are some peculiarities about Dryads and the way they mature."
"That's going to be a little hard to explain to other Alorns," Brand replied. "There has to be an heir to the Rivan throne. The line must continue."
"Give them a little time, Brand," Polgara said placidly. "They'll get around to it. The important thing was to get them back into the same bedroom."
Perhaps a day or so later, when the sun was sparkling on the waters of the Sea of the Winds and a stiff onshore breeze was flecking the tops of the green waves with frothy white-caps, a huge Cherek war boat maneuvered its way ponderously between the two rocky headlands embracing the harbor at Riva. The ship's captain was also more than life-sized. With his red beard streaming in the wind, Barak, Earl of Trellheim, stood at his tiller, a look of studied concentration on his face as he worked his way through a tricky eddy just inside one of the protective headlands and then across the harbor to the stone quay. Almost before his sailors had made the ship fast, Barak was coming up the long flight of granite steps to the Citadel.
Belgarath and Errand had been on the parapet atop the walls of the fortress and had witnessed the arrival of Barak's ship. And so, when the big man reached the heavy gates, they were waiting for him.
"What are you doing here, Belgarath?" the burly Cherek asked. "I thought you were at the Vale."
Belgarath shrugged. "We came by for a visit."
Barak looked at Errand. "Hello, boy," he said. "Are Polgara and Durnik here, too?"
"Yes," Errand replied. "They're all in the throne room watching Belgarion."
"What's he doing?"
"Being king," Belgarath said shortly. "We saw you come into the harbor."
"Really impressive, wasn't it?" Barak said proudly.
"Your ship steers like a pregnant whale, Barak," Belgarath told him bluntly. "You don't seem to have grasped the idea that bigger is not necessarily better."
Barak's face took on an injured expression. "I don't make jokes about your possessions, Belgarath."
"I don't have any possessions, Barak. What brought you to Riva?"
"Anheg sent me. Is Garion going to be much longer at whatever he's doing?"
"We can go find out, I suppose."
The Rivan King, however, had concluded the formal audience for that morning and, in the company of Ce'Nedra, Polgara, and Durnik, had gone through a dim, private passageway which led from the great Hall of the Rivan King to the royal apartments.
"Barak!" Garion exclaimed, hurrying forward to greet his friend in the corridor outside the door to the apartment.
Barak gave him a peculiar look and bowed respectfully.
"What's that all about?" Garion asked him with a puzzled look.
"You're still wearing your crown, Garion," Polgara reminded him, "and your state robes. All of that makes you look rather official."
"Oh," Garion said, looking a bit abashed, "I forgot. Let's go inside." He pulled open the door and led them all into the room beyond.
With a broad grin, Barak enfolded Polgara in a vast bear hug.
"Barak," she said a trifle breathlessly, "you'd be much nicer at close quarters if you'd remember to wash your beard after you've been eating smoked fish."
"I only had one," he told her.
"That's usually enough." He turned then and put his bulky arms around Ce'Nedra's tiny shoulders and kissed her soundly.
The little queen laughed and caught her crown in time to keep it from sliding off her head. "You're right, Lady Polgara," she said, "he definitely has a certain fragrance about him."
"Garion," Barak said plaintively, "I'm absolutely dying for a drink."
"Did all the ale barrels on your ship run dry?" Polgara asked him.
"There's no drinking aboard the Seabird," Barak replied.
"Oh?"
"I want my sailors sober."
"Astonishing," she murmured.
"It's a matter of principle," Barak said piously.
"They do need their wits about them," Belgarath agreed. "That big ship of his is not exactly what you'd call responsive."
Barak gave him a hurt look.
Garion sent for ale, removed his crown
"That's going to be a little hard to explain to other Alorns," Brand replied. "There has to be an heir to the Rivan throne. The line must continue."
"Give them a little time, Brand," Polgara said placidly. "They'll get around to it. The important thing was to get them back into the same bedroom."
Perhaps a day or so later, when the sun was sparkling on the waters of the Sea of the Winds and a stiff onshore breeze was flecking the tops of the green waves with frothy white-caps, a huge Cherek war boat maneuvered its way ponderously between the two rocky headlands embracing the harbor at Riva. The ship's captain was also more than life-sized. With his red beard streaming in the wind, Barak, Earl of Trellheim, stood at his tiller, a look of studied concentration on his face as he worked his way through a tricky eddy just inside one of the protective headlands and then across the harbor to the stone quay. Almost before his sailors had made the ship fast, Barak was coming up the long flight of granite steps to the Citadel.
Belgarath and Errand had been on the parapet atop the walls of the fortress and had witnessed the arrival of Barak's ship. And so, when the big man reached the heavy gates, they were waiting for him.
"What are you doing here, Belgarath?" the burly Cherek asked. "I thought you were at the Vale."
Belgarath shrugged. "We came by for a visit."
Barak looked at Errand. "Hello, boy," he said. "Are Polgara and Durnik here, too?"
"Yes," Errand replied. "They're all in the throne room watching Belgarion."
"What's he doing?"
"Being king," Belgarath said shortly. "We saw you come into the harbor."
"Really impressive, wasn't it?" Barak said proudly.
"Your ship steers like a pregnant whale, Barak," Belgarath told him bluntly. "You don't seem to have grasped the idea that bigger is not necessarily better."
Barak's face took on an injured expression. "I don't make jokes about your possessions, Belgarath."
"I don't have any possessions, Barak. What brought you to Riva?"
"Anheg sent me. Is Garion going to be much longer at whatever he's doing?"
"We can go find out, I suppose."
The Rivan King, however, had concluded the formal audience for that morning and, in the company of Ce'Nedra, Polgara, and Durnik, had gone through a dim, private passageway which led from the great Hall of the Rivan King to the royal apartments.
"Barak!" Garion exclaimed, hurrying forward to greet his friend in the corridor outside the door to the apartment.
Barak gave him a peculiar look and bowed respectfully.
"What's that all about?" Garion asked him with a puzzled look.
"You're still wearing your crown, Garion," Polgara reminded him, "and your state robes. All of that makes you look rather official."
"Oh," Garion said, looking a bit abashed, "I forgot. Let's go inside." He pulled open the door and led them all into the room beyond.
With a broad grin, Barak enfolded Polgara in a vast bear hug.
"Barak," she said a trifle breathlessly, "you'd be much nicer at close quarters if you'd remember to wash your beard after you've been eating smoked fish."
"I only had one," he told her.
"That's usually enough." He turned then and put his bulky arms around Ce'Nedra's tiny shoulders and kissed her soundly.
The little queen laughed and caught her crown in time to keep it from sliding off her head. "You're right, Lady Polgara," she said, "he definitely has a certain fragrance about him."
"Garion," Barak said plaintively, "I'm absolutely dying for a drink."
"Did all the ale barrels on your ship run dry?" Polgara asked him.
"There's no drinking aboard the Seabird," Barak replied.
"Oh?"
"I want my sailors sober."
"Astonishing," she murmured.
"It's a matter of principle," Barak said piously.
"They do need their wits about them," Belgarath agreed. "That big ship of his is not exactly what you'd call responsive."
Barak gave him a hurt look.
Garion sent for ale, removed his crown
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