Polgara the Sorceress. David Eddings

dressmaker copy it for the rest of them.’

      ‘I might have known,’ she sniffed. ‘Don’t ever let a Sendar design your clothes. They’re the prissiest people in the world. All right,’ she said then, ‘let’s get to work on the dresses for these other ladies.’ She squinted around at Beldaran’s attendants. ‘Green, I think,’ she mused. ‘We don’t want the dresses of the rest of the wedding party to clash with those of the bride and her sister.’

      I’ve sometimes wondered about Arell. She was just a bit too domineering to be entirely an Alorn lady. I think I’ll talk with mother about that. Mother’s not above tampering with people at times.

      Beldaran, of course, was nervous on the night before her wedding. It may not appear so, but brides are usually almost as nervous as grooms are on that particular night. Women are better at hiding things, though.

      ‘Don’t take it so seriously, Beldaran,’ Arell advised my sister. ‘A wedding’s a chance for others to enjoy themselves. The bride and groom aren’t much more than ornaments.’

      ‘I’m not feeling very ornamental right now, Arell,’ Beldaran replied. ‘Would you excuse me please? I think I’ll go throw up for a while.’

      The night passed, as nights are in the habit of doing, and the day dawned clear and sunny – a rarity on the Isle of the Winds. It’s a nice island, but it has an almost impossible climate.

      The wedding was scheduled for midday, largely because Alorn males celebrate on the night before a wedding, and they tend to feel a little delicate the following morning, so they need some time to pull themselves together.

      We had plenty to keep us busy, though. Beldaran took the ritual pre-nuptial bath, and when she emerged, her attendants anointed her gleaming body with rosewater. Then there was all the business with hair, and that consumed most of the rest of the morning. Then we all sat around in our undergarments to avoid wrinkling our gowns.

      At the last possible minute we all dressed, and Arell critically examined all of us. ‘It’ll do, I suppose,’ she noted. ‘Enjoy the wedding, girls. Now scoot.’

      We all trooped on down to the antechamber just outside the Hall of the Rivan King, where the wedding was to take place.

      I was a bit puzzled by my sister’s behavior once we entered that antechamber. She seemed almost inhumanly composed. All traces of her previous nervousness had vanished, and she seemed bemused and distant. Mother explained my sister’s detachment to me later. Much of what happened during the wedding was symbolic, and Beldaran was following some very precise instructions.

      I kept watch at the door, and so it was that I saw the arrival of Riva, his father, and his brothers.

      They were all dressed in chain mail, and there were swords bolted at their hips! I knew that Alorns were a warlike people, but really! In a sort of gesture to the formality of the occasion, their mail shirts were all brightly burnished. I hoped that they’d done something about the characteristic smell of armor, though. Armor of any kind has a very distinctive fragrance about it, and I didn’t think it’d be appropriate for all the ladies in Beldaran’s entourage to faint dead away during the ceremony.

      Then father joined us, and he didn’t smell too strongly of beer. I often make an issue of my father’s bad habits, but I’ll concede that he doesn’t really drink all that much. Evidently his years on the waterfront in Camaar had gotten most of that out of his system. ‘Good morning, ladies,’ he greeted us. ‘You all look quite beautiful. Are we ready?’

      ‘As ready as we’ll ever be, I suppose,’ I replied. ‘Did you manage to keep Riva sober last night?’

      ‘I didn’t have to, Pol. I watched him rather closely, and he hardly drank anything at all.’

      ‘An Alorn who doesn’t try to plunge headfirst into every beer barrel he passes? Amazing!’

      ‘Excuse me,’ he said then. ‘I need to talk with Beldaran. Beldin and I’ve made a few preparations she needs to know about.’

      I found out what he meant a little while later.

      My father has an exquisite sense of timing. He gave the crowd in Riva’s throne room some time to settle down, and then I quite clearly heard the thought he sent out to uncle Beldin. ‘All right,’ he said silently, ‘we might as well get started.’

      Uncle Beldin responded with a silvery fanfare played upon hundreds of phantom trumpets. The sound was impressive enough to silence all the wedding guests. The fanfare was followed by a wedding hymn sung very softly by an ethereal non-existent choir. I’m something of a musician myself, and I was enormously impressed by my dwarfed uncle’s complex harmony.

      Then at a signal from father, Beldaran went out through the door of the antechamber and stepped into the center of the doorway to the Hall of the Rivan King. She stood there, allowing herself to be admired, and then the Master bestowed his benediction upon her in the form of a beam of bright white light.

      When I think back on it, I realize now that the Master was blessing the entire Rivan line – the line that was to ultimately produce the Godslayer.

      I removed my cloak, and father’s eyes grew a little wild. ‘Nice dress,’ he noted from between clenched teeth. Sometimes my father’s very inconsistent. He admires the attributes of other ladies, but he grows quite upset when I display mine.

      We moved into place, one on either side of Beldaran, and walked with stately pace down the aisle that led past the pits where burning peat provided warmth to the front, where Riva and his family awaited us.

      ‘It’s going quite well, don’t you think?’ Mother’s voice asked me.

      ‘It’s not over yet, mother,’ I replied. “These are Alorns, after all, so there’s still an enormous potential for disaster.’

      ‘Cynic,’ she accused.

      Then I noticed the Master’s Orb on the pommel of a massive sword hanging point down above the throne. It was a little hard to miss, since it glowed with an intensely blue fire.

      It was the first time I’d ever seen the Orb. I was impressed. I’ve seen that glow many times since then, but the only time I’ve ever seen it so bright was on the day when Garion took that sword down off the wall. In its own way the Orb was also blessing the wedding of Beldaran and Riva.

      When we reached the area just in front of the throne, my father and I surrendered custody of Beldaran over to Riva and stepped back a pace. The Rivan Deacon came forward at that point, and the ceremony began.

      My sister was radiant, and Riva’s worshipful eyes never left her face. Since this was a state wedding, the Rivan Deacon had expanded the ceremony extensively. Women, of course, absolutely love weddings. After the first hour, though, the wedding guests began to grow restless. The benches in the Hall of the Rivan King are made of stone, so they’re not really very comfortable for the ladies. The gentlemen were all looking forward to the extensive carousing that plays such an important part in Alorn weddings.

      Out of respect, however, we all managed to stifle our yawns.

      My sister and Riva endured the droning sermon of the ecclesiast lecturing them on the duties of marriage. I idly noted in passing that all the rights fell to the groom, and the duties and obligations were the bride’s domain.

      After another three quarters of an hour, the Deacon’s quickening cadence indicated that he was nearing his conclusion. He was a brave man; I’ll give him that. Every man in the hall was wearing a sword, and he’d tested the congregation’s patience to the limit.

      I’d stopped paying much attention to him a long time ago, and then mother’s voice inside my head made me very alert. ‘Polgara,’ she said, ‘keep a firm grip on your nerves.’

       ‘What?’

       ‘Don’t