bloodshed. Oh, that reminds me. I am going to need an archer - the best

you can find. I'm going to need one arrow in a very specific place

at a very specific time.'

'I knew she was going to kill the duke!' Asrana exclaimed

delightedly.

'No, dear,' I told her. 'I want the duke to come out of this alive.

If we kill him, all the people at Baron Torandin's party will be up

in arms tomorrow morning. The arrow's intended for somebody

else. Let's get started. This day won't last forever, and we all have

a lot to do. And don't sneak or look guilty. Keep that word "patriot"

right in front of your eyes.'

That set things in motion, but the limitations I'd imposed kept

our plot from stirring too many ripples. Regardless of their other

faults, Arends are among the world's great plotters. Asrana and

Mangaran moved quietly through the courtiers, sounding out the

crucial ones and keeping the rest in the dark. Naturally, they

extracted oaths of silence and embedded some ridiculous passwords

and recognition signals in the minds of our co-conspirators. I guess

the only objections they encountered had had to do with the haste at

which we were moving. A one-day coup didn't really fit into the

Arendish conception of how things ought to be done.

By noon, our conspiracy was fairly well established. Mangaran

subverted a few older, more substantial members of the court, and

Asrana skimmed off the cream of the young hot-heads. My own

contributions that morning were chemical in nature. The wine our

co-conspirators drank for the rest of the day wouldn't have knocked

a fly off the wall. Those most likely to remain loyal to Oldoran

drank wine that would not only have gotten the fly, but probably

the wall he perched on as well.

It was about an hour or so past noon when Mangaran's friend,

the Marquis Torandin. issued his selective invitations to 'an intimate

little soiree at my residence this evening'. Then Mangaran and

Asrana had to go back through the ranks of their cohorts to tell

them not to protest their exclusion from the festivities. At that

particular time in Vo Astur just about everything was suspended when

a good party was in the offing, and several plotters seemed torn

between the conflicting delights of a good party or a good revolution.

In the second hour past noon, I had to come up with a way to

keep the duke at home. I solved that by fortifying the wine he was

drinking as he sprawled on his throne. By the third hour, he was

comatose.

The 'Tolnedran' at his elbow began to have a few suspicions at

that point, I think, but we were moving too rapidly for him by now.

Our scheme was ridiculously simple. When you're dealing with

Arends, you should always try to avoid complexity. Every courtier

in the palace had a number of 'valets', 'grooms', 'butlers', and the

like in his entourage. Since this was Arendia, these 'servants' all

had assorted weapons concealed about their persons, and they'd

respond immediately to commands even though they didn't know

what was going on. We had plenty of manpower should we need

it, but once those who might oppose us had trooped across town

to Marquis Torandin's party, our only opposition might come from

the duke's own bodyguards, and tampering with the wine served

to them with their evening meal would neatly get them out from

underfoot. The imitation Tolnedran quite probably had a few

bullyboys at his disposal, but our superior numbers made us confident

that they wouldn't pose much of a problem. Our excuse for deposing

Oldoran would be 'his Grace's sudden illness'. There was nothing

really 'sudden' about it. Oldoran had spent years head-down in a

wine barrel to achieve his current condition.

Not long before supper, I took Asrana and Mangaran back out

into the rose garden to hammer down some last-minute details.

'Don't kill him,' I instructed them very firmly. 'Everything will fly

apart if you do. I want everybody to pull a long face when we do

this. Pretend to be concerned about Oldoran's health.' I looked at

Mangaran. 'Did you speak with the abbot?' I asked.

He nodded. 'He's got everything ready. Oldoran will have

pleasant quarters in the monastery and all the wine he can possibly drink.

The abbot will issue periodic statements about his Grace's condition

- which will probably deteriorate as time goes by.'

'Don't do anything to help that along,' I cautioned. 'Let Oldoran's

liver take him off.'

'How long's that likely to take, Polly?' Asrana asked me.

'I'd give him about another six months,' I replied. 'The whites of

his eyes are already yellow. His liver's turning to stone. He'll start

raving before long, and that's when you'll want to start taking his

supporters to see him. Let them observe his condition for

themselves.'

'Are you the one who's making his liver go bad, Polly?' Asrana

asked.

'No. He's done that all by himself.'

'Does wine really do that to people?'

'Oh, yes, dear. You might want to think about that.'

'Maybe I'd better cut back just a little bit,' she said with a slightly

 

'I would. It's your liver, though. Now, then, I want you two to

circulate among our "patriots". Impress upon them the fact that

we're doing this regretfully. We don't want to do it, but we have

no choice. our revolution grows out of our love for Asturia.'

'That's not entirely true, Lady Polgara,' Mangaran told me

candidly.

'Lie about it, then. Good politics are always based on lies. When

you make these speeches, always be sure there are people in the

crowd to lead the cheering. Don't leave anything to chance.'

'You're a terrible cynic, Polly,' Asrana accused.

'Possibly, but I can live with it. Pressing right along, then. After

the duke's safely tucked away in that monastery, talk with some of

the local barons. I want lots of armed men in the streets of Vo Astur

by morning. Caution the barons that I want their troops to be polite.

No looting, no murders, no fires, no incidental rapes. They'll be out

there to maintain order and nothing else. I'll decide what's

disorderly. Let's not give the opposition any excuses for

counterrevolution. Oh, one other thing. Tomorrow morning, an old man

with white hair and wearing a white robe is going to come here to

the palace. He's going to make a speech, and I want everybody here

at court - drunk or sober - to hear that speech. He's going to tell

 

 

 

everybody that what we've done has been done at his specific orders.

I don't think we'll have any trouble after that.'

,Who in all this world has that much authority?' Mangaran asked,

looking slightly harried.

'My father, naturally.'

,Holy Belgarath himself?' Asrana gasped.

,i wouldn't tack "holy" onto him until after you've met him, dear,'

I advised. 'And I wouldn't turn my back on him, if I were you. He

has an eye for the ladies and a little difficulty in keeping his hands

to himself.'

,Really?' she said archly. 'What an interesting idea.' Asrana, it

appeared, was worse than I thought.

'Did you find my archer, Mangaran?' I asked the earl.

'Yes, Lady Polgara,' he replied. 'His name's Lammer, and he can

thread a needle with an arrow at a hundred paces.'

'Good. I'll want to speak with him before we set things in motion.'

'Ah -' Mangaran said a bit tentatively, 'just exactly when's that

going to be, Lady Polgara?' he asked.

'When I come into the throne room this evening, my Lord. That'll

be your signal to start.'

'I'll watch for you,' he promised.

'Do that. Now, let's get to work.'

I lingered in the rose garden until they'd left. 'All right, father,' I

said, speaking to a decorative lemon tree, 'you can come down now.'

He looked just a bit foolish after he'd flown down and resumed

his real form. 'How did you know I was around?' he asked.

'Don't be tiresome, father. You know perfectly well that you can't

hide from me. I always know when you're around.' I paused. 'Well?

What do you think?'

'I think you're taking a lot of chances, and you're moving too

fast.'

'I have to move fast, father. I can't be certain just who's in that

Murgo's pocket.'

'That's exactly my point. You're hanging your whole scheme on

the two who just left, and you only met them this morning. Are

YOU sure they can be trusted?'

I treated him to one of those long-suffering sighs. 'Yes, father,' I

replied, 'I'm sure. Mangaran has a lot to gain, and he does have a

few faint tinges of patriotism lurking around his edges.'

' What about the girl? Isn't she awfully giddy?'

'That's a pose, father. Asrana's very clever, and she's got at least

as much to gain as Mangaran has.'

'I didn't exactly follow that, Pol.'

'A part of the Arendish problem is the fact that women are little

more than domestic animals here. Asrana's going to help take over

the government, and when Mangaran's elevated to the throne, she'll

be right next to the seat of power. She'll be someone to reckon

with here in Asturia after tonight. This is her only opportunity to

seize any kind of power, and she won't do anything to spoil that

chance.'

 

He squinted. 'Maybe,' he conceded dubiously.

'Trust me, father. Will you do it?'

'Do what?'

'Make that speech tomorrow morning?'

'Why don't you do it?'

'You remember what I just said about domestic animals? This is

Arendia, father. No Arendish man's going to listen to anybody

wearing a skirt. I've got to move on to Vo Mimbre, so I don't have time

to convince a crowd of half-drunk Asturian males that I'm not a

poodle or a common house-cat. Look at it this way, father. If you

make the speech, you get all the credit for what I've done - and

you didn't have to do any of the dirty work.'

'I'll think about it. Why do you let that silly girl call you "Polly"?

If I tried that, you'd set fire to my beard.'

'Yes, I would, so don't even think about it. Actually, I wasn't

entirely sure of Asrana's commitment until she called me "Polly".

Once she did that, I knew I had her in my pocket.'

'Could you trot that past me again?'

'She's pushing, father. Asrana always pushes. I let her get away

with it in order to keep her right where I want her.'

'I will never understand women.'

'Probably not, no. Oh, before you start composing your speech

for tomorrow, would you do me a favor?'

'More than likely. What did you need?'

'Oldoran's bodyguards are at supper right now. Do something to

their wine. I want them all to be falling-down drunk before they go

on duty.'

'I thought you didn't approve of drinking.'

'This is a special occasion, father, and special occasions allow us

to bend the rules just a little bit. I want to hold down the bloodshed

as much as possible this evening. It's important that Oldoran's

removal from his throne appear to be administrative rather than

military.'

'You're very good at this, Pol.'

 

'Thank you, father. Now, go to the guardroom and incapacitate

the duke's bodyguards. Then start working on your speech while I

get on with overthrowing the government.'

just after supper, a sturdy peasant with a diffident air about him

approached me. 'Lord Mangaran asked me to speak with you,

my Lady,' he said politely. 'He said you wanted to send

somebody a message. I'm supposed to deliver it for you. My name's

Lammer.'

it was a bit obscure - this was a conspiracy. after all - but I got

his point. 'Are you a good messenger?' I asked him.

'There's none better in all Asturia, my Lady. Did you want a

demonstration?o

'I'll take your word for it, Lammer. I want my message to reach

his brain at a specific moment.'

'I can manage that, my Lady.' He squinted. 'I'll be up in the

 

 

gallery on the right side of the throne-room,' he advised me. 'I'll

send the message on its way and be halfway back down the stairs

that lead up to the gallery before it even arrives in his brain.'

'Excellent fellow. I'm going to go change clothes now, and then

I'll go to the throne-room. Deliver my message as soon as I enter

the room.'

'Yes, my Lady.' He paused. 'Um -' he said, 'who? Who's

supposed to get the message, I mean?

I told him and a flicker of a smile touched his lips. Then I went

to Asrana's set of rooms to change. I used the gown I'd worn at

beldaran's wedding. It was striking enough to get everyone's

attention, certainly, and I was very familiar with it, since I'd watched

Arell put in every stitch.

No, of course I hadn't carried it to Arendia with me. It was still

hanging in my wardrobe back in father's tower. I do have certain

advantages, after all.

