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Map of the World of the 7 gods


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Tales of the World of the 7 gods

by

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

Copyright 6179 SC


Stories:

A Lost Child on the Streets of Camaar

The thieves of Upper Gralt

Life in Upper Gralt

Stuck in Erat

The Bronze Falcon

Darine Life

Daughter of the Barrens

A proud son of Sendaria

Jantie's Amazement

The Belzandramanian (Click Me)



A Lost Child on the Streets of Camaar 


Dulliam was 7.  7, alone, hungry and thirsty, living by the canals of the city of Camaar in the Kingdom of Sendaria, coping as well as he could.  He was a bright young child, so his parent’s had told him many times.  They had died, recently, in the house fire which had left him stranded.  Nobody had been willing to take him in, and he had no relatives, so he ended up down by the canals near the wharves of the city, fishing with the rod he’d had to steal, and getting by as best he could. 

His best friend, street rat, was 12 and had lived on the wharves as long as he could remember.  He had been looked after for a while in his younger years by the old man Druknar, who had been a vagrant wandering around through Sendaria most of his days.  But Druknar had died and since then street rat, who had no other name, had lived on the dirty streets of Camaar. 

And now they were forming a team – a thieving team – and becoming quite adroit at their work. 

* * * 

‘Now, as soon as he goes to the back of the store, sneak in and grab the money bag.  He is working alone today, and I am sure he won’t suspect anything.  He always goes out for a drink near the end of the day.  I have watched him for weeks now.’ 
Dulliam took in all these words of advice from Street Rat and, watching the fishmonger, was ready for his latest act of thievery.  True to Street Rat’s words, the fishmonger soon wandered out the back of his store, apparently to indulge in his favourite beverage.  Dulliam looked to the left and right and quietly stole into the store and climbed over the counter.  He reached under the counter, pulled out the money bag, and peered inside.  Full of coins – they would be rich.  He looked out at Street Rat, raised the bag to show him, and Street Rat yelled ‘Now hurry, get out of there.’  Yet, as Dulliam began climbing again over the counter, the strong hands of the fishmonger grabbed him, called him a little larrikin, and took him to the back room.  ‘You will be in the gaol for a while, my young thief.  Whatever came into you to steal my money?  Haven’t your parent’s taught you anything?’  But Dulliam remained silent.  The fishmonger, not really wanting to report the lad, but not knowing what else to do, collected his coat, and closed the store, dragging the lad to the local magistrate’s office.  He would let the authorities deal with this little thief, it was their job after all. 

* * * 

‘So, lord Garion, as you can see Sendarian Justice has become ever more effective since my reforms.’ 
Garion, looking through the report that King Fulrach had given him to briefly examine, nodded slowly.  ‘Yes, I can see that Fulrach.  Crime is down in many sectors.  You have done well, it seems.’ 
‘It is all about having a strong hand of justice.  It is what is required to run a kingdom.’ 
‘Yet mercy must not be lacking.’ 
‘It is as you say,’ responded Fulrach.  ‘Well, shall we visit the magistrate then?  Since we have come to Camaar we may as well sit in on a judgement, and you can see for yourself how effective Sendarian Justice has become. 
‘Very well,’ responded Garion, eager to see Fulrach’s reforms at work firsthand. 

* * * 

Dulliam looked up at the impressive figure of the magistrate, awaiting his judgement. 
‘Your crime is great, child.  Yet you are still quite young.  My judgement is that you will spend the rest of your youth, until adulthood, in the juvenile detention centre of Camaar.  There you will learn the right way.’  Dulliam just nodded, and as the guard took him away he made no protest.  At least he would be fed and have a home. 

