spellsinger universe queen of sorcery 2

Brand asked that the body of the Accursed One be brought to him, that

he might behold him who would be king of all the world. But the body

was not to be found. In the night, Zedar the Sorcerer had cast an

enchantment and passed unseen through the armies of the West, bearing

away the one he had chosen as master.

Then Brand took counsel with his advisers. And Belgarath said to him,

"Torak is not dead. He only sleeps. For he is a God and cannot be slain

by any mortal weapon."

"When will he awaken?" Brand asked. "I must prepare the West against his return."

Polgara answered, "When once again a King of Riva's line sits on his

northern throne, the Dark God will waken to do war with him."

Brand frowned, saying, "But that is neverl" For all knew that the

last Rivan King had been slain with his family in 4002 by Nyissan

assassins.

Again the woman spoke. "In the fullness of time the Rivan King will

rise to claim his own, as the ancient Prophecy foretells. More cannot be

said."

Brand was content and set his armies to cleaning the battlefield of

the wreckage of Angaraks. And when that was finished, the kings of the

West gathered before the city of Vo Mimbre and held council. Many were

the voices raised in praise of Brand.

Soon men began crying that Brand should henceforth be chosen as ruler

of all the West. Only Mergon, ambassador of Imperial Tolnedra,

protested in the name of his Emperor, Ran Borune IV. Brand refused the

honor, and the proposal was dropped, so that there was again peace among

those assembled in council. But in return for peace, a demand was made

of Tolnedra.

The Gorim of the Ulgos spoke first in a loud voice. "In fulfillment

of the Prophecy, there must be promised a princess of Tolnedra to be

wife unto the Rivan King who will come to save the world. This the Gods

require of us."

Again Mergon protested. "The Hall of the Rivan King is empty and

desolate. No king sits upon the Rivan throne. How many a princess of

Imperial Tolnedra be wed with a phantom?"

Then the woman who was Polgara replied. "The Rivan King will return

to assume his throne and claim his bride. From this day forward,

therefore, each princess of Imperial Tolnedra shall present herself in

the Hall of the Rivan King upon her sixteenth birthday. She shall be

clad in her wedding gown and shall abide there for three days against

the coming of the King. If he comes not to claim her, then she shall be

free to return to her father for whatever he may decree for her."

Mergon cried out. "All Tolnedra shall rise against this indignity. No! It shall not be!"

The wise Gorim of the Ulgos spoke again. "Tell your Emperor that this

is the will of the Gods. Tell him also that in the day Tolnedra fails

in this, the West shall rise against him and scatter the sons of Nedra

to the winds and pull down the might of the Empire, until Imperial

Tolnedra is no more."

At that, seeing the might of the armies before him, the ambassador

submitted to the matter. All then agreed and were bound to it.

When that was done, the nobles of strife-torn Arendia came to Brand,

saying, "The king of the Mimbrates is dead and the duke of the Asturians

also. Who now shall rule us? For two thousand years has war between

Mimbre and Asturia rent fair Arendia. How may we become one people

again?"

Brand considered. "Who is heir to the Mimbrate throne?"

"Korodullin is crown prince of the Mimbrates," the nobles replied. "And to whom descends the Asturian line?"

"Mayaserana is the daughter of the Asturian duke," they told him.

Brand said, "Bring them to me." And when they were brought before Brand,

he said to them, "The bloodshed between Mimbre and Asturia must end.

Therefore, it is my will that you be wed to each other and that the

houses which so long have warred shall thus be joined."

The two cried against the judgment, for they were filled with ancient

enmity and with the pride of their separate lines. But Belgarath took

Korodullin aside and spoke in private with him. And Polgara withdrew

Mayaserana to a separate place and was long in converse with her. No man

learned then or later what was said to the two young people. But when

they returned to where Brand waited, Mayaserana and Korodullin were

content that they should be wed. And this was the final act of the

council that met after the battle of Vo Mimbre.

Brand spoke to all the kings and nobles one final time before departing for the north.

"Much has been wrought here that is good and shall endure. Behold, we

have met together against the Angaraks and they have been overthrown.

Evil Torak is quelled. And the covenant we have made here among us

prepares the West for the day of the Prophecy when the Rivan King shall

return and Torak shall wake from his long sleep to contend again for

empire and dominion. All that may be done in this day to prepare for the

great and final war has been done. We can do no more. And here,

perchance, the wounds of Arendia have been healed, and the strife of

more than two thousand years may see its end. So far as may be, I am

content with it all.

"Hail, then, and farewell!"

He turned from them and rode north with the grizzled man who was

Belgarath and the queenly woman who was Polgara by his side. They took

ship at Camaar in Sendaria and set sail for Riva. And Brand returned no

more to the kingdoms of the West.

But of his companions are many tales told. And of that telling, what may be true and what false few men may know.

Part One - ARENDIA

Chapter One

VO WACUNE WAS NO MORE. Twenty-four centuries had passed since the

city of the Wacite Arends had been laid waste, and the dark, endless

forests of northern Arendia had reclaimed the ruins. Broken walls had

toppled and been swallowed up in the moss and wet brown bracken of the

forest floor, and only the shattered stumps of the once proud towers

moldered among the trees and fog to mark the place where Vo Wacune had

stood. Sodden snow blanketed the mist-shrouded ruins, and trickles of

water ran down the faces of ancient stones like tears.Garion wandered

alone down the tree-choked avenues of the dead city, his stout gray wool

cloak drawn tight against the chill, and his thoughts as mournful as

the weeping stones around him. Faldor's farm with its green,

sun-drenched fields was so far behind him that it seemed lost in a kind

of receding haze, and he was desperately homesick. No matter how hard he

tried to hold onto them, details kept escaping him. The rich smells of

Aunt Pol's kitchen were only a faint memory; the ring of Durnik's hammer

in the smithy faded like the dying echo of the last note of a bell, and

the sharp, clear faces of his playmates wavered in his remembrance of

them until he could no longer be sure that he would even recognize them.

His childhood was slipping away, and try though he might he could not

hold on to it.