Epilogue

Mandorin sat in the little grotto in the garden of his best friend, in a sullen mood. Far away, he could still hear the rumor of a boisterous party. Probably, it would take some time until they missed him. He didn't want to drink wine today. His hands stroked his lute idly - the right words wouldn't come. The final work on his poem asked for another kind of inspiration. Of course, the girls here in Melcene were pretty, they were educated, and far more independent than those in far Arendia. An Arendish girl wouldn't be allowed by her parents to attend the university at Tol Honeth; in Melcene, it was fairly common. But today, they wanted to have fun, wanted to drink and dance, and his poem about the ideal woman of his dreams would probably cause a smile - or even a suppressed yawn.

He heard the flap of wings, but he didn't pay much attention. There were lots of birds in this garden. It was almost a park and it showed the wealth of his friend - land on this little island was precious.
Something about the silence was wrong, he could almost touch it - he felt a presence in the same direction were he thought the lost bird. Mandorin looked up, and saw a wonderful young woman in a black hooded robe. Her dark eyes watched him seriously, but not unfriendly. He rose to his feet, the lute slid out of his hand, and he went slightly pale. Of course, he knew who that was; everybody in the world had heard of her, but not very many had seen her and survived. Naturally, he wasn't afraid, death was never very far from a true knight - it was her breath-taking beauty that shook him.
"Oft-times I beheld the eyes of doom in my short life full of battle and tournament, but never have I found them more fascinating - truly, thine eyes are like two dark twin-stars in a bright sky," was all he could say, his usual eloquence failed him.

She smiled radiantly - it was a very nice compliment in her ears. Most men didn't even dare look at her, let alone to comment on what they saw.
"Put your thoughts of doom at rest - my presence here doesn't mean a threat to you," she assured him.

"But I know thee - thou art Ka, the beautiful Mistress of Death, and now I feel that death isn't a threat, as thou said, for he who beheld so fair a face can die without grudges; he will not see anything nearly as wondrous even if he lived longer than Ancient and Beloved Belgarath!"

Ka liked his flattery - the more so since she could see in his mind that he meant every single word of it. But she didn't want to speak of death, not with this handsome boy who was one of the mightiest knights in the world, already. His features combined the trained muscular body of his father and his soft black curls with the dark dreamy eyes of his mother - or so she was told; Ka had never seen Lady Nerina.
"My fame seems to fly faster than a crow," she noted with an ironic smile, "and it's good that people remember the price of consorting with demons. But I'm not death for you - I know you, too. Your fame is beginning to darken even that of your legendary father! I didn't have time then to watch you fighting during the Demon Battle, but I know that you fought like ten men."

That was only a small part of what she had heard of him, and it wasn't very much exaggerated, probably. This Arend continued to astonish the world by his decision to study at the university at Melcene, and his works in philosophy and poetry were remarkable. But that was not all - together with some friends from Perivor, he had only a defiant smile for the unmanly fox-hunts of other students. And they introduced a new, more exciting pastime into student life - jousting. The tourneys attracted quite a few of the hopeful youth of Melcene, and though there rarely happened anything more serious than a few broken bones, their parents were worried.
Finally, they sent even a delegation to Emperor Zakath in order to talk him into stopping the "dangerous foolishness" by Emperial decree. Their mission failed completely - already after half of their report about the advantures of Mandorallen's son, His Emperial Majesty Zakath and Empress Cyradis collapsed in helpless laughter.
And Ka couldn't help laughing now, herself. "I've heard much of you, indeed!"

Mandorin beamed - the thought that this fascinating woman knew him was very pleasant. He sighed deeply.
"Thy presence is a threat even without evil intent, Lady Ka - thy beauty cuts as sharp and deep as thy knife - thou wouldst not need it to take my heart," he said. "I have always wondered why my Angarak brothers choose to lock their daughters, sisters and wives in castles and towers, but now, I understand my naive failure - so precious a jewel like an Angarak woman must be hidden from the greedy eyes of others, and we want to keep such a treasure safely behind locked and bolted doors."

Ka smiled. "That's the custom of the Murgos only. I'm not a Murgo, I'm a Grolim, but you wouldn't see a difference with your eyes alone. And believe me - I don't need a man to defend my honor - not even our wild Nadrak sisters need them. We can show our beauty without fear - every man who dared to take more than a look without permission would live to regret it.
And tell me, Sir Knight - would any fortress, guarded, locked and bolted as it may be, resist your assault if you set out to win the beautiful prize therein?"
With an amused smile, she noticed that his flowery speech seemed to be contagious.

