"I have no need of Torak now," she mused, still staring at the mirror. "Polgara saw to that."
"Yes, my Queen," Sadi agreed in a neutral voice, beginning to rise.
She turned to look at him. "Stay a while, Sadi. I'm lonely."
Sadi sank immediately back to the polished floor.
"I have such strange dreams sometimes, Sadi," she hissed. "Such very strange dreams. I seem to remember things - things that happened when my blood was warm and I was a woman. Strange thoughts come to me in my dreams, and strange hungers." She looked directly at him, her hood flaring again as her pointed face stretched out toward him. "Was I really like that, Sadi? It all seems like something seen through smoke."
"It was a difficult time, my Queen," Sadi replied candidly. "For all of us."
"Polgara was right, you know," she continued in that expiring whisper. "The potions enflamed me. I think it's better this way - no passions, no hungers, no fears." She turned back to her mirror. "You may go now, Sadi."
He rose and started toward the door.
"Oh, Sadi."
"Yes, my Queen?"
"If I caused you trouble before, I'm sorry."
He stared at her.
"Not very much, of course - but just a little." Then she returned to her reflection.
Sadi was trembling as he closed the door behind him. Sometime later, he sent for Issus. The shabby, one-eyed hireling entered the chief eunuch's study with a certain hesitancy, and his face was a bit apprehensive.
"Come in, Issus," Sadi told him calmly.
"I hope you aren't holding any grudges, Sadi," Issus said nervously, looking about to be sure they were alone. "There was nothing personal in it, you know."
"It's all right, Issus," Sadi assured him. "You were only doing what you were paid to do."
"How did you manage to detect it?" Issus asked with a certain professional curiosity. "Most men are too far gone for the antidote to work before they realize they've been poisoned."
"Your concoction leaves just the faintest aftertaste of lemon," Sadi replied. "I've been trained to recognize it."
"Ah," Issus said. "I'll have to work on that. Otherwise it's a very good poison."
"An excellent poison, Issus," Sadi agreed. "That brings us to the reason I sent for you. There's a man I think I can dispense with."
Issus' single eye brightened, and he rubbed his hands together. "The usual fee?"
"Naturally."
"Who is he?"
"The Murgo ambassador."
Issus' face clouded for a moment. "He'll be difficult to get to." He scratched at his stubbled scalp.
"You'll find a way. I have the utmost confidence in you."
"I'm the best," Issus agreed with no trace of false modesty.
"The ambassador's pressing me in certain negotiations that I need to delay," Sadi continued. "His sudden demise should interrupt things a bit."
"You don't really have to explain, Sadi," Issus told him. "I don't need to know why you want him killed."
"But you do need to know how. For various reasons, I'd like for this to look very natural. Could you arrange for him-and perhaps a few others in his household-to come down with some kind of fever? Something suitably virulent?"
Issus frowned. "That's tricky. Something like that can get out of hand. You might end up infecting an entire neighborhood, and there would be very few survivors."
Sadi shrugged. "One sometimes must make sacrifices. Can you do it?"
Issus nodded gravely.
"Do it then, and I'll compose a letter expressing my regrets to King Taur Urgas."
Queen Silar sat at her loom in the great hall of the Algar Stronghold, humming softly to herself as her fingers passed the shuttle back and forth with a drowsy, clicking sound. Sunlight streamed down from the narrow windows set high up in the wall, filling the huge, narrow room with a diffused golden light. King Cho-Hag and Hettar were away from the Stronghold, preparing a huge encampment some few leagues out from the base of the eastern escarpment for the army of Alorns, Arends, Sendars, and Tolnedrans approaching from the west. Although he was still within the borders of the kingdom, Cho-Hag had formally transferred authority to his wife, extracting a pledge of support from all of the assembled Clan-Chiefs.
The Queen of Algaria was a silent woman, and her calm face seldom betrayed her emotions. She had spent her entire life in the background, often so unobtrusively that people did not even realize that she was present. She had, however, kept her eyes and her ears open. Her crippled husband, moreover, had confided in her. His quiet, dark-haired queen knew exactly what was going on.
