know what the word means until he's at least twenty. 'Gelane,' I

said patiently, 'you're only six years old. Right now, you couldn't

even lift a sword, much less swing one. Here's what you should do.

There's a pile of rocks in the southeast corner of the maze in the

middle of the Stronghold.'

'Yes, I've seen them.'

'The best thing for you to do is to pick up one of those rocks and

carry it up the stairs to the top of the Stronghold. Then you take it over

to the battlements and drop it on the Angaraks outside the walls.'

,'I'll bet they wouldn't like that at all, would they?'

'Not very much, no.'

'What do I do then, Aunt Pol?'

'Go get another rock.'

'Those rocks look awfully heavy.'

'Yes, they do, don't they? That's the idea, though, Celane. Picking

up heavy things is a good way to make your muscles bigger, and

You're going to have to be very strong if you're going to get into a

sword-fight with Torak.''How long will it take - to get big muscles, I mean?'

Oh, I don't know - six or eight years, maybe. Possibly ten.'

'Maybe I'll learn how to shoot a bow and arrow instead.'

'That might be more interesting. Look after your mother, Celane.

I'll Come by from time to time to see how you're coming along with

Your archery.'

'I'll practice a lot, Aunt Pol,' he promised.

I hope you took notes there. The secret word in dealing with

little boys is 'diversion'. Don't forbid things. Make them sound

unpleasant instead. Boyish enthusiasm diminishes in direct proportion

to the amount of sweat involved.

Trust me. I've been doing this for a long time.

 

Father and I left the Stronghold at first light the next morning and

flew west to Camaar. We spent the night in our usual inn and flew

on to Riva to gather up the Alorn kings. Then we sailed south in a

small fleet of Cherek war-boats.

Ran Borune himself met us on the wharves, and that was most

unusual. The politics of the situation here were very murky, though,

so Ran Borune went out of his way to avoid offending the sometimes

prickly Alorn kings. I liked Ran Borune. He was a small man, like

all members of the Borune family. Father's introduction of the Dryad

strain into the Borune line had done some rather peculiar things. A

pure Dryad for example, would never give birth to a male child,

but their tiny size carried over into the men of the family, and you'll

seldom see a male Borune who tops five feet.

To avoid offending Tolnedran sensibilities, father and I had hinted

around the edges of an outright lie, leading our southern allies to

believe that the names 'Belgarath' and 'Polgara' were in the nature

of hereditary titles passed down through generations in order to

impress gullible alorn monarchs. I'm told that a whole sub-division

of the history department at the University of Tol Honeth has

devoted years to the study of us, and they've even gone so far as

to devise a genealogy of this mysterious family that wields so much

power in the kingdoms of the north. The Duchess of Erat, for

example, was 'Polgara Vii', and during the Angarak invasion, I was

'Polgara LXXXIII'.

 

I'm not certain if that sub-department's still functioning, but if they

are I'm probably currently referred to as 'Polgara CXVII.'

Isn't that impressive?

 

The emperor was accompanied by his Chief of Staff, General Cerran.

Cerran was an Anadile, a member of a southern Tolnedran family

that's always been closely allied with the Borunes. We were lucky

to have Cerran, since the man was a tactical genius. He was a blocky,

no-nonsense sort of fellow with heavy shoulders and no sign of the

paunch that almost all men develop in their fifties.

The Alorn kings had arrived in Tol Honeth some weeks ago, and

they joined us and we all trooped up the hill to the imperial compound

, and Ran Borune advised us that the Imperial War College(

was at our disposal for our strategy sessions. It was a pleasant

building, but its most significant feature was the fact that all the

maps were there. A nation that's spent well over a thousand years

building roads is going to have a lot of maps, and I'd imagine that

 

 

if someone were really curious, he could find a map somewhere in

the War College that'd show the precise location of his own house.

 

Although we worked at the Imperial War College, we lived in

the various Alorn embassies. It's not that we wanted to keep secrets,

 

it was just that guests in the imperial palace seem to attract followers.

I won't use the word 'spies', but I think you get my point.

Father's ploy of hinting that the Drasnian Intelligence Service,

even as dislocated as it had been by the Angarak invasion, was

providing the information we were actually getting from other

sources gave the Tolnedrans a graceful way to avoid accepting

 

things they weren't prepared to look straight in the face. A

Tolnedran will go to absurd lengths to maintain his staunch belief that

there's no such thing as magic. It's a little awkward sometimes, but

 

we've always managed to work our way around it. Deep down, we

all know that it's pure subterfuge, but as long as we all behave as

 

if we believe it, relations with the Tolnedrans can go smoothly.

Thus, when uncle Beldin arrived in Tol Honeth to report what

he'd seen in southern Cthol Murgos, we passed him off as a Drasnian

spy. Beldin's had a lot of experience at spying anyway, so he was

able to pull it off rather well. General Cerran found uncle's report

of the friction between Ctuchik and Urvon particularly interesting.

 

'Evidently, Angarak society's not as monolithic as it seems,' he

mused.

'Monolithic?' Beldin snorted. 'Far from it, general. If Torak didn't

 

have his fist wrapped firmly around the heart of every one of his

WOrshipers, they'd all be gleefully butchering each other - which is

more or less what's happening in southern Cthol Murgos right now.,

'Maybe if we're lucky both sides will win,' Cho-Ram suggested.

'In the light of this Murgo distaste for Malloreans, how long would

YOU say that it's going to take Urvon to march his army across

 

southern Cthol Murgos, Master Beldin?' Cerran asked.

