Part 18 (1/2)
”The fifth,” Brendig said somewhat sourly without looking up. ”Ran Borune V.”
”Thank you, Captain,” Silk said. ”I can never keep the Borune Dynasties straight. Anyway, there were already imperial legions in Sendaria to maintain the highway, and if one has troops in an area, one has a certain authority, wouldn't you say, Captain?”
”It's your story,” Brendig said shortly.
”Indeed it is,” Silk agreed. ”Now it wasn't really out of any kind of generosity that Ran Horb made his decision, Garion. Don't misunderstand that. Tolnedrans never give anything away. It was just that the Mimbrate Arends had finally won the Arendish civil war - a thousand years of bloodshed and treachery - and Tolnedra couldn't afford to allow the Mimbrates to expand into the north. The creation of an independent kingdom in Sendaria would block Mimbrate access to the trade routes down out of Drasnia and prevent the seat of world power from moving to Vo Mimbre and leaving the imperial capital at Tol Honeth in a kind of backwater.”
”It all sounds terribly involved,” Garion said.
”Not really,” Silk said. ”It's only politics, and that's a very simple game, isn't it, Captain?”
”A game I do not play,” Brendig said, not looking up.
”Really?” Silk asked. ”So long at court and not a politician? You're a rare man, Captain. At any rate, the Sendars suddenly discovered that they had themselves a kingdom but that they had no genuine hereditary n.o.bility. Oh, there were a few retired Tolnedran n.o.bles living on estates here and there, a.s.sorted pretenders to this or that Wacite or Asturian t.i.tle, a Cherek war chief or two with a few followers, but no genuine Sendarian n.o.bility. And so it was that they decided to hold a national election - select a king, don't you see, and then leave the bestowing of t.i.tles up to him. A very practical approach, and typically Sendarian.”
”How do you elect a king?” Garion asked, beginning to lose his dread of dungeons in his fascination with the story.
”Everybody votes,” Silk said simply. ”Parents, of course, probably cast the votes for their children, but it appears that there was very little cheating. The rest of the world stood around and laughed at all this foolishness, but the Sendars continued to cast ballot after ballot for a dozen years.”
”Six years, actually,” Brendig said with his face still down over his parchment. ”3827 to 3833.”
”And there were over a thousand candidates,” Silk said expansively.
”Seven hundred and forty-three,” Brendig said tightly.
”I stand corrected, n.o.ble Captain,” Silk said. ”It's an enormous comfort to have such an expert here to catch my errors. I'm but a simple Drasnian merchant with little background in history. Anyway, on the twenty-third ballot, they finally elected their king - a rutabaga farmer named Fundor.”
”He raised more than just rutabagas,” Brendig said, looking up with an angry face.
”Of course he did,” Silk said, smacking his forehead with an open palm. ”How could I have forgotten the cabbages? He raised cabbages, too, Garion. Never forget the cabbages. Well, everybody in Sendaria who thought he was important journeyed to Fundor's farm and found him vigorously fertilizing his fields, and they greeted him with a great cry, 'Hail, Fundor the Magnificent, King of Sendaria,' and fell on their knees in his august presence.”
”Must we continue with this?” Brendig asked in a pained voice, looking up.
”The boy wants to know, Captain,” Silk replied with an innocent face. ”It's our duty as his elders to instruct him in the history of our past, wouldn't you say?”
”Say whatever you like,” Brendig said in a stiff voice.
”Thank you for your permission, Captain,” Silk said, inclining his head. ”Do you know what the King of Sendaria said then, Garion?” he asked.
”No,” Garion said. ”What?”
” 'I pray you, your eminences,' the king said, 'have a care for your finery. I have just well manured the bed in which you are kneeling.' ”
Barak, who was sitting nearby, roared with laughter, pounding his knee with one huge hand.
”I find this less than amusing, sir,” Captain Brendig said coldly, rising to his feet. ”I make no jokes about the King of Drasnia, do I?”
”You're a courteous man, Captain,” Silk said mildly, ”and a n.o.ble man. I'm merely a poor man trying to make his way in the world.”
Brendig looked at him helplessly and then turned and stamped from the room.
The following morning the wind had blown itself out and the rain had stopped. The road was very nearly a quagmire, but Brendig decided that they must continue. Travel that day was difficult, but the next was somewhat easier as the road began to drain.
