Pawn of Prophecy

Durnik and Garion.
    Aunt Pol stepped forward.
    "This is Goodman Durnik of the District of Erat, your Majesty," she said, "a brave and honest man."
    "Welcome, Goodman Durnik," the king said. "I can only hope that men may also one day call me a brave and honest man."
    Durnik bowed awkwardly, his face filled with bewilderment. "I'm just a simple blacksmith, your Honor," he said, "but I hope all men know that I am your Honor's most loyal and devoted subject."
    "Well-spoken, Goodman Durnik," the king said with a smile, and then he looked at Garion.
    Aunt Pol followed his glance.
    "A boy, your Majesty," she said rather indifferently. "Garion by name. He was placed in my care some years ago and accompanies us because I didn't know what else to do with him."
    A terrible coldness struck at Garion's stomach. The certainty that her casual words were in fact the bald truth came crashing down upon him. She had not even tried to soften the blow. The indifference with which she had destroyed his life hurt almost more than the destruction itself.
    "Also welcome, Garion," the king said. "You travel in noble company for one so young."
    "I didn't know who they were, your Majesty," Garion said miserably. "Nobody tells me anything."
    The king laughed in tolerant amusement.
    "As you grow older, Garion," he said, "you'll probably find that during these days such innocence is the most comfortable state in which to live. I've been told things of late that I'd much prefer not to know."
    "May we speak privately now, Fulrach?" Mister Wolf said, his voice still irritated.
    "In good time, my old friend," the king replied. "I've ordered a banquet prepared in your honor. Let's all go in and dine. Layla and the children are waiting for us. There will be time later to discuss certain matters." And with that he rose and stepped down from the dais.
    Garion, sunk in his private misery, fell in beside Silk. "Prince Kheldar?" he said, desperately needing to take his mind off the shocking reality that had just fallen upon him.
    "An accident of birth, Garion," Silk said with a shrug. "Something over which I had no control. Fortunately I'm only the nephew of the King of Drasnia and far down in the line of succession. I'm not in any immediate danger of ascending the throne."
    "And Barak is-?"
    "The cousin of King Anheg of Cherek," Silk replied. He looked over his shoulder. "What is your exact rank, Barak?" he asked.
    "The Earl of Trellheim," Barak rumbled. "Why do you ask?"
    "The lad here was curious," Silk said.
    "It's all nonsense anyway," Barak said, "but when Anheg became king, someone had to become Clan-Chief. In Cherek you can't be both. It's considered unlucky - particularly by the chiefs of the other clans."
    "I can see why they might feel that way." Silk laughed.
    "It's an empty title anyway," Barak observed. "There hasn't been a clan war in Cherek for over three thousand years. I let my youngest brother act in my stead. He's a simpleminded fellow and easily amused. Besides, it annoys my wife."
    "You're married?" Garion was startled.
    "If you want to call it that," Barak said sourly.
    Silk nudged Garion warningly, indicating that this was a delicate subject.
    "Why didn't you tell us?" Garion demanded accusingly. "About your titles, I mean."
    "Would it have made any difference?" Silk asked.
    "Well - no," Garion admitted, "but " He stopped, unable to put his feelings about the matter into words. "I don't understand any of this," he concluded lamely.
    "It will all become clear in time," Silk assured him as they entered the banquet hall.
    The hall was almost as large as the throne room. There were long tables covered with fine linen cloth and once again candles everywhere. A servant stood behind each chair, and everything was supervised by a plump little woman with a beaming face and a tiny crown perched precariously atop her head. As they all entered, she came forward quickly.
    "Dear Pol," she said, "you look just wonderful." She embraced Aunt Pol warmly, and the two began talking together animatedly.
    "Queen Layla," Silk explained briefly to Garion. "They call her the Mother of Sendaria. The four children over there are hers. She has four or five others - older and probably away on state business, since Fulrach insists that his children earn their keep. It's a standard joke among the other kings that Queen Layla's been pregnant since she was fourteen, but that's probably because they're expected to send royal gifts at each new birth. She's a good