 

Asrana came in just as I was touching up my hair. 'My goodness,

Polly!' she said. 'What a stupendous gown! But isn't it just a trifle

daring?'

'It's intended to be, Asrana,' I told her. 'All manner of things are

going to happen when I walk into the throne-room, and I want to

be certain that everybody notices me.'

'Oh, you can be sure that they will, Polly. It might disrupt the

Plan, though. Everybody'll be so busy looking at you that they'll

forget to overthrow the government.'

'Something's going to happen that'll remind them, dear,' I assured

her. 'Now go get Mangaran for me. Send him here and then go to

the throne-room. Circulate around and tell our people to get

ready. Things are going to happen rather quickly once I enter the

room.'

'Could you be a little more specific?'

'No, I don't think so. I want to surprise everybody. Don't you

like surprises?'

'Not when I'm in the middle of a plot, I don't.' She looked at the

sideboard where several decanters stood.

'No!' I told her quite firmly. 'Don't even think about it! I want

your head on straight tonight.'

'My nerves are strung a little tight, Polly.'

'Good. I want them to be. Don't dull your edge, Asrana. Now

scoot.'

She left, and Mangaran rapped on the door a few moments later.

'You wanted to see me, my Lady?'

'Yes. Come in and close the door.'

He did that.

'Go directly to the throne-room from here, my Lord,' I instructed.

'Ease your way through the crowd until you're about five feet from

the throne. Oldoran is there, isn't he?'

He nodded. 'He sort of regained consciousness after supper, and

his servants helped him to the throne. His eyes are open, but I doubt

that very much is registering on his brain.'

'Good. As soon as I enter the throne-room, something rather

startling is going to happen. I'll shout some instructions, and you'll

follow them. We'll hustle the duke out of the throne-room. It'll look

as if it's for his protection, but it's really an excuse to get him on

his way to that monastery. I'll come into the room where you take

him and give him a quick medical examination, and then we'll come

out to make the announcement that he's going into seclusion "for

reasons of health". You'll be taking over the government at that

point. Try to sound regretful about it.'

'Exactly what is going to happen, Lady Polgara?'

'You don't need to know that, my Lord. I want your reactions to

be very genuine. If I surprise you, they will be. I'll be giving you

instructions, so just follow them. Under the circumstances, they'll

be completely rational, so nobody's going to question you. Now go

to the throne-room. I'll be along in just a few moments, and that's

when things will start.'

 

I want you all to notice that I was very carefully keeping a great

many details to myself. Arends have a tendency to want to be

helpful, and I didn't want anybody stepping in to lend a hand at exactly

the wrong moment.

I paused for a long moment before leaving Asrana's apartment,

gathering a kind of calmness about me. There were a number of

things I had to do in almost the same instant that Lammer's message

reached its mark. Very few in the throne-room were actually privy

to our little scheme, and I was going to have to channel everyone

else's thinking in a specific direction. I wasn't going to leave any

openings for speculation. I wanted them all to interpret the event

that was about to take place in one specific way.

Then I drew in a deep breath and went out into the corridor that

led to the throne-room.

I paused in the shadowy doorway to the great hall to make certain

that everyone was in place. Mangaran was near the left side of the

throne. Oldoran, his eyes unfocused, sat in his accustomed place.

The Murgo in the yellow Tolnedran mantle stood at the befuddled

duke's right elbow with a slightly bored expression on his face. His

eyes. however, were moving constantly. I couldn't see Lammer up

in that shadowy gallery, but I wasn't really supposed to. I sent out

a quick, searching thought, and then I relaxed. Lammer was where

he was supposed to be. The giddy Asrana was not far from the

throne, and she absolutely sparkled. The tension of the moment had

made her even more vivacious than usual.

Everything was in its proper place. We were ready.

I stepped into the doorway and paused, looking directly at the

fellow in the Tolnedran mantle at the duke's side. Krachack had

known me the instant he'd laid eyes on me, and I was hoping that

this Murgo would as well.

Then, while his eyes were still starting out of their sockets, I went

on into the plain view of everybody in the room. My gown had

been designed to attract attention, and it still worked. Heads

swivelled. People broke off what they were saying in mid-sentence to

stare at me. Lammer's bow-string twanged.

The steel-tipped arrow made a crunching sound as it drove

directly into the Murgo's forehead. The distance wasn't really that

great, and Lammer's bow had strong limbs. The arrow plunged

through the Murgo's brain, and it protruded a foot or more

Out behind his head. He did look just a bit peculiar with the

feathered fletching of the arrow decorating his forehead. His

 

 

body stiffened as he jerked into an erect position.

'Assassin!' I shouted, augmenting my voice so that the sentries on

the city wall probably heard me. 'Get the duke to safety!'

And that's how I overthrew the government of Asturia. One arrow,

one shout, and it was done. The good ones are always simple.

Even as that pseudo Tolnedran slowly toppled backward, Mangaran

was moving. 'To the duke!' he bellowed. 'Shield him with your

bodies!'

At first the startled courtiers hung back. There was always the

possibility of more arrows. and very few in the room were that fond

of Oldoran. But Mangaran had already hurled his own body on that

of the confused duke, and others rushed forward to join him. Other

courtiers were drawing their swords and looking around for

somebody to stab.

Asrana was screaming in a masterful imitation of hysteria.

I moved quickly around the outskirts of the crowd to the door

behind the throne. 'This way, my Lord Mangaran!' I shouted. 'Bring

the duke! The rest of you, guard this door! There's treason afoot!' I

wanted to nail that down.

Then I cast a hideous illusion directly in front of the stupefied

Oldoran's bleary eyes, and he was the only one who could see it.

He began to scream and gibber in absolute terror, even as several

courtiers picked him up bodily and followed Earl Mangaran to the

doorway where I stood. I intensified the illusion before the duke's

eyes, and his screaming grew even louder as he struggled to free

himself. I definitely wanted that screaming to continue.

'Should I make the announcement?' Mangaran muttered to me

as he led the little cluster of men carrying the duke through the

door.

'Not yet,' I replied quietly. 'Let him scream for a while. I'll be

along in a few moments to examine him.' I let them on through the

doorway and then firmly shut the door and set my back against it.

'Find that assassin!' I commanded. 'Hunt him down!'

That gave everyone who wasn't busy guarding the door

something to do. A quick search with my mind had revealed the fact

that Lammer had already left the palace grounds and was sitting

in a tavern several streets away. The searchers did find his bow and

a quiver of arrows up in the gallery, however. Lammer, I noted,

was a thoroughgoing professional.

Not everyone in the throne-room joined in that disorganized search

for the mysterious bowman, though. About a half-dozen

distraughtlooking Asturian nobles were gathered around the dead Murgo'S

 

body. Some of them were even wringing their hands, and one was

openly weeping. I caught Asrana's eye and crooked one finger at

her.

She came to me immediately. 'Yes, Polly?' she said.

,Wipe that silly grin off your face, Asrana,' I told her, and I didn't

say it out loud.

 

 

'How are you -? ' she started.

,Hush! Listen, don't talk. Fix the names of those men around the body

by the throne firmly in your mind. Those are the ones we'll have to watch

out for.' Then I spoke aloud to her - just loud enough to be heard

by the courtiers guarding the door. 'Calm yourself, dear,' I told her.

'The duke's safe, and the Earl Mangaran's with him.'

'Did he get hurt?' she asked, wincing as Oldoran gave vent to a

particularly piercing shriek.

'He's distraught, Asrana. The shock of this attempt on his life has

unsettled him just a bit, I think. Here. Take my place. If anyone tries

to rush this door, give up your life to hold them off.'

She lifted her chin and assumed a heroic pose. 'I will!' she declared.

'They'll have to rip me to pieces and spill out all my blood. They

will not pass!'

'Brave girl,' I murmured. Then I opened the door and went into

the small antechamber where the duke was busy having hysterics.

I drew Mangaran off to one side. 'All right, my Lord,' I murmured

softly to him. 'Part one is over. Now it's time to move on to part

two.'

'Do you have any other surprises up your sleeve, Polgara?' he

murmured in reply. 'I almost lost my grip when that Murgo's

forehead sprouted feathers.'

'I rather thought you might like it. I'm going to examine the duke,

and my diagnosis is going to be that he's temporarily lost control

of his senses.'

'Temporarily?'

'That's an interim diagnosis, Mangaran. It'll serve as an excuse

for us to transport him to the monastery. We'll pull long faces and

talk about lingering after effects later. You're going to have to

identify me when you make your announcement, my Lord. Introduce

me, and I'll advise the courtiers of my findings. My name's known

Well enough that nobody's going to argue with me. I'll tell them

that the duke needs a safe place for his recovery, and then you

suggest the monastery. It's a logical place - peace, quiet, security,

and lots of monks around to see to his needs. We'd better get on

with this, Earl Mangaran. I want him inside that monastery before

I pretended to think about it. 'It might serve our purposes.' I didn't

want to sound too enthusiastic.

'And who will assume his Grace's duties during his recovery?'

one of our 'patriots' demanded.

Asrana stepped forward. 'I'm just a silly woman,' she said, 'but

it seems to me that someone already has. Earl Mangaran seems

to have everything under control. Since he's volunteered, why

don't we let him take care of things during the duke's temporary

incapacity?'

'Yes,' an elderly noble, also one of our cohorts, agreed. 'Mangaran

will do nicely, I think. The Privy Council may want to discuss the

matter, but in the interim, I'd suggest that the earl should continue

to make decisions. We do have the Wacites on our eastern frontier,

after all, so we don't want any signs of division or weakness to

encourage them to attack.'

Mangaran sighed. 'If it is the will of the court -'He even managed

to sound reluctant.

The still gibbering duke was hustled into a carriage for his triv

to the monastery an hour or so before the party at the Marquis

Torandin's house broke up. We left the Murgo's body where it had

fallen to help persuade the returning party-goers that there really

had been an assassination attempt, and with only a few exceptions

the courtiers all agreed that Mangaran should continue to stand in

Oldoran's stead.

It was almost dawn by the time I fell into bed to snatch a couple

of hours sleep.

'Interstitial conjunctive morbialis?' father's voice asked mildly.

'What's that, Pol?'

'It's very rare, father.'

'It must be. I don't think I've ever heard of it before.'

'Probably not. This is the first case I've ever seen. Go away, Old Man.

Let me get some sleep. I'll call you when it's time for you to make your

speech.'

Our coup had gone off quite smoothly. Such opposition as there

was had been thrown into total disarray by the speed at which we

had moved, and the sudden appearance in the throne-room of the

legendary Belgarath the Sorcerer about mid-morning of the day

following our little coup more or less set our arrangements in stone.

Father, always a performer, strode into the throne room garbed in

an almost incandescent white robe. He carried a staff, which the

gullible Asturians assumed could be used to fell vast forests, blow

the tops off mountains, and turn whole generations into regiments

 

of toads. Father, quite naturally, took all the credit, and then he

strongly suggested that it was his decision that Earl Mangaran

assume the reins of the government.