Elvar, Archpriest of Algaria, stood, white-robed and much puffed-up with his own importance, reading to her the set of carefully prepared proclamations which would effectively transfer all power to him. His tone was condescending as he explained them to her.
"Is that all?" she asked when he had finished.
"It's really for the best, your Highness," he told her loftily. "All the world knows that women are unsuited to rule. Shall I send for pen and ink?"
"Not just yet, Elvar," she replied calmly, her hands busy at her loom.
"But "
"You know, I just had the oddest thought," she said, looking directly at him. "You're the Archpriest of Belar here in Algaria, but you never go out of the Stronghold. Isn't that a bit peculiar?"
"My duties, your Highness, compell me-"
"Isn't your first duty to the people - and to the children of Belar? We've been terribly selfish keeping you here when your heart must be yearning to be out among the clans, overseeing the religious instruction of the children."
He stared at her, his mouth suddenly agape.
"And all the other priests as well," she continued. "They all seem to be concentrated here at the Stronghold, pressed into administrative duties. A priest is too valuable a man for such tasks. This situation must be corrected immediately."
"But "
"No, Elvar. My duty as queen is absolutely clear. The children of Algaria must come first. I release you from all your duties here at the Stronghold so that you may return to your chosen vocation." She smiled suddenly. "I'll even draw up an itinerary for you myself," she said brightly. She thought a moment. "The times are troubled," she added, "so perhaps I'd better provide you with an escort - several trustworthy men from my own clan who can be depended upon to make sure that you aren't interrupted in your travels or distracted from your preaching by any disturbing messages from abroad." She looked at him again. "That will be all, Elvar. You'd probably better go pack. It will be a number of seasons before you return, I imagine."
The Archpriest of Belar was making strangled noises.
"Oh, one other thing." The queen carefully chose another skein of yarn and held it up to the sunlight. "It's been years since anyone made a survey of the herds. As long as you're going to be out there anyway, I think I'd like an accurate count of all the calves and colts in Algaria. It will give you something to occupy your mind. Send me a report from time to time, won't you?" She returned to her weaving. "You're dismissed, Elvar," she said placidly, not even bothering to look up as the Archpriest, shaking with rage, tottered away to make preparations for his roving imprisonment.
Lord Morin, High Chamberlain to his Imperial Majesty, Ran Borune XXIII, sighed as he entered the Emperor's private garden. Another tirade was undoubtedly in the offing, and Morin had already heard it all a dozen times at least. The Emperor had an extraordinary capacity for repeating himself sometimes.
Ran Borune, however, was in an odd mood. The bald, beak-nosed little Emperor sat pensively in his chair beneath a shady arbor, listening to the trilling of his canary. "He's never spoken again, did you know that, Morin?" the Emperor said as his chamberlain approached across the close-clipped grass. "Just that one time when Polgara was here." He looked at the little golden bird again, his eyes sad. Then he sighed. "I think I came out second best in that bargain. Polgara gave me a canary and took Ce'Nedra in exchange." He looked around at
his sundrenched garden and the cool marble walls surrounding it. "Is it just my imagination, Morin, or does the palace seem sort of cold and empty now?" He lapsed once more into moody silence, staring with unseeing eyes at a bed of crimson roses.
Then there was an odd sound, and Lord Morin looked sharply at the Emperor, half afraid that his ruler was about to go into another seizure. But there was no evidence of that. Instead, Morin perceived that Ran Borune was chuckling. "Did you see how she tricked me, Morin?" The Emperor laughed. "She deliberately goaded me into that fit. What a son she would have made! She could have been the greatest Emperor in Tolnedra's history." Ran Borune was laughing openly now, his secret delight at Ce'Nedra's cleverness suddenly emerging.
"She is your daughter after all, your Majesty," Lord Morin observed.
"To think that she could raise an army of that size when she's barely sixteen," the Emperor marveled. "What a splendid child!" He seemed quite suddenly to have recovered from the gloomy peevishness that had dogged him since his return to ToI Honeth. His laughter trailed away after several moments, and his bright little eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Those legions she stole from me are likely to become fractious without professional leadership," he mused.
