Events in Eriondia, Part 7
VII Resolution
He didn't know why, but Khendan was convinced Porenn's analysis was correct. Perhaps just because he wanted it to be, he thought. Dunsta was virtually a stranger to him, so it was easier to believe that he could have murdered Prince Kheldar than somebody closer. He wondered if this was childish of him. Maybe so, but nonetheless, he felt more comfortable with this idea than the thought of either his Aunt or his Uncle being responsible. He turned to Porenn
"So, the question now," he said, "is what do we do next? Dunsta is in Gar Og Nadrak, and neither you or I can possibly leave Drasnia now."
"Send a message to him, telling him your father is dead, and when the funeral will be held. He ought to understand that he is expected to attend." Her face grew hard. "We will deal with him then."
"How? Our evidence is flimsy at best. If he denies it, there is very little we can do."
"There are ways. Drugs for example. The Nyissan Ambassador will be delighted to provide an appropriate substance, I'm sure. Or perhaps "
"Yes?"
"I think we could involve Polgara. I have never seen anyone who could resist her special brand of interrogation."
Khendar remembered the many times Silk had regaled him with Polgara's "Trick"
"That seems appropriate," he said coldly. "I'm sure Lady Polgara will do exactly what is necessary to get to the truth. What do we do until then?"
"We wait," replied Porenn, "and we let ourselves grieve."
A silence fell. The boy and the Queen sat, lost in their own thoughts and oblivious to each other until Porenn said quietly, "Do you know what hurts most?"
Khendan turned to her, with a questioning look. She continued in a dreamy, far away voice. "It's the fact that your father died believing that I was responsible for his murder. Believing I COULD be responsible. You see, once, a very long time ago, your father was in love with me but I adored my husband. Oh, I was very fond of Kheldar too, but Rhodar was everything to me. When he died I was devastated."
Kheldar was so kind, so supportive whenever I needed him he was there. He was the best friend I could have had, and probably better than I deserved."
" After Rhodar died I kept myself very busy managing the Kingdom, seeing that Kheva was being prepared for his reign. While I was doing that Kheldar went away, and when he came back he had Liselle with him, and it was clear that they were in love. I was so happy for him -- that at last he had found somebody to love him the way he should be loved. Then, as I saw more of him, how he was with Liselle, and later with you, I came to realise how truly remarkable he was until finally I woke up and found that I was actually in love with him myself. Too late of course, his feelings for me had long since softened into
friendship."
"I accepted that, understood it. I wasn't jealous of Liselle or anything. But he never knew, and that hurts. And because he never knew, he died believing I could do that to him."
Khendan knew there was nothing he could do or say to ease the pain. So he stood blockishly, until his Aunt looked up at him.
"Go to your mother Khendan," she instructed, "she needs you. There is nothing you can do for me. Actually just telling someone at last is a help. A woman in my position can't usually go around declaring her love for another woman's husband, after all." She smiled tremulously. "You are SUCH a good boy," she remarked.
Khendan fled. He hurried back to his own suite, where his mother sat staring into middle distance. Not moving, not speaking, not crying. He threw himself to his knees on the floor in front of her chair, and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head in her lap.
"What are we going to do, mother?" he asked.
"Oh my darling," Liselle replied gently, "I just don't know. Keep living I suppose, one day after another."
The time until the funeral passed slowly in a haze of tears. On the day before, Polgara arrived with her family, and Porenn called Khendan to her room to help her explain the situation. Khendan didn't think he'd ever seen anything quite so chilling as the Sorceress' eyes at the end of the recital.
"If he did it, he will pay," she said each word a block of ice, cold, hard and sharp. "But, I will let the girls get the truth. They need the practice."
"Do you think that's wise, Pol?" asked Goodman Durnik, a worried frown on his honest face.
"Drena and Dara will be gentler than I am," she replied. "and I suppose, until we KNOW the man is guilty we should be gentle. Oh never fear," she went on seeing the look on the faces of the two Drasnians, "they WILL get the truth. Won't you?" she asked, turning to the twins.
Khendan looked at the girls properly for the first time since they had arrived. It had been five years since he'd met them last, and he could hardly recognise the wild children he had known in the two composed young women who stood before him. They weren't precisely beautiful he thought, though he had little doubt that one day they would be, but they were certainly arresting. While they were both tall, and slim with the same creamy white skin, and their features were identical, Drena's hair was chestnut and Dara's the dark brown of polished oak. They didn't have the distinctive white lock that identified their mother, but on each girl's left wrist was a small red mark. Drena's was shaped like a crescent moon, and Dara's like a star. Both girls inclined their heads solemnly, unspeaking, and Khendan found that suddenly he had utter confidence in their abilities.