The dead Murgo who'd subverted Duke Oldoran was buried with

 

 

Lammer's arrow still stuck through his head, and since most of his

underlings were Angaraks incapable of making decisions on their

own, they had to wait for new instructions from Rak Cthol. Ctuchik

had been getting all sorts of bad news lately, and I had every

intention of going on to Vo Mimbre to send him some more.

Father, Mangaran, Asrana and I gathered in Asrana's apartments

after everything had been nailed down to discuss our options at

this point. 'My father might not agree with me,' I told them, 'but I

think our next step should be some peace overtures to Kathandrion

of Vo Wacune. Let's shut down this silly war.' I looked at father.

'Any objections?' I asked him.

'This is your party, Pol,' he said, shrugging. 'Do it any way you

like.'

'I'd more or less intended to, father.' I cocked an eyebrow at

Asrana and Mangaran. 'I'm going on to Vo Mimbre,' I advised them.

'Try not to get creative while I'm gone. Watch Oldoran's relatives

and those half-dozen or so courtiers who were so upset by the

sudden passing of the fellow in the Tolnedran mantle. There are

probably other Murgos lurking about, though, and I think they'll

also pose as Tolnedrans when they start showing up at court. I think

the best way to deal with them would be to lean heavily on that

"interim" business. Theoretically, you're just filling in for Oldoran

until he regains his health, my Lord Mangaran. Pretend that you

don't have the authority to sign treaties or agree to more informal

arrangements. Tell them that they'll have to wait until the duke

recovers. That should stall anything new for about half a year.

Ctuchik's plan has a definite time-table, I think, and an enforced

six-month delay should seriously disrupt it. The Dagashi will have to

Just mark time, but I won't. I'll be able to stop things at Vo Mimbre,

and they won't be able to do a thing about it.'

'Did you teach her how to be so devious, Holy

Belgarath?'Mangaran asked my father.

'No,' father replied. 'It seems to be a natural talent. I'm terribly

proud of her, though.'

'An actual compliment, father?' I said. 'I think I'll faint.'

Asrana had been eyeing my father with a speculative look.

'That's a terrible mistake, dear,' I told her. 'You don't really want

to get involved with him.'

'I can take care of myself, Polly,' she said, her eyes still on my

father.

'Oh dear,' I said. Then I threw up my hands and left for Vo

Mimbre.

 

*CHAPTER 15

 

My father suggested that I stop at Vo Mandor to talk with the

current baron on my way south, so Lady and I went down across

the vast, deforested plain of the Mimbrate duchy. Even then that

landscape was depressingly dotted with the ruins of towns, villages,

and isolated castles. I'm sure that Asturia and Wacune were littered

with the souvenirs of idiocies past as well, but those old wounds

moldered discreetly in the forests which covered the two northern

duchies. In Mimbre the grey stone ghosts of castles and the like

were always painfully visible and were thus a constant reminder of

the sorry history of Arendia. There are those who pass through the

plains of Mimbre who find the ruins picturesque and romantic, but

that's usually long after the smoke and stench have been blown

away and the seasons have washed off the blood.

There wasn't much danger that Mandorallen's ancestral home

would ever be part of the nameless ruins of the tides of civil war.

VO Mandor was probably what they had in mind when they coined

the word 'unassailable'. It stood atop a rocky knoll, and in the

process of construction the builders had hacked away the sides of

that knoll to obtain the necessary building stones. The end result

was a fortress situated atop a jutting peak with sheer sides hundreds

of feet high that defied assault - not that it hadn't been tried a few

times, Arends being what they are and all.

As I thought about it, I reached the conclusion that the site of their

Place of origin may have played a significant role in the formation of

the character of that long, unbroken line of the Barons of Vo Mandor.

If You grow up with the conviction that no one can possibly hurt

You, it tends to make you just a bit rash.

The town of Vo Mandor surrounded the baron's walled keep, and

the town itself was also walled. It was approached by a long, steep

causeway that was frequently interrupted by drawbridges designed

to impede access. All in all, Vo Mandor was one of the bleaker

places on earth.

The view from the top was magnificent, though.

Mandorin, the then-current baron, was a blocky widower in his

mid-forties. He had massive shoulders, silver-shot dark hair, and a

beautifully manicured beard. His manners were exquisite. When he

bowed, the act was a work of art, and his speech was so sprinkled

with interjected compliments that it often took him about a quarter

of an hour to wend his way through a sentence.

I liked him, though. Isn't that odd? Perhaps it's a character defect.

Good manners are such a rarity that I'll endure excessive language

and all sorts of bowing and scraping just to avoid the casual incivility

so common in most of the rest of the world.

'My Lady Polgara,' the maroon-clad baron greeted me in the

courtyard of his grim fortress, 'the walls of my poor house do

tremble as the very leaves at the presence of the paramount lady in

all this world within their confines - e'en as the mountains

themselves must be seized by convulsive ague as the sense of thy passage

doth strike them into their very vitals.'

'Nicely put, my Lord,' I congratulated him. 'Gladly would I linger

in this happy place to hear more of thine exquisite speech, but

necessity, that cruelest of masters, doth compel me to unseemly

even discourteous - haste.' I've read my share of Arendish epics,

and if Baron Mandorin thought he could outtalk me, he was greatly

mistaken. I've learned over the years that the best way to deal with

Arends is to talk them into insensibility. The only problem with that

is that they're as patient as stones, so it takes a while.

Eventually Baron Mandorin escorted me to his private study,

a book-lined room carpeted and draped in blue high in the east

tower of his castle, and we got down to business - after he'd

fetched me a cushion to support my back in the already padded

chair he offered me, set a plate of sweetmeats close at hand on

the polished, dark wood table, sent for a pot of tea, and placed

a footstool close by - just on the off chance that my feet might

be tired.

'Knowest thou my father, my Lord?' I asked.

'Holy Belgarath?' he replied. 'Intimately, my Lady - which doth

raise the question whether any person in all this world could

possibly know so towering an individual.'

'I do, my Lord, and father doesn't always tower. Sometimes he

 

stoops, but we digress. It hath come to mine attention - and to my

father's - that there is discord in Arendia.'

 

 

Mandorin made a rueful face. 'That, dear Lady, is the most cursory

description of several eons of Arendish history it hath ever been my

sad pleasure to hear. For 'certes, discord lieth at the very soul of

Arendish existence.'

'Yes, I've noticed that. In this particular situation, however, the

discord hath its origins outside the boundaries of this most unhappy

of realms. Wacune was rent by dissention, and Asturia hath but

recently enjoyed the overturn of its government.'

'Thou speakest as if these events had already passed into the

pages of history, my Lady.'

'Yes, my Lord, they did.'

'I do surmise that it was thy hand which stilled the waves of

contention in the northern duchies.'

'I had some part in it, yes,' I admitted modestly. 'I exposed the

identity of an outside agitator to Duke Kathandrion of Wacune and

then proceeded on to Vo Astur and overthrew the government of

the incompetent Duke Oldoran. Now I've come to Mimbre.'

'I do sense a certain ominous tone in that particular

pronouncement, my Lady.'

'Set thy fears to rest, Baron Mandorin. Thine heart is pure, and

thou hast nothing to fear from me. I doubt that I shall have occasion

to turn thee into a toad nor stand thee on empty air some miles

above us.'

He smiled and inclined his head slightly. 'Prithee, my Lady,' he

said, 'when we have leisure, might I beg instruction in the fine art

of extravagant speech from thee?'

'You're doing fine already, Mandorin,' I told him in ordinary

language. 'You don't need any lessons. To work, then. In both

Wacune and Asturia, there were men who seemed to be Tolnedran,

but were not. They proposed to Kathandrion and separately to

Oldoran an alliance with Ran Vordue, dangling the undisputed crown

Of Arendia before their eyes as a prize for acceptance. Doth this

perchance resonate in any way within thy recent memory?'

I didn't really need to ask, since his face had gone pale and his

eyes were very wide.

'It has a familiar ring to it, I gather?'

'Indeed, my Lady. A similar proposal hath been broached to our

own Duke Corrolin.'

'I'd rather thought it might have been. Art thou, perchance, within

the circle of Duke Corrolin's immediate advisors?'

 

 

 

'I do sit on the Privy Council,' he admitted, 'and I must confess

that I was sore-tempted by this fortuitous offer of alliance with the

mighty Tolnedran empire.'

'I think I'll need some details, Baron Mandorin. Before I can unseat

an opponent, I need to know which horse he's riding.'

He pondered that, evidently reassessing certain events which had

recently taken place in Vo Mimbre. 'Some months ago a Tolnedran

diplomat did, in fact, arrive in the golden city with a proposal '

which he assured Duke Corrolin did come directly from the Imperial

throne. His credentials did appear immaculate.'

'Did the Tolnedran ambassador to the court at Vo Mimbre

recognize him, my Lord?'

'The current ambassador from Tol Honeth had fallen ill a month

perhaps 'ere Kadon, the emissary in question, did enter the gates

of Vo Mimbre. The illness is obscure, and it doth baffle the finest

physicians in all of Mimbre. I do fear me that his Excellency's days

are numbered.'

'Most convenient, my Lord. Coincidence, though rampant in this

troubled world, doth sometimes require some small nudge from

human agency to flower.'

'Poison?' he gasped, catching my meaning.

'Quite possibly, my lord. I fear me that certain Nyissan

compounds are entering the politics of the other western kingdoms.

Prithee, expound unto me the details of the proposal carried to Vo

Mimbre by the emissary Kadon.'

'It doth bear a characteristic Tolnedran stamp, my Lady Polgara,

for 'certes, as all the world doth know, the Tolnedran mind is a

masterpiece of complexity and devious motivation. In short, though

it doth wound me sorely to offend thy delicate sensibilities by such

brutal brevity, I shall speak unto thee in unadorned terms.'

'I'd appreciate that, Lord Mandorin.'

 

Aren't you proud of me? I didn't once scream at him while he was

exploring the outer limits of his vocabulary.

 

'As thou art well aware, having but recently come from the northern

duchies, great antagonism did exist between Duke Kathandrion of

Wacune and the now deposed Duke Oldoran of Asturia, and the

Wacites do poise themselves on the Asturian border, bent on nothing

less than the obliteration of their cousins to the west. Kadon

suggested to our beloved Duke Corrolin that this contention in the

north might prove to be an opportunity too golden to be permitted

 

to escape, and he offered the aid of the legions in grasping this

 

prize.'

'How, my lord? What exactly were the legions supposed to do?'