"Thou seemest to know me very well, dear Lady Ka," Mandorin admitted, "like every true knight, I would dream to win such a wonderful flower, and surely the promise of thy smile would be enough reward to go into any fight, even though it may bring deathly peril. Thou art right - the Mistress of Death doth not need the protection of mortal men, but it would be honor beyond imagination to be called thy knight."

Ka looked at him thoughtfully - an interesting idea occurred to her. She had read about the romances between Arendish ladies and their knight-protectors, in the book she had copied from Belgarion's memory. The fact that she would profit from the experience of the woman she hated most in this world made it even more interesting. Of course, she'd want to avoid Polgara's stupid mistake to let Ontrose get away with his exaggerated notion of propriety...
"Kneel down, then, Sir Knight!"

Mandorin obeyed without a question.

Ka touched his shoulders with the blade of her Grolim-knife. "Sir Mandorin, knowing that thou art of the noblest blood of all of Arendia, and one of the most fearsome fighters on earth, despite thy youth, I make thee my knight. I trust thee that thou wilt fulfill all duties laid upon thee by thy station."
His expression showed clearly that her little speech was ceremonial enough - he was almost delirious. Of course, she had to make sure that he understood all his duties, and she had to prevent escapes. She concentrated on the fairly simple geometry of this grotto. "Maze", she whispered to release her Will. He wouldn't be able to find the exit without her help, and others would find it difficult to disturb them. It grew dimmer in the grotto - even the light seemed to have trouble to find the entrance now. Her gentle smile encouraged him to rise to his feet - she certainly didn't want to be too formal. He was very young, she could have a much older son, in principle - and so what? She would look like a young girl even when his great-grandchildren were old and gray already. There was no need to think about that now - she had deserved a little reward for following Necessity. She wanted to be a bit Arendish for a change, and she wanted this boy - now.

Being her knight and official protector, Mandorin seemed to feel a bit more self-confident. He looked at her more openly. Oh yes, this wonderful, dangerous and enigmatic woman was exactly the inspiration he was looking for. She was perfect, even though he couldn't see very much more than her eyes - eyes promising a universe.
"My dear Lady Ka, I've heard thy proud words about showing thy beauty to all the world without fear. But I perceive that thou dost not eagerly follow them - most of thee is hidden under thy robe, which doth not reveal as much as the gowns of other fair ladies, and thy hood veils thy face as a dark cloud may veil the fair moon."

These were nice words, but she didn't want to hear only compliments. She would listen to them for hours or days - later. She had waited already too long.
"I assure thee, my dear Mandorin, that my robe is not a fortress - it doth not have locked and bolted gates," she whispered gently. Her arms closed around his neck, and her lips sealed his mouth - he wouldn't be able to answer with words, and he seemed to be able to come up with something better. With a warm feeling of happiness, she noticed that his hands already investigated the truth of her statement.

***
Ainoukh sat in her room, and though it was late in the evening, she didn't want to sleep. The windows were open, the smells of early summer hit her nostrils, and it wasn't dark yet. The other ladies had withdrawn already, her children slept, and she felt bored. Of course, she knew that Geran didn't enjoy the extensive drinking of the Alorn monarchs himself, but that didn't make it much better.

The flap of wings interrupted her thoughts. Before Ainoukh could wonder about the bold crow, the bird had changed into a black-robed young woman.

"Ka!" Ainoukh hugged her old friend. "I haven't seen you for almost two years! I guess you've been busy inspiring promising young poets," she said, pointing at the manuscript Mandorin sent them a few weeks ago.

Ka laughed. "He's such a dear, you can't imagine. Where's Geran?"

Ainoukh winced. "Drinking, it's the Alorn Council a again. I won't see him much in the next few days. It's such a terrible waste of time..."

They enjoyed their meeting. Both Mandorin and Geran probably would be surprised and more than a bit embarrassed if they knew how many secrets the two women shared.

"I haven't seen your daughter yet!" Ka exclaimed after a while.

"We can have a look at the children," Ainoukh replied. "They sleep so fast that nothing can wake them."

The friends went to Daran's room. In principle, Moira had her own room, but she was one and a half years by now and could walk. Looking for her in her own bed was hopeless, she and Daran adored each other.

