You may all start screaming at me. Thank you. Yes, yes, it's been a while, and probably the only thing that drove me to jump over my writer's block on this story was thinking of how I would feel if an author delayed and delayed and delayed and never got the next chapter out. So, here is my attempt, and with it went a good hour or so of time when I was supposed to be studying. We're looking in on Urgit, Prala, and their little son, as they make a few changes in the Drojim.
Chapter 2
"Aaaah!" yelled Urgit, jumping out of the way just in time as a sheet of red gold clanged to the floor. "Be careful with that!"
"Sorry, Your Majesty!" shouted the workman who was suspended from the huge vaulted roof by a set of ropes. "We didn't know you were coming in."
Urgit surveyed his throne room with a sharp eye. There were huge piles of the battered sheets of red gold from the ceiling, and barrels of the jewels that had been pried out of the walls and columns were set beside them. Oskatat was standing nearby, watching the wealth and the workers carefully. The Murgos were no saints, even with a new god and a reformed priesthood, and without an overseer, some of that wealth might very well happen to end up inside the workmen's pockets. Not that they weren't getting paid; the wages Urgit paid were decent enough.
And, Urgit thought, built up enough to subtract a substantial amount from his treasury. There was, after all, a great deal of workers needed to strip the entire Drojim Palace.
More workers were wheeling granite blocks in, and stonemasons armed with mortar and their tools were building a layer of stone over the old, pockmarked walls. To add to the hurrying workers and stonemasons, there were sculptors prying the jewels out of the throne itself, and the blood-red drapes previously behind the throne were being replaced by ones of a royal purple.
"Well?" asked the king of the Murgos, turning to the young man behind him. "What do you think?"
Eriond smiled, looking around the room. "It's certainly an improvement," he said in his light voice. "How are you going to decorate the walls?"
"I was thinking about drapes of a lighter purple, swooping from the vaulted ceiling. Do you think tapestries would be a nice touch?"
Eriond shook his head. "Let's keep it simple. You've got other rooms for tapestries. We want to keep this one with the colors gray and purple. It'll be a relief after the glaring blood-red and the jewels."
"Oh, yes," Urgit agreed. "Some of that," he gestured to the sheets of gold and the jewels, "is going towards the redecoration of the rest of the palace. Really, my predecessors have had exceedingly bad taste in this kind of thing. You've seen the outer walls." He shuddered. "I'm having men scald the paint off with this acid some clever Sendar in Sulturn invented. Thank the gods for that. Without it this monstrosity would be a continual eyesore to everyone from miles around."
"Are you painting it any other color after the old paint is scalded off?" Eriond asked curiously. "I think white would be nice... or maybe pale blue."
Urgit shot Eriond a wry glance. "Don't you think we've got enough pale blue, Eriond? After all, every single temple in Cthol Murgos, Gar og Nadrak, Mishrak ac Thull, and Mallorea is decorated in pale blue and white."
Eriond smiled gently. "It's such a beautiful color."
"And you, of course, are not biased at all in this matter," Urgit said, rolling his eyes. "All hail the god of Angarak, whose essence is pale blue and who insists on swathing every inch of civilization in cloth of that color."
"I don't think I would go that far, Urgit," Eriond said.
"Oh, yes?" Urgit asked.
"Though..." mused Eriond, "it is an idea."
"Ah... Eriond, why don't we see the rest of the palace now?"
"I wonder where you would get that much cloth... maybe I could set all the Thulls to raising sheep, all the Nadraks to shearing them, all the Murgos to spinning thread, and all the Malloreans to weaving cloth."
"Eriond, are we getting a little carried away here?"
"And I'm sure my old friend King Urgit would be thrilled to pay for it." Eriond flashed him a grin.
Urgit's expression was anguished. "You wouldn't really do that to me, would you?" he pleaded. "That would lay bare my treasury!"
"What do you think this is for, Urgit?" Eriond waved an arm, encompassing the mounds of blood-red sheets and barrels of jewels. "Even after you redecorate the palace, you'll still have the wealth here of several generations. You'll have enough money to buy a monopoly on anything you want."
Urgit's eyes widened, then his expression grew sly. "Well, well, well..." he said, rubbing his hands together.
Eriond sighed at the Murgo king's expression, and turned to go through the door, when a small blue projectile shot out of nowhere, the blur slamming into Eriond's legs and clinging there.
