"It was absolutely splendid!" Lelldorin exclaimed, his eyes very bright. There was a bandage around the young Asturian's upper arm, but he seemed to have forgotten that it was there as he gesticulated wildly. "Just at the point when the Murgos were completely confused, there was a sound like thunder, and the knights came curving around the side of a hill with their lances advanced and their pennons streaming. They bore down on the Murgos - a wave of solid steel - and the hoofs of their horses shook the earth. And then at the last moment, they all lowered their lances. It was like watching a wave break. And then they hit the Murgos with a great crash, and they didn't even slow down. They rode through them as if they weren't even there! They absolutely crushed them, and then we all ran in to finish up. It was glorious!"
"He's as bad as Mandorallen, isn't he?" Barak observed to Hettar.
"I think it's in their blood," Hettar replied sagely.
"Did any of them get away?" Anheg asked.
Barak gave his cousin an evil grin. "After it got dark, we could hear a few of them trying to crawl away. That's when Relg and his Ulgos went out to tidy up. Don't worry, Anheg. Nobody's going to report back to Taur Urgas."
"He is likely to be waiting for news, isn't he?" Anheg grinned.
"I hope he's patient, then," Barak replied, "because he'll be waiting for a long time."
Ariana, her face somber, took Lelldorin to task very firmly for his lack of discretion, even as she tended his wound. Her words far surpassed a simple scolding. She grew eloquent, and her lengthy, involuted sentences gave her remonstrance a depth and scope that reduced her young man very nearly to tears. His wound, admittedly minor, became a symbol of his careless lack of regard for her. Her expression grew martyred, and his grew anguished. Ce'Nedra observed how neatly Ariana twisted each of the young man's lame excuses into an even greater personal injury, and filed this excellent technique away in a compartment of her complex little mind for future use. True, Garion was somewhat brighter than Lelldorin, but the tactic would probably work on him too, if she practiced a little.
Taiba's meeting with Relg, on the other hand, involved no words. The beautiful Marag woman who had emerged from the slave pens beneath Rak Cthol only to enter a slavery even more profound, flew to the Ulgo fanatic's side upon his return. With a low cry, she unthinkingly embraced him. Relg flinched away from her, but the almost automatic, "Don't touch me," seemed to die on his lips, and his eyes went very wide as she clung to him. Then Taiba remembered his aversion and helplessly let her arms drop, but her violet eyes glowed as they drank in his pale, large-eyed face. Then slowly, almost as if he were putting his arm into a fire, Relg reached out and took her hand. A brief look of incredulity crossed her face, followed almost immediately by a slow blush. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, then walked off together, hand in hand. Taiba's eyes were demurely downcast, but there hovered about her rich, sensual mouth a tiny little smile of triumph.
The victory over the Murgo column raised the spirits of the army tremendously. The heat and dust no longer seemed to sap their energy as it had during the first few days of the march, and a growing sense of camaraderie grew between the diversified units as they pushed steadily eastward.
It took them four more days of steady marching to reach the headwaters of the River Mardu and another day to push on down along the tumbling flow to a spot where the ships could safely be launched. Hettar and his Algar patrols ranged far ahead and reported that there remained only one more stretch of rapids about ten leagues ahead before the river settled into tranquility on the Thullish plain.
"We can portage around the rapids," King Anheg declared. "Let's get these ships into the water. We've lost enough time already."
There was a rather high earthbank at that point, but the army attacked it vigorously with shovels and mattocks, and it was soon reduced to a sloping ramp. One by one the ships were rolled down the ramp into the water.
"We'll need a while to raise the masts," Anheg said.
"Leave that until later," Rhodar told him.
Anheg looked at him sharply.
"You're not going to be able to use your sails anyway, Anheg, and the masts stick up too high. The stupidest Thull in the world will know what's going on if he sees a forest of ship masts coming down the river toward him."
