The funeral of Brand, the Rivan Warder, took place the following day in the Hall of the Rivan King. Garion, dressed all in black, sat on the basalt throne with Ce'Nedra at his side as the Rivan Deacon delivered the eulogy to the crowded Hall.
The presence of King Anheg of Cherek at that sorrowful ceremony caused an angry undertone among the members of the Rivan nobility, and it was only their profound respect for Brand and Garion's flinty gaze that prevented the whispers at the back of the Hall from becoming open accusations.
Anheg, seated between Porenn and Cho-Hag, remained stony-faced throughout the services and he left the Hall immediately upon their conclusion.
"I've never seen him like this," Barak said quietly to Garion after the ceremony. "No one has ever accused him of murder before, and he doesn't know how to deal with it."
"No one's accusing him now." Garion replied quickly.
"Turn around and look at the faces of your subjects, Garion," Barak said sadly. "There's an accusation in every single eye."
Garion sighed. "I don't have to look. I know exactly what they're thinking."
"When do you want to start the meetings?"
"Let's wait a bit," Garion decided. "I don't particularly want Anheg going through the corridors of the Citadel while all these mourners are drifting about with daggers in their belts."
"Sound thinking," Barak agreed.
They gathered about midafternoon in the blue-draped council chamber in the south tower. As soon as Kail had closed the door, Anheg rose and faced them. "I want to state right at the outset that I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened here," he declared. "Brand was always one of my closest friends, and I'd have cut off my arm before I'd have hurt him. You have my word for that -both as a king and as an Alorn."
"No one's accusing you of anything, Anheg," Cho-Hag said quietly.
"Ha! I'm not nearly as stupid as I look, Cho-Hag -and even if I were, I still have ears. The people here in Riva have done everything short of spitting in my face."
The silvery-haired Earl of Seline leaned back in his chair, "I think perhaps that all of these suspicions -totally unfounded, of course- stem from that letter the assassins presented when they came here. Might it not be the quickest way to proceed to begin by examining that document?"
"Not a bad idea," Garion said. He turned to Kail. "Could we see the letter?"
"Ah -l- Ancient Belgarath has it, Sire," Kail said.
"Oh -that's right," Belgarath said. "I'd almost forgotten." He reached inside his gray tunic, drew out a folded parchment, and handed it to the old Sendarian nobleman.
"It looks more or less in order," the Earl mused after he had read it.
"Let me see that," Anheg demanded. He held the document distastefully, scowling as he read. "That's my signature, all right", he admitted, "and my seal, but I certainly didn't write this."
Garion had a thought. "Do you always read everything they bring you to sign?" he asked. "I know that there are times when they bring me whole stacks of things to sign, and I just write my name at the bottom of each one. What I'm getting at is -could someone have slipped this into a pile of other documents so that you signed it without knowing what it said?"
Anheg shook his head. "That happened to me once," he said. "Now I read everything before I sign it. Not only that, I dictate every document I put my name to. That way I know it says exactly what I want it to say." He thrust the letter toward Garion. "Look at this," he said, pointing at the second paragraph. "Foreasmuch as trade is the lifeblood of both our kingdoms-' and so on. Blast it, Garion! I've never used the word 'foreasmuch' in my entire life."
"How do we reconcile this, then?" the Earl of Seline asked. "We have authenticated the signature and seal. King Anheg declares that he not only reads everything he signs but that he also dictates every letter and proclamation personally. And yet we find textual inconsistencies in the document."
"Seline," Anheg said acidly, "did you ever dabble in law? You sound a great deal like a lawyer."
The Earl laughed. "Merely trying to be concise, your Majesty," he said.
"Ihate lawyers."
The damning letter was central to the discussions for the remainder of the day, but nothing was resolved. Garion went wearily to bed that night as confused and filled with doubts as he had been when they started.
He slept badly and woke late. As he lay in the canopied royal bed, still trying to sort out his thoughts, he could hear voices coming from the adjoining room. Almost idly he began to identify those voices. Ce'Nedra was there, of course, and Aunt Pol. Queen Layla's giddy laugh made her easily identifiable. Nerina and Ariana, because of their Mimbrate dialect, were as easy. There were others as well, but the individuality of their voices was lost in the general chatter.
Garion slowly sat up, feeling almost as if he had not slept at all. He pushed the down-filled comforter aside and swung his feet to the floor. He did not really want to face this day.