'granted safe passage by his Grace Corrolin, forty legions are to

march north and poise themselves in northern-most Mimbre. When

Duke Kathandrion's forces do march into Asturia and encircle Vo

Astur, the legions will move to fortify the border between Wacune

and Asturia. E'en as the legions march, the forces of Duke Corrolin

will cross over into the foothills of Ulgoland, move north, and take

up positions along Wacune's eastern frontier. When Kathandrion's

forces begin their assault on Vo Astur, the Mimbrate army will

invade Wacune from the east. By virtue of the legions lining the

border between the two northern duchies, Kathandrion will be

unable to rush home to defend his homeland. Vo Wacune will fall,

and Kathandrion and Oldoran are to be permitted to fight a war of

mutual extinction in the forests of Asturia. Then, when but few

tattered remnants of the armies of Wacune and Asturia do remain,

Duke Corrolin, with the aid of the legions, is to sweep both

Kathandrion and Oldoran into the dust-bin of history, and all of Arendia

will swear fealty to Corrolin, and he will become our undisputed

king.' Mandorin, caught up in spite of himself, delivered this last

in ringing tones of exaltation.

'And you and your duke actually believed this absurdity?' I asked,

hoping to dash some cold water into the face of this enthusiast.

'I am well-versed in the arts of war, Lady Polgara,' he said in

slightly injured tones. 'I found no fault nor flaw in this strategy.'

I sighed. 'Oh dear,' I murmured, covering my eyes theatrically

with one hand. 'Lord Mandorin,' I said to him, 'think for a moment.

Northern Arendia is one vast forest. Kathandrion and Oldoran

would not meet Corrolin or the legions - in pitched battle. They

would simply melt into the trees. Northern Arends are born with

longbows in their hands. The armored knights of Mimbre and the

stately ranks of the Tolnedran legions would melt like snow in the

spring in sudden rain-squalls of yard-long arrows. There's a man

named Lammer in Vo Astur who can thread a needle with an arrow

at two hundred paces. Neither the Mimbrates nor the legions would

ever have seen the men who killed them. Armor is decorative, but

it won't stop an arrow.'

'A most unseemly way to make war,' he complained.

'There's nothing seemly nor polite about war, Baron,' I told him.

'Is it polite to pour boiling pitch on visitors? Is it seemly to bash

people's heads in with maces? Is it courteous to run a twenty-foot

 

 

 

lance through the body of someone who disagrees with you? But

we can discuss courtesy in all its divine intricacies later. Ran Vordue

is a Tolnedran. He will not do anything without getting paid for it.

To put it in its bluntest terms, what's in it for him?'

The baron's face grew troubled. 'I would die ere offending thee

my Lady,' he said, 'but the attachment of thy father to the Alorns

is widely known, and thine own sojourn on the Isle of the Winds

is legendary. The alliance which Ran Vordue hath proposed is but

an initial step in his grand design, the intent of which is the

destruction of the alorns.'

'And that idea seemed like a good one to Corrolin?' I asked

incredulously. 'Doth his Grace perchance have an extra hole in his

head? It seemeth me that his brains are leaking out. The Alorns, as

all the world doth know, have their faults, but no sane man chooses

to make war upon them. Hath this supposed Tolnedran, Kadon,

seen fit to advise the Privy Council in Vo Mimbre of a grand strategy

whereby Arendia and Tolnedra can hope to survive a confrontation

with those howling savages of the far north?'

His face went a trifle stiff. 'We are Arends, my Lady,' he told me

a bit coldly, 'and are not without our own skills - and our own

bravery. Moreover, the Tolnedran legions are the most

highly-trained soldiers in all the world.'

'I am not disparaging thy bravery nor thy skill at arms, my Lord,

but an average alorn doth stand some seven feet tall and is given

a sword to play with whilst still in his cradle. Moreover, by ties of

blood and religion, the Alorns think and move as one. Though

Tolnedra might wish it otherwise, Aloria doth still exist, stretc

from Car og Nadrak to the Isle of the Winds. An attack upon Aloria

is, it seemeth me, tantamount to suicide.' I probably went a bit

too far there. Arends do have their pride, after all. 'I'm sorry,

Mandorin,' I apologized. 'The rashness of the proposal startled me, that's

all.' I considered the situation. 'Prithee, my Lord,' I said, 'did his

Grace actually contemplate this action with nothing more than the

unsupported declarations of Kadon to guide him?'

'Nay, my Lady. Simple observation lent weight to Kadon's

proposal. I do assure thee that Tolnedran legions are even now massing

on the southern bank of the River Arend, doubtless preparing for

the long march to the point at which the boundaries of the three

duchies do converge. Moreover, a Tolnedran general hath also come

to Vo Mimbre to confer with the commanders of our forces.'

That truly troubled me. If Ctuchik were also subverting Tolnedra,

I had a real problem on my hands. 'We can discuss this further as

 

we travel the road to Vo Mimbre, my Lord,' I told Mandorin. 'It

doth appear that what transpires in the golden city hath far greater

 

 

complexity than what I encountered to the north.' I paused again.

,I think that it might not be wise for my name to start echoing

through the halls of the ducal palace upon our arrival. I suppose

you'd better adopt me, Mandorin.'

He blinked.

'Thou art a Mimbrate Arend, my Lord,' I reminded him. 'Though

it is entirely possible that thou couldst singlehandedly assail a

fortress, an outright lie is quite beyond thy capabilities. Let us therefore

seek out a priest of Chaldan to perform the necessary ceremonies.

I will become thy niece, Countess Polina, the flower of an obscure

branch of thy family. Thus may I, all unnoticed, seek out the truth

in this matter.'

His expression grew slightly pained. 'That is a flimsy basis for

deliberate falsehood, my Lady,' he objected.

'Common purpose doth unite us, my Lord, and thine intimate

acquaintanceship with mine aged father doth make us e'en as

brother and sister. Let us formalize our happy kinship, then, so that

we may in joyous union proceed toward the accomplishment of our

goal.'

'Have thy studies perchance taken thee into the murky realms of

law and jurisprudence, Lady Polgara?' he asked me with a faint

smile, 'for thy speech doth have a legalistic flavor to it.'

'Why, uncle Mandorin,' I said, 'what a thing to suggest.'

The ceremony was a charade, of course, but it satisfied Mandorin's

need for a semblance, at least, of veracity at such time as he'd be

obliged to announce our kinship. We went down to the ornate chapel

in the baron's castle as soon as we had changed clothes. Mandorin

wore black velvet, and, on an impish sort of whim, I conjured myself

up a white satin gown. On the surface, at least, this 'adoption' very

closely resembled a wedding.

I've never understood the Arendish religion, and believe me, I've

spent a lot of time in Arendia. Chaldan, Bull-God of the Arends,

seems to have a fixation on some obscure concept of honor that

requires his adherents to slaughter each other on the slightest

pretext. The only love an Arend seems really capable of displaying is

directed toward his own sense of self-esteem, which he cuddles to

his bosom like a beloved puppy. The priest of Chaldan who

formalized my kinship with Baron Mandorin was a stern-faced man

in an ornate red robe that managed to convey a sense of being

somehow armored, but maybe that was only my imagination. He

 

 

 

preached a war-like little sermon, urging Mandorin to carve up

anybody offering me the slightest impertinence. Then he ordered

me to live out my life in total, unreasoning obedience to my guardian

and protector.

The fellow obviously didn't know me.

And when the ceremony was over, I was a full-fledged member

of the House of Mandor.

 

You didn't know that we were related, did you, Mandorallen?

 

Given the response of the Dagashi I'd encountered in Wacune and

Asturia, I knew that I was going to have to do something' about

the white lock in my hair if I wanted to maintain any kind of

anonymity in Vo Mimbre. I knew that dye, the simplest solution,

wouldn't work. I'd tried that in the past and found that dye simply

wouldn't adhere to the lock. After a bit of thought, I simply designed

a coiffure that involved white satin ribbons artfully included in an

elaborately braided arrangement that swept back from my face to

stream freely down my back. The more I looked at the results in

my mirror, the more I liked it. I've used it on several occasions since

then, and it's never failed to attract attention - and compliments.

Isn't it odd how an act born out of necessity often produces

unexpected benefits? The style was so inherently attractive that I won't

demean it by calling it a disguise. Then, once that identifying

lock had been concealed, Baron Mandorin and I, ostentatiously

accompanied by twenty or so armored knights, went to Vo

Mimbre.

A great deal of nonsense has been written about Vo Mimbre. but

say what you will, it is impressive. The terrain upon which that

fortress city stands is not spectacularly defensible. It's no Rak Cthol

or Riva by any stretch of the imagination, but then, neither is Mal

Zeth in Mallorea. The builders of Vo Mimbre and Mal Zeth had

obviously reached a similar conclusion that, put in its simplest terms,

goes something like this: 'If you don't have a mountain handy, build

one.'

Mandorin and I - and our clanking escort - entered Vo Mimbre

and rode directly to the ducal palace. We were immediately

admitted and escorted directly to Duke Corrolin's throne-room. I cannot

for the life of me remember exactly why, but I once again wore that

white satin gown, and I entered that great hall that was decorated

with old banners and antique weapons with a faintly bridal aura

hovering about me. It was probably a bad idea, since I wanted to

 

be as unobtrusive as possible, but I'm constitutionally incapable of

blending in with the wallpaper or furniture.

Baron Mandorin introduced me, and, since he was Mimbrate to

the core, rather incidentally noted that he would do vast violence

to any man offering me the slightest impertinence. After I'd curtsied

to Duke Corrolin, delivered myself of an appropriately girlish and

 

 

empty-headed greeting, I was gathered up by the ladies of the court

and whisked away while the menfolk got down to business. I did

have time to note the presence of a dozen or so men wearing

Tolnedran mantles in the crowd before I left, however, and when I sent

out a probing thought from the middle of that gaily-dressed throng

of young Mimbrate noblewomen who were rushing me away, I

caught the now familiar dull black tinge that identified Murgos

or Dagashi - and I also sensed some red auras. Evidently, Kadon

had raided Ctuchik's treasury for enough gold to buy up several real

Tolnedrans. What troubled me the most, however, was a momentary

flicker of glossy black. There was Grolim somewhere in the crowd

and that in itself was an indication that what had happened in Vo

Wacune and Vo Astur had been peripheral. The core of Ctuchik's

plot was here in Vo Mimbre.

It pains me to say it about my own gender, but young women,

particularly young noblewomen, are a silly lot, and their

conversation is top-full of empty-headed frivolity - mostly having to do

with decorating themselves in such ways as to attract attention. I

take a certain amount of comfort in the fact that young men aren't

much better. From a clinical point of view, the condition has a

chemical basis, but I don't know that discussing it at length right

here would serve any useful purpose.

The white satin ribbons braided in my hair drew many

compliments - and not a few imitations later - and the style made me

appear younger, so the gaggle of giggling girls assumed that I shared

their views on life, and they'd graciously 'rescued' me from tiresome

discussions of such boring topics as the onset of general war and

the mass extermination of virtually everyone on the western side of

the Eastern Escarpment. I was thus treated to a fascinating afternoon

of intense speculation about the impact of hen-dines and hair-styles

on the world situation.

Although Baron Mandorin - dare I say, uncle Mandy? - had been

alerted to what was really happening and could report the details

Of discussions from which my gender and apparent age excluded

me, there would be things happening of which he would not be

aware. I needed to be present at those discussions, and, now that

I'd been brought up to date on current fashions, I felt that it was

time to move on. I 'just happened' to come down with a very bad

case of sick headache the next morning and shooed my playmates

out of my rooms. Then I went to the window and 'went sparrow,,

to use my father's rather succinct characterization of the process.

