No matter how I twisted and turned it around, there was nothing I could really do to prevent what was already destined to happen. Finally, I gave up and went back to Annath.
Father scolded me when I returned, of course, but I didn’t really pay too much attention to him, since I already knew most of what he was trying to tell me anyway.
After the winter had passed, father’s wanderlust bit him again, and he went back out to have a look at the world. I could have told him that it was still there, but he had to see for himself, I guess.
I went on over into Algaria and made contact with the clan which had already produced Ildera, the girl who was destined to marry Geran. I had a private talk with her father, the clan-chief, and along about midsummer, the clan moved its herds and set up a more or less permanent encampment just across the border from Annath. The word ‘border’ doesn’t mean much around there, though. If you look around and see trees, you’re in Sendaria; if it’s grass, you’re in Algaria. There were visits back and forth across that vague line of demarcation, of course, and eventually, Geran, who was nine, met the seven-year-old Ildera. I wasn’t even there, but I heard that bell nonetheless. Everything was right on schedule.
When Geran was about twelve, his father started taking him to the stone-quarry to begin his education. He developed the usual aches, pains and blisters right at first, but in time his muscles hardened and he grew more skilled at the family profession.
Life moved along quietly in Annath. Back in the remote mountain villages of Sendaria if s fairly common for the citizens to be unaware of the current king’s name and for the death of a cow to be the major topic of discussion for a year or so.
Then in 5345, father and the twins came to Annath. There are some people you need to meet, Pol,’ father told me. ‘Beltira and Belkira can fill in for you here while I take you around to introduce you to some of the people you’ve been reading about in the Mrin for the last three thousand years.’
I didn’t really object. I’d more or less had enough of rural isolation for a while.
We crossed the border into Algaria, and I met the grim-faced little boy named Hettar. ‘I think that one’s going to be a problem, father,’ I predicted as we rode away from King Cho-Ram’s encampment.
‘It’s possible, Pol,’ he agreed.
‘Well probably have to chain him to a post when he grows up. I’m not really all that fond of Murgos myself, but Hettar’s right on the verge of turning it into a religion.’
The Murgos did kill his parents, Pol.’
‘Yes. He told me about that. But he’ll be the King of the Algars one day, and that seething hatred of his is likely to cause us some problems.’
‘I can handle him, Pol,’ father said confidently.
‘Of course you can,’ I replied. ‘Where do we go next?’
‘Boktor. Brace yourself, Pol. Prince Kheldar’s a very slippery young man.’
‘He’s only ten years old, father.’
‘I know, but he’s already as slippery as an eel.’
Kheldar turned out to be even slipperier than that. He was charming, exquisitely polite, and totally without scruples. Oddly enough, I rather liked him.
Then father and I went to Trellheim in Cherek to meet Barak and his cousin, Crown Prince Anheg. I had one of those peculiar feelings that come over us from time to time when I first met them. It seemed almost that Anrak, Irongrip’s cousin, was coming back to haunt me. Barak and Anheg were both Chereks down to their toenails, and you know what that means. They were both, however, extremely intelligent. They managed to hide it well, though.
It was late autumn by then, and father took me back to Annath. ‘We can go talk with the others next summer, Pol,’ he said. ‘I wanted you to meet the Alorns first. They’re the ones most likely to cause problems.’
‘I thought you liked Alorns, father.’
‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘You spend a lot of time with them.’
‘I have to spend time with them, Pol. Every Alom’s a disaster just waiting to happen. The Master told me to keep an eye on the Alorns about five thousand years ago, and it’s turned into a full-time job. He told me to do it, and I’ll do it. I won’t like it, though.’
‘You’re such a good boy, father.’
The following spring, mother’s voice came to me. ‘It’s time for you to go back to school, Pol,’ she announced.
‘Oh?’
‘There are a couple of things you’re going to need to know how to do fairly soon.’
‘Such as what?’
‘You’re going to need to know how to play with people’s memories.’
‘Would you define “play with”, mother?’
I want you to practice making people forget some things that have happened the way you did when we first started your training, and then you’ll learn how to replace those memories with the image of things that didn’t happen.’
‘Can we actually do that?’
‘Yes, we can. People do it to themselves all the time. It’s a way of altering reality. The fish that got away always gets bigger as time goes by.’
‘You know, I’ve noticed that myself. How do I go about doing it?’
Her explanation was fairly obscure, dealing as it did with the peculiar nature of human memory. When you get down to the bottom of it, only about half of what we remember really happened. We tend to modify things to make ourselves look better in our own eyes and in the eyes of others. Then, if what we did wasn’t really very admirable, we tend to forget that it ever happened. A normal human being’s grasp on reality is very tenuous at best. Our imaginary lives are usually much nicer.
To practice, I tampered – marginally – with the memories of some of the people in Annath, and it was actually quite easy.
‘Why am I learning how to do this, mother?’ I asked her after a few weeks.
“There are a couple of people who are mentioned – sort of around the edges – in the Mrin. I think we’d better look in on them to make sure that they’ll really be on our side.’
‘Everybody in the western kingdoms will be on our side, mother.’
“That’s the whole point, Pol. These people aren’t from the west. They’re living over in Gar og Nadrak.’
Chapter 38
‘I can’t wear these clothes in public, mother!’
‘You look very nice, Pol. The clothes show off your figure.’