Garion brooded about that as he wandered moodily through the silent corndors of the Citadel with two mailed guards following at a respectful distance. The attempt, he reasoned, had not come from a Grolim. Aunt Pol's peculiar ability to recognize the mind of a Grolim would have alerted her instantly. In all probability the attacker had not been a foreigner of any kind. There were too few foreigners on the island to make that very likely. It had to be a Rivan, but why would a Rivan want to kill the king who had just returned after thirteen hundred years?

He sighed with perplexity over the problem and let his mind drift off to other matters. He wished that he were only Garion again; he wished that more than anything. He wished that it might be possible for him to awaken in some out-of the-way inn somewhere and start out in the silver light of daybreak to ride alone to the top of the next hill to see what lay beyond. He sighed again. He was a public person now, and such freedom was denied him. He was coldly certain that he was never going to have a moment to himself again.

As he pa.s.sed an open doorway, he suddenly heard a familiar voice. "Sin creeps into our minds the moment we let our thoughts stray," Relg was saying. Garion stopped, motioning his guards to silence.

"Must everything be a sin?" Taiba asked. Inevitably they were together. They had been together almost continually from the moment Relg had rescued Taiba from her living entombment in the cave beneath Rak Cthol. Garion was almost certain that neither of them was actually conscious of that fact. Moreover, he had seen evidence of discomfort, not only on Taiba's face, but on Relg's as well, whenever they were apart. Something beyond the control of either of them drew them together.

"The world is filled with sin," Relg declared. "We must guard against it constantly. We must stand jealous guard over our purity against all forms of temptation."

"That would be very tiresome." Taiba sounded faintly amused.

"I thought you wanted instruction," Relg accused her. "If you just came here to mock me, I'll leave right now."

"Oh, sit down, Relg," she told him. "We'll never get anywhere with this if you take offense at everything I say."

"Have you no idea at all about the meaning of religion?" he asked after a moment. He actually sounded curious about it.

"In the slave pens, the word religion meant death. It meant having your heart cut out."

"That was a Grolim perversion. Didn't you have a religion of your own?"

"The slaves came from all over the world, and they prayed to many G.o.ds - usually for death."

"What about your own people? Who is your G.o.d?"

"I was told that his name is Mara. We don't pray to him though - not since he abandoned us."

"It's not man's place to accuse the G.o.ds," Relg told her sternly. "Man's duty is to glorify his G.o.d and pray to him - even if the prayers aren't answered."

"And what about the G.o.d's duty to man?" she asked pointedly. "Can a G.o.d not be negligent as well as a man? Wouldn't you consider a G.o.d negligent if he allowed his children to be enslaved and butchered - or if he allowed his daughters to be given as a reward to other slaves when they pleased their masters - as I was?"

Relg struggled with that painful question.

"I think you've led a very sheltered life, Relg," she told the zealot. "I think you have a very limited idea of human suffering - of the kinds of things men can do to other men - and women - apparently with the full permission of the G.o.ds."

"You should have killed yourself," he said stubbornly.

"Whatever for?"

"To avoid corruption, naturally."

"You are an innocent, aren't you? I didn't kill myself because I wasn't ready to die. Even in the slave pens, life can be sweet, Relg, and death is bitter. What you call corruption is only a small thing - and not even always unpleasant."

"Sinful womanl" he gasped.

"You worry too much about that, Relg," she advised him. "Cruelty is a sin; lack of compa.s.sion is a sin. But that other little thing? I hardly think so. I begin to wonder about you. Could it be that this UL of yours is not quite so stern and unforgiving as you seem to believe? Does he really want all these prayers and rituals and grovelings? Or are they your way to hide from your G.o.d? So you think that praying in a loud voice and pounding your head on the ground will keep him from seeing into your heart?"

Relg was making strangled noises.

"If our G.o.ds really loved us, they'd want our lives filled with joy," she continued relentlessly. "But you hate joy for some reason - probably because you're afraid of it. Joy is not sin, Relg; joy is a kind of love, and I think the G.o.ds approve of it - even if you don't."