It was still summer, so the windows of Corrolin's palace were all

open, and that gave me all the opportunity I needed to eavesdrop

on the discussions of the Privy Council. I settled on the window-sill,

chirped a couple of times to let everyone know that I was only a

bird, and then cocked my head to listen.

Duke Corrolin was speaking to a squinty-eyed, swarthy fellow in

a pale blue Tolnedran mantle. 'I must advise thee, worthy Kador,

that word hath but recently arrived from the northern duchies which

doth advise us that Duke Oldoran hath fallen gravely ill by reason

of some obscure malady. The governance of Asturia hath been

placed in the hands of an aged earl yclept Mangaran.'

'Yes,' Kador replied, 'my own sources have confirmed this as well,

your Grace. The initiative in the north, however, lies in the hands

of Duke Kathandrion, and I've heard nothing to indicate that he's

changed his mind about invading Asturia. It doesn't really matter

who holds power in Vo Astur, since our plan hinges almost entirely

on what's taking place in Vo Wacune.'

The thought I sent out was so light as to be virtually unnoticed,

and the color which responded to it was dull black. Kador was not

the Grolim. That startled me more than a little, and it troubled me

even more. If I started probing every mind in that room, the Grolim,

whoever he was, would eventually sense that someone was looking

for him.

Then a rather ordinary-looking Tolnedran - a servant, judging by

his clothing - came forward and murmured something to Kador.

'Ah,' Kador said. 'Thank you.' Then he turned back to the duke

but not before a momentary flicker of hard, glossy black ever so

briefly touched my awareness. I'd found my Grolim, but I couldn't

quite fathom out exactly why he'd chosen to remain in the

background. From what father and my uncles had told me about the

Angaraks, it was decidedly uncrolimish for a priest of the

DragonGod to assume the guise of a servant.

'My Lord,' Kador was saying to Corrolin, 'all is proceeding

according to our plan. the remainder of the legions will be in place before

the week is out. If I might be so bold as to suggest it, might this

not be a good time for your knights to begin their journey toward

the Ulgo frontier? The general in command of the legions will order

 

his troops north as soon as his force is fully assembled. Your

mounted men will move more rapidly, of course, but they have

 

 

much farther to travel, and the terrain in the foothills of the Ulgo

Mountains will make for slow going. Timing will be all-important

when we move against Wacune.'

,It may well be as thou sayest, worthy Kador,' Corrolin admitted.

,I shall dispatch an advance party to the east on the morrow. When

the legions of His Imperial Majesty do inte~ect themselves into

northern Arendia, my knights will be in place.'

In that single phrase 'the legions of His Imperial Majesty' Kador

had summed up the core of my problem. Bribing an individual

Tolnedran posed no particular difficulty, but bribing forty legion

commanders? That might be a bit more challenging.

Then a rather horrid suspicion began to intrude itself upon me,

and I did something I haven't done very often. Baron Mandorin,

resplendent in his armor, sat at the long table with the other

members of the Privy Council, and I sent my thought - and my

silent voice - out to him. 'Uncle,' I said to him, 'don't look around,

and don't let yourface show any sign that I'm talking to you. I'm going

to ask you a few questions, and I want you to think the answers. Don't

say anything out loud.'

'This is a wondrous thing, Lady Polgara,' his thought responded.

'Canst thou truly hear my thought?'

'You're doing just fine, Uncle. Now, then, has anyone other than Kador

and his henchmen actually seen the legions that are supposedly encamped

a few miles to the south?'

'Their watch-fires are clearly visible from the south wall of the city, my

Lady.'

'Anybody can light a fire, Mandorin. Has any Mimbrate at all bothered

to go down into Tolnedra to actually count the soldiers who are supposed

to be camped there?'

'The Tolnedrans do not welcome incursions into their territory, my

Lady, and in the light of our current delicate negotiations it would be

discourteous in the extreme for us to intrude upon the ancestral home of

our ally to the south.'

I said something I probably shouldn't have at that point.

'Polgara!' Mandorin gasped in shock at my choice of words.

' Sorry, Uncle,' I apologized. 'It just slipped out. Will you be in your

chambers after this meeting breaks up?'

'An it please thee, yes.'

It will please me, uncle. I'll be gone for the rest of the day, and when

I come back, we'll need to talk, I think.'

I fluttered away from my listening post on the window-sill of the

council chamber, found another window that faced out from an

empty chamber, and transformed myself into the falcon that was

always the alternative to my preferred form. Owls are conspicuous

in the daytime, after all.

It didn't take me long to confirm my suspicions. Although there

were mounted patrols of men in legion uniforms near the south

bank of the River Arend that marks the boundary between Arendia

and Tolnedra, when I flew on, I saw no more men. There were

several standard legion encampments in the forest with all the"usual

appurtenances of legion camps - log palisades, neatly pitched tents

along what could only be called streets, and legion banners fluttering

above the gates - but those camps were empty. My suspicions had

just been confirmed. There were perhaps fifty men in legion

uniforms patrolling near the border, but that was the entire extent of

the supposed invasion force.

I flew back toward the border and swooped down to settle on a

tree limb for a bit of constructive eavesdropping.

'This is the most tedious job I've ever had, Ralas,' I heard one

unshaven fellow complain to his companion as they rode under my

tree.

'Oh, it's not so bad, Geller,' Ralas replied. 'We could all be back

at the lumber-camp chopping down oak-trees, you know. All we

have to do here is ride up and down the river and tend a few fires

at night.'

'I don't see any point to it, Ralas.'

'We're getting paid for it, Celler. That's the only point that matters

to me. If Count Oldon wants us to patrol the northern boundary of

his estate, I'll be happy to oblige him for as long as he wants. The

horse does all the work, and that suits me right down to the ground.'

'We could get in trouble for wearing these uniforms, you know,'

Celler told him, rapping on his breastplate.

'Not a chance. If you look very closely at your cloak, you'll find

the count's crest embroidered on it instead of the imperial one.

Nobody but an idiot's going to mistake us for real legionnaires.'

'Nedra's teeth!' Geller swore, slapping at a mosquito. 'Why do

we have to stay so close to that accursed river?'

Ralas shrugged. 'The Count wants us to be seen from the Arendish

side, I guess. I don't ask him questions - except for maybe, "When

do I get paid?" That's all I care about.'

'I want to know why!' Celler burst out. 'What's the point of this

silly business?'

 

I probably could have told him, but, since curiosity is the ultimate

mother of wisdom, I decided to let him continue his journey along

the beaten path to knowledge without any interference from me.

 

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER 16

 

Baron Mandorin was in the throne-room when I returned to the

palace in Vo Mimbre, and I crossed the ornate chamber with a

purposeful expression. I didn't have time for pleasantries. 'We need

to talk, uncle,' I told him, 'now.'

He looked a little startled at my abrupt approach, but that was

just too bad. Our departure from that ceremonial hall might have

seemed somewhat leisurely, but we went directly across to the door

and on out into the corridor.

'The matter, I do perceive, hath a certain urgency?' he suggested.

'Not here, uncle,' I told him. 'Wait until we're sure we're alone.'

He got my point. We went to his chambers and he closed and

locked the door behind us.

'And now - ?'he began, his face curious.

'I've just spent a rather tedious afternoon over across the river,

uncle. I searched all over for those Tolnedran legions everyone's

on about, but guess what? I didn't find them.'

'But they are quite clearly visible from the city walls, Lady

polgara.'

'Oh no they're not, Baron Mandorin- What you've been seeing on

the walls are common workmen dressed up in legion uniforms.

There are several standard-looking legion encampments back under

the trees as well, but those encampments are empty. There are probably

no more than fifty men over there. They patrol the riverbank

in the day-time and tend the watch fires at night. It's all for showm

Mandorin. There's no military presence over there. Who's Count

Oldon?'

'He is a member of Kadon's party, my Lady, and if I have heard

aright, his estates do stand opposite our city here.'

 

'That would explain it then. He's pressed woodcutters and other

laborers into his private little army, and that army has just one

mission - to convince Duke Corrolin that there are genuine legions

camped across the river. It's all a sham. Corrolin and his staff

have been duped. What's going on here in Vo Mimbre is just more

of the same sort of thing I encountered in Vo Wacune and Vo

Astur.'

'I shall denounce the villain Kador publicly,' Mandorin declared

hotly, 'and prove the truth of my words upon his body.'

'All that would prove is that you're a better swordsman than he

is. We're going to have to come up with something better.' I

considered it for a moment. 'I think it's time for Corrolin to have a talk

with Ran Vordue in person. That's probably the only thing that's

going to convince him.'

'Would His Imperial Majesty consent to such a meeting?'

'He will if we send the right messenger. My father's lurking about

somewhere nearby - keeping an eye on me, I think. I'll suggest that

he take a little trip to Tol Honeth - for reasons of his health.'

'Is he unwell?'

'He will be if he doesn't make that trip when I tell him to.' I

considered it. 'I don't think the meeting should take place here in

Vo Mimbre,' I said. 'Let's not alert the opposition. Tol Vordue would

be better, I think. I'll talk with father about it and see what he

says. This plot we're up against has been months in the making,

Mandorin, and it'd take us more months to unravel it. A meeting

between Corrolin and Ran Vordue would cut across all that tiresome

business. Corrolin will come back to Vo Mimbre with the keys to

his dungeon already in his hand.'

'I had not thought that affairs of state could move so rapidly, my

Lady,' he marveled. 'Things here have a more leisurely pace.'

'We don't have much leisure, Baron. Corrolin's advance parties

will be leaving Vo Mimbre tomorrow morning, and the rest of his

force won't be far behind. If we don't move fast, there'll be too

Much momentum for us to turn things around. Oh, one more thing.

Please keep this entirely to yourself. We don't need anybody else

involved. Anytime more than two people know a secret, it's not a

secret any more. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go give my father his

marching orders.'

I left Baron Mandorin with a troubled expression on his face and

went directly to my own quarters. I closed the door behind me and

took a few precautions. Kador did have that Grolim in his party,

after all. 'Father,' I sent out my thought then, 'I need you.'

 

 

 

'For someone who's pretending to be so independent, you're calling Me

out of the bushes fairly often, Pol,' he complained.

'Stop trying to be funny. I want you to go to Tol Honeth and tell Ran

Vordue about what's going on here in Arendia. It'll probably get his

attention. I want him to go to Tol Vordue to meet with Duke Corrolin

and explain - very patiently - that he hasn't got the faintest idea about

what's behind all these pseudo alliances. Have him send an official

messenger to Mandorin, and the baron will get him in to meet with Corrolin. I

want the duke to meet with Ran Vordue personally in Tol Vordue before

the week's out, and I don't want anybody here in Vo Mimbre to know

about that meeting.'

' I'll carry the message myself, if you'd like.' That was a surprise. 'Is

there anything else I can do for you?'

