After supper they sat near the fire. They didn’t really need a fire – indeed, the doors and windows were even open – but fire and hearth were a part of home, sometimes necessary even when not, strictly speaking, needed.
Polgara held Geran, her cheek against his curls and a dreamy look of contentment on her face. ‘Just practicing,’ she said quietly to Ce’Nedra.
‘There’s no way you could ever forget that, Aunt Pol,’ the Rivan Queen said. ‘You’ve raised hundreds of little boys.’
‘Well, not quite that many, dear, but it never hurts to keep one’s hand in.’
The wolf lay sound asleep on the hearth before the fire. He was making small yipping noises, however, and his feet were twitching.
‘He’s dreaming,’ Durnik smiled.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Garion said. ‘He spent the whole time while we were coming back from Grandfather’s tower chasing rabbits. He didn’t catch any, though. I don’t think he was really trying.’
‘Speaking of dreaming,’ Aunt Pol said, rising to her feet. ‘You two and your son and your puppy will want an early start in the morning. Why don’t we all go to bed.’
They arose at first light the next morning, ate a hearty breakfast, and then Durnik and Garion went out to saddle the horses.
The farewells were not prolonged. There was no real need for extended farewells among these four, because they would never really be apart. There were a few brief words, a few kisses and a gruff handshake between Durnik and Garion, and then the Rivan King and his family rode up the hill.
Halfway to the top, Ce’Nedra turned in her saddle. ‘Aunt Pol,’ she called, ‘I love you.’
‘Yes dear,’ Polgara called back, ‘I know. I love you too.’
And then Garion led the way on up the hill and toward home.
EPILOGUE
It was mid autumn. The Alorn council had taken place at Riva late that summer, and it had been boisterous, even rowdy. It had been attended by many who would not normally have been present. Non-Alorn rulers – and their queens – had virtually outnumbered the Alorn monarchs. Ladies from all over the west had descended upon Ce’Nedra and Polgara, showering them with congratulations, and young children had gathered about Geran, attracted by his sunny disposition – and by the fact that the little boy had somehow discovered a long-unused route to the pastry kitchen and all the treasures contained therein. If the truth were to be known, there was very little in the way of business conducted that year. And then, as always, a series of late summer storms announced that the meetings were at an end and it was time for the visitors to begin thinking seriously about going home. This had always been the advantage of holding the council in Riva. Although guests might prefer to linger, the steady march of the seasons persuaded them that it was time to depart.
Affairs had settled down in Riva. There had been a wild celebration when the king and his wife had at last returned with Crown Prince Geran, but no people, no matter how emotional, could celebrate forever, and after a few weeks things had returned to normal.
Garion spent most days closeted with Kail now. Many decisions had been made in his absence. Although, almost without exception, he approved of Kail’s handling of those matters, he still needed to be briefed on them and some of those decisions needed to be ratified by the royal signature.
Ce’Nedra’s pregnancy was proceeding along expected lines. The little queen bloomed and swelled and became increasingly short-tempered. The peculiar hungers for exotic foods which sometimes beset ladies in that delicate condition were not nearly as much fun for the Rivan Queen as they were for most other ladies. There has long been a suspicion in the male half of the population that these gastronomical yearnings are nothing more than a peculiar form of entertainment for their wives. The more exotic and unobtainable a given food might be and the more extreme the lengths to which a doting husband must go to put his hands on it, the more the ladies would insist that they would absolutely die if it were not provided in abundance. Garion privately suspected that the whole business involved little more than a desire for reassurance. If a husband proved willing to disassemble the known world to obtain strawberries out of season or strange seafoods normally found only in waters half a world away, it was a sure sign that he still loved his wife, despite her disappearing waistline. It was not nearly as much fun for Ce’Nedra, because each time she made a seemingly impossible request, Garion simply stepped into the next room, created the foodstuff in question on the spot, and presented it to her – usually on a silver platter. Ce’Nedra grew increasingly sulky about the whole business and finally gave up on it entirely.
And then late on a very frosty autumn evening, an ice-coated Mallorean ship entered the harbor, and her captain delivered a packet of neatly folded parchment bearing the seal of Zakath of Mallorea. Garion thanked the seaman profusely, offered him and his crew the hospitality of the Citadel and then immediately carried Zakath’s letter to the royal apartment. Ce’Nedra was sitting by the fire, knitting. Geran and the young wolf were lying together on the hearth, both of them dozing and twitching slightly as they dreamed. The two always slept together. Ce’Nedra had finally given up the idea of trying to keep them separate at night, since no door in the world could be effectively locked from both sides.
‘What is it, dear?’ she asked as Garion entered.
‘We just received a letter from Zakath,’ he replied.
‘Oh? What does he say?’
‘I haven’t read it yet.’
‘Open it, Garion. I’m dying to find out what’s happening in Mal Zeth.’
Garion broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. ‘For his Majesty, King Belgarion of Riva,’ he read aloud, ‘Overlord of the West, Godslayer, Lord of the Western Sea, and for his revered Queen, Ce’Nedra, co-ruler of the Isle of the Winds, Princess of the Tolnedran Empire, and Jewel of the House of Borune from Zakath, Emperor of all of Angarak.’…
‘I hope this finds you both in good health and I send greetings to your daughter, whether she has already arrived or if her birth be still impending. (I have not, I hasten to assure you, become suddenly clairvoyant. Cyradis said once that she was no longer blessed with her vision. I have come to suspect that she was not entirely truthful on that score.)
A great deal has happened here since we parted. The imperial court, I suspect, was more than a little pleased by the alteration in my personality which was the direct result of our journey to Korim and by what happened there. I must have been an impossible ruler to deal with. This is not to suggest that all here in Mal Zeth has become a fairy tale of good feeling and felicity. The general staff was mightily upset when I declared my intention to conclude a peace treaty with King Urgit. You know how generals are. If you take their favorite war away from them, they snivel and complain and pout like spoiled children. I had to step on a few necks quite firmly. Incidentally, I recently promoted Atesca to the position of Commander-in-Chief of the armies of Mallorea. This also enraged the other members of the general staff, but no one can please everybody. Urgit and I have been in communication with each other, and I find him to be a rare fellow – quite nearly as droll as his brother. I think we’ll get on well together. The bureaucracy very nearly went into collective apoplexy when I announced the autonomy of the Dalasian Protectorates. It’s my feeling that the Dals must be permitted to go their own way, but many members of the bureaucracy have vested interests there, and they sniveled and complained and pouted almost as much as the generals did. That came to an abrupt halt however, when I announced my intention to have Brador conduct a thorough audit of the affairs of every Bureau Chief in the government. The sound of a massive divestiture of all holdings in the protectorates was well-nigh deafening.