spellsinger universe

"Well-spoken, Goodman Durnik," the king said with a smile, and then he looked at Garion.

Aunt Pol followed his glance.

"A boy, your Majesty," she said rather indifferently. "Garion by

name. He was placed in my care some years ago and accompanies us because

I didn't know what else to do with him."

A terrible coldness struck at Garion's stomach. The certainty that

her casual words were in fact the bald truth came crashing down upon

him. She had not even tried to soften the blow. The indifference with

which she had destroyed his life hurt almost more than the destruction

itself.

"Also welcome, Garion," the king said. "You travel in noble company for one so young."

"I didn't know who they were, your Majesty," Garion said miserably. "Nobody tells me anything."

The king laughed in tolerant amusement.

"As you grow older, Garion," he said, "you'll probably find that

during these days such innocence is the most comfortable state in which

to live. I've been told things of late that I'd much prefer not to

know."

"May we speak privately now, Fulrach?" Mister Wolf said, his voice still irritated.

"In good time, my old friend," the king replied. "I've ordered a

banquet prepared in your honor. Let's all go in and dine. Layla and the

children are waiting for us. There will be time later to discuss certain

matters." And with that he rose and stepped down from the dais.

Garion, sunk in his private misery, fell in beside Silk. "Prince

Kheldar?" he said, desperately needing to take his mind off the shocking

reality that had just fallen upon him.

"An accident of birth, Garion," Silk said with a shrug. "Something

over which I had no control. Fortunately I'm only the nephew of the King

of Drasnia and far down in the line of succession. I'm not in any

immediate danger of ascending the throne."

"And Barak is-?"

"The cousin of King Anheg of Cherek," Silk replied. He looked over his shoulder. "What is your exact rank, Barak?" he asked.

"The Earl of Trellheim," Barak rumbled. "Why do you ask?"

"The lad here was curious," Silk said.

"It's all nonsense anyway," Barak said, "but when Anheg became king,

someone had to become Clan-Chief. In Cherek you can't be both. It's

considered unlucky - particularly by the chiefs of the other clans."

"I can see why they might feel that way." Silk laughed.

"It's an empty title anyway," Barak observed. "There hasn't been a

clan war in Cherek for over three thousand years. I let my youngest

brother act in my stead. He's a simpleminded fellow and easily amused.

Besides, it annoys my wife."

"You're married?" Garion was startled.

"If you want to call it that," Barak said sourly.

Silk nudged Garion warningly, indicating that this was a delicate subject.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Garion demanded accusingly. "About your titles, I mean."

"Would it have made any difference?" Silk asked.

"Well - no," Garion admitted, "but " He stopped, unable to put his

feelings about the matter into words. "I don't understand any of this,"

he concluded lamely.

"It will all become clear in time," Silk assured him as they entered the banquet hall.

The hall was almost as large as the throne room. There were long

tables covered with fine linen cloth and once again candles everywhere. A

servant stood behind each chair, and everything was supervised by a

plump little woman with a beaming face and a tiny crown perched

precariously atop her head. As they all entered, she came forward

quickly.

"Dear Pol," she said, "you look just wonderful." She embraced Aunt Pol warmly, and the two began talking together animatedly.

"Queen Layla," Silk explained briefly to Garion. "They call her the

Mother of Sendaria. The four children over there are hers. She has four

or five others - older and probably away on state business, since

Fulrach insists that his children earn their keep. It's a standard joke

among the other kings that Queen Layla's been pregnant since she was

fourteen, but that's probably because they're expected to send royal

gifts at each new birth. She's a good woman, though, and she keeps King

Fulrach from making too many mistakes."

"She knows Aunt Pol," Garion said, and that fact disturbed him for some reason.

"Everybody knows your Aunt Pol," Silk told him.

Since Aunt Pol and the queen were deep in conversation and already

drifting toward the head of the table, Garion stayed close to Silk.

Don't let me make any mistakes, he gestured, trying to keep the

movements of his fingers inconspicuous.

Silk winked in reply.

Once they were all seated and the food began to arrive, Garion began

to relax. He found that all he had to do was follow Silk's lead, and the

intricate niceties of formal dining no longer intimidated him. The talk

around him was dignified and quite incomprehensible, but he reasoned

that no one was likely to pay much attention to him and that he was

probably safe if he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on his plate.

An elderly nobleman with a beautifully curled silvery beard, however,

leaned toward him. "You have traveled recently, I'm told," he said in a

somewhat condescending tone. "How fares the kingdom, young man?"

Garion looked helplessly across the table at Silk. What do I say? he gestured with his fingers.

Tell him that the kingdom fares no better nor no worse than might be anticipated under the present circumstances, Silk replied.

Garion dutifully repeated that.

"Ah," the old nobleman said, "much as I had expected. You're a very

observant boy for one so young. I enjoy talking with young people. Their

views are so fresh."

Who is he? Garion gestured.

The Earl of Seline, Silk replied. He's a tiresome old bore, but be polite to him. Address him as my Lord.

"And how did you find the roads?" the earl inquired.

"Somewhat in disrepair, my Lord," Garion replied with Silk's prompting. "But that's normal for this time of year, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is," the earl said approvingly. "What a splendid boy you are."

The strange three-way conversation continued, and Garion even began

to enjoy himself as the comments fed to him by Silk seemed to amaze the

old gentleman.

At last the banquet was over, and the king rose from his seat at the

head of the table. "And now, dear friends," he announced, "Queen Layla

and I would like to visit privately with our noble guests, and so we

pray you will excuse us." He offered his arm to Aunt Pol, Mister Wolf

offered his to the plump little queen, and the four of them walked

toward the far door of the hall.