In the gallery, looking on, Garion motioned to Fulrach.  ‘Can I speak with that lad?  I want to ask him some questions.’ 
‘As you wish,’ responded the King 

Coming into a private chamber, Dulliam was puzzled.  The chamber was very expensive looking, and he wondered why he should be brought to such a place.  Suddenly the door opened and an impressive looking man dressed in fine clothes entered the room, coming to sit down next to him. 
‘Tell me, young Dulliam, where have you come from?  They have been unable to locate your parent’s, apparently.’ 
Dulliam, though, remained silent.  He had not spoken yet of his parents, and refused all questioning.  Garion, sensing the child might be an orphan, softened his voice.  ‘Are your parent’s gone from you?  Gone to the grave?  You can tell me Dulliam.  I am only here to help you.’ 
Dulliam, looking up at the kind figure, finally nodded. 
Garion looked at the child, a spirit of pity and compassion suddenly coming over him, and just then he knew exactly what request he wanted to make of Fulrach. 

* * * 

As the chariot sped along the Great Northern Road, Dulliam looked out excitedly at the scenery.  He was now off on a new adventure, a new life, rescued by the man called Garion.  He did not know what the future held, or where he would be this time next week, but it was better than living on the canals of Camaar, or stuck in a juvenile detention centre.  And looking up at the man Garion seated next to him Dulliam sensed he had just begun a new destiny, a new life, and things would never be quite the same again. 


The End 



The Thieves of Upper Gralt 


Blindrak and Justogo were incompetent thieves on a good day.  They had been the bane of the baron of Upper Gralt’s Marshall for many a year, but today, so they told each other, the plot couldn’t fail.  They would steal pies – pies from Fendak the baker – and feed themselves on them for a solid month. 

Fendak had gained a reputation as Upper Gralt’s finest baker, one in a long family line of traditional bakers, and their store had been in business for centuries.  But when Fendak returned from a lunch break just over the road at the local tavern to find that morning’s assortment of pies no longer staying warm on top of the oven, he suspected foul play.  Who had stolen his pies? 

Ringtack the local Marshall had a number of likely suspects, and Blindrak and Justogo’s names were mentioned amongst them, but proving the case would be difficult. 

It was then an old fellow, who had visited Fendak from time to time, arrived on the scene, gravely disappointed to not find any more pies for an afternoon snack.  When Fendak had declared the pies had been stolen, the old wizard Beldin, beside himself with desire for yet another of those delicious Graltian pies, tried his own trade to find the culprits – magic. 

He took out a wand, waved it at the top of the oven and, the Marshall and the Baker following, they left the bakery and trudged half way across town to a second rate doss house, were, upon the marshal bursting through one of the room doors on the first level, they found two sleeping thieves, and a cupboard full of pies. 

Well, Beldin was most pleased, was rewarded with a number of the pies for his diligent service, and Blindrak and Justogo found themselves, yet again, in the custody of the Marshall of Upper Gralt. 

Later on, reflecting on their briefly lived good fortune, Justogo could only say to Blindrak, well at least we won’t need to eat for a week or so, to which Blindrak glumly nodded, before burping on the recently digested meal of chicken and vegetable pies. 


The End 



Life in Upper Gralt


Fendak was a simple Sendarian.  A life of remarkable normalcy, really, apart from the grand day he, as a youth in his father’s service, had been presented to King Fulrach who had been touring the kingdom.  But while the King had remarked that the pastries of the finest baker of Upper Gralt were truly tasty, and had wondered who had made such delicacies, he had not taken a great deal of interest when Fendak himself was presented.  But it had been a big deal for Fendak, and he had informed all and sundry for many years since of his marvellous meeting with the noble monarch. 

These days, instead, he delighted in his tasty pastries, as his substantial girth truly testified to.  But Fendak didn’t care. 

Upper Gralt was in the heart of Sendaria, not far from Erat.  Not a great deal happened in this village.  But it didn’t need to as far as Fendak was concerned.  He liked the simple, basic life, and the things of glory which the Overlord of the West, Lord Belgarion, had pursued in his life – well such things were for Pawns of Prophecy, not for the likes of simple old Fendak. 

One morning, rising early for the baking, an old man appeared at the front of the store, eager to be let in.  Fendak always took a sale when he could, as his father had trained him for many long years to make as much money as he could, so answered the request of the old man for admittance into the store. 

