"I can't really be sure. He wouldn't like the idea, but he might be able to see the necessity for it." I squinted out through the rain-spattered window.
"This is only a hunch," I admitted, "but I don't think he'll divide up his army. If he were going to do that, he'd have done it when he came out of the mountains onto the moors of Drasnia. That would have been the logical time for him to send a column south into Algaria, but he didn't. He tends to have a one-track mind. Obsessive people are like that, and maybe obsessive Gods are, as well. I just don't think he'll divide his forces. Whichever way he decides to go, he'll take all his people with him.
He's not really here to win battles. He's here to destroy, and that takes a lot of troops."
"Then the only real question is who he'll destroy next," Eldrig said.
"I think he'll attack Cherek."
"What for?" Cho-Ram demanded.
"All your men are on your war-boats where he can't get at them. I think he'll invade Algaria next. He's got an appointment he has to keep in Arendia, and that means he's got to get past me first."
"Or me," Ormik added quietly, "and my people aren't very warlike.
If he wants to get to Arendia in a hurry, he'll come through Sendaria."
"Isn't this all a little contemptible?" Rhodar asked pointedly.
"You gentlemen saw what happened to my kingdom, and now you're all coming up with reasons why we should mass our forces inside your borders."
"Aloria is one, Rhodar," Eldrig told him.
"We are all aggrieved for what happened to Drasnia."
"Where were you when I needed you, then?"
"That was my fault, Rhodar," I told him.
"If you want to throw rocks at somebody, throw them at me and leave your brother kings out of it.
The Mrin Codex tells us that Torak's going to lay siege to the Algarian Stronghold-- eventually. It doesn't tell us if he's going to go someplace else first."
"When does he have to be in Arendia?" Eldrig asked.
"We don't know," I replied sourly.
"Does he know?"
"Probably. He's the one who's moving this time. We're making counter moves
When Cherek and his boys and I went to Cthol Mishrak, we knew when we had to be there. Torak didn't know when we were coming. We had the advantage that time. He's got it this time."
"Then about all we can do is wait," Brand said.
"We'll have to watch him and stay mobile. Once he starts to move, we have to be able to respond immediately."
"That's not much of a strategy, Brand," Cho-Ram objected.
"I'll be happy to listen to alternatives."
"There is something else we can do," Polgara told them.
"I think it's time for us to bring in the other kingdoms--Tolnedra in particular. We're going to need the legions."
"Ran Borune doesn't like Alorns, Polgara," Eldrig told her.
"I don't think he'll even listen to our diplomats."
"Maybe not, but I think he will listen to me--and to my father. We'll talk to the Arends, as well--and the Nyissans."
"I wouldn't waste my time on the Nyissans," Cho-Ram said disdainfully.
"They're so drugged most of the time that they wouldn't be any good in a fight."
"I wouldn't be so sure, Cho-Ram," I told him.
"If I can get one good Nyissan poisoner anywhere near Torak's field kitchens, he'll kill more Angaraks than an entire Tolnedran legion could."
"Belgarath!" Cho-Ram exclaimed.
"That's horrible!"
"So was what happened to Drasnia. Torak's got us outnumbered, so we've got to come up with ways to even things out." I stood up.
"Stay flexible, gentlemen. Polgara and I are going south for a while."
It took Pol and me more than a week to locate the encampment of the Asturian duke and his green-clad archers. In part that was due to the weather. The endless, accursed rain wreathed down through the trees like mist, obscuring everything on the ground. Even when Pol and I resumed our own forms for brief periods, she smelled like a bagful of wet feathers, and I imagine that I reeked like a sodden dog. Neither of us mentioned it, but we sat on opposite sides of our campfire each night.
I hesitate to use the word, but it was only by chance that we finally found the Asturian encampment. A very brief break in the weather cleared away the prevailing mist, the wind dropped, and Pol was able to see the smoke rising from their campfires.