He sighed and stood up. Briefly he looked at the solid black doublet and hose he had worn the day before, then shook his head. To continue to dress in mourning might in some obscure way be taken as a silent accusation. That must be avoided at all costs. The situation involving King Anheg was so delicate at the moment that the slightest hint could push it into crisis. He crossed to the heavy wardrobe where he kept his clothes, selected one of his customary blue doublets, and began to dress.
The conversation in the adjoining room broke off suddenly at the sound of a knock on the door.
"Am I welcome here?" he heard Queen Islena ask in a subdued voice.
"Of course you are," Aunt Pol replied.
"I had thought that-" Islena faltered, then began again. "Considering everything, I had thought that perhaps it might be better if I stayed away."
"Nonsense," Queen Layla declared. "Do come in, Islena." There was a general murmur of agreement.
"I swear to you all that my husband is innocent of this atrocity," Islena said in a clear voice.
"No one is saying that he was not, Islena," Aunt Pol replied quietly.
"Not openly perhaps, but there are ugly suspicions everywhere."
"I'm certain that Garion and the others will get to the bottom of it," Ce'Nedra said firmly. "Then everything will be cleared up."
"My poor Anheg did not sleep at all last night," Islena told them sadly. " I know that he looks brutish, but inside he's really very sensitive. This has hurt him deeply. Once he even cried."
"Our lords will requite the tears thy husband hath shed upon the body of the foul villain who lurks behind this monstrous act." the Baroness Nerina declared. "And the foolish men who doubt his true fidelity shall be covered with shame for their lack of trust, once the truth is out."
"I can only hope that you're right," Islena said.
"This is a mournful topic, ladies," Garion's cousin Adara told the rest of them, "and it has nothing to do with the real reason we're all here."
" And what reason is that, gentle Adara?" Ariana asked.
"The baby, Ariana," Adara replied. "We've come to see your baby again, Ce'Nedra. I'm sure he's not still sleeping, so why don't you bring him in here so that we can all fuss over him?"
Ce'Nedra laughed. "I thought you'd never ask."
The council meeting began about midmorning. The kings and their advisors gathered once more in a blue-draped council chamber. The golden sunlight of a late summer morning streamed in through the windows and a gentle sea breeze stirred the draperies. There was no particular formality in these sessions, and the monarchs and the others lounged comfortably in the velvet-upholstered chairs scattered about the room.
"I really don't think we'll accomplish too much by chewing on that letter for another day," Belgarath began. "Let's agree that it's obviously a forgery of some kind and move on." He looked at Kail. "Did your father have any enemies here on the island?" he asked, "Someone wealthy enough and powerful enough to hire Cherek assassins?"
Kail frowned. "No one can go through life without stepping on a few toes, Ancient One," he replied, "but I don't think anybody was holding that kind of grudge."
"In truth, my friend," Mandorallen told him, "some men, when they feel that they have been offended, will nurture their rancor in silence and with dissembling guise conceal their enmity until opportunity doth present itself to revenge themselves. The history of Arendia is replete with stories of such acts."
"It's a possibility." King Fulrach agreed. " And it might be better if we start close to home before we begin to go further afield."
"A list might be useful," Javelin suggested. "If we write down the name of every man on the Isle of the Winds whom Brand might possibly have offended, we can start eliminating them. Once we have the list narrowed down, we can start investigating. If the man behind this is a Rivan, he'd either have had to visit Cherek or had some contact with Chereks sometime in the recent past."
It took the remainder of the morning to compile the list.
Kail sent for certain documents, and they all considered each of the decisions Brand had made during the past five years.
Since the Warder had functioned as the kingdom's chief-magistrate, there had been many decisions and usually a winner and a loser in each case.
After lunch, they began the winnowing process, discarding the names of those men without sufficient wealth or power to be able to obtain the services of paid assassins.
"It's narrowing down a bit," Javelin said as he struck off another name. He held up the list. "We've got this down to almost manageable proportions."
There was a respectful knock on the door. One of the guards posted there spoke briefly with someone outside, then came over to Barak and murmured something to him. The big red-bearded man nodded, rose, and followed him from the room.
"How about this one?" Javelin asked Kail, pointing at another name.
Kail scratched at one cheek. "I don't think so," he replied.
"It was a dispute over land," Javelin pointed out, "and some people get very intense where land is concerned."
"It was only a pasture," Kail recalled, "and not a very big one. The man has more land than he can keep track of anyway."
"Why did he go to the law, then?"
"It was the other man who brought the matter to my father."
Barak came back into the room. "Anheg," he said to his cousin, "Greldik's here. He's got something fairly important to tell you."
