"Of course I didn't kill him. All I did was run him through the leg - just a little bit."
"How can you run somebody through just a little bit, Lelldorin?" Garion demanded of his friend in exasperation.
"You're disappointed in me, aren't you, Garion?" The young Asturian seemed almost on the verge of tears.
Garion rolled his eyes skyward and gave up. "No, Lelldorin, I'm not disappointed - a little startled perhaps - but not really disappointed. Was there anything else you can remember?-Anything you might have left out?"
"Well, I hear that I've sort of been declared an outlaw in Arendia."
"Sort of?"
"The crown's put a price on my head," Lelldorin admitted, "or so I understand."
Garion began to laugh helplessly.
"A true friend wouldn't laugh at my misfortunes," the young man complained, looking injured.
"You managed to get into that much trouble in just a week?"
"None of it was really my fault, Garion. Things just got out of hand, that's all. Do you think Lady Polgara's going to be angry?"
"I'll talk to her," Garion assured his impulsive young friend. "Maybe if she and Mandorallen appeal to King Korodullin, they can get him to take the price off your head."
"Is it true that you and Sir Mandorallen destroyed the Murgo Nachak and all his henchmen in the throne room at Vo Mimbre?" Lelldorin asked suddenly.
"I think the story might have gotten a bit garbled," Garion replied. "I denounced Nachak, and Mandorallen offered to fight him to prove that what I said was true. Nachak's men attacked Mandorallen then, and Barak and Hettar joined in. Hettar's the one who actually killed Nachak. We did manage to keep your name - and Torasin's - out of it."
"You're a true friend, Garion."
"Here?" Barak was saying. "What's she doing here?"
"She came with Islena and me," King Anheg replied.
"Did she-?"
Anheg nodded. "Your son's with her - and your daughters. His birth seems to have mellowed her a bit."
"What does he look like?" Barak asked eagerly.
"He's a great, red-haired brute of a boy." Anheg laughed. "And when he gets hungry, you can hear him yell for a mile."
Barak grinned rather foolishly.
When they reached the top of the stairs and came out in the shallow square before the great hall, two rosy-cheeked little girls in green cloaks were waiting impatiently for them. They both had long, reddish-blond braids and seemed to be only slightly older than Errand. "Poppa," the youngest of the two squealed, running to Barak. The huge man caught her up in his arms and kissed her soundly. The second girl, a year or so older than her sister, joined them with a show of dignity but was also swept up in her father's embrace.
"My daughters," Barak introduced the girls to the rest of the party. "This is Gundred." He poked his great red beard into the face of the eldest girl, and she giggled as his whiskers tickled her face. "And this is little Terzie." He smiled fondly at the youngest.
"We have a little brother, Poppa," the elder girl informed him gravely.
"What an amazing thing," Barak replied, feigning a great show of astonishment.
"You knew about it already!" Gundred accused him. "We wanted to be the ones to tell you." She pouted.
"His name's Unrak, and he's got red hair just the same as you have," Terzie announced, "but he doesn't have a beard yet."
"I expect that will come in time," Barak assured her.
"He dells a lot," Gundred reported, "and he hasn't got any teeth."
Then the broad gateway to the Rivan Citadel swung open and Queen Islena, wearing a dark red cloak, emerged from within, accompanied by a lovely blond Arendish girl and by Merel, Barak's wife. Merel was dressed all in green and she was carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Her expression was one of pride.
"Hail Barak, Earl of Trellheim and husband," she said with great formality. "Thus have I fulfilled my ultimate duty." She extended the bundle. "Behold your son Unrak, Trellheim's heir."
With a strange expression, Barak gently set his daughters down, approached his wife, and took the bundle from her. Very gently, his great fingers trembling, he turned back the blanket to gaze for the first time at his son's face. Garion could see only that the baby had bright red hair, much the same color as Barak's.
"Hail, Unrak, heir to Trellheim and my son," Barak greeted the infant in his rumbling voice. Then he kissed the child in his hands. The baby boy giggled and cooed as his father's great beard tickled his face. His two tiny hands reached up and clutched at the beard, and he bur rowed his face into it like a puppy.
"He's got a good strong grip," Barak commented to his wife, wincing as the infant tugged at his beard.
Merel's eyes seemed almost startled, and her expression was unreadable.
"This is my son Unrak," Barak announced to the rest of them, holding the baby up so that they could see him. "It may be a bit early to tell, but he shows some promise."
Barak's wife had drawn herself up with pride. "I have done well then, my Lord?"
"Beyond all my expectations, Merel," he told her. Then, holding the baby in one arm, he caught her in the other and kissed her exuberantly. She seemed even more startled than before.
"Let's go inside," the brutish-looking King Anheg suggested. "It's very cold out here, and I'm a sentimental man. I'd rather not have tears freezing in my beard."
The Arendish girl joined Lelldorin and Garion as they entered the fortress.
"And this is my Ariana," Lelldorin told Garion with an expression of total adoration on his face.
For a moment - for just a moment - Garion had some hope for his impossible friend. Lady Ariana was a slim, practical-looking Mimbrate girl, whose medical studies had given her face a certain seriousness. The look she directed at Lelldorin, however, immediately dispelled any hope. Garion shuddered inwardly at the total lack of anything resembling reason in the gaze these two exchanged. Ariana would not restrain Lelldorin as he crashed headlong into disaster after disaster; she would encourage him; she would cheer him on.
"My Lord hath awaited thy coming most eagerly," she said to Garion as they followed the others along a broad stone corndor. The very slight stress she put on "My Lord" indicated that while Lelldorin might think that their marriage was one in name only, she did not.
"We're very good friends," Garion told her. He looked around, a bit embarrassed by the way these two kept staring into each others' eyes. "Is this the Hall of the Rivan King, then?" he asked.