It was evening by the time the ships had all been launched and Polgara led the princess, Ariana and Taiba on board Barak's ship. A breeze coming upriver gently rippled the surface of the water and set the ship to rocking slowly. Beyond the watchfires, the Thullish grassland stretched as if forever beneath a purpling sky where, one by one, the stars were emerging.
"How far is it to Thull Mardu?" Ce'Nedra asked Barak.
The big man pulled at his beard, squinting downriver. "One day to the rapids," he replied, "then one day to make the portage around them. Then about two days after that."
"Four days," she said in a small voice. He nodded.
"I wish it was over," she sighed.
"All in good time, Ce'Nedra," he told her. "All in good time."
Chapter Fifteen
THE SHIPS WERE horribly crowded, even though scarcely half the army could squeeze aboard them. The Algar clansmen and the Mimbrate knights patrolled the banks as the Chereks rowed downriver toward the rapids, and those infantry elements that could not be carried by the ships rode in close files on the spare horses of the cavalry.
The Thullish grasslands on either side of the river were gently rolling, long hillsides covered with deep, sun-browned grass. Just back from the river there were sparse clusters of the twisted, sprucelike trees that had dotted the lower foothills, and near the water itself rose thickets of willow and creeping brambles. The sky remained clear, and it was still hot, though the river added enough moisture to the air to alleviate the parched aridity that had plagued men and horses alike in the vast, stony uplands. It was an alien landscape for all of them, and the cavalry patrolling the banks rode warily with their hands close to their weapons.
And then they rounded a wide bend and saw the white, tumbling water of the rapids ahead. Barak swung the tiller of his big ship over and beached her. "Looks like it's time to get out and walk," he grunted.
A dispute had arisen near the bow of the ship. The brown-bearded King Fulrach was loudly protesting the decision to leave his supply wagons behind at the rapids. "I didn't bring them all this way just to leave them sitting here," he declared with uncharacteristic heat.
"They take too long to get anyplace," Anheg told him. "We're in a hurry, Fulrach. I've got to get my ships past Thull Mardu before the Murgos or the Malloreans wake up to what we're doing."
"You didn't object to having them along when you got hungry or thirsty in the uplands," Fulrach told him angrily.
"That was then. This is now. I've got to take care of my ships."
"And I'm going to take care of my wagons."
"They'll be all right, Fulrach," Rhodar said placatingly. "We do have to hurry, and your wagons can't move fast enough to keep up."
"If somebody comes along and burns them, you're going to get very hungry before we get back to the forts, Rhodar."
"We'll leave men to guard them, Fulrach. Be reasonable. You worry too much."
"Somebody's got to. You Alorns seem to forget that the fighting's only half of it."
"Stop acting like an old woman, Fulrach," Anheg said bluntly. Fulrach's face grew very cold. "I don't know that I care for that last remark, Anheg," he said stiffly. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away.
"What's got into him?" the King of Cherek asked innocently.
"Anheg, if you don't learn how to keep your mouth shut, we might have to muzzle you," Rhodar told him.
"I thought we came here to fight Angaraks," Brand said mildly. "Have the rules been changed?"
The irritable bickering among her friends worried Ce'Nedra, and she went to Polgara with her concern.
"It's nothing all that important, dear," the lady replied as she scrubbed Errand's neck. "Th
e upcoming battle's got them a bit edgy, that's all."
"But they're men," Ce'Nedra protested, "trained warriors."
"What does that have to do with it?" Polgara asked, reaching for a towel.
The princess couldn't think of an answer.
The portage at the rapids went smoothly, and the ships reentered the river below the tumbling stretch of seething white-water by late afternoon. Ce'Nedra by now was virtually ill as a result of the almost unbearable tension. All the months she had spent in raising the army and marching eastward were about to come to a final culmination. Within two days, they would hurl themselves at the walls of Thull Mardu. Was it the right time? Was it, in fact, really necessary? Couldn't they just portage around the city and avoid the battle entirely? Although the Alorn kings had assured her that the city had to be neutralized, Ce'Nedra's doubts grew with each mile. What if this was a mistake?