Anheg started to rise, then looked around. " Have him come in here," he said shortly. "I don't want anybody thinking that I've got any secrets."
"We've all got secrets, Anheg," Queen Porenn murmured.
"My situation is somewhat peculiar, Porenn." He pushed his dented crown back into place from where it had slipped down over one ear.
The bearded and fur-clad Greldik pushed past the guards and came into the chamber at that point. "You've got trouble at home, Anheg," he growled bluntly.
"What kind of trouble?"
"I just came back from Jarviksholm," Greldik replied. "They're very unfriendly there."
"There's nothing new about that."
"They tried to sink me," Greldik said. "They've lined the tops of the cliffs on both sides of the inlet leading up to the city with catapults. The boulders were coming down like hailstones for a while."
Anheg scowled. "Why would they do that?"
"Probably because they didn't want me to see what they're doing."
"What could they be doing that they'd want to keep that secret?"
"They're building a fleet."
Anheg shrugged. "Lots of people build ships in Cherek."
"A hundred at a time?"
"How many?"
"I was busy dodging boulders, so I couldn't get an exact count, but the entire upper end of the inlet is lined with yards. The keels have all been laid, and they're starting on the ribs. Oh, they're working on the city walls, too."
"The walls? They're already higher than the walls of Val Alorn."
"They're even higher now."
Anheg scowled. "What are they up to?"
"Anheg, when you build a fleet and start strengthening your fortifications, it usually means that you're getting ready for a war. And when you try to sink the ship of a man known to be friendly to the crown, that usually means that the war is going to be with your king."
"He does have a point, Anheg," Barak said.
"Who's in control at Jarviksholm right now?" Garion asked curiously.
"The Bear-cult," Anheg said in disgust. "They've been filtering into the town from all over Cherek for the past ten years."
"This is very serious, Anheg," Barak said.
"It's also totally out of character," Javelin pointed out. "The cult has never been interested in confrontational politics before."
"What
kind of politics?" Anheg asked.
"Another way of saying open war with the crown," the Drasnian Chief of Intelligence explained.
"Say what you mean, man."
"An occupational peculiarity," Javelin shrugged. "Always before, the cult has tried to work from within -trying to gather enough support to be able to coerce the kings of the Alorn nations to followtheir policies. I don't think they've ever even considered open rebellion before."
"There's a first time for everything, I guess," Hettar suggested.
Javelin was frowning. "It's not at all like them," he mused, "and it's a direct reversal of a policy they've followed for the past three thousand years."
"People change sometimes," General Brendig said.
"Not the Bear-cult," Barak told him. "There isn't room enough in a cultist's mind for more than one idea."
"I think you'd better get off your behind and get back to Val Alorn, Anheg," Greldik suggested. "If they get those ships in the water, they'll control the whole west coast of Cherek."
Anheg shook his head. "I have to stay here," he declared. "I've got another matter that's more important right now."
Greldik shrugged. "It's your kingdom," he said, "at least for the time being."
"Thanks, Greldik," Anheg said drily. "You have no idea how that notion comforts me. How long will it take you to get to Val Alorn?"
"Three -maybe four days. It depends on how I catch the tides at the Bore."
"Go there," Anheg told him. "Tell the fleet admirals that I want them to move out of Val Alorn and take up stations off the Halberg straits. I think that when this council is over, I'll want to take a little journey up to Jarviksholm. It shouldn't take much to burn out those shipyards."
Greldik's answering grin was positively vicious.
After the council adjourned for the evening, Kail caught up with Garion in the torchlit corridor. "I think there's something you should consider, Belgarion," he said quietly.
"Oh?" .
"This moving of the Cherek fleet concerns me."
"It's Anheg's fleet," Garion replied, "and his kingdom."
"There is only this Greldik's unsupported word about the shipyards at Jarviksholm," Kail pointed out. "And the Halberg straits are only three days from Riva."
" Aren't we being overly suspicious, Kail?"
"Your Majesty, I agree completely that King Anheg deserves every benefit of doubt concerning the assassination of my father, but this coincidence that puts the Cherek fleet within striking distance of Riva is an altogether different matter. I think we should quietly look to our defenses -just to be on the safe side."
"I'll think about it," Garion said shortly and moved on down the corridor.
About noon on the following day, Silk arrived. The little man was richly dressed in a gray velvet doublet; as had become his custom of late, his fingers glittered with costly jewels. After only the briefest of greetings to his friends, he went into private discussions with Javelin.
