It had taken us several weeks to hammer out the Accords, and that had given Korodullin and Mayaserana enough time to stop talking about politics and get down to more important things. When Brand sent for them, they came hand in hand into the throne-room with that rather silly look on their faces that I recognized immediately. They’d definitely made peace with each other. I leaned over to whisper to my father almost as soon as the blushing pair entered. ‘I think you just lost our wager, Old Man,’ I said. ‘I seem to forget. What was it you put on the line when we made the bet?’
He glared at me.
‘I told you so, father,’ I said sweetly. Try to get used to the sound of that. I’m going to tell you that I told you so quite often over the next several centuries. Look upon it as educational. Maybe the next time I tell you that I know what I’m doing, you’ll believe me.’
‘Do you mind, Polgara?’
‘Not at all, father. I just wanted to be sure that you remembered, that’s all.’ I gave my head a little toss. ‘I told you so,’ I added.
Mandor and Wildantor went out and found a priest to perform the wedding ceremony. I didn’t see any blood or visible bruises on the priest when they brought him in, but his slightly frightened eyes hinted that there’d been some threats. It was a start, I guess. Threats are a little more civilized than open violence.
We’d just come through a war, so there was a great deal of disordered confusion in Vo Mimbre. The wedding of Korodullin and Mayaserana, therefore, was not surrounded by all the pomp and ceremony – and parties – which would have taken place in peacetime. I don’t think that really disappointed the bride and groom very much. Once Mandorin had patiently pounded the idea that the wedding technically unified Arendia – under a Mimbrate king – the priest of Chaldan became very cooperative, and his spur-of-the-moment wedding sermon wasn’t really too bad. What escaped him – and most of the Mimbrate wedding guests – was the fact that the wedding produced a joint monarchy. The unification of my poor Arendia took place in the royal bedchamber.
Then it was time for us to point the Alorns in a generally northerly direction and to tell them to go home. The presence of a unified Aloria no more than two hundred leagues north of Tol Honeth was probably making Ran Borune very nervous. Moreover, there were inevitably members of the Bear-Cult in the ranks of the Alorn armies, and it wouldn’t have been a good idea to give them time to start having religious experiences brought on by our proximity to Tol Honeth and all its wealth.
Father and I rode with Brand on up to the Arendish Fair. Then we said goodbye and rode east toward the border of Ulgoland, where we were met by several battalions of Algar horsemen. It was courteous of Cho-Ram to provide us with an escort, so father and I didn’t make an issue of the fact that the Algars were more of an inconvenience than anything else. It was late summer anyway, and since there wasn’t anything pressing for us to do, we didn’t really mind a horseback ride through the mountains.
‘I’m going on down to the Vale,’ father said when we reached the Algarian plain. ‘Are you going back to Aldurford?’
‘I don’t think so. There were a lot of Algar soldiers at Vo Mimbre, and I wouldn’t want some neighbor who’s a veteran to start making some connections. Gelane and I’d better start fresh somewhere.’
‘Maybe you’re right. Let’s get you out of sight somewhere. Have you got anyplace particular in mind?’
‘I think I’ll take the boy to Sendaria. After Vo Mimbre, there aren’t too many Murgos left in the world, and they aren’t going to be welcome in Sendaria – or anyplace else, for that matter.’
He shrugged. “That’s your decision, Pol. Gelane’s your responsibility, so whatever you decide is all right with me.’
‘Thank you.’ I wasn’t really trying to be sarcastic, but it did sort of come out that way. ‘Is there something pressing for you to attend to at the Vale?’
‘I need a vacation, that’s about all. I’ve been running a little light on sleep for the past several years.’ He scratched at his bearded cheek. ‘I’ll give things a while to settle down, and then I want to look in on those families I’ve been watching for the last millennium or so. I want to make sure that they’re all still intact.’
‘What if they aren’t?’
‘I’ll have to make some other arrangements.’
‘Enjoy yourself, but stay out of my hair, father, and this time I mean it.’
‘Whatever you say, Pol. Give my best to Gelane.’ Then he rode off south toward the Vale while the Algars and I went on toward the Stronghold. It occurred to me as we rode that I sometimes underestimated my father. I’d devoted centuries to one family, but father had been manipulating several all at one time. That probably explained why he seemed so much like a vagabond most of the time.
Gelane was fourteen now, and that’s probably the most troublesome age for a young man. He hovered between childhood and adulthood, and he bitterly resented the fact that he hadn’t been permitted to share the fun at Vo Mimbre.
A part of the problem – the major part most likely – arose from Gelane’s awareness of his identity. When I’d taken Garel, his father, to the Stronghold, he’d been placed under Cho-Ram’s personal protection, and Cho-Ram hadn’t fully understood why it was necessary to keep his ward’s identity a secret. Algar society is closed to outsiders, so Algars all view each other as relatives. They don’t bother keeping secrets because there’s no one to keep them from. Thus, Gelane had grown up knowing who he was and in the company of those who also knew who he was. He didn’t exactly put on airs, but he was accustomed to having people address him as ‘your Highness’. He had a regal sort of air about him that started causing problems almost as soon as I reached the Stronghold.
‘I don’t think I want to go to Sendaria, Aunt Pol,’ he responded when I broached the plan to him. ‘I wouldn’t like that very much.’
‘You don’t have to like it, Gelane,’ I said firmly, ‘but that’s where we’re going.’
‘Why can’t we stay here? All my friends are here.’
‘You’ll make new ones when we get to Sendaria.’
‘I have some rights, Aunt Pol.’ What is it about adolescents that makes them all start talking about their ‘rights’ in any argument?