Pawn of Prophecy

in an area, one has a certain authority, wouldn't you say, Captain?"
    "It's your story," Brendig said shortly.
    "Indeed it is," Silk agreed. "Now it wasn't really out of any kind of generosity that Ran Horb made his decision, Garion. Don't misunderstand that. Tolnedrans never give anything away. It was just that the Mimbrate Arends had finally won the Arendish civil war - a thousand years of bloodshed and treachery - and Tolnedra couldn't afford to allow the Mimbrates to expand into the north. The creation of an independent kingdom in Sendaria would block Mimbrate access to the trade routes down out of Drasnia and prevent the seat of world power from moving to Vo Mimbre and leaving the imperial capital at Tol Honeth in a kind of backwater."
    "It all sounds terribly involved," Garion said.
    "Not really," Silk said. "It's only politics, and that's a very simple game, isn't it, Captain?"
    "A game I do not play," Brendig said, not looking up.
    "Really?" Silk asked. "So long at court and not a politician? You're a rare man, Captain. At any rate, the Sendars suddenly discovered that they had themselves a kingdom but that they had no genuine hereditary nobility. Oh, there were a few retired Tolnedran nobles living on estates here and there, assorted pretenders to this or that Wacite or Asturian title, a Cherek war chief or two with a few followers, but no genuine Sendarian nobility. And so it was that they decided to hold a national election - select a king, don't you see, and then leave the bestowing of titles up to him. A very practical approach, and typically Sendarian."
    "How do you elect a king?" Garion asked, beginning to lose his dread of dungeons in his fascination with the story.
    "Everybody votes," Silk said simply. "Parents, of course, probably cast the votes for their children, but it appears that there was very little cheating. The rest of the world stood around and laughed at all this foolishness, but the Sendars continued to cast ballot after ballot for a dozen years."
    "Six years, actually," Brendig said with his face still down over his parchment. "3827 to 3833."
    "And there were over a thousand candidates," Silk said expansively.
    "Seven hundred and forty-three," Brendig said tightly.
    "I stand corrected, noble Captain," Silk said. "It's an enormous comfort to have such an expert here to catch my errors. I'm but a simple Drasnian merchant with little background in history. Anyway, on the twenty-third ballot, they finally elected their king - a rutabaga farmer named Fundor."
    "He raised more than just rutabagas," Brendig said, looking up with an angry face.
    "Of course he did," Silk said, smacking his forehead with an open palm. "How could I have forgotten the cabbages? He raised cabbages, too, Garion. Never forget the cabbages. Well, everybody in Sendaria who thought he was important journeyed to Fundor's farm and found him vigorously fertilizing his fields, and they greeted him with a great cry, `Hail, Fundor the Magnificent, King of Sendaria,' and fell on their knees in his august presence."
    "Must we continue with this?" Brendig asked in a pained voice, looking up.
    "The boy wants to know, Captain," Silk replied with an innocent face. "It's our duty as his elders to instruct him in the history of our past, wouldn't you say?"
    "Say whatever you like," Brendig said in a stiff voice.
    "Thank you for your permission, Captain," Silk said, inclining his head. "Do you know what the King of Sendaria said then, Garion?" he asked.
    "No," Garion said. "What?"
    " `I pray you, your eminences,' the king said, `have a care for your finery. I have just well manured the bed in which you are kneeling.' "
    Barak, who was sitting nearby, roared with laughter, pounding his knee with one huge hand.
    "I find this less than amusing, sir," Captain Brendig said coldly, rising to his feet. "I make no jokes about the King of Drasnia, do I?"
    "You're a courteous man, Captain," Silk said mildly, "and a noble man. I'm merely a poor man trying to make his way in the world."
    Brendig looked at him helplessly and then turned and stamped from the room.
    The following morning the wind had blown itself out and the rain had stopped. The road was very nearly a quagmire, but Brendig decided that they must continue. Travel that day was difficult, but the next was somewhat easier as the road began to drain.
    Aunt Pol seemed unconcerned by the fact that they had been seized at the king's orders. She maintained her regal bearing even though