When Belgarath entered the council chamber that afternoon, he had a self-satisfied smirk on his face and the letter from King Anheg in his hand.
"What is it, father?" Polgara asked curiously. "You look like the ship's cat on a fishing boat."
"I'm always pleased when I solve a riddle, Pol." He turned to the rest of them. "As it turns out, Anhegdid write this letter."
King Anheg jumped to his feet, his face livid.
Belgarath held up one hand."But," he continued, "what Anheg wrote isnot what the letter seems to say." He laid the sheet of parchment on the table. "Have a look," he invited them.
When Garion looked at the letter, he could clearly see red-colored letters lying behind the ones which spelled out the message that seemed to place responsibility for Brand's death at Anheg's door.
"What is this, Belgarath?" King Fulrach asked.
"Actually, it's a letter to the Earl of Maelorg," the old man replied. "It has to do with Anheg's decision to raise the taxes on the herring fishery."
"I wrotethat letter four years ago," Anheg declared, a baffled look crossing his face.
"Exactly," Belgarath said. " And if memory serves me, didn't the Earl of Maelorg die last spring?"
"Yes," Anheg said. "I attended the funeral."
"It appears that, after his death, someone got into his papers and filched this letter. Then they went to a great deal of trouble to bleach out the original message -all but the signature, of course- and to write one that introduced this so-called trade deputation."
"Why couldn't we see it before?" Barak asked.
"I had to tamper with it a bit," the old man admitted.
"Sorcery?"
"No. Actually I used a solution of certain salts. Sorcery might have raised the old message, but it probably would have erased the new one, and we might need that later on for evidence."
Barak's expression was slightly disappointed.
"Sorcery is not theonly way do things, Barak."
"How did you find out?" Garion asked the old man, "That there was another message, I mean?"
"The bleach the fellow used leaves a very faint odor on the page." The sorcerer made a wry face. "It wasn't until this morning that I finally realized what I was smelling." He turned to Anheg. "I'm sorry it took me so long to exonerate you," he said.
"That's quite all right, Belgarath," Anheg said expansively. "It gave me the chance to find out who myreal friends are."
Kail rose to his feet, his face a study in conflicting emotions. He went to Anheg's chair and dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, your Majesty," he said simply. "I must confess that I suspected you."
"Of course I forgive you." Anheg laughed suddenly. "Belar's teeth," he said. "After I read that letter, I even suspected myself. Get up, young man. Always stand on your feet -even when you've made a mistake."
"Kail," Garion said, "would you see to it that word of this discovery gets the widest possible circulation? Tell the people down in the city to stop sharpening their swords."
"I'll see to it at once, your Majesty."
"That still leaves us with an unsolved riddle," the Earl of Seline noted. , 'We know that King Anheg wasn't behind this, but who was?"
"We already have a good start on that," Lelldorin declared. "We've got that list of men who might have had reason to hate Brand."
"I think we're following the wrong track there," Queen Porenn disagreed. "The murder of the Rivan Warder was one thing, but trying to make it look as if Anheg had been responsible is something else entirely."
"I don't quite follow you, Porenn," Anheg admitted.
"If you had a very close friend -youdo have a few friends, don't you, Anheg, dear?- and if this friend of yours was also a high-ranking official in your government, and the king of another country had him murdered, what would you do?"
"My warships would sail on the next tide," he replied.
"Exactly. The murder of Brand may not have been the result of a personal grudge. It might have been an attempt to start a war between Riva and Cherek."
Anheg blinked. "Porenn, you are an extraordinary woman."
"Why, thank you, Anheg."
The door opened, and Silk and Javelin entered. "Our most excellent Prince Kheldar here has a very interesting report for us," Javelin announced.
Silk stepped forward and bowed grandiosely. "Your Majesties," he said, "and dear friends. I can't say for certain just how relevant this is to your current discussions, but it's a matter that should be brought to your attention, I think."
"Have you ever noticed how a little prosperity makes certain people very pompous?" Barak asked Hettar.
"I noticed that," Hettar agreed mildly.
"I thought you might have."
Silk flashed his two friends a quick grin. "Anyway." he continued in a more conversational tone. "I've spent the past several months in the town of Rheon on the eastern frontier of dear old dreary Drasnia. Interesting town, Rheon. Very picturesque- particularly now that they've doubled the height of the walls."
"Kheldar," Queen Porenn said, tapping her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair, "youdo plan to get to the point eventually, don't you?"