"You're hopelessly depraved."

"Perhaps so," she admitted casually, "but at least I look life right in the face. I'm not afraid of it, and I don't try to hide from it."

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded of her in an almost tragic voice. "Why must you forever follow me and mock me with your eyes?"

"I don't really know," she replied, sounding almost puzzled. "You're not really that attractive. Since we left Rak Cthol, I've seen dozens of men who interested me much more. At first it was because I knew that I made you nervous and because you were afraid of me. I rather enjoyed that, but lately there's more to it than that. It doesn't make any sense, of course. You're what you are, and I'm what I am, but for some reason I want to be with you." She paused. "Tell me, Relg - and don't try to lie about it - would you really want me to go away and never see you again?"

There was a long and painful silence. "May UL forgive me!" Relg groaned finally.

"I'm sure he will, Relg," she a.s.sured him gently.

Garion moved quietly on down the corridor away from the open door. Something he had not understood before had begun to become quite clear. "You're doing this, aren't you?" he asked silently.

"Naturally, " the dry voice in his mind replied.

"But why those two?"

"Because it's necessary, Belgarion. I don't do things out of whim. We're all compelled by necessity - even 1. Actually, what's going on between Relg and Taiba doesn't remotely concern you. "

Garion was a little stung by that.

"I thought well-"

"You a.s.sumed that you were my only care - that you were the absolute center of the universe? You're not, of course. There are other things almost equally important, and Relg and Taiba are centrally involved in one of those things. Your partic.i.p.ation in that particular matter is peripheral at the most."

"They're going to be desperately unhappy if you force them together, " Garion accused.

"That doesn't matter in the slightest. Their being together is necessary. Yau're wrong though. It will take them a while to get used to it, but once they do, they're both going to be very happy. Obedience to necessity does have its rewards, after all."

Garion struggled with that idea for a while, then finally gave up. His own problems intruded once more on his thoughts. Inevitably, as he always did when he was troubled, he went looking for Aunt Pol. He found her sitting before the cozy fire in her apartment, sipping a cup of fragrant tea and watching through the window as the rosy morning sunlight set the snowfields above the city ablaze.

"You're up early," she observed as he entered.

"I wanted to talk to you," he told her, "and the only way I ever get the chance to do what I want is to leave my room before the man with my schedule for the day shows up." He flung himself into a chair. "They never give me a minute to myself."

"You're an important person now, dear."

"That wasn't my idea." He stared moodily out the window. "Grandfather's all right now, isn't he?" he asked suddenly.

"What gave you that idea?"

"Well - the other day, when we gave Ce'Nedra the amulet - didn't he - sort of -?"

"Most of that came from you, dear," she replied.

"I felt something else."

"That could have been just me. It was a pretty subtle thing, and even I couldn't be sure if he had any part in it."

"There has to be some way we can find out."

"There's only one way, Garion, and that's for him to do something."

"All right, let's go off with him someplace and have him try - something sort of small, maybe."

"And how would we explain that to him?"

"You mean he doesn't know?" Garion sat up quickly.

"He might, but I rather doubt it."

"You didn't tell him?"

"Of course not. If he has any doubts whatsoever about his ability, he'll fail, and if he fails once, that will be the end of it."

"I don't understand."

"A very important part of it is knowing that it's going to work. If you aren't absolutely sure, then it won't. That's why we can't tell him."

Garion thought about it. "I suppose that makes sense, but isn't it sort of dangerous? I mean, what if something really urgent comes up, and he tries to do something about it, and we all of a sudden find out that he can't?"

"You and I would have to deal with it then, dear."

"You seem awfully calm about it."

"Getting excited doesn't really help very much, Garion."

The door burst open, and Queen Layla, her hair awry and her crown slipping precariously over one ear, stormed in. "I won't have it, Polgara," she declared angrily. "I absolutely won't have it. You've got to talk to him. Oh, excuse me, your Majesty," the plump little queen added, noticing Garion. "I didn't see you." She curtsied gracefully.