'Half a year at least,' Beldin said with a shrug. 'I think we can

count on the Murgos to make the march interesting.'

'That answers one question anyway.'

'I didn't follow that, general.'

'Your friend here - and his lovely daughter of course - have told

us that this fellow who calls himself "Kal Torak" feels a powerful

religious obligation to be in Arendia on a certain specific date.'

'It's a little more complicated than that, but let that slide - unless

you'd like to hear an extended theological dissertation on the

peculiarities of the Angarak religion.'

'Ah - no thanks, Master Beldin,' Cerran replied with a faint smile.

'We don't know exactly what that date is, but we can make a pretty

good guess.'

'Oh?'

'Kal Torak's going to want Urvon in place near the southern

border of Nyissa when that date gets closer. He'll want to give

himself plenty of time because a two-pronged attack doesn't work

very well if one of the prongs isn't in place yet. That means that

Urvon's going to have to get an early start. Let's ignore that, though,

and use your six-month figure. The battle's going to begin when

Urvon marches out of Rak Hagga. We'll want to start moving into

place then. We'll get confirmation when Torak abandons the siege

of the Stronghold to come west. That'll be forty-five days before the

fighting starts. As you suggested, there are bound to be delays, but

let's use Kal Torak's calendar just to be on the safe side. We'll move

when Urvon moves. We might get there early, but it's better to be

early than late.'

"Tis a wonderful clever fellow th' man is, don't y' know,' Beldin

said to my father.

'Will you stop that?' father said irritably. Then he dipped his head

slightly to General Cerran. 'You're a very useful man to have around,

General. Most of my military experience has been with Alorns, and

they tend to make things up as they go along. Careful planning

seems to bore them for some reason.'

'Belgarath!' the grey-bearded King Eldrig objected.

'It's just a difference in approach, your Majesty,' General Cerran

smoothed things over. 'Experience has taught me that things go

wrong during military operations, and I try to take those things into

account. My estimates are very conservative, but even if Urvon and

Kal Torak don't exactly follow my timetable, we'll still have our

defenses in place in plenty of time. I hate being late for social

engagements

, don't you?'

'You look upon war as a social engagement, General?' father

asked, sounding a bit startled.

'I'm a soldier, Belgarath. A good war's the closest thing a soldier

has to a social life.'

,He's going to take some getting used to, isn't he?' Beldin

chuckled. 'He's got a good mind, though.'

You're too kind,. Master Beldin,' the general murmured.

our strategy sessions progressed in a much more orderly fashion

than they had at Riva. Cerran was a methodical man who ticked

off such things as 'when', 'where', and 'how' on his fingers. We'

already decided that when' would be determined by some fairly

visible activity on the part of the two Angarak forces. Then we

moved on to 'where'. The Mrin told us that the final battle would

take place in Arendia, and our convenient fiction that our knowledge

 

of that had come from Drasnian Intelligence had been accepted by

the Tolnedrans as a verified fact. Arendia's a big place, though, an

it wasn't until the sixth year of the siege of the Stronghold that the

twins wrested the exact location out of the Mrin. After that, we knew

that the battle would take place at Vo Mimbre. All we had to do

then was convince the Tolnedrans that we knew what we were

talking about.

After one of our sessions, I motioned to Brand, and the two of

us took a stroll around the rain-drenched grounds of the imperial

compound.

'You wanted to speak with me, Pol?' Brand asked me.

We're going to have to lead General Cerran rather gently, Brand,'

I replied. 'I think you're best qualified to do that. Cerran knows that

the Alorn kings all defer to you, even though he doesn't know

exactly why.'

'My overpowering presence, perhaps?' he suggested.

 

'The outcome of a dice-game might be more in keeping with the

basic Alorn character, Brand,' I twitted him.

'Polgara!' he protested mildly.

 

'Whatever the reason, Cerran looks upon you as the leader of the

Alorns ' so he's going to listen to you rather carefully. Cerran likes

to reason things out, so we're going to have to stress the

disadvantages of all other possible battlefields and then let him decide that

VO Mimbre's the only possible place. If we don't, he'll feel obliged

to have us spread our forces all over southern Arendia.'

'That'd be disastrous,' Brand exclaimed.

'Moderately disastrous, yes. Now, then, I spent a great deal of

time in Arendia during the third millennium, so I'm familiar with

all the cities. You're about to get an education in geography, dear

boy. I want you to be very familiar with the terrain around every

City in Vo Mimbre. There are tactical disadvantages to almost any city

on earth, and Mimbrate cities are no exception. Your job's to stress

the disadvantages of every town and city - except Vo Mimbre. It

has its own disadvantages, but we'll gloss over those. We don't

want General Cerran to choose any battleground except VO Mimbre,

so we'll just close all the other doors to him so that he's only got

that one choice.'

'You're very good at this, Pol,' he said admiringly.

'I've had lots of practice. Wars are the national pastime among

the Arends. A healthy sneeze can start a war in Arendia. I spent six

hundred or more years trying to keep the Arends from sneezing at

the wrong time. I'll talk with Eldrig and the others, and they'll back

you up in your assessments of the various towns and cities.'

'This would all be a lot easier if the Tolnedrans would just accept

the fact that you and your father aren't like other people.'

'That goes against their religion, dear one,' I said with a slight

smile.

'What is the basis of the Tolnedran religion, Pol?'

'Money. The Tolnedrans invented it, so they think it's holy.