The old man inspected the pastries, and suddenly another one appeared, seeming similar in many ways, but a hunchback. 
‘Well, Beldin.  What shall it be?  This bakery has made fine food for centuries, a well established family tradition I believe.’ 
‘Yes sir,’ interrupted Fendak.  ‘Our family has run this bakery for well over 500 years.  We are proud of our tradition.’ 
‘Then the food must be good,’ commented the hunchbacked Beldin.  ‘I will take you at your word Belgarath.  Anything will do.’ 
The man, apparently named Belgarath, chose two pies, paid for them, and the two of them, sitting out on the front of the store, consumed their pies hastily. 

Fendak, getting back to work, thought on his life.  It really was a simple life, really.  Feeding hungry old men.  It would be something, though, if some grand figure of the West, someone like old King Fulrach, came and dined at his bakery some time.  It would indeed be something.  But Upper Gralt was not exactly on the hit list for the finery of the West after all, was it?  No, of course not, thought Fendak to himself, and got back to his work, the two men out the front of the bakery finishing off their tasty pies. 


The End 



Stuck in Erat 


Jennavere was a regular type of young lady.  Full of dreams about boys, fantasies of being the bell of the Erat society scene, hopes of marrying prince charming but, despite her best wishes, still stuck in the most lowly of occupations as being a washer woman to bring home finances for her often hungry family.  She had 3 brothers, 3 sisters, an ancient and sick father who could no longer work, and a mother who was always beside herself with her worries.  It seemed for young Jennavere that she was stuck – stuck here in Erat in the nation of Sendaria – destined to live out her life as a washer woman, loved by none, providing for her siblings welfare. 

And then one day something changed. 

And old and ancient man, wrinkled beyond belief, showed up at the laundry were she slaved away, muttering something about the frustrations of being alive again.  She asked him his name and wether he had washing to do.  He replied that he was the wizard Belsambar and, yes, he did have some washing for her to take care of. 

As she sat there the old man began muttering on about his once past life as a wizard of glory from the Vale of Aldur, and she just smiled at his senility.  A wizard indeed. 

She continued washing away, doing her work, when he said something she never forgot.  ‘And what do you want, dear Jennavere?  Of all the things you could wish in life, what do you wish for the most?’ 
She looked at him, sighed, and responded.  ‘Oh, I don’t know.  In the end I guess I am content with my lot in life.  Certainly, it’s not an easy life, but I know I am doing the right thing sticking by my family and caring for my elderly father.  Really, I couldn’t wish for anything apart from his good health and the family’s prosperity.’ 
The wizard nodded knowingly.  He understood human dilemma. 
‘Very well.  I shall consult with Aldur, and you shall have your wishes come true.’ 
She handed him his briefs and coat, smiled.  ‘Be sure to say hello from me.’ 
He nodded, got to his feet, and meandered away. 
‘What a strange old man,’ she thought to herself. 

The thing is, it didn’t happen suddenly, but gradually over the next few months and year’s things began to improve in the life of Jennavere.  Against all hope her father simply got better and went back to work at his old firm.  His mother’s attitude improved, and her two eldest brothers found very good employment with a local merchant.  And all of a sudden they had good finances and were even considering moving to a better part of town. 

In fact, they did so, and her dreams started coming true.  She met prince charming at an uptown boutique store, who invited her to the Earl of Erat’s next ball.  He gave her a lump sum for a pretty dress and her mother fussed over her no end the night before the ball. 

She became the toast of the town, and married her prince charming.  And the life of the washer woman was forgotten forever. 


Then, later, an old man wandered into a familiar laundry, looked at a desperate washerwoman, and said ‘Share me your woes, dear lady.’  And the rest, as they say, is history. 

The End 



The Bronze Falcon 
From the Life of Garion 
(From the ‘Beloreon’ era  - between the ‘Belgariad’ and the ‘Malloreon’) 

Garion surveyed the forest.  He knew there were rabbits in large quantity and, suddenly, spying one, he released his Falcon ‘Bronzeclaw’ and it flew swiftly, cornered the frightened creature, and nabbed it, returning to Garion. 

He petted Bronzeclaw, making that familiar noise with his throat which seemed to make the bird happy.  He fed it some meat, small enough chunks to pass the ring around its throat, and returned to his party.  He’d had enough hunting for the day. 