The Asturian duke's name was Eldallan, and he was a lean, youngish man dressed, as were his men, all in green--people who hide out in a forest usually do choose that color. The Asturian encampment was quite extensive. There were a few tents scattered about, but most of the archers lived in crudely built huts that closely resembled the homes of the serfs. I suppose there's a certain justice there. Eldallan's archers were young noblemen for the most part, and sleeping in mud-and-wattle huts gave them a chance to see how the other half lived.
Eldallan was less than cooperative--at least right at first. He'd had his men build him a crude chair, and he sat in it as if it were a throne with his eight-year-old daughter, Mayaserana, playing with a doll at his side.
"That's an Alorn problem." He rejected our appeal.
"My problem's the Mimbrates." In what had probably been an effort to distinguish themselves from their countrymen to the south, the Asturians had discarded the "thees" and thousand "foreasmuches."
"I'm sure you'll have second thoughts about that when you're stretched out on an altar with two or three Grolims carving out your heart, your Grace," I told him bluntly.
"That's just a fairy story, Belgarath," he scoffed.
"I'm not gullible enough to believe Alorn propaganda."
"Why don't you let me talk with him, father?" Pol suggested.
"I know Arends a little better than you do."
"Gladly," I agreed.
"This skeptic's right on the verge of irritating me."
"Please forgive my father, your Grace," she said sweetly to the duke.
"Diplomacy's not one of his strong points."
"I'm no more inclined to accept your horror stories than I am his, Lady Polgara. Your one-time affiliation with the Wacites is well-known.
You have no reason to love Asturians."
"I'm not going to tell you horror stories, your Grace. I'm going to show you what the Angaraks did to Drasnia."
"Illusions." He dismissed her proposal with a shrug.
"No, your Grace. Reality. I speak as the duchess of Erat, and no true gentleman would question the word of a noblewoman--or have I erred in assuming that there are gentlemen in Asturia?"
"You question my honor?"
"Aren't you questioning mine?"
He struggled with it.
"Very well, your Grace," he agreed reluctantly.
"If you give me your word of honor that what you propose to show me really happened, I'll have no choice but to accept it."
"Your Grace is too kind," she murmured.
"Let's go back in time, and north to Drasnia. This is what truly happened when Kal Torak came down onto the moors." I heard--or felt--the surge of her Will, and she made a small, curious gesture in front of his face as she released it.
I didn't see a thing, naturally; but the duke did.
"Why, father," the little girl at his side said when he cried out in horror, "whatever's the matter?"
He wasn't able to answer her. Polgara held him frozen in place for about a quarter of an hour. His eyes grew wider and wider, and his face turned deathly pale. After a few minutes, he was begging her to stop.
But she didn't.
He began to weep, and his daughter stared at him incredulously. I'm sure he wanted to cover his eyes with his hands, but his limbs were frozen, and he couldn't move. He groaned. He even screamed a few times, but Pol refused to relent. She kept him locked in place until he'd been forced to witness the entire horror.
He fell out of his chair when she finally released him, and he lay on the ground, so
bbing uncontrollably.
"What did you do to my father, bad Lady?" the little girl demanded.
"He'll be fine in a few minutes, dear," Pol told her gently.
"He just had a nightmare, that's all."
"But it's daytime--and he isn't even asleep."
"That happens sometimes, Mayaserana. He'll be all right."
It took Eldallan about a half an hour to regain his composure, and when he did, he was ready to listen.
"I'm not going to insist on a direct meeting between you and the Mimbrate King," I told him.
"That might be pushing things a bit."
"He's not the king," Eldallan corrected me almost absently.
"He thinks he is, but that's beside the point. My daughter and I'll go to Vo Mimbre and talk with him. We'll hammer out the details of a truce between the two of you, and I'll arrange for some Sendars to act as messengers. Sendars are neutral, and they're honorable people, so there won't be any danger of trickery. Tell your archers to quit wasting arrows on Mimbrates. You're going to need every arrow you can lay your hands on when the Angaraks come."
"It shall be as you say, Ancient One." He was suddenly a very agreeable fellow. He definitely didn't want Polgara to show him anything else.