They're afraid of magic because a magician could conceivably create

money instead of swindling it out of others.'

'Could you create money, Pol?' His eyes had come alight at the

mere mention of the idea.

I shrugged. 'Probably, but why should I bother? I've already got

more than I can spend. We're getting off the path here. This Tolnedran

superstition's inconvenient, I'll grant you, but we can work our

way around it.'

After General Cerran had reached the conclusion we wanted him

to reach, my father's disposition started to go sour for some reason.

I put up with his bad temper for about a week, and then I went to

his room in the Cherek embassy to find out what his problem was.

'This is the problem. Pol!' he exploded, banging), his fist down On

the scroll of the Mrin. 'It doesn't make sense!'

'It's not supposed to, father. It's supposed to sound like pure gibberish.

Tell me about your problem. Maybe I can help.'

Father's discontent with the passage in the Mrin lay in the seeming

suggestion that Brand was going to be in two places at the same

time. His tone was decidedly grouchy as he read it to me. "And the

Child of Light shall take the jewel from its accustomed place and

shall cause it to be delivered up to the Child of Light before the

gates of the golden city." His frustration seemed right on the verge

of driving him to destroy the scroll.

'Calm down, father,' I told him. 'Apoplexy's not going to solve

anything.' I saw the answer immediately, of course, but how

was I

going to explain it? 'How long would you say that one these

EVENTS takes to run its course?' I asked.

'As long as it takes, I suppose.'.

Centuries? Oh, come now, father. As powerful as those two

contending Necessities are, a confrontation like that would destroy the

whole universe. A single instant's probably closer to the truth. Then,

after the EVENT's taken place, that particular Child of Light doesn't

really have any further need of the title, does he? He's done what

he's supposed to do, and the title can be passed on. One Child of

Light will take the sword down off the wall. another will carry it

here from Riva, and it'll be handed over to Brand. They'll be passing

the title along at the same time they pass the sword.'

he said.

'I think you're straining to make it all fit, Pol,'

'Can you come up with anything else?'

'Not really. I guess I'd better go to the Isle.'

'Oh? What for?'

'To get the sword, of course. Brand's going to need it.' He'd

obviously leapt to a conclusion that seemed to me to have several

large holes in it. He seemed to believe that he was going to be the

Child of Light who'd take the sword down off the wall in the Hall

of the Rivan King. By the time he got to Riva. though, mother'd

already taken care of that, and the sword played no part in it. All

glowing with blue light, she'd entered the Hall, removed the Orb

from the pommel of Iron-grip's sword, and embedded it in the

center of a shield. I rather suspect that took some of the wind out

Of father's sails. I also suspect that he began

to understand - dimly

that mother wasn't quite as dead as he'd believed. He seemed a

bit crestfallen when he returned to Tol Honeth.

It was in the spring of 4874 that uncle Beldin returned again from

southern Cthol Murgos to report that Urvon had left Rak Hagga to

begin his trek across the continent. If General Cerran's timetable

was correct, we had less than a year to complete our

preparations.

One of those was already in progress. Brand reported to father that

he was 'hearing voices'. This isn't the sort of thing a physician really

wants to hear. When someone announces that he 'hears voices', the

physician normally reserves a room for the poor fellow in the nearest

asylumf since it's a clear indication that the patient's brains have

sprung a leak.

Brand, however, hadn't gone crazy. The voice he was hearing was

that of the Necessity. and it was very carefully coaching him in

exactly what he was going to have to do during his face-to-face

confrontation with Torak. That confrontation was fast approaching.

but for right now, our unseen friend was more concerned about

the deployment of the Tolnedran forces. Quite obviously, General

Cerran's legions would tip the balance at Vo Mimbre. The problem,

of course, was that the legions were in the south preparing to keep

Urvon from reaching Vo Mimbre in time for the battle. The Necessity

assured Brand that Urvon wasn't going to be a problem, but

convincing Cerran of that fact immediately raised yet another problem.

'God told me so' doesn't really carry much weight in any argument.

And the declaration that 'I changed myself into a bird and flew on

down there to have a look' carries even less. We decided not to do

it that way.

Then, in the early spring of 4875, Torak gave up at the Stronghold

and started marching west. If Cerran's timetable held true, the

Angaraks would be at the gates of Vo Mimbre in about a month and a

half - and the legions were still in the south. As I'd rather expected

he would, UL took a hand in things at that point. The cat-eyed

Ulgos came out of their caves by night and wreaked havoc in

Torak's sleeping army. The Angaraks didn't move very fast after

that.

It was while the Angaraks were cautiously inching their way

across the mountains of Ulgo that Uncle Beldin gleefully advised

my father that an unnatural snowstorm had buried Urvon and

Ctuchik up to the ears in the great desert of Araga. And that,

incidentally, explained the quarter-century-long rainstorm that'd

plagued us all. The weather patterns had changed just in

preparation for the blizzard that stopped Torak's second army dead in its

tracks.

Father was chortling with glee when he conveyed Beldin's

message to me, but he stopped chortling when I pointed out the fact

that the blizzard wouldn't mean anything until General Cerran knew

that it'd happened. 'I don't think he'll just take our word for it,

father,' I predicted. 'He'll demand proof, and there's no way we can

provide that proof - unless you'd like to pick him up and carry him

down to that desert so that he can see for himself. He won't abandon

that southern frontier just on our say-so - particularly since both he

and Ran Borune know that we'd really like their company at VO

Mimbre.'

