefully she descended to the ground.

Aunt Pol went forward to meet her, and the others trailed behind at a respectful distance.

“Dear Polgara,” the Dryad said warmly, “it’s been so long.”

“We all have our duties, Xantha,” Aunt Pol explained.

The two embraced fondly.

“Have you brought us these as gifts?” Queen Xantha asked, looking admiringly at the men standing behind Aunt Pol.

Aunt Pol laughed. “I’m afraid not, Xantha. I’d be happy to give them to you, but I think I may need them later.”

“Ah well,” the queen said with a mock sigh. “Welcome all,” she greeted them. “You’ll sup with us, of course.”

“We’d be delighted,” Aunt Pol said. Then she took the queen’s arm. “Can we talk for a moment first, Xantha?” The two moved apart from the others and spoke quietly together as the Dryads carried bundles and sacks down from the hollows in the tree and began to lay a feast on the grass beneath the broad limbs.

The meal which was spread out looked peculiar. The common food of the Dryads seemed to consist entirely of fruits, nuts and mushrooms, all prepared without any cooking.

Barak sat down and looked sourly at what was offered. “No meat,” he grumbled.

“It heats up your blood anyway,” Silk told him.

Barak sipped suspiciously at his cup. “Water,” he said with distaste.

“You might find it a novelty to go to bed sober for a change,” Aunt Pol observed as she rejoined them.

“I’m sure it’s unhealthy,” Barak said.

Ce’Nedra seated herself near Queen Xantha. She obviously wanted to talk to her, but since there was no opportunity for privacy, she finally spoke out in front of them all. “I have a favor to ask, your Highness.”

“You may ask, child,” the queen said, smiling.

“It’s only a small thing,” Ce’Nedra explained. “I’ll need sanctuary for a few years. My father’s growing unreasonable in his old age. I’ll have to stay away from him until he comes to his senses.”

“In what way is Ran Borune growing unreasonable?” Xantha asked.

“He won’t let me go out of the palace, and he insists that I go to Riva on my sixteenth birthday,” Ce’Nedra said in an outraged tone. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“And why does he want you to go to Riva?”

“Some foolish treaty. No one even remembers the reason for it.”

“If it’s a treaty, it must be honored, dear,” the queen said gently.

“I won’t go to Riva,” Ce’Nedra announced. “I’ll stay here until after my sixteenth birthday’s passed, and that’ll be the end of it.”

“No, dear,” the queen said firmly, “you won’t.”

“What?” Ce’Nedra was stunned.

“We have a treaty too,” Xantha explained. “Our agreement with the House of Borune is most explicit. Our Wood remains inviolate only for so long as the female descendants of the Princess Xoria stay with the Borunes. It’s your duty to remain with your father and to obey him.”

“But I’m a Dryad,” Ce’Nedra wailed. “I belong here.”

“You’re also human,” the queen said, “and you belong with your father.”

“I don’t want to go to Riva,” Ce’Nedra protested.

“It’s degrading.” Xantha looked at her sternly. “Don’t be a foolish child,” she said. “Your duties are clear. You have a duty as a Dryad, as a Borune, and as an Imperial Princess. Your silly little whims are quite beside the point. If you have an obligation to go to Riva, then you must go.”

Ce’Nedra appeared shaken by the finality of the queen’s tone, and she sulked in silence after that.

Then the queen turned to Mister Wolf. “There are many rumors abroad,” she said, “and some of them have even reached us here. I think something momentous is happening out there in the world of the humans, and it may even touch our lives in this Wood. I think I should know what this thing is.”

Wolf nodded gravely. “I expect you should,” he agreed. “The Orb of Aldur has been stolen from the throne in the Hall of the Rivan King by Zedar the Apostate.”

Xantha caught her breath. “How?” she demanded.

Wolf spread his hands. “We don’t know. Zedar’s trying to reach the kingdoms of the Angaraks with the Orb. Once he’s there, he’ll try to use its power to awaken Torak.”

“That must never happen,” the Queen said. “What’s being done?”

“The Alorns and the Sendars are getting ready for war,” Wolf replied. “The Arends have promised aid, and Ran Borune has been advised, though he didn’t make any promises. The Borunes can be difficult at times.” He glanced at the pouting Ce’Nedra.

“Then it means war?” the queen asked sadly.

“I’m afraid so, Xantha,” he said. “I’m pursuing Zedar with these others, and I hope we can catch him and get the Orb back before he can reach Torak with it. If we’re successful, I think the Angaraks will attack the West anyway out of desperation. Certain ancient prophecies are getting close to their fulfillment. There are signs everywhere, and even the twisted perceptions of the Grolims can read them.”

The Queen sighed. “I’ve seen some of the signs myself, Belgarath,” she said. “I’d hoped I was wrong. What does this Zedar look like?”

“A great deal like me,” Wolf told her. “We served the same Master for a very long time, and that puts a certain mark on people.”