The nanny rose from her seat and curtsied when Ainoukh entered the room. Her smile froze, and her face went deadly pale when she understood who the beautiful visitor was. She had heard of Ka, everybody in the world had. Mirell liked her job, and she liked her employers, but there was no way around the fact that it was a strange family with strange relatives and friends. She watched with wide eyes how Ka stroked the almost black hair of Daran and the almost blond of his little sister gently.

"He must be almost four," Ka whispered. Ainoukh nodded. They left the room as silently as they came.

"It was a pleasant flight from Sendaria, much better than what I had to do there," Ka said when they had returned.

Ainoukh didn't want to know any details about that. "I don't remember when we had such a wonderful weather on the Isle of the Winds," she replied. "I wonder how it feels to fly in the form of a crow. Geran never changed me into a bird."

Ka listened attentively when Ainoukh told her that she knew in principle how to change forms, but she never dared experiment with it. What if she was careless with details and turned into a crow without feathers? What if she wasn't able to change back?

Ka smiled at her friend. "That can't happen, Ainoukh. Your own form is so natural that you can always change back to it. Do you want to try that first? I turn you into a crow, and you change back, you'll see how easy that is."

Ainoukh's eyes brightened. With Ka at her side, she wasn't afraid. Her friend would help her if something went wrong.

It wasn't necessary, though. The feeling during the process was familiar, and Ainoukh was surprised how easy it was to return to her natural self.

"You see?" Ka asked. "Shapeshifting doesn't need much talent, most people could do it if they knew how. Now let's try the other direction. Follow my example!"

She shimmered, and Ainoukh looked at the big crow, trying to reproduce every detail of that image in her mind. Then she floated into that image. Ka had been right, it was easy! Unfortunately, using wings wasn't. Ainoukh needed several attempts until she managed to flap from the floor to a chair, and then to a cabinet. But Ka was a patient teacher, and Ainoukh got the hang of it soon. They exchanged a look out of mischievous eyes, and then the two crows flew out of the window to explore the wonderful summernight.