We presented our information as having come from our Usual

reliable sources', and, as I'd suspected he might, General Cerran

received the news with profound scepticism.

Eventually, it was Ran Borune who suggested a compromise. Half

of the southern legions would come north, and the other half would

stay where they were. Cerran was a soldier, so even when he

received orders that he didn't entirely agree with, he expanded them

to make them work better' He added the eight ceremonial legions

from Tol Honeth and nineteen training legions to make it appear

that the Tolnedran presence at Vo Mimbre was larger than it really

was. The ceremonial legions probably couldn't march more than a

 

 

mile without collapsing, and the raw recruits in the training legions

could probably walk, but marching in step was still beyond their

capabilities. When Torak looked out the window of his rusty tin

palace, though, he'd see about seventy-five thousand legionaries

bearing down on him, and he'd have no way of knowing that better

than a third of them wouldn't know which end of a sword was

which. The Chereks would ferry the southern legions and the

imaginary ones from around Tol Honeth and Tol Vordue to the

River Arend. We could only hope that they'd get there in time.

Then the twins arrived, and they privately advised us that the

battle would last for three days and that - as we'd expected - the

whole issue would be decided by the meeting of Brand and Kal

Torak. The chore facing my father and me was fairly simple. All we

had to do was make sure that Torak didn't reach Vo Mimbre before

all our forces were in place, and that probably wouldn't be much

more difficult than reversing the tides or stopping the sun in its

orbit.

The two of us left Tol Honeth as evening fell over the marble city,

and we entered a grove of birch-trees a mile or so north of town.

'You'd better tell him that you'll be using our owl during all this, Pol,'

Mother's voice suggested. 'He won't like it very much, but let's get him

into the habit of seeing the owl from time to time.'

'I'll take care of it, mother,' I replied. 'I've come up with a way to head

of-all those tiresome arguments.'

'You have? Some day you'll have to share that with me.'

'just listen, mother,' I suggested. 'Listen and learn.'

'That was tacky, Pol, very tacky.'

'I'm glad you liked it.'

Father was squinting off toward the west. 'We'll lose the light

before long,' he noted. 'Oh, well, there aren't any mountain ranges

 

between here and Vo Mimbre, so we're not likely to crash into

anything in the dark.'

. 'You're not going to like this, father,' I warned him, 'but I've been

instructed to use the form of that snowy owl between now and the

EvENT ' so you'll have to grit your teeth and accept it. I am going

to follow my instructions, whether you like it or not.'

'Am I permitted to ask who's giving you those instructions?' he

grated.

'Of course you can ask, father,' I said graciously. 'Don't hold your

breath waiting for an answer, though.'

'I hate this,' he complained.

I patted his cheek. 'Be brave, Old Man,' I said.

Then I shimmered into that familiar form.

it was well past midnight when the two of us came to roost atop

the battlements of Aldorigen's palace in the center of Vo Mimbre.

The sentries pacing the battlements may have noticed a pair of birds

soaring in, but they didn't pay much attention. They were on the

lookout for men, not birds. We settled in some deep shadows near

the head of a flight of stairs, and as soon as a plodding sentry had

passed, we resumed our natural forms, went on down the stairs,

and proceeded directly to the throne-room to wait for Aldorigen.

'Why don't you let me handle this, father?' I said. 'I'm more familiar

with Arends than you are, so I won't offend them. Besides,

Aldorigen's already afraid of me, so he'll pay closer attention if I'm the

one who's talking.'

'Feel free, Pol. Trying to talk with Arends always makes me want

to start screaming, for some reason.'

'Oh, father!' I said wearily. 'Here,' I said, then, willing a small

scroll into existence and handing it to him. 'Just look wise and

pretend to be reading this while I do all the talking.'

He looked at the scroll. 'This is blank, Pol,' he objected.

'So what? Were you expecting a bed-time story? You're the

performer, father. Improvise. Simulate reading something of

earthshaking importance. Try to keep your exclamations of astonishment

and wonder to a minimum, though. If you get too excited, Aldorigen

might want to look at the scroll.'

'You're enjoying this, aren't you, Pol?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.' I gave him that smug little look,

and he knew what that meant.

Dawn was turning the cloud-bank piled up on the eastern horizon

 

a fiery red when Aldorigen and his now-grown son Korodullin

entered the throne-room in the midst of an argument. 'He is a

miscreant, sire,' Korodullin asserted, 'an outlaw. His presence here would

profane the most sacred place in all Arendia.'

'I know that he is a scoundrel and a rogue, Korodullin.' Aldorigen

replied, trying to placate his hot-headed son, 'but I have given mine

oath. Thou shalt not speak disparagingly unto him, nor offer any

impertinence whilst he is within the confines of Vo Mimbre. If thOu

canst not restrain thine ire, remain in thy chambers until he doth

depart. I will have thy pledge to that effect, or I shall have thee

confined.'

The archaic language immediately took me back to the third

millennium, and when I spoke, it seemed almost that I was taking up

a conversation that'd broken off two thousand or so years back.

,Good morrow, your Majesty,' I greeted Aldorigen with a curtsey.

,Mine aged father and I have but recently arrived from Tol Honeth,

and though all bemused by the splendor of this most renowned of

cities, have we come straightway hither to consult with thee and to

divulge unto thee certain information concerning that which hath

come to pass and which doth concern thee and thy realm most

poignantly.'