His eyes scanned the room, looking first at Polgara, then Porenn, then the twins. "Gods save me from women like this!" he thought. He caught the eye of the Sendarian Blacksmith turned sorceror and saw a sympathetic twinkle in his eye.
Dunsta arrived later that same day. As Khendan moved forward to greet him, he murmured sympathetic platitudes that sounded sincere. The young prince almost found himself feeling sorry for the Nadrak. Almost.
"Come this way, Dunsta," he said, "There are some people I would like to introduce you to. Dunsta followed, evidently suspecting nothing amiss. Khendan wondered if this was innocence or arrogance. Ah well, he would soon find out. He showed Dunsta into the operations room where the others were waiting.
"Queen Porenn," Khendan said, gesturing in his aunt's direction. Dunsta bowed, "Durnik, disciple of Aldur and his daughters, Drena and Dara" Behind him the door crashed to a close. "Ah yes," Khendan continued. "Behind you, The Lady Polgara, the Sorceress. Sir, ladies this is Dunsta, nephew of my Father's business partner, Yarblek." With that he turned to look full in the face of the Nadrak. What he saw there was stark terror, and it expelled any doubt he might have held.
"Dunsta," said the light voice of Drena as she walked toward the terrified man. "The man who ordered Prince Kheldar's murder, Yes?" The tone was almost friendly.
"N-no, lady of course not." stammered Dunsta.
Drena turned to her sister. "But you said he was," she remarked calmly to Dara.
"He is" replied Dara flatly.
"My sister says you are" the girl continued. "I think she's right. Do you want to know why?"
"I didn't lady, I didn't"
"I SAID do you want to know why I think my sister is right?" snapped Drena.
"Yes lady, if you wish"
"I think she is right, because you said No."
"That doesn't make sense Drena." put in Dara.
"Oh yes it does," her sister contradicted, "He said NO. He didn't ask MURDER? Did he. If he'd asked MURDER? I would have said you were wrong. But he didn't, so I think you are right. Is she right Dunsta?"
"N-no lady, no."
"You are lying Dunsta," said Dara, speaking directly to the Nadrak for the first time. "Your brow is sweating, you are clenching and unclenching your hands, and you have gone quite pale. I am a sorceress Dunsta, and I know you are lying. But I'll get my mother to prove it, if you like."
"The Nadrak darted a glance towards the forbidding presence beside the door. "Don't, please lady" he begged. "Don't let your mother touch me. I've heard the things men say about her."
"If you are telling the truth, she can't hurt you," Drena said patiently. "_everybody_ knows that - she will just put her hand on you, and if you are telling the truth all you will feel is her hand. If you are lying though "
"NO Don't let her touch me!"
"So you *are* lying." Dara's voice was cold now. The man's eyes flickered feverishly from one girl to the other. "Tell us why Dunsta, NOW. If you tell the truth you will die quickly. If you lie, we will give you to our mother." She seemed to notice the man could hardly keep himself upright now, so frightened was he.
"Sit on that chair," she ordered, "Look at Prince Khendan and tell him why you had his father murdered." The Nadrak did as he was told.
"I am not a wealthy man Highness," Dunsta started. "My uncle left me nothing but the salary for acting as my cousin's trustee. I was running the business, but the profits were all going into trust for my cousin. He didn't even leave me a percentage. Then I found out through something my uncle's woman said that he had once been Hunter. I thought then that surely he had something in his possession that would make me a profit. I searched all his documents, but I found nothing except a couple of notes signed "Dagger" However hard I looked there was nothing else, nothing that I could turn to my own gain. I could see my life before me, slaving for my cousin's benefit and I was angry. But I kept coming back to those notes. Then I remembered Rinella handing me a parcel. She told me that Yarblek had been urgent about making sure that Lady Jancelle in Drasnia should get the parcel if anything happened to him. 'I think it's a dagger" she had said."
He stopped.
"Go on" ordered Khendan harshly.
"One of the notes said, 'Radek of Boktor is visiting the court at Mallorea next month. I have cargo for him to carry. See he collects it from the blind woman, but don't tell him it is for me or our market will be compromised. The cargo must arrive urgentest, Dagger.' It seemed blindingly obvious all of a sudden. I grew up with stories about Prince Kheldar's exploits and how Hunter, the most secret spy in the world would be contacted using secret keywords related to the nationality of the messenger. All I needed was the keywords and I could control Hunter! They were in my uncle's account books," he continued, "as account references for the rulers of each country. My uncle didn't have much of a memory and I knew he would have written them down somewhere. But I would never have found them if I hadn't known what I was looking for.