Pol and I went on to the yellow-walled city of Vo Mimbre. Mimbrate poets have written all sorts of nonsense about their
"City of Gold," but the plain truth of the matter is the fact that the quarries of the region produce yellow building stones. There wasn't anything mystic or even significant about it at all.
After the destruction of Vo Astur in 3822, the Mimbrate dukes had taken to calling themselves "the kings of All Arendia," but that was a fiction. The authority of that throne in Vo Mimbre stopped at the edge of the Arendish Forest.
Arends aren't quite as stubborn as Tolnedrans are about certain peculiar things, so when Pol and I reached Vo Mimbre and identified ourselves, we were immediately escorted to the throne room of
"King" Alodrigen XII. Aldorigen was a bit older than Duke Eldallan, and quite a bit bulkier. Mimbrates start wearing full armor when they're still children, and the sheer dead weight of all that steel puts muscle on them. It doesn't noticeably add brain capacity, however.
Once again, I'll resist using the word "coincidence." It just "happened" that Aldorigen also had a child of about eight years--a son named Korodullin.
Isn't that interesting?
Aldorigen was no less stubborn than Eldallan had been, so Polgara was obliged to repeat her performance. The king came around as quickly as his Asturian counterpart had. The Asturians and Mimbrates have always claimed that they're completely different from each other. To be honest with you, though, I've never been able to really tell them apart, even though Mimbrates still use archaic speech and Asturians don't.
After Polgara'd brought Aldorigen to his senses, I spoke with the Sendarian ambassador and arranged for several go-bet weens to carry information back and forth between Mimbre and Asturia, and then Pol and I proceeded--damply--to Tol Honeth.
Ran Borune's skepticism about Torak's intentions had been evaporated by what had happened in Drasnia, and he was willing at least to listen to us.
"I assume the Alorns have a plan," he said after we had explained the situation to him.
"A tentative one," I replied.
"Kal Torak's invasion of Drasnia taught us not to lock our thinking in stone. We do know that this is going to be settled one way or another someplace in Arendia, but we can't be certain which route Torak's going to take to get there. What he did in Drasnia suggests that he wants to obliterate the Alorns before he gets to Arendia.
Eldrig expects him to invade Cherek, but I'm not so sure. We do know that he's going to lay siege to the Algarian Stronghold, but we're not sure what he'll do before that. He might even try to attack the Isle of the Winds. That's his ultimate goal, and he might try to go there and retake the Orb of Aldur before he goes to Arendia."
"I thought you could see the future, Belgarath."
"Sort of," I replied, making a sour face.
"There are a couple of prophecies, but they're very obscure."
"Are your Alorns going to want help in the north?"
"I think they can manage. If Torak does decide to go directly to the Isle, he'll run head-on into the Cherek fleet, and the entire war could be settled in the Sea of the Winds. If it happens that way, I know who's going to win. No navy on earth is a match for Eldrig's war-boats."
"Are you and Lady Polgara planning to stay here for long?"
"As long as it takes."
"I want to talk with my generals, but we'll need to coordinate our strategy. Can I offer you the hospitality of the palace here?"
"We appreciate the thought, Ran Borune," Polgara said, "but it might cause you some problems. The Honethites and Vorduvians would probably make a very big issue of the fact that you're consorting with "heathen sorcerers."
"I'm the emperor here, Lady Polgara, and I'll consort with whomever I bloody well please."
"Isn't he a dear man?" Pol said to me.
"She's right, Ran Borune," I told the emperor.
"We've got enough trouble with Kal Torak. Let's not go out of our way to pick fights with the other great families. We'll stay at the Cherek embassy. The ambassador's got a war-boat at his disposal, and I need to send the Alorn kings a report about what we accomplished in Arendia. Who's the current Nyissan Ambassador?"
"A reptilian sort of fellow named Podiss," Ran Borune replied with obvious distaste.
"I'll need to talk with him, as well," I said.
"I want to let Salmissra know that we're coming."
"Why bring her into it at all?"