'You might see if you can think up a way for me to get Corrolin out

of Vo Mimbre and on downriver to Tol Vordue without having about

half of his court trailing along behind,' I suggested. 'It's got me a little

baffled.'

'I'll think of something. I've probably said this before, Pol, but you're

very good at the sneaky side of politics.'

'Why, thank you, kind sir. You're not so bad yourself,, you know..,

'Yes, but I've had more practice. Are things coming to a head

here?'

'They're getting close, so don't dawdle, father. Let's step right along

here.'

The next morning we all watched fifty or so Mimbrate knights,

mounted and steel clad, go clanking out of the court yard with

banners flying. It was probably only on an off-chance that I heard the

words, 'Bear-Cult' come from somewhere in the crowd. I circulated a

bit, and I didn't actually have to go far in search of a repetition. It

seemed that everybody in the palace was talking about that peculiar

alorn aberration. It was obvious that Ctuchik's underlings had been

busily spreading wild stories. The goals of the Cult were absurd

enough already, but the rumors that were circulating that morning

left absurdity far behind. The purpose, obviously, was to stir hatred,

fear, and distrust. It had been the unity of Torak's brothers that had

defeated the Dragon-God during the War of the Gods, and Ctuchik

was doing everything in his power to dismember that unity.

I suppose I might have tried to squelch all those rumors, but I'd

long since discovered that there's no real way to stop a rumor once

it's gained a foothold.

It was late afternoon of the following day when father's thought

resounded in my head. 'Rejoice, my beloved daughter,' he announced,

fOr I, with all my unspeakable skill, have accomplished the task you dropped

in my lap.'

, Will you please be serious, father? Did Ran Vordue agree to meet the

duke ?

'Of course he did. Have I ever disappointed you?'

,Frequently, as a matter of fact. Have you got his message?'

'It's somewhere in one of my pockets, I think. Oh, incidentally, when I give

the letter to Corrolin, I'm going to suggest that he make a religious pilgrimage.

'A what?'

'I'll ask him to put on some humble-looking clothes and ride on

downriver to that monastery at the mouth of the River Arend that's just across

from Tol Vordue. The duke's right on the verge of going to war, and

Arends always make some show of praying for victory before they go out

to do violence upon their neighbors. It's a quaint custom of the race. A

pilgrimage is sort of private, so Corrolin won't be taking much of an escort

with him - just you and Mandorin, if I can arrange it. It shouldn't be too

difficult to slip him across the river to Tol Vordue once we reach the coast.

Was that sort of what you had in mind?'

'It should work out just fine, father. When will you be arriving here in

Vo Mimbre?'

'Tomorrow morning. I'm going to have to stop and get something to

eat. I guess I startled Ran Vordue so much that he forgot his manners. He

didn't off-er me any supper, and I'm absolutely famished. I'll see you

tomorrow, then. Sleep well, Pol.'

And I did that. I'd probably deny it were someone to suggest it,

but I always feel more secure when father takes a hand in something

I'm working on. He has his faults, but once he gets down to business,

he's as inexorable as the tides.

The next morning I suggested to Baron Mandorin that we might

want to 'go out for a little ride, just to stir up our blood', and once

we were some distance to the north of the city, we entered a fairly

extensive grove of trees and found my father dozing beside a merry

little stream that burbled busily over stones back in amongst the

trees. He opened one eye as we dismounted. 'What kept you?' he

asked us, and when he stood up, I saw that he was wearing a coarse

brown monk's robe made of burlap.

'What's this?' I asked him.

It'S just my uniform, Pol,' he replied. 'I'm going to be duke's

escort as we ride on downriver.' Then he looked at Mandorin.

'amazing,' he said. 'Your hair hasn't turned white yet.'

Mandorin gave him a puzzled look.

'You've been associating with my daughter, haven't you?'

'Will you please drop all the joking around, father?' I demanded

with some exasperation.

'Probably not, but we can talk about that later. How've you been,

Mandorin?'

'Well, Ancient one, well.'

'I'm glad to hear it. If I remember correctly, there's a small room

back behind the duke's throne. It's where he usually hangs his robe.

Go on back to Vo Mimbre and ask him to step in there for a moment.

Pol and I'll be waiting for the two of you there. I'll talk with Corrolin

for a bit, and then we'll set out for the monastery.'

'What if -' I started.

He sighed that long-suffering sigh that always irritates me. 'Please,

Pol,' he said. 'I've already covered all the "what-ifs". Go ahead,

Mandorin. Pol and I'll be waiting in that cloak-room.'

Mandorin remounted, took Lady's reins, and rode off, and then

father and I fell back on our alternative mode of transportation and

were safely ensconced in that half-hidden little attiring-room about

a quarter of an hour before the Baron of Vo Mandor even got back

inside the palace.

'Ah, there you are, your Grace,' father said when Mandorin and

Corrolin entered the room. 'We've been waiting for you.' He didn't

even bother to rise.

Father had draped his monk's robe across the back of an

unoccupied chair, and the duke saw only a seedy-looking vagabond with

bad manners sitting in a room where he had no apparent business.

'What doth this mean, Baron Mandorin?' he demanded sharply of

our friend.

'My Lord,' Mandorin replied, 'I have the distinct honor to present

Holy Belgarath, Disciple of the God Aldur, who hath but recently

arrived from Tol Honeth with an urgent communication from His

Imperial Majesty, Ran Vordue of Tolnedra.'

'I do confess that I am overwhelmed,' Corrolin replied, bowing

deeply to my vagrant father.

'Hail, Corrolin,' father said, still not bothering to get up. 'I knew

your father quite well.' Then he fished around inside his tunic and

drew out a folded sheet of parchment with a beribboned wax seal

on it. 'His Imperial Majesty asked me to stop by and give this to

you. Please forgive all our subterfuge in this matter, but the contents

of Ran Vordue's note should probably be kept secret.'

The word 'secret' always seems to light fires in the eyes of Arends,

and Corrolin was no exception. He took the letter and then looked

dubiously at me.

,My niece is privy to the contents of the message, my Lord,'

Mandorin advised him. 'Indeed, she was instrumental in its

delivery.'

'We can get into that later,' father smoothly glossed over the fact

that in Mimbrate eyes my primary concerns should have been

gossip, hairstyles and hosiery.

Corrolin read the imperial message, and his eyes widened a bit.

'Have I perchance misunderstood the import of this document?' he

asked. 'Should I have misread it, prithee correct me, but it doth

seem that I have been invited to meet His Imperial Majesty.'

'It'd better say that, your Grace,' father grunted, 'because that's

the way I dictated it. The meeting is to take place in Tol Vordue in

about three days, and the emperor asked me to impress upon you

the vital necessity for absolute secrecy in this matter. There are

unfriendly eyes - and ears as well - knocking about both here in

Mimbre and down there in Tolnedra as well. I think we'll all want

to keep this entire affair tightly under wraps.'

'A wise precaution, Ancient One,' Corrolin agreed, 'but how am

I to explain this sudden journey into Tolnedra?'

'I've taken the liberty of making some arrangements, your Grace,'

father told him, reaching over to pick up the monk's robe. 'I'll wear

this and act sort of holy. You're right on the verge of embarking on

a war. Now, war's a serious business, and no truly devout man

undertakes one without a bit of divine guidance. That's why you

sent for me, wasn't it?'

Corrolin blinked. 'Forgive me, Holy One, but I have no

recollection of summoning thee.'

'It must have slipped your mind. Anyway, I'm to escort you

downriver to that monastery on the coast so that you can consult

with the abbot there. That sort of smells religious, wouldn't you

say? On the way, we'll take a little side trip to Tol Vordue so that

You can meet with Ran Vordue. Then we'll go on to the monastery.

You can have your spiritual consultation with the abbot, and then

we'll come home.' He squinted at the elaborately-garbed duke. 'Put

On something suitably devout, my Lord. When we go back into the

throne room, pray a lot and let me do most of the talking. I'll make

a big issue of the fact that any kind of escort would be an act of

impiety and that Chaldan might be offended.'

'I had not heard of such restrictions,' Corrolin confessed.

'I'd be surprised if you had, your Grace, since I made them up

just now. Baron Mandorin and his niece will go on ahead of us, you

and I will leave Vo Mimbre alone, and we'll all join up again some

miles on down the road. Mandorin and Polina have some

information that might help you and Ran Vordue in your deliberations

at Tol Vordue.'

Since all Arends just adore intrigue, Corrolin fell in with our

scheme immediately, and just as immediately developed that

furtive, conspiratorial air that half the population of Arendia habitually

wears. Mandorin and I left the pair of them polishing the edges of

their scheme and went back to the stables for our horses.

Our two pilgrims, actually singing hymns as they rode along,

joined us about five miles out from Vo Mimbre, and we all rode on

down the river road toward the coast.

We were followed, of course, but that was to be expected. Father

took care of it, though, so it didn't give us any serious problems.

We camped out that night, and rode on through the next day and

well into the evening. My father's not one to leave things to chance,

so he'd hidden a boat in the bushes about a mile upriver from the

monastery. We picketed our horses and pushed our boat out into

the stream.

We reached the far shore about midnight and walked on along

the dark, deserted road toward the city of Tol Vordue rising behind

the impressive east gate. We were met there by a platoon of

legionnaires and immediately escorted through the deserted streets to the

ancestral house of the Vordue family. The emperor was waiting for

us in the courtyard. He was of middle years and tall for a Tolnedran.

He also, I noted, had a distinctly military bearing. 'All went well, I

gather?' he asked my father.

Father shrugged. 'No problems,' he said.

'Good. I've had a place for our meeting prepared. I can guarantee

that nobody's going to get close enough to that room to hear our

discussions.' He looked at Corrolin and Mandorin. 'Which of these

gentlemen is Duke Corrolin?' he asked.

Father introduced our two Mimbrates, but deliberately glossed

over my presence. Then we all trooped inside and climbed an

interminable flight of marble stairs to a room at the very top of a

tower. It was a stark, business-like sort of room with a conference

table in the center and maps littering its walls.

'I'll be brief, your Grace,' the emperor said to Corrolin after we'd

seated ourselves at the table. 'I'm a plain man with no great skill at

diplomatic language. Ancient Belgarath here advises me that you've

been approached by a man going by the name Kador who's told

you that he speaks for me. He's lying to you. I've never even heard

of the man, and it's entirely possible that he's not even Tolnedran.'

 

 

 

Corrolin gaped at him in stunned surprise. 'But there are legions

encamped almost within view of Vo Mimbre!' he protested.

,You'd better tell him, Pol,' father suggested.

'Forgive me, Ancient One,' Corrolin floundered, 'but how would

Lady Polina have information concerning Tolnedran legions?'

'Is there any need to keep playing this game, Pol?' father asked

me.

'No,' I replied, 'I suppose not.'

'Good. Let's clear the air, then. Duke Corrolin, I have the honor

to present my daughter Polgara.'

Corrolin's quick glance at Mandorin was slightly accusatory.