"Errond! Errond!" a voice said, and Eriond smiled and knelt down to be on the same level as Urgit's young son.
"Cthaldar!" he greeted the little boy, smiling at how much the name Urgit had chosen for his son resembled that of his brother. "How are you doing?"
"Big bad gold come crashing down," the child informed him. "Mama says Cthaldar can't go in the throne room, because Cthaldar gets hit on the head."
Eriond smiled. "Does Cthaldar speak in third person?"
"Third person?" Cthaldar asked.
"It's when you use the person's name instead of 'I' or 'you'," Eriond told him.
Cthaldar nodded. "Like when you look down on people, instead of looking from inside them."
Eriond blinked, then recovered. "Exactly."
"No, I don't do that," Cthaldar said gravely. "It's only when Mama tells me something in a huge loud voice like Cthaldar Come Here. Then I do what Mama says real fast. Father says that Mama been spending too much time with western ladies, and when Father says that Mama starts to talk louderer at him, and he says she's just like Ceneder. Who's Ceneder, Errond?"
"I think your father means Ce'Nedra. She's a friend of your Mama."
"And does she talk real loud?"
"Oh, yes," Eriond nodded. "Ce'Nedra has quite a voice."
"Does she yell at Father?"
"Well, she yells at Father's friend. She's married to Father's friend."
"Father's friend?" Cthaldar wrinkled his small nose. "Which Father's friend?"
"He's a king too, just like your father. I'm sure your father's told you about Garion."
Cthaldar's dark eyes went very wide. "The tall man with the big huge sword that turns blue as the sky?"
"And perhaps a bit bluer," Eriond told him.
An amazed expression went across Cthaldar's face. "Wow. Garion must be real powyful. But y'know what?" Cthaldar leaned close confidentially. "If Ce'Nedra's voice is half as loud as Mama's, I think Garion is most powyful 'cause he married her."
Eriond laughed. "I'm sure he would agree with you."
Cthaldar nodded. "And Mama's voice is real loud. Espektually when she wants Cthaldar to stay out of the throne room."
"I heard that, Cthaldar Urgas!" a voice said from behind them, and Cthaldar jumped, then looked innocent.
"Who, me, Mama? I didn't say nothing."
Prala, queen of Cthol Murgos, came sweeping up in a long western-style gown of light purple. She curtseyed before Eriond, her eyes twinkling, then came forward and embraced him. "It's good to see you, Eriond. I'm glad you waylaid my son before he somehow by the strangest of chances found himself in the throne room." She shot a glance at Cthaldar.
The little boy protested, "I wouldn't have gone into the big bad throne room!" She gave him a look, and he squirmed. "Well, maybe I would've. But only to watch Father!"
"I'm sure you would have, Cthaldar," Prala told him. "Not, of course, to watch the fascinating process of men prying off gold of the ceilings and walls, or hear the huge clatter as they drop them on the floor."
Cthaldar shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no, Mama."
Prala sighed. "You're too much like your uncle. And you!" she said firmly to Urgit, who was coming out of the throne room toward them. "You know better than to go stand right in the middle of all that, when gold is dropping like hailstones."
"It wouldn't have hurt me," Urgit protested. "Not when Eriond's here."
"Don't depend on a god to keep you from getting your silly head brained," Prala scolded him. "Don't go in there again unless the workmen on the ceiling are done."
Urgit sighed. "Yes, dear." He held out his arms absentmindedly to Cthaldar, and the little boy climbed into them. "Do you want to go to your temple, Eriond? I would go with you. It's been a while since I've been there, and I could make a formal presence."
Eriond sighed. "It's not exactly a compelling or annoying duty anymore, Urgit."
Urgit grinned. "Yes, but just the notion of a absolutely pure building makes my natural instincts twitch. Do you know what absolute innocents your priests are?"
"My former Grolims, you mean? After their past?"
"Well, after their "rebirth" into your faithful followers, leaving the corrupt evil of Torak behind, they're completely innocent. And all that money in the treasury..." Urgit's nose was twitching.
Eriond sighed. "You'll never change, will you, Urgit?"
Urgit grinned. "I certainly hope not. Think of how many people would be completely and utterly convinced that nothing in the world could be depended on any more."
"That's what happened when Silk announced his engagement," Eriond told him.