Aldorigen responded with fairly typical Mimbrate

longwindedness, and we exchanged pleasantries for the obligatory half

hour or so, and then we got down to business. My message -

instruction, if you'd prefer - was simple. I was there to prohibit a Mimbrate

assault on the Angaraks who'd soon be camped outside Vo Mimbre

until we were ready for them to come out of the city. That took a

while. It's very hard to persuade someone who believes that he's

invincible that a bit of prudence might be in order.

While I was pounding this into his head, he advised me that his

Asturian counterpart, Eldallan of Asturia, was coming to Vo Mimbre

for a council of war. I saw an enormous potential for disaster in

that plan, given a thousand or so years of senseless slaughter in the

Asturian forest. Putting a Mimbrate and an Asturian in the same

room was very likely to be hard on the furniture, if not the entire

building. Korodullin was already well on the way to a number of

quaint forms of greeting. darkly hinting that the rascally Asturian

duke would most probably seize the opportunity to defect to the

Angarak side in the attack on Vo Mimbre to insure the city's

destruction.

Father threw a quick thought at me, but I was already well ahead

of him. I don't think father ever fully comprehended the significance

Of my title. 'Duchess of Erat', nor the persistence of old traditions

In Arendia. I had been - and still was - the equal of Aldorigen and

Eldallan. They both knew that, and they also knew that I could

make them very uncomfortable if I chose.

I proceeded then to shame Aldorigen and his hot-headed son into

semblance of good manners. When you throw words such as

'timid' and 'womanish' into a Mimbrate's teeth, you'll definitely get

his attention.

It was precisely at noon when Duke Eldallan and his very pretty

daughter, Mayaserana, arrived and were rather coldly escorted into

Aldorigen's throne-room.

Then I heard that internal bell again, and when I saw the looks

of hereditary hatred Mayaserana and Korodullin were exchanging,

I almost laughed aloud. This promised to be a very interesting

and noisy - courtship.

'You're getting more perceptive, Pol,' mother's voice complimented

me.

'Perhaps so, but how am I going to keep them from killing each other

before the ceremony?'

I'm sure you'll think of something.'

The air in the throne-room positively reeked of animosity, and I

realized that this ill-advised conference hovered right on the edge

of an absolute disaster, so I stepped in and threw my rank into their

faces again. 'This will cease immediately!' I commanded Aldorigen

and Eldallan. 'I cannot believe mine ears! I had thought that ye were

serious men, but now I perceive mine error. Can it truly be that the

rulers of Asturia and Mimbre have grown so childish? Are ye both

so foolish as to cuddle animosity to your breasts as ye would some

cherished toy from earliest childhood? The world about us is on

fire, my Lords. Ye must set aside this petty bickering and join with

the Alorns and Tolnedrans in quenching it. This absurd exchange

of threat and insult doth weary me, and presently shall I be obliged

to demonstrate the full extent of mine irritation. Thou, Eldallan,

shall join thine archers with the Sendars and Rivans and move

against the Angarak rear. And thou, Aldorigen, shalt defend thy

walls but make no move 'gainst thy besiegers until the third day of

the battle, and shalt emerge only at the pre-arranged signal. Since

it doth appear that ye have played at war for two eons and more

and still have no better grasp of the art than the newest recruit in

a Tolnedran legion, I must here assert mine authority. These are

mine instructions, and ye shall obey, lest ye bring down my wrath

upon your heads.' I sighed then, a bit theatrically, I'll admit. 'Clearly

I was in error in the third millennium when I had hoped that mY

beloved child, Arendia, might someday reach maturity. That was

obviously a vain hope. Arends might grow old and grey, but they

will never mature. Mine alternative in those by-gone years was clear,

but my love for Arendia had made it most repugnant. Now I see

that I should have set that repugnance aside and performed my

duty. Since all Arends are incapable of adulthood, I see now that I

should have annexed both Mimbre and Asturia and ruled then, by

imperial decree. I am sure that it would not have overtaxed my

abilities to teach ye how to kneel in the presence of thine empress

and to obey her commands utterly.'

That jerked them both up short. I pretended to consider the idea

further, looking them both up and down like sides of beef.

'Perchance it is not yet too late for that to come to pass. I shall consider

 

 

it. Thou, Aldorigen, and thou, Eldallan, are presentable, and could

be - with firm instruction - suitably well-spoken, so ye would make

adequate vassals to mine imperial throne. I will think on it and

advise ye of my decision anon. But first, we must deal with Kal

Torak.'

 

Well, of course I didn't have imperial ambitions! Where are your

brains? Still, 'Empress Polgara of Arendia' does sort of have a nice

ring to it, wouldn't you say?

 

I think it was the notion of change of government that made

Aldorigen and Eldallan suddenly very polite to each other, and Eldallan's

suggestion that after the battle they might have a friendly little

get-together - with swords - to discuss their differences at greater

length sealed the whole bargain.

Aldorigen provided father and me with suitable quarters, and

after we settled in, the Old Wolf stopped by. 'You weren't really

serious about the "empress" business, were you, Pol?' he asked a

bit nervously.

'Don't be absurd, father.'

'I wouldn't be too quick to throw away a good idea, though,' he

mused. 'It'd be one way to put an end to this silly civil war.'

'Feel free to annex the notion, father. You'd make a splendid

emperor.'

'Are you out of your mind?'

,'I was just going to ask you the same question. Have you heard

from uncle Beldin?'

'He and General Cerran are riding south to start the legions

 

marching toward the coast. Eldrig's war-boats are already on their

way down there to pick them up.'