"She has certain resources I might need later on. If something comes up, I'll get word to you."
He smiled faintly.
"My door's always open to you, Belgarath."
Polgara and I went to the Cherek embassy, and I composed a dispatch for the ambassador's courier ship to take to Riva. Then I went across town to the Nyissan embassy.
After I returned, Pol and I had a quiet supper and retired for the night. I was just getting ready for bed when Beltira's voice came at me from out of nowhere.
"Belgarath!" He sounded excited.
"Yes, I'm here. What's happening?"
"Torak's made his move! He's invading Algaria!"
"Has he committed all his forces?"
"Evidently so. There's a small occupation army holding the ground in Drasnia--mostly to guard his rear, we think, but the rest of his troops are marching south."
I breathed a very large sigh of relief. The possibility of Torak selecting one of his other options had been worrying me more than a little.
"How far has he penetrated?"
"As far as Lake Atun. It's slow going for him. The Algar cavalry's been slicing large pieces out of his flanks."
"Good. Keep an eye on him and let me know if he changes direction. I don't want to commit any troops until I'm sure this isn't a feint."
"I don't think so, Belgarath. We've heard from Beldin, and he says that the army that invaded Drasnia's only about half of Torak's force. He's gathered a huge fleet at Dal Zerba on the west coast of the Dalasian protectorates.
Urvon's in charge there, and Beldin's positive that he's going to ferry that army across the Sea of the East to march across Southern Cthol Murgos to attack us from that direction. We've got two armies coming at us."
I started to swear. Torak had divided his forces, after all, but he'd done it before he even left Mallorea.
"I'll get back to you," I told Beltira.
"Pol and I'd better go to the palace and let Ran Borune know what's afoot."
I went down the hall to Pol's room and knocked on her door.
"It's me, Pol," I said.
"Let me in."
"I'm bathing, father. Go away."
"You can do that later. Torak just invaded Algaria."
I heard some splashing and, a moment or two later, Pol opened the d
oor. She'd thrown on a robe, but her hair was still dripping.
"He what?" she demanded.
"I just told you. Torak's on the move, and he's coming south."
"Garel's at the Stronghold, father. I'd better move him."
"He's safe there, Pol. We know that the Stronghold won't fall, and Torak can't stay there forever. He's got an appointment he has to keep in Arendia. There's some other bad news, though. Beldin told the twins that Urvon's commanding a second Mallorean army. They're crossing the Sea of the East. They'll be coming at us from southern Cthol Murgos. Torak's going to try to put us in a vise. We'd better go back to the palace and alert Ran Borune."
"I'll get dressed."
It was almost midnight when we reached the palace, and it took us a while to persuade the servants to wake the emperor. He was sleepy-eyed and tousled when we were finally admitted to his private quarters.
"Don't you people ever sleep?" he asked in a grouchy tone of voice.
"Only when there's nothing better to do, your Majesty," I told him.
"Torak's invaded Algaria."
That woke him up.
"I'll start the legions north immediately," he said.
"I'd hold off on that, Ran Borune," Pol suggested.
"I think you're going to need them someplace else."
I told him about the second army gathering at Dal Zerba, and it was one of the few times I've ever heard a Borune swear.
"How many people does that madman have?" he demanded.
"They don't call it
"Boundless Mallorea" for nothing," I replied.
"What are we going to do?"
"We still have some time, I think," I said.
"Urvon's not going to be able to ferry his army across the Sea of the East in a single day, and it's a long way across southern Cthol Murgos."
"What about Kal Torak? He could be on my eastern frontier in a week."
"Not very likely, Ran Borune. He has to get past the Algars first."
"Drasnia didn't slow him down very much."
"There's a world of difference between Drasnia and Algaria," Pol told him.
"The Algars don't have towns to defend, for one thing, and they've got the finest horses in the world, for another. Kal Torak's going to find a trip into Algaria very expensive."
"You do realize that the second Mallorean army means that I won't be able to lend you a hand in Arendia, don't you?" he said.
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