‘A great deal of sense, Geran.’
‘There’s more.’
‘I rather thought there might be.’
‘Torak’s out there in the world of the Gods, too, and he’s got people living in the in-between world the same as you and the others do.’
‘Yes. We’re called disciples. Torak’s disciples are Urvon, Ctuchik, and Zedar.’
‘Yes. I read about them. Anyway, Torak has the idea that one thing’s going to happen, and our Gods believe that it’s going to be something else.’
‘That sums it up fairly well, yes.’
‘Then the war of the Gods never really ended, did it?’
‘No. It’s still going on.’
‘Who’s going to win?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Aunt Pol!’ He said it with a note of anguished protest in his voice. ‘Your whole library’s filled with all these prophecies and you still don’t know who’s going to win? Some book here has to come right out and tell us.’
I waved at the shelves. ‘If there is, it’s in there somewhere. Feel free to browse your way through. Let me know if you find it.’
‘That’s not fair!’
I laughed and gathered him in my arms impulsively. He was such a dear, serious boy!
‘Well, it’s not, is it?’ he grumbled.
I laughed even more.
As Geran approached his sixteenth birthday, I realized that if the line of the Rivan King were to be continued, it was time for me to take him out into the world so that he could find himself a wife. I gave some thought to where we might want to live, and Sulturn seemed like a good place to me. Mother, however, had different ideas about that ‘No, Pol,’ her voice came to me one night, ‘not Sulturn, Muros.’
‘Why Muros?’
‘Because that’s where the young lady he’s going to marry lives.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Her name’s Eldara.’
‘That’s an Algar name.’
‘That stands to reason, Pol, since her father’s an Algar. His name’s Hattan, and he’s the second son of a clan chief. He married a Sendarian woman when his clan drove a herd of cattle to Muros. He settled down there and went into business as a cattle buyer. He has connections with all the Algar clans, so he’s very prosperous. Take Geran to Muros, Pol. Let’s get him married off.’
‘Whatever you say, mother.’
I thought it over and decided that Geran and I would need a certain status. A prosperous merchant probably wouldn’t be too excited about marrying his daughter off to some country bumpkin. Clearly, Geran and I would have to go to the city of Sendar. I was going to need some money.
Squire was an elderly horse by now, but he was still sound, even though he did puff a bit when he went uphill. I had Geran dust off and polish one of the small carriages in the barn while I packed some respectable clothes for us in a stout trunk, and in the late spring of the year 4012, my young charge and I set out across Sendaria to the capital city of Sendar. It was a nice time of year for a trip, and there was nothing pressing about our journey, so I let Squire set his own pace. We went southwesterly, and after a few days we reached the crossroads where the country lane we were following intersected with the imperial highway.
‘Which way here, Aunt Pol?’ Geran, who was driving our little carriage, asked me.
‘South, Geran, toward Medalia. Then we’ll take the high road to Sendar.’
‘All right. Move along, Squire.’
Our ancient horse sighed and plodded on.
Medalia had changed a great deal during the centuries since I’d last been there. Sendaria was a peaceable kingdom now, so the defensive wall that’d surrounded Medalia when it’d been a part of my duchy had fallen into disrepair. I disapproved of that, but I decided not to make an issue of it.
It was a week or so later when we reached Sendar, and we took rooms in a substantial inn. After dinner, I went through our trunk and laid out assorted finery for us. ‘Do we really have to dress up like that, aunt Pol?’ Geran asked with a certain distaste. It was definitely time to get him out of the country and back to civilization.
‘Yes,’ I told him quite firmly. ‘We’re going to the palace tomorrow morning, and I’d rather not have to go in through one of the servants’ entrances.’
‘Are we going there to see the king?’
‘No, not really. Our business is with the Royal Treasurer. We might have to talk with the king to get our business taken care of, though, depending on how thick-headed the Treasurer is.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘We need money, and I have plenty of that here. I have to persuade the Treasurer that I’m who I say I am and that the money belongs to me.’
‘Isn’t it a little dangerous to trust all your money to somebody else? He might try to cheat you.’
‘Sendarians are very honest, Geran. I don’t think the Treasurer would do that – and if he has, I have ways to persuade him that he’s made a mistake.’
And so, early the next morning, Prince Geran and I went to the palace of King Falben of Sendaria and to the solidly built wing of that palace that was the repository of the royal treasury. There was the usual delay before we were admitted to the musty-smelling office of the Royal Treasurer. Over the years I’ve noticed that people who are preoccupied with money always seem to have that same odor about them. Money’s almost always locked up somewhere, and nobody who takes care of it ever seems to think of opening the windows to air the place out.
Baron Stilnan, the Royal Treasurer, was a very serious man whose office walls were covered from floor to ceiling with bookcases filled to overflowing with leather-bound account books. There was an almost religious hush in the baron’s office. That’s appropriate, I guess, since money is a religion to the man who spends all his time counting it.
‘I know you’re busy, your Excellency,’ I said after Geran and I had been escorted into his office and had seated ourselves, ‘so I’ll get right to the point. Quite some time ago my family placed certain funds in the care of the crown. I’m here to withdraw some of that money.’
‘I’d need verification of that, Lady –?’
‘We can get to names and other things later, your Excellency. The funds in question are recorded in Volume One of your account books – page 736, if I remember correctly.’