"Your Highness," Garion replied, getting up hurriedly and bowing in return.

"With whom did you wish me to speak, Layla?" Aunt Pol asked. "

Anheg. He insists that my poor husband sit up and drink with him every night. Fulrach's so sick this morning that he can barely lift his head off the pillow. That great bully of a Cherek is ruining my husband's health."

"Anheg likes your husband, Layla. It's his way of showing his friendship."

"Can't they be friends without drinking so much?"

"I'll talk to him, dear," Aunt Pol promised.

Mollified somewhat, Queen Layla departed, curtsying again to Garion.

Garion was about to return to the subject of Belgarath's infirmity when Aunt Pol's maid came in to announce Lady Merel.

Barak's wife entered the room with a somber expression. "Your Majesty," she greeted Garion perfunctorily.

Garion rose again to bow and politely respond. He was getting rather tired of it.

"I need to talk with you, Polgara," Merel declared.

"Of course," Aunt Pol replied. "Would you excuse us, Garion?"

"I'll wait in the next room," he offered. He crossed to the door, but did not close it all the way. Once again his curiosity overcame his good manners.

"They all keep throwing it in my face," Merel blurted almost before he was out of the room.

"What's that?"

"Well-" Merel hesitated, then spoke quite firmly. "My lord and I were not always on the best of terms," she admitted.

"That's widely known, Merel," Aunt Pol told her diplomatically.

"That's the whole problem," Merel complained. "They all keep laughing behind their hands and waiting for me to go back to being the way I was before." A note of steel crept into her voice. "Well, it's not going to happen," she declared, "so they can laugh all they want to."

"I'm glad to hear that, Merel," Aunt Pol replied.

"Oh, Polgara," Merel said with a helpless little laugh, "he looks so much like a great s.h.a.ggy bear, but he's so gentle inside. Why couldn't I have seen that before? All those years wasted."

"You had to grow up, Merel," Aunt Pol told her. "It takes some people longer, that's all."

After Lady Merel had left, Garion came back in and looked quizzically at Aunt Pol. "Has it always been like that?" he asked her. "What I mean is - do people always come to you when they've got problems?"

"It happens now and then," she replied. "People seem to think that I'm very wise. Usually they already know what they have to do, so I listen to them and agree with them and give them a bit of harmless support. It makes them happy. I set aside a certain amount of time each morning for these visits. They know that I'm here if they feel the need for someone to talk to. Would you care for some tea?"

He shook his head. "Isn't it an awful burden - all these other people's problems, I mean?"

"It's not really that heavy, Garion," she answered. "Their problems are usually rather small and domestic. It's rather pleasant to deal with things that aren't quite so earthshaking. Besides, I don't mind visitors whatever their reason for coming."

The next visitor, however, was Queen Islena, and her problem was more serious. Garion withdrew again when the maid announced that the Queen of Cherek wished to speak privately with the Lady Polgara; but, as before, his curiosity compelled him to listen at the door of the adjoining chamber.

"I've tried everything I can think of, Polgara," Islena declared, "but Grodeg won't let me go."

"The High Priest of Belar?"

"He knows everything, naturally," Islena confirmed. "All his underlings reported my every indiscretion to him. He threatens to tell Anheg if I try to sever my connection with the Bear-cult. How could I have been so stupid? He's got his hand around my throat."

"Just how indiscreet have you been, Islena?" Aunt Pol asked the queen pointedly.

"I went to some of their rituals," Islena confessed. "I put a few cult members in positions in the palace. I pa.s.sed some information along to Grodeg."

"Which rituals, Islena?"

"Not those, Polgara," Islena replied in a shocked voice. "I'd never stoop to that."

"So all you really did was attend a few harmless gatherings where people dress up in bearskins and let a few cultists into the palace where there were probably a dozen or more already anyway - and pa.s.s on a bit of harmless palace gossip? - It was harmless, wasn't it?"