The princess worried and fretted and worried some more as she stood at the prow of Barak's ship, staring at the broad river winding through the Thullish grasslands.
Finally, just at evening of the second day after the portage, Hettar galloped back and reined in his horse on the north bank of the river. He motioned with his arm, and Barak swung his tiller over, angling the big ship in closer to the bank.
"The city's about two leagues ahead," the tall Algar called across the intervening space. "If you get too much closer, they'll see you from the walls."
"This is close enough, then," Rhodar decided. "Pass the word to anchor the ships. We'll wait here until dark."
Barak nodded and made a quick gesture to a waiting sailor. The man quickly raised a tall pole with a bit of bright red bunting nailed to its tip, and the fleet behind them slowed in answer to the signal. There was a creaking of windlasses as the anchors settled to the bottom, and the ships rocked and swung sluggishly in the current.
"I still don't like this part," Anheg growled morosely. "Too many things can go wrong in the dark."
"They'll go wrong for them, too," Brand told him.
"We've been over it a dozen times, Anheg," Rhodar said. "We all agreed that it's the best plan."
"It's never been done before," Anheg said.
"That's the whole point, isn't it?" Varana suggested. "The people inside the city won't expect it."
"Are you sure your men will be able to see where they're going?" Anheg demanded of Relg.
The zealot nodded. He was wearing his cowled leaf mail shirt and was carefully testing the edge of his hook-pointed knife. "What you think of as darkness is normal light for us," he replied.
Anheg scowled at the purpling sky overhead. "I hate being the first one to try something new," he announced.
They waited as evening settled on the plain. From the thickets at the river's edge, birds clucked sleepily, and the frogs began their evening symphony. Slowly out of the gathering darkness, the cavalry units began to group up along the banks. The Mimbrate knights on their great chargers massed into ranks, and the Algar clansmen spread like a dark sea beyond them. Commanding the south bank were Cho-Hag and Korodullin. The north was led by Hettar and Mandorallen.
Slowly it grew darker.
A young Mimbrate knight who had been injured during the attack on the Murgo column stood leaning against the rail, looking pensively out into the twilight. The knight had dark, curly hair and the snowy complexion of a young girl. His shoulders were broad, his neck columnar, and his eyes had an open innocence in them. His expression, however, was faintly melancholy.
The waiting had become unbearable, and Ce'Nedra had to talk to someone. She leaned on the rail beside the young man. "Why so sad, Sir Knight?" she asked him quietly.
"Because I am forbidden to take part in this night's adventure by reason of this slight injury, your Majesty," he replied, touching his splinted arm. He seemed unsurprised by her presence or by the fact that she had spoken to him.
"Do you hate the Angaraks so much that missing the chance to kill them causes you pain?" Ce'Nedra's question was gently mocking.
"Nay, my Lady," he answered. "I have no malice in me for any man, whatever his race. What I lament is being denied the chance to try my skills in the contest."
"Contest? Is that how you think of it?"
"Assuredly, your Majesty. In what other light should it be considered? I hold no personal rancor toward the men of Angarak, and it is improper to hate throe opponent in a test of arms. Some few men have fallen beneath my lance or my sword at diverse tourneys, but I have never hated any of them. Much to the contrary, I have had some affection for them as we strove with one another."
"But you were trying to cripple them." Ce'Nedra was startled at the young man's casual attitude.
"It is a part of the contest, your Majesty. A true test of arms may not be decided save by the injury or death of one of the combatants."
"What's your name, Sir Knight?" she asked him.
"I am Sir Beridel," he replied, "son of Sir Andorig, Baron of Vo Enderig."
"The man with the apple tree?"