'It's going to take time for them to get here, father,' I reminded

him. have you come up with a way to delay Torak as yet?'

'I'm still working on it.'

'~work a little faster. I've got some very personal reasons to want

lot Of soldiers around me when Torak arrives.'

'Oh?'

'We can talk about it later. Get to work, father.'

'What are you going to do?'

'I thought I might spend an hour or so in my bathtub.'

'You're going to melt if you don't stop spending so much time

bathing, Pol.'

'I rather doubt that, father. Run along now.'

He slammed the door behind him as he went out.

Father's strategy for delaying the Angarak army verged on genius,

though I hate to admit that. Not only did it slow Torak's advance

to a crawl, but it also locked a pair of Arends who'd previously

hated each other into a lifelong friendship that boded well for the

future of poor Arendia. The only fault I could find with it lay in the

fact that I was the one who was to have the dubious pleasure of

herding a group of Asturians around. I wasn't really very fond

of Asturians for reasons that should be obvious.

Father's plan was not particularly complex. The River Arend had

numerous tributaries, all running bank-full after a quarter century

of steady rainfall. Those tributaries were all spanned by bridges.

Father thought it might be useful to take a thousand Mimbrate

knights to the foot of the Ulgo mountains and start tearing down

those bridges. I was assigned the chore of taking a thousand

Asturian bowmen to the same vicinity to hinder the Angarak attempts to

rebuild those bridges.

The knight who led the Mimbrate bridge-wreckers was Baron

Mandor, a descendant of Mandorin and Asrana and an ancestor of

our own Mandorallen. The leader of the Asturian bowmen was the

happy-go-lucky Baron Wildantor, an irrepressible red-head from,

whom Lelldorin was descended. Necessity was tampering again,

obviously.

Despite my long-standing prejudice against Asturians, I found

Wildantor almost impossible to dislike. His bright red hair was like

a flame, and his sense of humor infectious. I think the only time he

wasn't laughing, chuckling, or giggling was when he was drawing

his bow. Then. of course, he was all business. Baron Mandor wasn't

really equipped to deal with someone like Wildantor. Mandor Was

a very serious man with virtually no sense of humor at all, and once

it finally dawned on him that almost everything Wildantor said was

intended to be funny, he gradually realised how fun it could be to laugh. The joke that ultimately sealed their

unnatural friendship, however, came from Mandor's lips, and I'm sure

was unintended. When Wildantor tossed off the suggestion

'why don't we agree not to kill each other when this is over?' MandOr

pondered the implications of it for several moments and then

,gravely replied, 'Doth that not violate the precepts of our religion?'

wildantor collapsed, laughing. uncontrollably. What really made it

funny was the fact that Mandor was absolutely serious. He flushed

slightly at the Asturian's laughter, and then, slowly realizing that

his sincere question lay at the very center of the ongoing tragedy

that was Arendia, he too began to laugh. It was rueful laughter at

first, but then it grew more joyous. The two of them had finally

realized that Arendia was really nothing more than a very bad joke.

Despite the growing friendship between the two, however, Father

and I were obliged to concentrate quite a bit of effort to keep the

other Mimbrates and Asturians separated.

Father was devious enough to let the Angaraks rebuild the bridges

across the first three tributaries unmolested. On the fourth rushing

stream, however, Murgo bridge-builders quite suddenly started

sprouting Asturian arrows. After that, the Angaraks grew very

cautious, and it took them a long time to cross each river. That was the

whole idea, of course.

The final cementing of the growing friendship came when

Wildantor was showing off. He stood alone on a trembling, undermined

bridge, singlehandedly holding off the entire Angarak force. I've

never seen anyone shoot arrows so fast. When an archer has four

arrows in the air all at the same time, you know that he's really

attending to business.

'Pol,' mother's voice said calmly, 'he's going to fall into the water.

Don't interfere, and don't let your-father get involved, either. Mandor will

save him. It's supposed to happen that way.'

And it did, of course. The bridge Wildantor stood on shuddered

and collapsed, and the river swept the red-haired Asturian

downstream. Mandor raced downriver to the next destroyed bridge,

dashed out to the broken end, and reached down toward the

seething water. 'Wildantor!' he bellowed. 'To me!'

And the half-drowning Asturian veered across the turbulent

stream, reached up, and their hands crashed together. In a symbolic

sense, neither of them ever let go again.

 

 

*CHAPTER33

 

We continued our slow withdrawal - I won't say retreat - for the

next several days, and our little force became more adept as they

gradually came to accept the fact that their alliance was holding firm.

The Mimbrate knights and Asturian bowmen, reassured perhaps by

the growing friendship between Mandor and Wildantor, began to

lay aside their hereditary animosity to concentrate their efforts on

the task at hand. The Mimbrates grew more skilled at

bridgewrecking with practice, and several impromptu alliances began to

crop up. One little group of knights grew very adept at weakening

bridges rather than destroying them outright, and the knight in

charge spoke with his Asturian counterpart, suggesting that the

archers might restrain their enthusiasm just enough to allow the

span to become crowded with advancing Murgos. That was the

point at which several knights concealed upstream started rolling

logs into the swiftly flowing river. The weakened bridge collapsed

when the logs smashed into the already shaky underpinnings, and

several hundred Murgos went swimming - for a short while,

anyway. A suit of steel chain-mail isn't the best swimming costume in

the world, I noticed. The celebration involving those knights and

archers that evening was rowdy, and I saw Mimbrates and Asturians

linked arm in arm singing ancient drinking songs as if they'd know"

each other all their lives.