"How are they?" Urgit asked curiously.
"Velvet's pregnant again," Prala said. "I was going to tell you, but I had to go looking for Cthaldar."
"Is it..." Urgit bit his lip. "Is the pregnancy proceeding along normal lines?"
A momentary flash of pain crossed Eriond's face. All of them had been there when or after they had found out that Velvet had miscarried. For several days everyone had worn black, and Velvet's close friends had been by her side. Silk had spoken very little, but Urgit had done the best he could to help his brother. Even now Silk wasn't quite the same, though he seemed so outwardly. Maybe this baby would heal their pain.
"It seems to be," the young god of Angarak said finally. "Velvet's having cramps more than usual, but Polgara would know more about that than I would. Our Margravine is very slender, and though she's not as small as Ce'Nedra, she still has trouble in childbirth." Eriond took a deep breath. "We can only hope."
They bowed their heads. Even Cthaldar was quiet for a moment, then he asked, "Mama, do I get to go to Errond's temple too?"
Prala smiled at her young son. "Why don't we?" She looked to Eriond, and he nodded. Turning, she led the way down the corridor.
"A visit of the royal family," Urgit said ironically as they strode down the now-cheerfully-lit halls. "Once in a millennium, this rare occurrence is a sight to behold."
"Would you stop that?" Prala asked. "I don't need our every deed put into proclamation."
"Thus speaks Queen Prala of Cthol Murgos, mighty ruler of the realm. All shalt hear her declaration and bow to her might."
"UrGIT!" Prala's voice went up one octave.
"See?" Cthaldar said to Eriond. "Mama's voice is real loud."
"Ah, the famed vocalizations of the Queen Prala, Warrior Lady, are famous throughout the land for their ringing beauty."
"Urgit, would you please shut up?"
"Her wrath is terrible to behold. All bow before Queen Prala, Warrior Lady, Voice of Destruction, Hand of Power, Ruler of--"
"Urgit," Prala said icily, "you sound like Salmissra's eunuchs."
"Ah," Urgit said slyly, "but I'm not in the least like a eunuch, am I?"
Prala went bright red.
"One for you," Eriond told him.
"Got her that time, didn't I?" Urgit asked his son.
Cthaldar frowned. "I don't get it, Father. How is a eunuch different?"
Urgit looked at his three-year-old son speculatively. "Ah... I'll tell you when you're older." He grinned at Prala. "Your dear Mama here, though, is intricately aware of the differences."
"Urgit!" Prala gasped, finally finding her voice.
Urgit looked at her in mock astonishment. "Why, Prala, you're as red as a beet. Whatever reason would you have to turn such an unbecoming shade?"
Eriond smiled to himself, listening to them. Soon they were in sight of his temple, a glittering structure plated in shimmering white tiles with pale blue drapes on the archways. They entered into the quiet interior, where white-robed priests walked slowly here and there, and an altar covered with roses stood in the center. Prala and Urgit stopped talking, their conversation gradually dying in the peace that filled their hearts as they entered Eriond's temple.
They stood in the interior for a moment, feeling contentment and joy wash over them, their worries and troubles slipping from their minds.
A brilliant white light shimmered around Eriond's face and form as he sparkled with radiance. His steps slow and graceful, timeless and patient, he walked over to the altar, and chose three roses in his slender glowing hands: a dark maroon one for Urgit, a beautiful red one for Prala, and a small white one for Cthaldar. Turning to face them, he smiled, his face filled with gentleness.
They knelt before him as he came to them, and he presented each with their flowers.
"A royal rose for thee, o king who hath stepped past his ancestor's prejudices and given Cthol Murgos a chance at hope and renewal," he murmured to Urgit, his light voice ringing with the archaic words. He handed him his rose, and Urgit bowed his head before his radiant god.
"A scarlet rose for thee, o beautiful girl, one who shalt grace the halls of the new palace of white and lavendar, and shalt be the right hand of the king, to support him with a will of steel." He gave Prala her rose, and she lowered her beautiful eyes submissively.
"And a rose of white for thee, o innocent child, one who shalt follow in the steps of his father and his mother, and shalt continue to lead this nation in its great path." He gave Cthaldar his white rose, and the little boy stared at it in wonder.
Then they rose slowly, and joined their hands, and all three blazed forth in incandescent glory.