"Why, of course, Auntie dear," he replied mockingly. "Rheon has always been a fortified town, largely because of its proximity to the Nadrak border. It is also filled with a citizenry so archconservative that most of them disapprove of the use of fire. It's a natural breeding ground for the Bear-cult. After the attempt on Ce'Nedra's life last summer, I sort of drifted into town to do a bit of snooping."
"That's an honest way to put it," Barak said.
"I'm going through an honest phase," Silk shrugged. "Enjoy it while you can, because it's starting to bore me. Now, it seems that the Bear-cult has a new leader -a man named Ulfgar. After Grodeg got that Murgo axe stuck in his back at Thull Mardu, the cult was pretty well demoralized. Then this Ulfgar comes out of nowhere and begins to pull them all together. This man can quite literally talk the birds out of the trees. Always before the leadership of the cult was in the hands of the priesthood, and always before it was centered in Cherek."
"Tell me something new," Anheg growled sourly.
"Ulfgar does not appear to be a priest of Belar," Silk continued, "and his center of power is at Rheon in eastern Drasnia."
"Kheldar,please come to the point," Porenn said.
"I'm getting there, your Majesty." he assured her. "In the last few months, very quietly, our friend Ulfgar has been calling in his cohorts. Cultists have been drifting up from Algaria and filtering into Rheon from all over Drasnia. The town is literally bulging with armed men. I'd guess that Ulfgar currently has a force at Rheon at least equal to the entire Drasnian army." He looked at young King Kheva. "Sorry, cousin," he said, "but it rather looks as if you now have only the second biggest army in Drasnia."
"I can correct that if I have to, cousin," Kheva replied firmly.
"You're doing a wonderful job with this boy, Auntie," Silk congratulated Porenn.
"Kheldar," she said acidly, "am I going to have to put you on the rack to pull this story out of you?"
"Why, Auntie dearest, what a shocking thing to suggest. This mysterious Ulfgar has resurrected a number of very ancient rituals and ceremonies -among them a permanent means of identifying kindred spirits -so to speak. At his orders, every cultist in Aloria has had a distinctive mark branded on the sole of his right foot. The chances are rather good that anyone you see limping is a new convert to the Bear-cult."
Barak winced. "That wouldreally hurt," he said.
"They wear it rather proudly," Silk told him, "Once it heals, anyway."
"What does this mark look like?" King Cho-Hag asked.
"It's a symbolic representation of a bear paw." Silk explained. "It's shaped sort of like the letter U with a couple of marks at its open end to represent claws."
"After Kheldar told me this," Javelin took up the story, "we paid a short visit to that surviving assassin. His right foot has been branded with that particular mark."
"So now we know," Hettar said.
"We do indeed," Belgarath replied.
"Prithee," Mandorallen said, frowning in perplexity, "I have always been advised that the aim of this obscure religious denomination hath been the reunification of Aloria, that titanic empire of the north which existed under the reign of King Cherek Bear-shoulders, the mightiest ruler of antiquity.
"It may very well still be," Belgarath told him, "but if this Ulfgar had succeeded in putting Riva and Cherek at each other's throats, he might have been able to topple Drasnia and possibly Algaria as well. With Anheg and Garion concentrating on destroying each other, it probably wouldn't have been all that difficult for him to have taken their two kingdoms as well."
"Particularly with that fleet his people are building at Jarviksholm," Anheg added.
"His strategy seems at once very simple and yet very complex," General Brendig mused, "and I think it came very close to working."
"Too close," Polgara said. "What are we going to do about this, father?"
"I think we'll have to take steps," Belgarath replied. "This fellow Ulfgar still wants to reunite Aloria -but with himself as the successor to Bear-shoulders. The cult has tried subversion for three millennia. Now apparently they're going to try open war."
Garion's face grew bleak. "Well," he said, "if it's a war they want, they've come to the right place."
"I might drink to that," Anheg agreed. He thought for a moment. "If you're open to any suggestions, I think it might be a good idea if we destroy Jarviksholm before we move on Rheon. We don't want those Cherek cultists coming up behind us on the moors of eastern Drasnia and wedefinitely don't want a cult fleet in the Sea of the Winds. If even half of what Greldik says is true, we're going to have to burn out those shipyards before they get their warships into the water. You could mount a very successful attack on Rheon, Garion, and then come home to find a hostile force occupying Riva itself."
Garion considered that. "All right, then," he agreed. "We'll go to Jarviksholm first. Then we'll go to Rheon and have a little chat with this Ulfgar. I really want to look at a man who thinks he's big enough to fill Bear-shoulders' shoes."