The Seeress of Kell

and they could hear Polgara singing softly in the kitchen. Ce'Nedra went inside, and Garion and the wolf crossed the field to join Durnik.
    The meal that evening consisted of a roast goose and everything that went with it: gravy, dressing, three kinds of vegetables, and freshly baked bread, still hot from the oven and dripping with butter.
    "Where did you get the goose, Pol?" Durnik asked.
    "I cheated," she admitted calmly.
    "Pol!"
    "I'll explain it some other time, dear. Let's eat it before it all gets cold."
    After supper they sat near the fire. They didn't really need a fire indeed, the doors and windows were even open but fire and hearth were a part of home, sometimes necessary even when not, strictly speaking, needed.
    Polgara held Geran, her cheek against his curls and a dreamy look of contentment on her face. "Just practicing," she said quietly to Ce'Nedra.
    "There's no way you could ever forget that, Aunt Pol," the Rivan Queen said. "You've raised hundreds of little boys."
    "Well, not quite that many, dear, but it never hurts to keep one's hand in."
    The wolf lay sound asleep on the hearth before the fire. He was making small yipping noises, however, and his feet were twitching.
    "He's dreaming." Durnik smiled.
    "I wouldn't be surprised," Garion said. “He spent the whole time while we were coming back from Grandfather's tower chasing rabbits. He didn't catch any, though. I don't think he was really trying."
    "Speaking of dreaming," Aunt Pol said, rising to her feet. "You two and your son and your puppy will want an early start in the morning. Why don't we all go to bed?"
    They arose at first light the next morning, ate a hearty breakfast, and then Durnik and Garion went out to saddle the horses.
    The farewells were not prolonged. There was no real need for extended farewells among these four, because they would never really be apart. There were a few brief words, a few kisses, and a gruff handshake between Durnik and Garion, and then the Rivan King and his family rode up the hill.
    Halfway to the top, Ce'Nedra turned in her saddle. "Aunt Pol," she called, "I love you."
    "Yes, dear," Polgara called back, "I know. I love you, too."
    And then Garion led the way on up the hill and toward home.

EPILOGUE
    It was mid-autumn. The Alorn Council had taken place at Riva late that summer, and it had been boisterous, even rowdy. It had been attended by many who would not normally have been present. Non-Alorn rulers and their queens had virtually outnumbered the Alorn monarchs. Ladies from all over the west had descended upon Ce'Nedra and Polgara, showering them with congratulations, and young children had gathered about Geran, attracted by his sunny disposition and by the fact that the little boy had somehow discovered a long-unused route to the pastry kitchen and all the treasures contained therein. If the truth were to be known, there was very little in the way of business conducted that year. And then, as always, a series of late-summer storms announced that the meetings were at an end and it was time for the visitors to begin thinking seriously about going home. This had always been the advantage of holding the council in Riva. Although guests might prefer to linger, the steady march of the seasons persuaded them that it was time to depart.
    Affairs had settled down in Riva. There had been a wild celebration when the king and his wife had at last returned with Crown Prince Geran, but no people, no matter how emotional, could celebrate forever, and after a few weeks things had returned to normal.
    Garion spent most days closeted with Kail now. Many decisions had been made in his absence. Although, almost without exception, he approved of Kail's handling of those matters, he still needed to be briefed on them and some of those decisions needed to be ratified by the royal signature.
    Ce'Nedra's pregnancy was proceeding along expected lines. The little queen bloomed and swelled and became increasingly short-tempered. The peculiar hungers for exotic foods that sometimes beset ladies in that delicate condition were not nearly as much fun for the Rivan Queen as they were for most other ladies. There has long been a suspicion in the male half of the population that these gastronomical yearnings are nothing more than a peculiar form of entertainment for their wives. The more exotic and unobtainable a given food might be and the more extreme the lengths to which a doting husband must go to put his hands on it, the more the