Guardians of the West

look. I know exactly what they're thinking."
    "When do you want to start the meetings?"
    "Let's wait a bit," Garion decided. "I don't particularly want Anheg going through the corridors of the Citadel while all these mourners are drifting about with daggers in their belts."
    "Sound thinking," Barak agreed.
    They gathered about midafternoon in the blue-draped council chamber in the south tower. As soon as Kail had closed the door, Anheg rose and faced them. "I want to state right at the outset that I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened here," he declared. "Brand was always one of my closest friends, and I'd have cut off my arm before I'd have hurt him. You have my word for that -both as a king and as an Alorn."
    "No one's accusing you of anything, Anheg," Cho-Hag said quietly.
    "Ha! I'm not nearly as stupid as I look, Cho-Hag -and even if I were, I still have ears. The people here in Riva have done everything short of spitting in my face."
    The silvery-haired Earl of Seline leaned back in his chair, "I think perhaps that all of these suspicions -totally unfounded, of course- stem from that letter the assassins presented when they came here. Might it not be the quickest way to proceed to begin by examining that document?"
    "Not a bad idea," Garion said. He turned to Kail. "Could we see the letter?"
    "Ah -l- Ancient Belgarath has it, Sire," Kail said.
    "Oh -that's right," Belgarath said. "I'd almost forgotten." He reached inside his gray tunic, drew out a folded parchment, and handed it to the old Sendarian nobleman.
    "It looks more or less in order," the Earl mused after he had read it.
    "Let me see that," Anheg demanded. He held the document distastefully, scowling as he read. "That's my signature, all right", he admitted, "and my seal, but I certainly didn't write this."
    Garion had a thought. "Do you always read everything they bring you to sign?" he asked. "I know that there are times when they bring me whole stacks of things to sign, and I just write my name at the bottom of each one. What I'm getting at is -could someone have slipped this into a pile of other documents so that you signed it without knowing what it said?"
    Anheg shook his head. "That happened to me once," he said. "Now I read everything before I sign it. Not only that, I dictate every document I put my name to. That way I know it says exactly what I want it to say." He thrust the letter toward Garion. "Look at this," he said, pointing at the second paragraph. "Foreasmuch as trade is the lifeblood of both our kingdoms-' and so on. Blast it, Garion! I've never used the word 'foreasmuch' in my entire life."
    "How do we reconcile this, then?" the Earl of Seline asked. "We have authenticated the signature and seal. King Anheg declares that he not only reads everything he signs but that he also dictates every letter and proclamation personally. And yet we find textual inconsistencies in the document."
    "Seline," Anheg said acidly, "did you ever dabble in law? You sound a great deal like a lawyer."
    The Earl laughed. "Merely trying to be concise, your Majesty," he said.
    "I hate lawyers."
    The damning letter was central to the discussions for the remainder of the day, but nothing was resolved. Garion went wearily to bed that night as confused and filled with doubts as he had been when they started.
    He slept badly and woke late. As he lay in the canopied royal bed, still trying to sort out his thoughts, he could hear voices coming from the adjoining room. Almost idly he began to identify those voices. Ce'Nedra was there, of course, and Aunt Pol. Queen Layla's giddy laugh made her easily identifiable. Nerina and Ariana, because of their Mimbrate dialect, were as easy. There were others as well, but the individuality of their voices was lost in the general chatter.
    Garion slowly sat up, feeling almost as if he had not slept at all. He pushed the down-filled comforter aside and swung his feet to the floor. He did not really want to face this day.
    He sighed and stood up. Briefly he looked at the solid black doublet and hose he had worn the day before, then shook his head. To continue to dress in mourning might in some obscure way be taken as a silent accusation. That must be avoided at all costs. The situation involving King Anheg was so delicate at the moment that the slightest hint could push it into crisis. He crossed to the heavy wardrobe where he kept his clothes, selected one of his customary blue doublets, and began to dress.
    The