"The very same, your Majesty." The young man seemed pleased that she had heard of his father and the strange duty Belgarath had imposed on him. "My father now rides at the right hand of King Korodullin. I would ride with them this night but for this stroke of ill fortune." He looked sadly at his broken arm.
"There will be other nights, Sir Beridel," she assured him, "and other contests."
"Truly, your Majesty," he agreed. His face brightened momentarily, but then he sighed and went back to his somber brooding.
Ce'Nedra drifted away, leaving him to his thoughts.
"You can't really talk to them, you know," a rough voice said to her from the shadows. It was Beldin, the ugly hunchback.
"He doesn't seem to be afraid of anything," Ce'Nedra said a bit nervously. The foul-mouthed sorcerer always made her nervous.
"He's a Mimbrate Arend," Beldin snorted. "He doesn't have enough brains to be afraid."
"Are all the men in the army like him?"
"No. Most of them are afraid, but they'll go through with the attack anyway - for a variety of reasons."
"And you?" she could not help asking. "Are you afraid too?"
"My fears are a bit more exotic," he said dryly.
"Such as?"
"We've been at this for a very long time - Belgarath, Pol, the twins and I - and I'm more concerned about something going wrong than I am about my own personal safety."
"How do you mean, wrong?"
"The Prophecy is very complex - and it doesn't say everything. The two possible outcomes of all this are still absolutely balanced as far as I can tell. Something very, very slight could tip that balance one way or the other. It could be something that I've overlooked. That's what I'm afraid of."
"All we can do is the best we can."
"That might not be enough."
"What else can we do?"
"I don't know - and that's what worries me."
"Why worry about something if you can't do anything about it?"
"Now you're starting to sound like Belgarath. He tends to shrug things off and trust to his luck sometimes. I like things a little neater." He stared off into the darkness. "Stay close to Pol tonight, little girl," he said after a moment. "Don't get separated from her. It might take you someplace you hadn't planned to go, but you're supposed to stay with her, no matter what."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know what it means," he retorted irritably. "All I know is that you and she and the blacksmith and that stray child you picked up are supposed to stay together. Something unexpected is going to happen."
"You mean a disaster? We must warn the others."
"We don't know that it's a disaster," he replied. "That's the whole problem. It might be necessary, and if it is, we don't want to tamper with it. I think we've about run this discussion into the ground. Go find Polgara and stay with her."
"Yes, Beldin," Ce'Nedra said meekly.
As the stars began to come out, the anchors we
re raised and the Cherek fleet began to slip quietly downriver toward Thull Mardu. Though they were still some miles above the city, commands were issued in hoarse whispers, and the men all took great care to avoid making noise as they shifted their weapons and equipment, tightening belts, giving their armor quick, last-minute checks and settling their helmets more firmly on their heads.
Amid ships, Relg was leading his Ulgos in a quiet religious service, muttering the harsh gutturals of the Ulgo tongue in a scarcely audible murmur. Their pale faces had been smeared with soot, and they looked like so many shadows as they knelt in prayer to their strange God.
"They're the key to the whole thing," Rhodar observed quietly to Polgara as he watched the devotions of the Ulgos. "Are you sure that Relg is all right for this? Sometimes he seems a bit unstable."
"He'll be fine," Polgara replied. "The Ulgos have even more reason to hate Torak than you Alorns do."
The drifting ships slowly rounded a wide bend in the river, and there, a half mile downstream, stood the walled city of Thull Mardu, rising from its island in the middle of the river. There were a few torches atop the walls, and a faint glow rising from within. Barak turned and, shielding it with his body, he briefly uncovered a muffled lantern, letting out a single flicker of light. The anchors sank very slowly through the dark waters toward the riverbottom; with a very faint creak of ropes, the ships slowed, then stopped.
Somewhere inside the city a dog began to bark excitedly. Then a door banged open, and the barking cut off suddenly with a yelp of pain.
"I don't have much use for a man who kicks his own dog," Barak muttered.
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