'Baron Mandorin did not lie to you, your Grace,' I jumped to my

friend's defense. 'By church law, he is, in fact, my uncle. He adopted

me in front of a priest of Chaldan before we came to Vo Mimbre. I

needed a disguise, so I forced him to do it. It was necessary, so let's

not make an issue of it.' Then I paused. 'I'll put this in very blunt

terms, your Grace. There are not, in fact, any legions stationed across

the river from Vo Mimbre. I went down there and had a look for

myself. Count Oldon, who appears to be in Kador's pocket, has

decked out some of his workmen in legion uniforms just for show.'

'She's telling you the truth, your Grace,' Ran Vordue assured him.

'I have not offered an alliance with any faction in Arendia, and I

most definitely haven't stationed any of my legions on your southern

frontier. This Kador has duped you.' Then the emperor looked at

me appraisingly. 'Ancient Belgarath strongly hinted that his

daughter here has been running around Arendia putting out fires for the

past several weeks now. Maybe we can prevail upon her to give us

some details.'

And so I recounted the stories of what had happened in Vo

Wacune and Vo Astur for them and revealed what I'd picked up

so far in Vo Mimbre. 'It's all been a hoax, gentlemen,' I concluded.

'Ctuchik's been trying to foment a war between Arendia and

Tolnedra, hoping that His Imperial Majesty would annex Arendia - which

Would bring the alorns into the picture. That's what Ctuchik really

wants - a war between the Empire and the alorns. Arendia would

have been no more than a pawn in the larger game.'

'I shall obliterate the villain Kador!' Corrolin burst out.

'I'd really rather you didn't, old boy,' Ran Vordue told him.

'Deport him back to Tolnedra instead - along with all his underlings.

Let me deal with them.' He smiled faintly. 'My birthday's not

far off,' he said. 'Why don't you give the lot of them to me as a

Present?'

'It shall be my excruciating pleasure to do as thou hast requested,

your Imperial Majesty,' Corrolin agreed. 'I shall devote mine own

attentions to such Mimbrate knights as have fallen in with this

Murgo plot. They shall feel my displeasure most keenly.'

'Stout fellow,' Ran Vordue murmured. Then he looked at me

'How did you find out about all this, Lady Polgara? My sources teell

me that you've been ensconced in the Vale for the past several

centuries.'

'Our Master brought it to my attention, your Majesty. Evidently

he feels that I should spend some more time in the field of practical

politics to broaden my horizons.'

'That brings up an interesting point,' father said, looking directly

at me. 'The Master put this in your hands, Pol, so you're the one

who's running things this time. What do we do now?'

'I'll get you for that, father,' I threatened him.

'You mean you'll try. Why don't you throw something on the

table? Then the rest of us can take it apart and tell you why it won't

work.'

'Well,' I said, 'let me see.' I fished around for something logical.

'If we look at it in a certain way, Ctuchik's done us a favor here.

There's been a certain ecumenicism in his plotting. He duped all

three dukes with exactly the same ploy, offering each one an alliance

with Ran Vordue. Since Asturia, Wacune, and Mimbre were all

deceived in the same way, couldn't we build on that shared

experience? Why don't we just skip the war this time and go directly to

the peace-conference? I've got a certain influence with Kathandrion

and Mangaran. If Duke Corrolin invites them to a conference at

oh, let's say the Arendish Fair - I think I'll be able to persuade them

to attend.'

'She makes sense, Belgarath,' Ran Vordue sided with me. ' have

you got any idea of how much it's costing me to keep fifteen legions

in the garrison here in Tol Vordue, just in case the hostilities in

Arendia happen to spill over into Tolnedra? I can find better uses

for those troops, and for the money I'm wasting on them.'

'I, too, find merit in Lady Polgara's proposal,' Mandorin agreed.

'Endless war doth in time grow tiring. Mayhap, for the sake of

novelty, we might try endless peace for a few months.'

'Cynic,' my father accused him. Then he stood up. 'Why don't

we just let my daughter bully all concerned to the peace table at

the Great Fair?' he proposed.

'Bully?' I protested.

'Isn't that what you're going to do?'

'If I have to, yes, but that's such an ugly word. Couldn't we call

it something a little nicer?'

 

 

'Which word would you prefer?'

'I'm not sure. I'll work on it and let you know what I decide.'

'I hope you'll forgive me if I don't hold my breath.'

Father rowed us back across the estuary at the mouth of the River

Arend shortly before dawn. I've noticed any number of times that

he'll do things like that when he decides that he's the best one

available for what would otherwise be a menial task. Both Mandorin

and Corrolin were knights, far more at home on horseback than at

the oars of a small boat. My father's not one to take chances. I could

probably have done it at least as well as he did, but he evidently

didn't think of that - and I certainly wasn't going to suggest it.

Dawn was in full flower when we beached our boat, re-saddled

our horses, and rode on to the monastery. Corrolin dutifully

conferred with the abbot for about a quarter of an hour - although I

couldn't for the life of me understand what they might have talked

about. Corrolin was not going to war. Maybe that was it. Maybe he

was asking the abbot to convey his apologies to Chaldan for not

slaughtering his neighbors. When he came out of the monastery,

we took the high road that led back to Vo Mimbre. We stopped

after a mile or so, though, and I cooked breakfast for us over a

roadside campfire - quite a good breakfast, as I recall. My friends all

ate too much, naturally, and father, now that he had a full stomach,

decided that a little rest might be in order. 'We did stay up all night,'

he reminded us. 'I can sleep in my saddle, if I really have to, but

somebody's going to have to stay alert enough to steer the horses.

Why don't we catch some sleep and then move on?'

We rode back a ways from the road under the leafy green canopy

of the trees, unrolled our blankets, and committed ourselves to sleep.

I was just on the verge of dozing off when mother's voice murmured

in my drowsy brain. 'Very nicely done, Polgara,' she complimented me.

'I rather thought so myself,' I agreed modestly.

You sound tired.'

'I am, rather.'

'Why don't you sleep then?'

And I did, dropping off right between one thought and the next.

We all awoke about mid-afternoon and rode on to a rather shabby

little inn, where we spent the night. We arose early the following

morning, and we then rode straight on to Vo Mimbre.

Duke Corrolin had been mightily provoked by what his meeting

with Ran Vordue had revealed, and he moved quickly, issuing

orders, but no explanations. Then he invited the entire court into the

throne-room where armored knights stood guard along the walls. To

everyone's surprise - even mine - the duke entered the throne-room

full armor and carrying a huge two-handed broadsword. He did

not sit down on his throne. 'My Lords and Ladies,' he began,

speaking with unusual crispness for a Mimbrate Arend. 'I have but

recently returned from Tol Vordue, where the emperor of Tolnedra

and I did confer at some length. The outcome of that conference

was a happy one. Rejoice, my loyal subjects. There will be no war.'

That got a mixed reaction, Arends being what they are and all.

Corrolin, his face bleak, smashed his mailed fist down on the back

of his throne. 'Be not dismayed, my Lords and Ladies,' he boomed.

'There will be other entertainments. An extensive conspiracy hath

of late befouled the air - not only here in mimbre, but in Asturia

and Wacune as well. It is my firm intention to cleanse the air here.

Seize them!' This last commiroand was issued to Mandorin and the

two-score knights under his command, and Mandorin was quick to

carry it out - so quick in fact that there were hardly any casualties.

A dozen or so Tolnedrans, both genuine and spurious, were clapped

in irons, and several Mimbrate nobles were treated in the same way.

The Grolim who'd been posing as a servant in Kador's entourage

ducked under the arm of the knight who was in the middle of

enfolding him in a steely embrace and darted for the door, gathering

his Will as he ran. My father, however, was ready for him. Still

garbed in that burlap monk's robe, the Old Wolf delivered a crashing

blow to the side of the Grolim's head with his fist, and the priest

of the Dragon-God fell senseless to the floor. Father, I noticed, had

judiciously enveloped his right fist in lead, and his blow would have

felled an ox. 'Holy Belgarath' has a colorful background, and I've

noticed over the years that he'll resort to the tactics of tavern

brawling almost as quickly as he'll fall back on sorcery.

The prisoners were all dragged from the room, and then Duke

Corrolin described in somewhat tedious detail the Murgo plot which had

come to within inches of succeeding. Then, while all the court was still

in shock, he told them of the peace-conference that was already in the

works. That caused a certain amount of grumbling, but the Duke of

Mimbre ran roughshod over the protests. When you put an Arend in

full armor, you can't really expect a velvet touch.

I decided to let father take the credit for my little counter-COUP

in Vo Mimbre. I'm more interested in results than I am in credit,

but my father absolutely adores being the center of attention, so I

 

let him bask - or wallow - in public adulation while I went on back

to the northern duchies to hammer down the loose ends of my

 

 

peace-conference.

Duke Kathandrion of Wacune and Earl Mangaran of Asturia had

already met a few times, and Countess Asrana, her wicked eyes

sparkling, assured me that they seemed to be getting along fairly

well. 'They're as thick as thieves, Polly,' she said with a little smirk.

'That Kathandrion's absolutely gorgeous, isn't he?'

'Never mind, Asrana,' I told her. 'Try to keep your predatory

instincts under control. What condition's Oldoran in?'

'I don't know about his liver, but his mind's definitely gone. He's

seeing things that aren't really there, and he's raving most of the

time. His family's very upset about that. He's got some nephews

that were eyeing his throne with a great deal of interest, but I don't

think the title's going to stay in the family. Mangaran's been

demonstrating his capabilities at every turn, and I don't think any of

Oldoran's nephews are really qualified to replace him. When are we

going to convene the peace-conference?'

'Which peace-conference was that, dear?'

'The one you've been working on ever since you came to Arendia.

Don't be coy, Polly. I know what you're up to - and I approve of

it. Wars are all very stirring for the men, I suppose, but the lives of

the ladies here and in Vo Wacune and Vo Mimbre are very tedious

when all the pretty young men are out playing in the woods. Now

then, what can I do to help?'

Our impromptu peace-conference was to be held, as I'd suggested,

at the Great Arendish Fair, which is technically in Mimbrate

territory. This automatically made Corrolin the host. To be quite honest

about it, I'd have been happier with Kathandrion at the head of the

table, but you can't always have things the way you'd like them.

I'd have Baron Mandorin sitting at Corrolin's elbow anyway, and I

was sure he could keep his duke from making too many mistakes.

I left VO Astur and went on across the border into Wacune. I wanted

to talk with Kathandrion before our conference convened.

'We're going to have to be careful, my Lord,' I told my Wacite

friend when I finally got him alone. 'There are hot-heads in all three

duchies, and a chance remark at the wrong time could make this all

fly apart on us without any warning. I'll be talking to the assembled

notables from time to time, and I'm going to keep hammering on

the fact that as long as any one of the Arendish dukes has regal

ambitions, Arendia's going to be vulnerable to Murgo plotting.

There might be an undisputed crown of all Arendia some day, but

not right now. I think that the best we can hope for at this particular

time is an agreement between you, Mangaran, and Corrolin that

there isn't an Arendish crown, and there's no point to killing half

the population in order to cram a fiction on somebody's head.'