As Overlord of the West, slayer of Torak, Garion had a fearsome reputation amongst the people of the Isle of the Winds.  This week he was inland, staying at a lodge of respectable elder of the land, enjoying his Kingship.  They had been out hunting for a while and ‘Durant’, the elder, had provided a Falcon for Garion, sharing the noise which the Falcon responded to well.  And he had taken an instant liking to ‘Bronzeclaw’, for she was magnificent. 

These were quiet days, now, in the time of the west.  It seems as if a climax of millennia of expectations had been reached, and now a quite aftermath followed.  But, still, there was something in Garion’s heart which told him his adventures were not quite finished with yet.  Not just yet. 

As they returned to the lodge he petted his bird.  Hunting with a bird was, of course, a traditional role of the King.  And he tried his best to live up to his Kingly expectations.  The people needed a King of the people, so his grandfather Belgarath reminded him.  Someone after their own heart.  And Garion tried his best to live up to his grandfather’s expectations, even if at times he felt himself lacking. 

Ce’Nedra was always a handful, and had been ever more unfathomable of late, moaning about this and that.  But such were a woman’s ways, and perhaps especially a Tolnedran woman’s. 

He looked at his falcon.  Perhaps the Falcon had concerns, as all creatures likely did.  Worrying about its meals, its mates.  Perhaps they were its concerns.  But, for Garion, he wondered could the life of a Bronze Falcon truly be as complicated as King of the West?  He truly wondered that indeed. 


The End 



Darine Life

Karnik was a citizen of Sendaria, living in the city of Darine on the gulf of Cherek. He was a simple man, a fisherman. And he lived a simple life and had simple ways. He worked in the afternoons bringing in the fish from the gulf, because his permit only permitted him afternoon fishing, not the morning allotment, which was reserved for those of the Darine Fishing Guild, which he had been barred entrance to for grave violations of procedures in younger years. As such, his harvest was not always as good as those of the morning, but his family got by none the less. Karnik had two daughters, strong daughters, who were nearly ready to come out fishing with him, and a lame son, whose legs didn't work properly. Dunkar was the pride of Karnik's life, regardless, as the lad showed competency in scholarly pursuits, and in the chair with wheels the engineering school of Darine had provided for Dunkar, upon the lad's own design, he managed to get around somwhat. He wanted to work on the Darine council, so he maintained. Even a cripple can have a future, Karnik thought to himself, if he didn't give up hope.


Karnik's two daughters were Estla and Jandy. They were the pride of his life, but his wife loved them with all her heart. His wife maintained the family home, a pretty lady, with a good figure still, despite her three children, and Karnik thanked the gods of the Alorns for providing him with such a good wife.


One morning, Karnik was scrubbing off barnacles from the bottom of his fishing boat, which had been raised up on land, and his daughter Estla was busy working with him.


'Father. One day, when I am working with you, will I be able to register with the guild? Perhaps they might accept me.'

'Only if you are married to another registered man,' replied Karnik. 'What, have you met someone in those outings you and your sister go to?'

Estla remained silent.

'You know, father, I have never minded this work. Since 12 when you brought me in, I have worked faithfully with you.'

'And I have appreciated it,' he responded. 'Would be lost without you both, especially as Dunkar can not involve himself, may the gods have mercy on him.'

'Yes,' she replied. 'But, if I were to ever, you know, find someone. And was led elsewhere, you would cope wouldn't you?'

He looked at her, and softened. 'Sendaria is a busy nation, with lots of growing enterprises. If you find a man with a prospering trade, you have my blessing.'

'Thank you father,' she said, and continued on with their hard work.


'Father. Do you ever wonder if King Belgarion will visit Darine? We have been promised a visit for many years now.'

'I am sure the king is busy enough,' responded Karnik. 'Don't go losing yourself in fantasies of royalty, daughter. Ours is a simple life.'

'Yes,' she replied. 'But wouldn't it be wonderful. To live in Riva and dine with Kings and Queens. All the world at your disposal, and everything you could ever want.'

