spellsinger universe

"How does it happen that they're married, then?" Garion asked.

"It was her family's idea," Durnik explained. "After Barak became the

Earl of Trellheim, they decided that a marriage would give them a

valuable connection. Merel objected, but it didn't do her any good. Silk

said that Barak found out after they were married that she's really a

very shallow person, but of course it was too late by then. She does

spiteful things to try to hurt him, and he spends as much time away from

home as possible."

"Do they have any children?" Garion asked.

"Two," Durnik said. "Both girls - about five and seven. Barak loves them very much, but he doesn't get to see them very often."

Garion sighed. "I wish there was something we could do," he said.

"We can't interfere between a man and his wife," Durnik said. "Things like that just aren't done."

"Did you know that Silk's in love with his aunt?" Garion said without stopping to think.

"Garion!" Durnik's voice was shocked. "That's an unseemly thing to say."

"It's true all the same," Garion said defensively. "Of course she's

not really his aunt, I guess. She's his uncle's second wife. It's not

exactly like she was his real aunt."

"She's married to his uncle," Durnik said firmly. "Who made up this scandalous story?"

"Nobody made it up," Garion said. "I was watching his face when he

talked to her yesterday. It's pretty plain the way he feels about her."

"I'm sure you just imagined it," Durnik said disapprovingly. He stood

up. "Let's look around. That will give us something better to do than

sit here gossiping about our friends. It's really not the sort of thing

decent men do."

"All right," Garion agreed quickly, a little embarrassed. He stood up

and followed Durnik across the smoky hall and out into the corridor.

"Let's have a look at the kitchen," Garion suggested.

"And the smithy, too," Durnik said.

The royal kitchens were enormous. Entire oxen roasted on spits, and

whole flocks of geese simmered in lakes of gravy. Stews bubbled in

cartsized cauldrons, and battalions of loaves were marched into ovens

big enough to stand in. Unlike Aunt Pol's well-ordered kitchen at

Faldor's farm, everything here was chaos and confusion. The head cook

was a huge man with a red face who screamed orders which everyone

ignored. There were shouts and threats and a great deal of horseplay. A

spoon heated in a fire and left where an unsuspecting cook would pick it

up brought shrieks of mirth, and one man's hat was stolen and

deliberately thrown into a seething pot of stew.

"Let's go someplace else, Durnik," he said. "This isn't what I expected at all."

Durnik nodded. "Mistress Pol would never tolerate all of this foolishness," he agreed disapprovingly.

In the hallways outside the kitchen a maid with reddish-blond hair and a pale green dress cut quite low at the bodice loitered.

"Excuse me," Durnik said to her politely, "could you direct us to the smithy?"

She looked him up and down boldly. "Are you new here?" she asked. "I haven't seen you before."

"We're just visiting," Durnik said.

"Where are you from?" she demanded.

"Sendaria," Durnik said.

"How interesting. Perhaps the boy could run this errand for you, and you and I could talk for a while." Her look was direct.

Durnik coughed, and his ears reddened. "The smithy?" he asked again.

The maid laughed lightly. "In the courtyard at the end on this

corridor," she said. "I'm usually around here someplace. I'm sure you

can find me when you finish your business with the smith."

"Yes," Durnik said, "I'm sure I could. Come along, Garion."

They went on down the corridor and out into a snowy inner courtyard.

"Outrageous!" Durnik said stiffly, his ears still flaming. "The girl

has no sense of propriety whatsoever. I'd report her if I knew to whom."

"Shocking," Garion agreed, secretly amused by Durnik's embarrassment.

They crossed the courtyard through the lightly sifting snow.

The smithy was presided over by a huge, black-bearded man with

forearms as big as Garion's thighs. Durnik introduced himself and the

two were soon happily talking shop to the accompaniment of the ringing

blows of the smith's hammer. Garion noticed that instead of the plows,

spades, and hoes that would fill a Sendarian smithy, the walls here were

hung with swords, spears, and war axes. At one forge an apprentice was

hammering out arrowheads, and at another, a lean, one-eyed man was

working on an evil-looking dagger.

Durnik and the smith talked together for most of the remainder of the

morning while Garion wandered about the inner courtyard watching the

various workmen at their tasks. There were coopers and wheelwrights,

cobblers and carpenters, saddlers and candlemakers, all busily at work

to maintain the huge household of King Anheg. As he watched, Garion also

kept his eyes open for the sandy-bearded man in the green cloak he'd

seen the night before. It wasn't likely that the man would be here where

honest work was being done, but Garion stayed alert all the same.

About noon, Barak came looking for them and led them back to the great hall where Silk lounged, intently watching a dice game.

"Anheg and the others want to meet privately this afternoon," Barak

said. "I've got an errand to run, and I thought you might want to go

along."

"That might not be a bad idea," Silk said, tearing his eyes from the

game. "Your cousin's warriors dice badly, and I'm tempted to try a few

rolls with them. It would probably be better if I didn't. Most men take

offense at losing to strangers."

Barak grinned. "I'm sure they'd be glad to let you play, Silk," he said. "They've got just as much chance of winning as you do."

"Just as the sun has as much chance of coming up in the west as in the east," Silk said.

"Are you that sure of your skill, friend Silk?" Durnik asked.

"I'm sure of theirs." Silk chuckled. He jumped up. "Let's go," he

said. "My fingers are starting to itch. Let's get them away from

temptation."

"Anything you say, Prince Kheldar." Barak laughed.

They all put on fur cloaks and left the palace. The snow had almost stopped, and the wind was brisk.

"I'm a bit confused by all these names," Durnik said as they trudged

toward the central part of Val Alorn. "I've been meaning to ask about

it. You, friend Silk, are also Prince Kheldar and sometimes the merchant

Ambar of Kotu, and Mister Wolf is called Belgarath, and Mistress Pol is

also Lady Polgara or the Duchess of Erat. Where I come from, people

usually have one name."