***
The old Erdan was disturbed in his thoughts by a sudden stream of cold air coming into his room. Maybe Marta hadn't closed the window properly in the morning, and the wind had opened it again. With difficulty, the old man turned around in his bed. He had to work very hard to avoid crying out from pain. To his surprise, a young woman in a black robe was already busy closing the window. He hadn't heard her come in. This didn't mean much - his ears weren't that good as they used to be. And he didn't remember her name, or if he should know her. His memory failed very often lately. Erdan could remember events thirty years ago rather clearly. He recognized the few surviving veterans of Thull Mardu, when they visited him. This happened rarely - they were old and sick themselves. However, he couldn't recall the names of his nephews. His eyes were still good, though. The woman came to him, and Erdan could see that she was very pretty. She had long black hair, and her dark angular eyes looked at him with sympathy. Erdan realized that she was probably older than he thought. These eyes looked very wise, not like those of a young girl. She must have seen very much in her life - and not only good things. "How do you feel, Erdan?"
He sighed. "There are those pains in all my joints. Gout is never pleasant. But it's not that bad that I'd need these Nyissan potions already," he hurried to add. In fact, the pain was almost unbearable. " I can't remember your name, but you know mine," the old man complained. "That happens a lot to me."
"My name is Ka," she answered with her soft voice. She sat down on his bed and touched his deformed hands gently. Her hands were very warm, and the pain seemed to diminish.
"I should know you, and I don't. You're an Angarak, but you don't look like a Thull woman - I've seen them. I've never seen a Murgo woman, though."
Ka smiled. "I'm not a Murgo woman - I'm a Grolim. But we look very much alike."
Now Erdan understood - or so it seemed to him. "A Grolim, I see. Eriond is a good God. Some people say we should worship Belar, as before. I think, when all follow the same God, there will be no more wars."
"At least, we can hope so, Erdan," Ka said cautiously. She didn't share his optimism, but there was no point in arguing with this old man about greed and hunger for power. "Do you need anything?"
Erdan looked at her thoughtfully. His daughter would never understand that, but he had the strange feeling that this woman could look at it differently. "Can you give me a knife, Ka?"
Of course, Ka didn't ask why he needed a knife. She stroked his thin white hair.
"That's not good, Erdan. That's more pain, not less."
Erdan sighed again. "Maybe I couldn't do it, anyway - not with these hands." He looked sadly at his swollen hands that hardly could hold a spoon. This time, Ka agreed with him, but she didn't say it. She knew that he had had the idea to jump out of the window last year. Naturally, he had no chance to reach the window, his daughter found him lying helplessly just before his bed. Marta was sure that her father was fallen out, and there was no need that she ever knew the truth.
"Why don't you take the medicine your daughter bought for you? Doesn't it help?"
"It takes away the pain," he admitted. The physician Marta called now and then wasn't bad. He made a big issue of being a pupil of Polgara. In fact, he had never met her. He had studied her book about Nyissan drugs, though, and he was a reasonable and experienced man.
"What's wrong with it, then?"
"It takes away everything," Erdan said. "There's only fog in my head. It's not even unpleasant, but it's the same as being dead. And I can't think, not even later, when the pain returns."
"And what do you want to think about?" Ka asked silently.
"What else? About my memories, the only thing that remained from the old Erdan. I can't do anything else - just lie here, look at the wall and remember the time when I could walk and fight and keep open my tavern below. Of course, I think of the time when I was happy."
"When was the happiest moment in your life, Erdan?"
Strangely enough, he didn't even think of women, of his wife who died so long ago. His mind drifted back in time, touched his son-in-law, who kept the tavern now, and his friends. Shortly, he remembered how he re-opened his tavern after the war. But the most important event was a little earlier - when King Belgarion and Queen Ce'Nedra returned from Mallorea. Only then they knew that the many friends were not died for nothing at Thull Mardu.
"I always thought I'd never forget that moment, not any detail. Now, however, it's not as clear as it used to be. I'm afraid soon my memories will fade completely - and then nothing will be left from me."
"You will see the pictures of the past more clearly if you close your eyes," Ka advised him.
Erdan closed his eyes obediently. He felt her warm hand on his forehead. Indeed, he saw any detail now again. The place before the Citadel was crowded with people, and all looked at Belgarion and Ce'Nedra on their horses. Belgarion wore chain mail. Erdan knew that he was very young, but he didn't look like a boy. There was no hint of a smile on the face of this tall young man. Not very long ago, he had to face Torak alone, and now he clearly didn't feel comfortable in the presence of all those people. Ce'Nedra, however, did smile. Her face, surrounded by flaming red hair, was like a beautiful flower. And her eyes looked at her hero with pride and love. She nudged her horse closer, and said something to Belgarion. He seemed reluctant at first, but finally he took Riva's enormous sword out of the sheath on his back and greeted Ce'Nedra's fighters. The sword was like a blue flame over his head. Like all men, Erdan lifted his sword and shouted, "Hail, Belgarion!" Yes, this was really the happiest moment in his life.

Marta heard the shout of her father, but she couldn't understand the words. It was rather noisy in the tavern below. Father almost never called her. Usually, he waited patiently when she would look after him again. When she opened the door of his room, a cold wind blew into her face. Probably, she hadn't closed the window firmly in the morning, and the wind had opened it. Marta hurried to close it - father didn't like the cold draft. Obviously, that was the reason why he had called her. A big crow sat in the open window. She looked at Marta with her black eyes, and flew away when she approached her, leaving behind only her cry - "Ka!". She didn't seem to have stolen something here. Marta shut the window, and looked out for a moment. It was turning dark, and, of course, it was snowing again. It should be spring already, but winter lingered this year.
When Marta turned to her father, she was startled - he slept. His face was smiling. Maybe he had spoken out loud in a dream? She sat on his bed carefully - she didn't want to wake him. He normally couldn't sleep without a medicine, and the drugs chased away all dreams.
Suddenly, Marta realized that something was wrong - her father didn't breathe! She laid her ear on his chest. There was no heartbeat. He looked like sleeping, but he was dead. As it seemed, his heart had stopped in a wonderful dream. The years he spent helplessly in this room were ended. Marta's eyes filled with tears. She hadn't expected that her father would die smiling. However, there was one good man less in the world, now.
The noise in the tavern increased. Naturally, they would close it for a few days, now. There would be time for just a few memorial tankards after the funeral. Many people remembered the old Erdan.
Marta rose to her feet. Her back ached - this was from her pregnancy, of course. In two months, the child would be born. Hopefully, it would be early summer, then. Maybe it was a son, and he would take over the tavern some day. It was not uncommon that a son was named after his grandfather. But this wasn't really important, as well as the name of her husband didn't matter - the Rivans would always call this house "Erdan's Tavern".