'And mad god's called Torak ready to slay you at a moment's notice,' chided Karnik.

'Yes father,' she responded, and returned to her work.


After a while she began speaking again.

'Imagine being a wizard. Like Belgarath. With all that power, and all those spells. It would be amazing. Doing magic. Amazing.'

'And you would live alone in an ivory tower in Algaria, and the birds would be your only company,' responded Karnik. 'Now stop this daydreaming, and get back to work.'

'Yes father,' she replied sombrely.


After a while though, yet again.

'Imagine being the serpent Queen of Nyissa. Everyone would fear you and you could have all that power and fame.'

Karnik had had enough.

'Imagine beink Karnik fisherman of Darine. With the most airy fairy daughters in all the world, who can NEVER keep their minds on their job.'

Estla giggled. 'Sorry father. I'll get to work.'


But after a while.

'Imagine........'

But as soon as she spoke, her father bellowed 'ESSTTLAAA!'


Not a peep she made the rest of the morning, and looked softly at her father all the time because of it.


And so life passed on in Darine, and none of the citizens of Sendaria were wiser to the imaginations of Estla, daughter of Karnik. None at all.

The End


Daughter of the Barrens

Zebna Sheldath lived in the Barrens in north-west Mallorea, away from civilization, in desolate world of frugal living and isolationism. But that is how her father liked it. He was in exile from Sendaria, and had crossed the land bridge 20 years ago with his young family, but gone north, and not south, and found a somewhat less barren part of the barrens, with a small stream, and some wild goats. They had gathered the goats, and had regular milk, and with the seed he had brought, sowed potatoes and pumpkins and other vegetables, and, as time passed, lived on goat's milk, cheese, meat and whatever vegetables grew in their harsh climate. It was cold in winter, very cold, but Zebna didn't mind. She was used to that now. There was not a boy to marry in all the world, of course, and at 25 she was a young maiden with no prospects. Bur father had promised, one day, one day he would venture down south to Mallorea proper and find a husband for his daughter, one who didn't mind the barrens, and the extremes of life.


Zebna made string from goats hide, and one of her jobs was to use that string and sow goat's hides together to make clothing and bedding and footwear. She was good at it after many years, and while, in many ways she felt angry at her father, she kept that anger in check, and prayed to Ul, which the family called their own god, and asked him to forgive her for her abrupt attitude towards her dad. She was sure he did.


And then, one day, they walked in. Two vagrant sort of looking fellas, one younger, and one older, and they said they had come to judge Zebna, for they were judges of Ul.


'My daughter is innocent. She has not known a man,' said Zebna's father.

The old man looked at the man, and nodded. 'But it is her soul we want to look at. Let her speak.'


Zebna was cautious. 'I. I am 25. I have not known a man. But I have not known anything in this forsaken place we call home. I never have. I am bitter. In my heart I am bitter at my parents, but I have finally come to accept that this is life. That this is my lot in it all. And that dad will find my husband from Mallorea, but even then, I will never leave this place.'


The old man looked at her, but it was the younger who spoke.

'You have spoken your heart. Are you angry at your father?'

Zebna nodded.

'But can you forgive him?' asked the young man.

Zebna looked at her father and softened. 'I love my father. You must know that. With all my heart. And while this life is too much, one might think for any girl from Sendaria, I accept the fate the gods have given us, and will endure it to the end.'


The two doomsayers consulted.


'You are a worthy daughter of your father,' said the old man. 'He is rightly proud of you, as I can tell he is.'

'Thank you,' said Zebna.


They left then, and as the year passed, and her father returned from the south with a competent man of working abilities, but a little thick, she did not complain. He was attractive enough, and pledged his undying love.


And, as the years passed, and Zebna had her own family, she remembered her judgement, and remembered that, in an impossible world of gods and strange destinies, even Zebna Sheldath must walk the pathway given to her.