When we'd left Vo Mimbre, our major concern had been to keep

the Mimbrates and Asturians separated. When we returned, nothing

we could have done would have kept them apart. Mutual animosity

had been replaced by comradeship. I'm fairly sure that hadn't bee"

what Torak had in mind when he'd come west.

There was a heroes' welcome awaiting us upon our return.

sure that some of the citizens of VO Mimbre choked a bit over cheers

directed at Asturians, but that's not really important, is it?

Father's scheme had won us the-requisite five days, and the twins,

who'd arrived at Vo Mimbre during our absence, advised us that

uncle Beldin and General Cerran had reached Tol Honeth with the

southern legions. Father sent out his thought and spoke briefly with

his twisted brother, and he assured us that the Tolnedrans and

Chereks would reach Vo Mimbre on schedule. We were ready, and

tomorrow the battle would begin.

Mother spoke with me briefly while father was out looking over

the defenses of the city. 'Pol, she said, 'when he comes back, tell him

that you're going out to keep an eye on the Angaraks. I think you and I

should look in on Torak again.'

'Oh?'

'I don't like surprises, so let's keep an eye on Torak and Zedar.'

'All right, mother.'

Father was a bit on edge when he came back, but that was to be

expected, I suppose. Everybody's a little edgy on the night before

 

 

a battle.

'I'm going out to have a look around, father,' I told

him. 'I don't suppose you'd pay any attention to me if I said that I

forbid it, would you?'

'Not really.'

'Then I won't waste my breath. Don't be out all night.'

 

I almost laughed out loud. The tone in which he said it was

almost exactly the tone he'd used at Riva during the preparations

for Beldaran's wedding when I'd spent my time breaking hearts

and he'd spent his chewing on his fingernails. The irony of the

 

situation might have escaped him, however. Back at Riva, he'd been

worried about my hordes of suitors. I had a suitor here at Vo Mimbre

as well, and this time I was the one who was worried.

mother and I merged again, and all turned inward, we were once

again totally undetectable. We located Torak's rusting black palace

and went inside again through that convenient embrasure.

'I Will punish them, Zedar,' Torak was saying in his dramatically

resonant voice.

 

'~well do they deserve it, Master,' Zedar said obsequiously. 'In

their petty squabbling, they have failed thee. Their lives are forfeit

for their misdeeds.'

 

'Be not over-quick to condemn them, Zedar,' Torak replied

ominouslY. 'Thou hast still not yet fully atoned for thine own failure in

Morindland some several centuries back.'

'Prithee, Master, forgive me. Let not thy wrath fall upon me,

though my punishment be richly deserved.'

'There are no punishments or rewards, Zedar,' Torak replied

darkly,'only consequences. Urvon and Ctuchik shall learn the

meaning of consequences in the fullness of time - even as shalt thou. For

now, however, I have need of thee and thy two brothers.'

I suspect that Zedar choked a bit at the notion of calling Urvon

and Ctuchik 'brothers'.

Torak, his polished steel mask glowing in the lamplight, sat

brooding morosely. Then he sighed. 'I am troubled, Zedar,' he confessed.

'A great discrepancy looms before me.'

'Reveal it, Master,' Zedar urged. 'Mayhap between us we might

resolve it.'

'Thine o'erweening self-confidence doth amuse me Zedar,'Torak

responded. 'Hast thou perused the document which doth expound

the ravings of that sub-human on the banks of the Mrin in far

northern Drasnia?'

'At some length, Master.'

'And art thou also familiar with the truth which was revealed to

me at Ashaba?'

'Yea, Master.'

'Didst thou not perceive that the two do not precisely coincide?

Both spake of the battle which shall begin here before Vo Mimbre

a few hours hence.'

'Yes, I did so understand.'

'But the account from Mrin doth not agree with that from Ashaba.

Mrin doth hang the fate of the world on the third day of the

forthcoming battle.'

'I did perceive as much, Master.'

'Ashaba, however, doth not. Ashaba's concentration doth lie upon

the second day, or upon the fourth.'

'I had not fully recognized that, Master,' Zedar confessed. What

thinkest thou might be the import of this discrepancy?'

'The import, methinks, doth rest upon him who shall confront

me at the battle's height. Should the Godslayer and I meet on the

second day - or upon the fourth, I shall easily overthrow him.

Should we meet upon that fatal third day, then shall the spirit Of

the Purpose infuse him, and I shall surely perish.' He suddenly

broke off, muttering incoherently, his voice distorted by the hollow

echoes inside his steel mask. 'Accursed rain!' he burst out suddenly,

'and accursed be the rivers which have delayed mine advance. We

have come hither too late, Zedar! Had we arrived but two days

one day - earlier, the world would have been mine. Now is the

outcome cast into the lap of chance, and I am unquiet about this,

for chance hath never been my friend. I left Ashaba in the sure and

certain knowledge that I should arrive here at the proper time, and

gladly have I sacrificed Angarak lives uncounted to achieve that

goal, and still have I reached this place but one single day too late.

Will I or nil I, I must face the Overlord of the West on that fatal

third day, should fickle chance so decree. I am mightily discontented,

Zedar, discontented beyond measure!'

'He thinks it's Celane!' I gasped inside our enclosed awareness.

'What?' Mother's thought was as stunned as mine.

