I crossed the River Arend, the traditional border between Arendia and Tolnedra, early one morning in late spring. The north bank of the river was patrolled by Mimbrate knights, of course, but that wasn’t really any problem. I do have certain advantages, after all.
I paused for a time in the Forest of Vordue to give some thought to my situation. When my Master had roused me from my drunken stupor back in Camaar, he hadn’t really given me any instructions, so I was more or less on my own. There wasn’t any place I really had to go, and no particular urgency about getting there. I still felt my responsibilities, however. I suppose I was what you might call a disciple emeritus, a vagabond sorcerer wandering around poking my nose into things that were probably none of my business. If I happened to come across anything significant, I could pass it on to my brothers back in the Vale. Aside from that, I was free to wander wherever I chose. My grief hadn’t really diminished, but I was learning to live with it and to keep it rather tightly controlled. The years in Camaar had taught me the futility of trying to hide from it.
And so, filled with a kind of suppressed melancholy, I set off toward Tol Honeth. As long as I was here anyway, I thought I might as well find out what the empire was up to.
There was a certain amount of political maneuvering going on in the Grand Duchy of Vordue as I passed through on my way south. The Honeths were in power again, and the Vordue family always took that as a personal affront. There were abundant signs that the second Honethite Dynasty was in its twilight. That’s a peculiar thing about dynasties in any of the world’s kingdoms. The founder of a dynasty is usually vigorous and gifted, but as the centuries roll by, his successors become progressively less so. The fact that they almost invariably marry their cousins might have something to do with it. Controlled inbreeding might work out all right with horses and dogs and cattle, but when it comes to humans, keeping it in the family’s not a good idea. Bad traits will breed true the same as good ones will, and stupidity seems to float to the surface a lot faster than courage or brilliance.
At any rate, the Honethite emperors had been going downhill for the past century or so, and the Vorduvians were slavering with anticipation, feeling that their turn on the throne was just around the corner.
It was early summer when I reached Tol Honeth. Since it was their native city, the Honethite emperors had devoted much of their time – and most of the imperial treasury – to improving the capital. Any time the Honeths are in power in Tolnedra, an investment in marble quarries will yield handsome returns.
I crossed the north bridge to the city and paused at the gate to answer the perfunctory questions of the legionnaires standing guard there. Their armor was very impressive, but they weren’t. I made a mental note of the fact that the legions seemed to be getting badly out of condition. Somebody was going to have to do something about that.
The streets were crowded. The streets of Tol Honeth always are. Everybody in Tolnedra who thinks he’s important gravitates to the capital. Proximity to the seat of power is very important to certain kinds of people.
In a roundabout sort of way I was a religious personage, so, as I had in Arendia, I went looking for a church. The main temple of Nedra had been moved since I’d last been in Tol Honeth, so I had to ask directions. I knew better than to ask any of the richly dressed merchant princes passing by with perfumed handkerchiefs held to their noses and haughty expressions on their faces. Instead, I found an honest man replacing broken cobblestones. ‘Tell me, friend,’ I said to him, ‘which way should I go to reach the Temple of Nedra?’
‘It’s over on the south side of the imperial palace,’ he replied. ‘Go on down to the end of this street and turn left.’ He paused and squinted at me. ‘You’ll need money to get in,’ he advised me.
‘Oh?’
‘It’s a new custom. You have to pay the priest at the door to get inside – and pay another priest to get near the altar.’
‘Peculiar notion.’
‘This is Tol Honeth, friend. Nothing’s free here, and the priests are just as greedy as everybody else.’
‘I think I can come up with something they’d rather have than money.’
‘I wouldn’t make any large wagers on that. Good luck.’
‘I think you dropped something there, friend,’ I told him, pointing at the large copper Tolnedran penny I’d just conjured up and dropped on the stones by his left knee. He had been helpful, after all.
He quickly snatched up the penny – probably the equivalent of a day’s wages – and looked around furtively.
‘Be happy in your work,’ I told him and moved off down the street.
The temple of Nedra was like a palace, an imposing marble structure that exuded all the warmth of a mausoleum. The common people prayed outside in little niches along the wall. The inside was reserved for the people who could afford to pay the bribes. ‘I need to talk with the High Priest,’ I told the clergyman guarding the huge door.
He looked me up and down disdainfully. ‘Absolutely out of the question. You should know better than even to ask.’
‘I didn’t ask. I told you. Now go fetch him – or get out of my way and I’ll find him myself.’
‘Get away from here.’
‘We’re not getting off to a good start here, friend. Let’s try it again. My name’s Belgarath, and I’m here to see the High Priest.’
‘Belgarath?’ He laughed sardonically. ‘There’s no such person. Go away.’
I translocated him to a spot several hundred yards up the street and marched inside. I was definitely going to have words with the High Priest about this practice of charging admission to a place of worship; not even Nedra would have approved of that. The temple was crawling with priests, and each one seemed to have his hand out. I avoided confrontations by the simple expedient of creating a halo, which I cocked rather rakishly over one ear. I’m not certain if Tolnedran theology includes a calendar of saints, but I did get the attention of the priests – and their wholehearted cooperation. And I didn’t even have to pay for it.
The High Priest’s name was Arthon, and he was a paunchy man in an elaborately jeweled robe. He took one look at my halo and greeted me with a certain apprehensive enthusiasm. I introduced myself, and he became very nervous. It wasn’t really any of my business that he was violating the rules, but I saw no reason to let him know that. ‘We’ve heard about your adventures in Mallorea, Holy Belgarath,’ he gushed at me. ‘Did you really kill Torak?’
‘Somebody’s been spinning moonbeams for you, Arthon,’ I replied. I’m not the one who’s supposed to do that. We just went there to recover something that’d been stolen.’
‘Oh.’ He sounded disappointed. ‘To what do we owe the honor of your visit, Ancient One?’
I shrugged. ‘Courtesy. I was passing through, and I thought I ought to look in on you. Has anyone heard from Nedra?’
‘Our God has departed, Belgarath,’ he reminded me.
‘All the Gods have departed, Arthon. They do have ways to keep in touch, though. Belar spoke to Riva in a dream, and Aldur came to me the same way no more than a couple of months ago. Pay attention to your dreams. They might be significant.’
‘I did have a peculiar dream about six months ago,’ he recalled. ‘It seemed that Nedra spoke to me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘I forget now. I think it had something to do with money.’
‘Doesn’t it always?’ I thought about it for a moment. ‘It probably involved this new custom of yours. I don’t think Nedra would approve of the practice of