"So now I had the tools, I just needed to use them when they could benefit me. Then last month Prince Kheldar came to me and explained that diamonds had been found at one of the old mines the company owned in the hills -- one that had produced nothing but low grade silver for years. If your father went up there, he said, everyone would know that something was amiss, so I was to go and check it out. If the diamonds were good quality, we would make the find public and sell the stones. I arrived at the mine, and the stones were the finest quality I had ever seen. I knew that the only person apart from myself and the miners who knew about the diamonds was myself and your father"
Again he paused. "Finish" hissed Khendan.
"Well it was my chance don't you see? If your father died, nobody needed to know that the mine was producing anything but what it always had. It was way out in the back of beyond. I would keep collecting the stones, but I would sell them for myself. It was perfect. And Hunter was the perfect weapon -- it would never be traced back nobody ever seemed to have found Hunter out, and anyway nobody would suspect Hunter of Kheldar's murder. So I went to the nearest town where I found a Murgo messenger cooling his heels while he waited for a commission. And I gave him one."
"So what you are saying is you killed my father for greed," Khendan spat, "A man who had never harmed you or your family? A man who trusted you, and you killed him for MONEY?"
Drustan nodded.
"Then take the payment you deserve" said Khendan, and, drawing a stiletto from his boot, he thrust it into the Nadrak's throat.
The man died swiftly with a gurgle and hardly a spot of blood. Khendan looked at the body of the man who had his father killed. Then he turned to his aunt. "It doesn't help" he said quietly.
Porenn nodded, "It never does," she replied, "but it is still necessary to do it."
Polgara gestured with her hand and abruptly the body was gone. "Somebody will find him in an alleyway later" she said, "Like the rubbish he was." And so it was over.
The funeral cortege set off at dawn. It seemed to Khendan as if the whole world had come to see his father to his grave. The horses tossed their silver-covered heads and the early morning sun reflected off the iridescent mother-of-pearl on the coffin as the procession moved slowly, and almost silently, through the streets of Boktor. Here and there came the sounds of weeping, swiftly hushed until the echoing hooves of the horses and the sound of marching feet were all Khendan could hear.
As the carriage drew to a halt outside the royal vault six men stepped forward, clad in sombre grey. In front, Barak, Earl of Trellheim and Hettar of Algaria. Behind them came Lelldorin of Wildantor and the Baron of Vo Mandor and at the rear King Belgarion of Riva and Urgit of the Murgos. Very gently, they slid the coffin onto their shoulders and marched slowly towards the vault. Khendan squuezed his mother's hand as they followed the shining casket, heads held high.
They stopped at the door as Kheldar's friends walked into the mausoleum and slowly and tenderly laid the coffin down. In unison they bowed, turned and marched out again. A white clad figure strode forward and turned to the mass of mourners.
"Prince Kheldar of Drasnia," declared Belgarath the Soceror, Ancient and Beloved Disciple of the God Aldur, "Was a sneak, a thief and a spy." A gasp went through the crowd. Belgarath motioned them to silence. "He was often described as a very wicked man," he continued, and Barak dropped his head. "But," and the sorceror's hypnotic voice reached to the farthest listener, "But he was much more than this. Kheldar was a complex man. Often those of us who knew him despaired of him but we loved him. We loved his courage, his humour and his intelligence. We loved his loyalty. We loved his clever remarks even as they drove us to distraction. There was nothing Kheldar ever did that he didn't do well -- he wasn't always right, but he was always _brilliant_. The world is free today in large part because of Kheldar. YOU are all free today in large part because of him. Everything that the Gods and man asked of him he delivered, and much more besides. He made our lives better and richer through being in them. And we loved him."
As Belgarath fell silent, beside him a light began to flicker and in the centre of the light stood a figure of a young, blond man with a serene, benign countenance. Thee was a sense of PRESENCE about this figure that Khendan had never felt before, and he realised that he was looking at a God. But more than that, he knew was looking at a friend, someone else who had really loved Prince Kheldar.
The figure spread its arms wide and the air was filled with the sound of unearthly voices, singing what was both a lament and a celebration. Wordless, the song conveyed the loss that Khendan felt, intermingled with the joy that had come from knowing his father. And somewhere within the tune too, which just proved how well Erriond had known Silk, was the hint of sardonic laughter.
"Goodbye father," whispered Khendan, and he wept.
By Joy Green
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