The End


A Proud Son of Sendaria

‘And you, Jacon.  What do you think of Sendaria’s role in the world?’
Jacon was an intelligent young 18 year old Sendarian, hailing from Erat, but now studying at Camaar.
‘I think Sendaria has much to offer the world, Hemlyn.  Our wines are universally acknowledged as the best the west has to offer.  We have fruit and vegetables found nowhere else, and our bakers are amongst the finest there is.  But, I feel, our destiny is in ‘Palagon’.  I feel if we promote our premiere sport to the world, as we have been gradually doing, Sendarian fame will last forever.  Rumour has it that even King Garion in his youth at Faldor’s farm played a variant of Palagon while it was in its younger years of developments.’
‘I am not sure if Palagon stretches back that many centuries, Jacon, but possibly.  Never the less, you have answered well.’

Jacon sat there in his university class, pleased at himself.  He had answered well, and thought he had made a positive contribution.

Later on, after class, he sat in the library doing his studies and opposite him sat down a girl, about 19, with a book on ancient legends.  It had a picture of King Garion in his prime on it, and Jacon was instantly interested.
‘What are you looking up,’ he asked the girl.
‘Oh, nothing in particular.  Just taking a break from my regular studies.’
‘I like the picture of King Garion on the cover.’
She turned to it.  Yes.  Yes, it is a good one.  But I am one of those who wonder, you know, if he will ever return from the far reaches of Zhadora.’
‘Eventually, I think,’ responded  Jacon.  ‘But the west is prospering these days under the Royal Family of Riva, and while  the ancient patriarchs are gone from us yet to return, we are sufficing.  We are doing well.’
‘Yes.  Yes we are,’ she responded.  My name is Jantie.  What is your name?’
‘Jacon.’
‘Oh, really.  That is my brother’s name as well.’
‘Small world,’ he responded.

They continued chatting about this and that and Jacon found himself making a new friend.  Always a good thing, he thought to himself.

Outside the world of Camaar and Sendaria continued on, as it had done so for many ages, going through its life and progress in both cultural and technological advances.  It was a new world Sendaria was embracing, a world of continuing advances in science, and great advances in economics and industry.  It was a brave new world in many ways, and a world of great hope and opportunity for a proud young Sendarian such as Jacon, son of Jaldo.

The End



Jantie's Amazement


'What is it?' asked Jantie.

'It's an ancient artefact,' said Jacon, about the orb which he was holding.

'It's like the orb,' she said. 'King Belgarion's orb.'

'It's not the same,' said Jacon. 'I was given it. By an old man. A man with an ancient looking face in many ways, but he was only about 60. Said his name was Beldin, and I had been entrusted to be the 'Gatherer'.'

'Gatherer? Of what?'

'I don't know, Jantie. But he also said that this was one of 70 brothers and sisters. That's what he called them. And that many were supposedly good, and some evil, and some neither good nor bad. They were special stones, so he said. And the future of the world is found in them.'

'Amazing,' said Jandie. 'What are you going to do with it?'

'I don't know. But I will keep it. Beldin said he would return to visit me again in a while, and would give me further information on what I am supposed to do with this. It could be fantastic whatever it is.'

Jantie touched his shoulder. 'You don't think you could be getting into something you can't get out of. Look at all the perils King Belgarion went through. He had to fight wars and, after all was done, still kill a god to find peace. With something like that in your life, Jacon, you will never find any rest.'

'But how can we escape our destiny?' asked the youth.

'I don't know,' she repsonded.

'Nor do I,' he said fearfully.


Jacon looked at the orb all that week as he went about his last year's studies at Camaar University. He anxiously waited for Beldin, who did not yet show, and as he studied the orb, and grew familiar with it, he felt this strange sense of comfort in its presence. Like, somewhere inside his head, it was talking to him, making friends with him, letting him know he was trusted and valued. But how could that be? How could something as impossible as that ever really happen? He studied the orb, and continued on his studies, and, as he finished his year, and gained his degree, he made his farewells to Jantie, and promised to visit her soon enough, as he made his way back to his home of Erat.


Yet the orb was always on his mind, and as he found suitable work in Erat, his parents being rightly proud of him, he could sense, in his heart, there was a destiny at work. Some strange new destiny, which involved his own special orb, and a fight between the powers which be which would shape Sendaria and the world for all time to come.


The End