'It seemeth me that some unspoken rebuke doth hover over that

last remark, my Lady,' my handsome friend noted.

'Look upon it as a cautionary word, your Grace. I shall not rebuke

thee until thine opinion of thyself doth grow too exalted. Look with

profound distrust upon any man who pretends to offer thee a

pathway to a non-existent crown. Now, then, I don't think that lasting

peace is going to grow out of one meeting, so I'm going to suggest

that we follow an Alorn example here in Arendia. The Alorn kings

meet periodically on the Isle of the Winds for discussions of matters

of mutual concern. I think we might want to give that notion some

consideration here as well. If the three Arendish dukes meet every

summer, they'll be able to deal with any frictions that might have

arisen during the past year. Let's not give any imagined insults time

to fester.'

'I shall strive to mine utmost to make this come to pass, my Lady.'

Then I flew on back to Vo Astur to wheedle a similar agreement

out of Mangaran and Asrana. In point of fact, I spent several months

on the wing in the skies over Arendia. It's not a bad idea when

you're dealing with Arends to get agreements on everything before

you gather them around the conference table. I kept my agenda

simple for this first little get-together, limiting our discussions to

two or three crucial points. If I could make this gathering an annual

event, there'd be plenty of time at later meetings to expand peaceful

contacts.

It was mid-autumn by the time we all gathered in the garishly

striped royal pavilion Corrolin had ordered to be set up on the

outskirts of the fair, and each ruler rose in turn to address an

assembly comprised of assorted state functionaries and by observers

from Tolnedra and from the Alorn kingdoms. Corrolin, as host,

spoke first. He formally greeted the other two rulers and the

emissaries from foreign lands, noting in passing that Salmissra had

declined the opportunity to send an observer. He then spent about

a half-hour saying nice things about me. I found that part of his

speech fairly interesting.

After Corrolin had exhausted his vocabulary, Kathandrion rose

and also waxed extravagant in his praise of me. I liked that speech

too. Then Mangaran stood up and demonstrated the fact that the

Asturians had not totally forgotten how to thee, thou, and what-not.

The shrewd old earl concluded his remarks with a little surprise,

however. 'Nobles all,' he said with a faint smile. 'This gathering

 

 

here on the plain of our mournful Arendia hath as its ultimate goal

a lasting peace. For many, this will seem unnatural, and for others,

perhaps even unpious. Peace is an alien concept in Arendia, and

the fact that our meeting hath lasted for quite nearly an entire

afternoon with not a single drop of blood spilled may cause outrage in

some quarters. Since we are flying into the very teeth of convention,

let us further shock that stuffy old grand dame with yet another

violation of her conception of how things ought to be done. Ladies,

as all the world doth know, are creatures of delight, more beauteous,

more genteel, more tender than are we, and it is the sworn duty of

every right-thinking nobleman in all the world to protect and serve

them. It is also known, however, that their minds are not the equal

of ours. Our fulsome and most deserved praise of Lady Polgara this

day hath encouraged me to investigate a shocking possibility. Could

it be that great Chaldan hath, in fact, given women brains? Is this

possible? Then, emboldened by the fact that a divine thunderbolt

had not as yet incinerated me, I pushed this heretical concept even

further out into unexplored territory. It is well known, I think, that

Duke Oldoran hath recently been removed from his throne and

ensconced in a monastery to rave and scream out the remainder of

his life. It is also widely bruited about that I was responsible for his

removal. I will openly confess that this is true, but it would not

have happened had it not been for the assistance of two - not one,

but two - ladies. The one, of course, was Lady Polgara. I'm sure

that surprises no one here. What is not so widely known, however,

is the fact that a high-born lady in Vo Astur was also involved - all

the way up to her pretty eyebrows. Moreover, she has advised me

in most matters since I seized control of the government of the

duchy of Asturia. The need for total openness at this conference

impels me to reveal this and to introduce the lady who rules at my

side. Nobles all, may I present the Countess Asrana, a conspiratoress

without peer.'

There was some faint applause, which gradually grew less faint,

swelling finally into an ovation.

'I'll get you for this, Mangaran,' Asrana said, rising to her feet.

'Promise?' he asked slyly.

Asrana struck a tragic pose. 'And now is my dreadful secret

revealed,' she declared. 'How can anyone possibly forgive me?

Truly, gentlemen, it was not my fault. Polgara made me do it. It's

all her fault., She sighed a long, quivering theatrical sigh. 'I am

 

 

 

exposed now, so I guess we might as well get on with this. This

unnatural gathering has been convened to explore the possibility of

peace. - Isn't that awful? How can we live without enemies? We

have to hate someone!' She paused, then snapped her fingers. 'I have

it, my Lords! I have the solution! Let's hate Murgos instead of each

other! Murgos are hideous, and Arends are the most beautiful people

in the world. Murgos are dishonorable, and Arends are all

nauseatingly saturated with honor. Murgos are unmannerly, and

Arendish courtesy is the despair of the known world. Let us join

hands, nobles all, and pledge upon our sacred honor to hate the

eyebrows off every Murgo we meet.'

They were all laughing by now, and pounding on the table with

delight. The Countess Asrana had neatly rolled them all up into a

little ball and put them in her pocket.

'I do confess that I like this charming young lady, your Grace!' I

heard Mandorin say to his duke. 'She is utterly delightful.'

I just happened to be watching Asrana's face when he said that

about her, and her look became just a trifle smug. Then, without so

much as changing expression, she winked at me. She'd obviously

overheard Mandorin's remark, and it was also obvious that she felt

that she'd just won something.

There was a banquet that evening, and Baron Mandorin managed

to find a seat next to Asrana's where she promptly did war upon

him. Her cavalry charges were outrageously winsome remarks and

observations. Her siege engine of choice was a low-cut gown that

went just a bit beyond the bounds of propriety. Baron Mandorin

didn't quite sue for peace that evening, but he came very close.

The Countess shared my quarters, and I waited up for her. 'Why

Mandorin?' I asked her bluntly when she came in.

'I didn't quite follow that, Polly.'

'Why are you setting your cap for Baron Mandorin? There are

others here who are prettier, and he's quite a bit older than you

are.'

'So much the better,' she replied, letting her hair down and

shaking it out. 'With Mandorin, I won't have to endure all those calf-eyed

looks and the reams of misspelled bad poetry. Mandorin's very close

to the center of power in Mimbre, and I've got a similar position in

Asturia. You'll be managing things in Wacune, so among the three

of us, we ought to be able to keep everybody in line - long enough

for peace to become a habit, at least.' Then she gave me a wicked

sidelong glance. 'I hate to say it, Polly, but I'm going to have more

fun than you are.'

 

'Are you doing this out of patriotism, Asrana?' I asked

incredulously.

'you can call it that if you wish, but down at the bottom, power

excites me - and the three of us are going to have almost all the

power there is in poor old Arendia. You can't ask for much more

than that.'

 

 

'What about love, Asrana?'

She shrugged. 'What about it? Love's for children, Polgara. It's

a plaything I've outgrown. I like Mandorin. He's handsome and

unspeakably noble. The years will erode his handsomeness, and I'll

erode his nobility. We'll do some fairly unpopular things, I'm afraid,

but Arendia's going to be better for it. If that makes me a patriot,

so be it. Watch me very closely, Polly. I might even be able to teach

you some tricks.'

By mid-morning of the next day, even the densest Arend in Duke

Corrolin's pavilion was aware of the fact that something was 'going

on' between our unscrupulous countess and Baron Mandorin, and

I think that was also included in Asrana's plan. I don't think that

even Ce'Nedra could ever be as duplicitous as Asrana was. By the

end of that day, poor Baron Mandorin was completely in her thrall.

He watched her every move and hung on her every word - since

Asrana spoke frequently at our deliberations. Here was a young

lady who could play two games at the same time - and both of

them very well.

On the fourth day, the leaders of Mimbre, Asturia, and Wacune

signed the 'instrument of peace', and immediately thereafter Duke

Corrolin rose and invited everybody to stay for the wedding.

Countess Asrana could move very fast when it suited her.

Once again I found myself pressed into service as a bridesmaid,

and all went smoothly. Asrana and Mandorin were married with

not so much as an earthquake or tidal wave to alert poor Arendia

to a dangerous new force that had come into being right at her very

heart.

 

 

PARTFOUR

 

mOntrose

 

*CHAPTER17

 

I hate to admit this, but when you get right down to the core of

things, my father and I are very much alike. We both know that our

primary business will always be study and the slow accumulation of

knowledge. Interruptions crop up from time to time, though, and

we'll both assume surly expressions when someone comes rushing

into the Vale begging us to go out and save the world. Would you

be at all surprised if I told you that our apparent grouchiness is

only a sham? To be completely honest about it, we enjoy putting

out these little brush-fires almost as much as we'd enjoy discovering

just exactly why two and two makes four.

When I'd spent those years on the Isle of the Winds, I'd been at

the very center of things, and I'd found that to be engrossing. Then,

when I'd been called away again to deal with Ctuchik's scheme in

Arendia, I'd enjoyed that just as much. Like my father, I'll always

be happy to lay my book aside when the fire-bell rings.

Given the tentative nature of the peace father and I had crammed

down the throats of assorted Arends, it was fairly obvious that I

was going to have to stay in Arendia to make sure that it stayed

crammed. And so it was that in the spring of the year 2313 I returned

briefly to father's tower to pick up a few things I might need. I

suppose I could have just willed what I needed into existence, but

they wouldn't have been the same, for some reason.

Father had returned to the Vale during the previous winter, and

when I reached his tower, he called the twins over, and the four of

us got down to cases. 'I'd rather hoped to see uncle Beldin,' I said.

. 'He's still off in Mallorea, Pol,' Belkira said. 'What's happening

In Arendia?'

'What's always happening in Arendia?' Beltira snorted.

'Pol took steps,' father told them. 'There's this unnatural silence

hovering over Arendia right now. I think it's referred to as peace.'

'I don't know that I'd go quite that far, father,' I disagreed, getting

up to check the ham I was baking for supper. 'Ctuchik had things

fairly well stirred up, and the Arends were having a lot of fun with

his little fires. Now that we've doused them with cold water, the

Arends are at a loss for excuses to slaughter each other. I wouldn't

really call it peace yet, though. They're sitting around waiting for

somebody to come up with new reasons to go to war.'

'I'm sure they'll find something,' he said sourly.

'That's why I'm going back,' I told them. 'I want to make it very

obvious to the Arends that if they don't behave themselves, I'll

spank them.'

'They aren't actually children, Pol,' Belkira objected.

'Oh, really? You haven't been there lately, uncle. Arends are a

very charming people, but a lot of that charm lie's in the fact that

they've never grown up.'

'Are you going to settle in one place, Pol?' Beltira asked, 'or were

you planning to be a traveling fire-brigade?'

'I've had invitations from all three of the rulers in Arendia, uncle,

but I think I'll set up operations in Vo Wacune. It's far more attractive