Aunt Pol seemed unconcerned by the fact that they had been seized at the king's orders. She maintained her regal bearing even though Garion saw no real need to continue the subterfuge and wished fervently that she would abandon it. The familiar practical sensibility with which she had ruled her kitchen at Faldor's farm had somehow been replaced by a kind of demanding willfulness that Garion found particularly distressing. For the first time in his life he felt a distance between them, and it left a vacancy that had never been there before. To make matters worse, the gnawing uncertainty which had been steadily growing since Silk's unequivocal declaration on the hilltop outside Winold that Aunt Pol could not possibly be his Aunt sawed roughly at his sense of his own ident.i.ty, and Garion often found himself staring at the awful question, ”Who am I?”
Mister Wolf seemed changed as well. He seldom spoke either on the road nor at night in the hostels. He spent a great deal of time sitting by himself with an expression of moody irritability on his face.
Finally, on the ninth day after their departure from Camaar, the broad salt marshes ended, and the land along the coast became more rolling. They topped a hill about midday just as the pale winter sun broke through the clouds, and there in the valley below them the walled city of Sendar lay facing the sea.
The detachment of guards at the south gate of the city saluted smartly as Captain Brendig led the little party through, and he returned their salute crisply. The broad streets of the city seemed filled with people in the finest clothing, all moving about importantly as if their errands were the most vital in the world.
”Courtiers.” Barak, who chanced to be riding beside Garion, snorted with contempt. ”Not a real man amongst them.”
”A necessary evil, my dear Barak,” Silk said back over his shoulder to the big man. ”Little jobs require little men, and it's the little jobs that keep a kingdom running.”
After they had pa.s.sed through a magnificently large square, they moved up a wide avenue to the palace. It was a very large building with many stories and broad wings extending out on each side of the paved courtyard. The entire structure was surmounted by a round tower that was easily the highest edifice in the whole city.
”Where do you suppose the dungeons are?” Garion whispered to Durnik when they stopped.
”I would take it most kindly, Garion,” Durnik said with a pained look, ”if you would not speak so much of dungeons.”
Captain Brendig dismounted and went to meet a fussy-looking man in an embroidered tunic and feathered cap who came down the wide steps at the front of the palace to meet them. They spoke for a few moments and seemed to be arguing.
”My orders are from the king himself,” Brendig said, his voice carrying to where they sat. ”I am commanded to deliver these people directly to him immediately upon our arrival.”
”My orders are also from the king,” the fussy-looking man said, ”and l am commanded to have them made presentable before they are delivered to the throne room. I will take charge of them.”
”They will remain in my custody, Count Nilden, until they have been delivered to the king himself,” Brendig said coldly.
”I will not have your muddy soldiers tracking through the halls of the palace, Lord Brendig,” the Count replied.
”Then we will wait here, Count Nilden,” Brendig said. ”Be so good as to fetch his Majesty.”
”Fetch?” The Count's face was aghast. ”I am Chief Butler to his Majesty's household, Lord Brendig. I do not fetch anything or anybody.”
Brendig turned as if to remount his horse.
”Oh, very well,” Count Nilden said petulantly, ”if you must have it your own way. At least have them wipe their feet.”
Brendig bowed coldly.
”I won't forget this, Lord Brendig,” Nilden threatened.
”Nor shall I, Count Nilden,” Brendig replied.
Then they all dismounted and, with Brendig's soldiers drawn up in close order about them, they crossed the courtyard to a broad door near the center of the west wing.
”Be so good as to follow me,” Count Nilden said, glancing with a shudder at the mud-spattered soldiers, and he led them into the wide corridor which lay beyond the door.
Apprehension and curiosity struggled in Garion's mind. Despite the a.s.surances of Silk and Durnik and the hopeful implications of Count Nilden's announcement that he was going to have them made presentable, the threat of some clammy, rat-infested dungeon, complete with a rack and a wheel and other unpleasant things, still seemed very real. On the other hand, he had never been in a palace before, and his eyes tried to be everywhere at once. That part of his mind which sometimes spoke to him in dry detachment told him that his fears were probably groundless and that his gawking made him appear to be a doltish country b.u.mpkin.