"I'd say that's Ce'Nedra's problem, your Majesty," Morin replied. "Or Polgara's."
"Well-" The Emperor scratched one ear. "I don't know, Morin. The situation out there isn't too clear." He looked at his chamberlain. "Are you acquainted with General Varana?"
"The Duke of Anadile? Of course, your Majesty. A thoroughly professional sort of fellow - solid, unassuming, extremely intelligent."
"He's an old friend of the family," Ran Borune confided. "Ce'Nedra knows him and she would listen to his advice. Why don't you go to him, Morin, and suggest that he might want to take a leave of absence - perhaps go to Algaria and have a look at things?"
"I'm certain that he'd be overjoyed at the idea of a vacation," Lord Morin agreed. "Garrison life in the summertime can be very tedious."
"It's just a suggestion," the Emperor stressed. "His presence in the war zone would have to be strictly unofficial."
"Naturally, your Majesty."
"And if he just happened to make a few suggestions - or even provide a bit of leadership, we certainly wouldn't have any knowledge of it, would we? After all, what a private citizen does with his own time is his business, right?"
"Absolutely, your Majesty."
The Emperor grinned broadly. "And we'll all stick to that story, won't we, Morin?"
"Like glue, your Majesty," Morin replied gravely..
The crown prince of Drasnia burped noisily in his mother's ear, sighed, and promptly fell asleep on her shoulder. Queen Porenn smiled at him, tucked him back in his cradle, and turned again to the stringy-appearing man in nondescript clothing who sprawled in a nearby chair. The emaciated man was known only by the peculiar name "Javelin." Javelin was the chief of the Drasnian intelligence service and one of Porenn's closest advisers.
"Anyway," he continued his report, "the Tolnedran girl's army is about two days' march from the Stronghold. The engineers are moving along ahead of schedule with the hoists on top of the escarpment, and the Chereks are preparing to begin the portage from the east bank of the Aldur."
"Everything seems to be going according to plan, then," the queen said, resuming her seat at the polished table near the window.
"There's a bit of trouble in Arendia," Javelin noted. "The usual ambushes and bickerings - nothing really serious. Queen Layla's got the Tolnedran, Bravor, so completely off balance that he might as well not even be in Sendaria." He scratched at his long, pointed jaw. "There's peculiar information coming out of Sthiss Tor. The Murgos are trying to negotiate something, but their emissaries keep dying. We'll try to get somebody closer to Sadi to find out exactly what's going on. Let's see - what else? Oh, the Honeths have finally united behind one candidate-a pompous, arrogant jackass who's offended just about everybody in Tol Honeth. They'll try to buy the crown for him, but he'd be hopelessly incompetent as emperor. Even with all their money, it's going to be difficult for them to put him on the throne. I guess that's about all, your Highness."
"I've had a letter from Islena in Val Alorn," Queen Porenn told him.
"Yes, your Highness," Javelin replied urbanely, "I know."
"Javelin, have you been reading my mail again?" she demanded with a sudden flash of irritation.
"Just trying to stay current with what's going on in the world, Porenn."
"I've told you to stop that."
"You didn't really expect me to do it, did you?" He seemed actually surprised.
She laughed. "You're impossible."
"Of course I am. I'm supposed to be."
"Can we get any help to Islena?"
"I'll put some people on it," he assured her. "We can probably work through Merel, the wife of the Earl of Trellheim. She's starting to show some signs of maturity and she's close to Islena."
"I think we'd better have a close look at our own intelligence service, too," Porenn suggested. "Let's pin down everyone who might have any connections with the Bear-cult. The time might come when we'll have to take steps."
Javelin nodded his agreement.
There was a light tapping at the door.
"Yes?" Porenn answered.
The door opened and a servant thrust his head into the room. "Excuse me, your Highness," he said, "but there's a Nadrak merchant here - a man named Yarblek. He says he wants to discuss the salmon run." The servant looked perplexed.
Queen Porenn straightened in her chair. "Send him in," she ordered, "at once."
