Castle of Wizardry

these bleak-appearing islanders. The stiff reserve of the graycloaked Rivans was a face they presented to the world. Behind that face, however, was an altogether different kind of people.
    The apprentices for the most part were blowing the delicate little bottles that were the major item in the trade with the perfume makers of Tol Borune. One apprentice, however, worked alone, fashioning a glass ship cresting a crystal wave. He was a sandy-haired young man with an intent expression. When he looked up from his work and saw Garion, his eyes widened, but he lowered his head quickly to his work again.
    Back at the front of the shop as they were preparing to leave, Garion asked to look once more at the delicate glass bird perched on its gleaming twig. The piece was so beautiful that it made his heart ache.
    "Does it please your Majesty?" It was the young apprentice, who had quietly entered from the workroom. He spoke softly. "I was in the square yesterday when Brand introduced you to the people," he explained. "I recognized you as soon as I saw you."
    "What's your name?" Garion asked curiously.
    "Joran, your Majesty," the apprentice replied.
    "Do you suppose we could skip the 'Majesties'?" Garion said rather plaintively. "I'm not really comfortable with that sort of thing yet. The whole business came as a complete surprise to me."
    Joran grinned at him. "There are all kinds of rumors in the city. They say you were raised by Belgarath the Sorcerer in his tower in the Vale of Aldur."
    "Actually I was raised in Sendaria by my Aunt Pol, Belgarath's daughter."
    "Polgara the Sorceress?" Joran looked impressed. "Is she as beautiful as men say she is?"
    "I've always thought so."
    "Can she really turn herself into a dragon?"
    "I suppose she could if she wanted to," Garion admitted, "but she prefers the shape of an owl. She loves birds for some reason - and birds go wild at the sight of her. They talk to her all the time."
    "What an amazing thing," Joran marvelled. "I'd give anything to be able to meet her." He pursed his lips thoughtfully, hesitating a moment. "Do you think she'd like this little thing?" he blurted finally, touching the crystal wren.
    "Like it?" Garion said. "She'd love it."
    "Would you give it to her for me?"
    "Joran!" Garion was startled at the idea. "I couldn't take it. It's too valuable, and I don't have any money to pay you for it."
    Joran smiled shyly. "It's only glass," he pointed out, "and glass is only melted sand-and sand's the cheapest thing in the world. If you think she'd like it, I'd really like for her to have it. Would you take it to her for me - please? Tell her it's a gift from Joran the glassmaker."
    "I will, Joran," Garion promised, impulsively clasping the young man's hand. "I'll be proud to carry it to her for you."
    "I'll wrap it," Joran said then. "It's not good for glass to go out in the cold from a warm room." He reached for the piece of velvet, then stopped. "I'm not being entirely honest with you," he admitted, looking a bit guilty. "The wren's a very good piece, and if the nobles up at the Citadel see it, they might want me to make other things for them. I need a few commissions if I'm ever going to open my own shop, and-" He glanced once at Torgan's daughter, his heart in his eyes.
    "-And you can't get married until you've established your own business?" Garion suggested.
    "Your Majesty will be a very wise king," Joran said gravely.
    "If I can get past all the blunders I'll make during the first few weeks," Garion added ruefully.
    Later that afternoon he delivered the crystal bird to Aunt Pol in her private apartment.
    "What's this?" she asked, taking the cloth-wrapped object.
    "It's a present for you from a young glassmaker I met down in the city," Garion replied. "He insisted that I give it to you. His name's Joran. Be careful. I think it's kind of fragile."
    Aunt Pol gently unwrapped the crystal piece. Her eyes slowly widened as she stared at the exquisitely wrought bird. "Oh, Garion," she murmured, "it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
    "He's awfully good," Garion told her. "He works for a glassmaker called Torgan, and Torgan says he's a genius. He wants to meet you."
    "And I want to meet him," she breathed, her eyes lost in the glowing detail of the glass figure. Then she carefully set the crystal wren down on a table. Her hands were trembling and her glorious eyes were full of tears.
    "What's wrong, Aunt Pol?" Garion asked her, slightly alarmed.
    "Nothing, Garion," she