Chapter Nine
THE SPEECHES WERE over. The orations that had caused Princess Ce'Nedra such agony had done their work, and she found herself less and less in the center of things. At first the days opened before her full of glorious freedom. The dreadful anxiety that had filled her at the prospect of addressing vast crowds of men two or three times a day was gone now. Her nervous exhaustion disappeared, and she no longer awoke in the middle of the night trembling and terrified. For almost an entire week she reveled in it, luxuriated in it. Then, of course, she became dreadfully bored.
The army she had gathered in Arendia and northern Tolnedra moved like a great sea in the foothills of Ulgoland. The Mimbrate knights, their armor glittering in the bright sunlight and their long, streaming, many-colored pennons snapping in the breeze, moved at the forefront of the host, and behind them, spreading out across the rolling green hills, marched the solid mass of Ce'Nedra's infantry, Sendars, Asturians, Rivans, and a few Chereks. And there, solidly in the center, forming the very core, marched the gleaming ranks of the legions of Imperial Tolnedra, their crimson standards aloft and the white plumes on their helmets waving in time to their measured steps. It was very stirring for the first few days to ride at the head of the enormous force, moving at her command toward the east, but the novelty of it all soon wore thin.
Princess Ce'Nedra's gradual drift away from the center of command was largely her own fault. The decisions now had to do more often than not with logistics - tedious little details concerning bivouac areas and field-kitchens - and Ce'Nedra found discussions of such matters tiresome. Those details, however, dictated the snail's pace of her army.
Quite suddenly, to everyone's astonishment, King Fulrach of Sendaria became the absolute commander of the host. It was he who decided how far they would march each day, when they would rest and where they would set up each night's encampment. His authority derived directly from the fact that the supply wagons were his. Quite early during the march down through northern Arendia, the dumpy-looking Sendarian monarch had taken one look at the rather sketchy plans the Alorn kings had drawn up for feeding the troops, had shaken his head in disapproval, and then had taken charge of that aspect of the campaign himself. Sendaria was a land of farms, and her storehouses bulged. Moreover, at certain seasons, every road and lane in Sendaria crawled with wagons. With an almost casual efficiency, King Fulrach issued a few orde
rs, and soon whole caravans of heavily laden wagons moved down through Arendia to Tolnedra and then turned eastward to follow the army. The pace of the army was dictated by those creaking supply wagons.
They were only a few days into the Ulgo foothills when the full weight of King Fulrach's authority became clear.
"Fulrach," King Rhodar of Drasnia objected when the King of the Sendars called a halt for yet another rest period, "if we don't move any faster than this, it will take us all summer to get to the eastern escarpment."
"You're exaggerating, Rhodar," King Fulrach replied mildly. "We're making pretty good time. The supply wagons are heavy, and the wagon horses have to be rested every hour."
"This is impossible," Rhodar declared. "I'm going to pick up the per,"
"That's up to you, of course." The brown-bearded Sendar shrugged, coolly eyeing Rhodar's vast paunch. "But if you exhaust my wagon horses today, you won't eat tomorrow."
And that ended that.
The going in the steep passes of Ulgoland was even slower. Ce'Nedra entered that land of thick forests and rocky crags with apprehension. She vividly remembered the flight with Grul the Eldrak and the attacks of the Algroths and the Hrulgin that had so terrified her that previous winter. There were few meetings with the monsters that lurked in the Ulgo mountains, however. The army was so large that even the fiercest creatures avoided it. Mandorallen, the Baron of Vo Mandor, rather regretfully reported only brief sightings.
"Mayhap if I were to ride a day's march in advance of our main force, I might find opportunity to engage some of the more frolicsome beasts," he mused aloud one evening, staring thoughtfully into the fire.
"You never get enough, do you?" Barak asked him pointedly.
"Never mind, Mandorallen," Polgara told the great knight. "The creatures aren't hurting us, and the Gorim of Ulgo would be happier if we didn't bother them."
Mandorallen sighed.
"Is he always like that?" King Anheg asked Barak curiously.
"You have absolutely no idea," Barak replied.
The slow march through Ulgoland, regardless of how much it chafed Rhodar, Brand, and Anheg, did, however, conserve the strength of the army, and they came down onto the plains of Algaria in surprisingly good shape.
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