'He actually believes that it's Gelane who's going to challenge him!'

'How did you arrive at that?'

'The terms "Godslayer" and "Overlord of the West" refer to the Rivan

King. Somehow, Torak thinks that Celane's returned to Riva and taken

up the sword. He doesn't even know that Brand's the one who's going to

challenge him.'

Mother considered that. 'You could be right, Pol,' she agreed.

'Torak's information comes from Ctuchik and Ctuchik relies on Chamdar.

Your-father's been distracting Chamdar-for several centuries with all those

clever games in Sendaria. Torak doesn't really know anything at all about

the heir to the throne of Riva. He could very well believe that it's the heir

he'll be-facing on that third day.'

'I'm sure of it, mother. That would explain why you were told to

take the Orb off the pommel of Iron-grip's sword and put it in the shield

instead. Brand's weapon isn't going to be a sword; it's going to be that

shield.'

Torak was still talking, so mother and I set our private discussion

aside to listen.

'Thou must take the city on the morrow, Zedar,' Torak instructed.

'My meeting with the descendant of Iron-grip must take place on

the following day. Sacrifice the whole of Angarak if need be, but

VO Mimbre must be mine ere the sun doth seek his bed.'

 

'It shall be as my Master commands,' Zedar promised. 'E'en now

are mine engines of war being moved into place. I pledge to thee,

Lord, that Vo Mimbre will fall on this day, for I shall hurl all of

Angarak 'gainst those golden walls.' Clearly, Zedar's eight-year

Siege of the Algarian Stronghold hadn't taught him the folly of

making rash promises.

 

Then Torak launched himself into a rambling monologue that

didn't really make too much sense. History hadn't treated Torak

"very well, and his resentment towered like a mountain. So many

things he'd believed should be his had been denied him that his

sanity had slipped away. Under different circumstances, I might

have pitied him.

'I think we've heard enough, Pol,' mother said at that point. 'We're

not accomplishing anything by sitting here listening while he-feels sorry

for himself.'

'Whatever you say. mother,' I agreed.

Our owl squeezed its way back out through the embrasure and

,flew on silent wings back toward Vo Mimbre. The weather had

cleared after that blizzard down in Ashaba, and the stars were out.

I'd missed the stars. People with abnormally long life spans always

seem to grow fond of the stars. There's a sense of permanence about

them that's comforting when all else around us is falling away.

Although Torak hadn't done it entirely by himself, he had cracked

the world apart back during the War of the Gods, so I'm sure he

could have dismantled the walls of Vo Mimbre with a single

thought. Clearly, however, he was not permitted to do that. The

exquisitely convoluted rules of the eternal game between the two

contending Destinies forbade the exercise of Divine Will during

these EVENTS. The consequences of breaking those rules were quite

severe - as Ctuchik was to discover at Rak Cthol. Torak could act

only through human agency - right up until the moment when he

faced Brand, and even that EVENT would be tightly controlled by

rules.

'The rest of us are under similar constraints, Pol,' mother's voice

replied to my unspoken thought. 'Warn your-father. Tell him that this

isn't a good time for experiments. Suggest that dropping a comet on the

Angaraks at this point wouldn't be a good idea.'

'He wouldn't do that, mother.'

'Oh, really? You've never seen the kinds of silly things he does when

he gets irritated, Pol. I saw him throw a hammer away after he'd smashed

his thumb with it once.'

'Everybody does that once in a while, mother.'

'He threw it at the sky, Polgara. That was several thousand years ago,

and as far as I know, it's still going - at least I hope it is. Sometimes It

only takes a very small thing to explode a star in the wrong place at the

 

wrong time. That happened once already. We don't want it to happen

again, do we?'

'Not really,' I agreed. 'We've got enough to worry about as it is. Are

we really sure that nobody's going to be able to use the Will and the Word

during this battle?

'I don't think we can say for sure. Watch Zedar very closely. if he Can

get away with doing something without dissolving on the spot, we should

be able to do similar things. Let Zedar take the risks.'

'I knew that he'd eventually.be useful for something, mother. I'm not

 

 

sure that taking all the risks will warm his heart very much, though.'

'What a shame.'

We settled onto the battlements of Aldorigen's palace shortly after

midnight. 'Run along, Pol,' mother suggested. 'I'll go back out and

keep an eye on things while you report to your father.'

'Run along'? Sometimes mother's use of language can be very

deflating. That 'run along' had the strong odor of 'go out and play'.

I detached myself from our owl and resumed my own form even

as mother swooped away.

my report to father and the twins was far from complete. I made

no mention of Torak's mistaken conclusion that his opponent in the

forthcoming duel was going to be Gelane. Father tends to make

things up as he goes along, and that made me very nervous. Celane

was safe at the Stronghold, and I wanted him to stay safe. My father's

a very gifted performer, but it's not a good idea to just push him

out onto the stage and let him improvise. Overacting is second

nature to him, and the notion of bringing Celane to Vo Mimbre to

display him atop the battlements for Torak's entertainment at the

height of the battle might have been dramatic, but it would also put

my youthful charge in great danger. As long as father didn't know

what Torak believed, he'd have no reason to start getting creative. I

learned a long time ago not to tell father any more than he absolutely

needed to know.

I did, however, tell him that Torak hadn't once left his rusty tin

bucket of a palace since he'd crossed the land bridge. Father

probably didn't need to know that, but the fact that Torak was staying

in isolation might help to stem his inventiveness.

'You might want to keep something in mind for future reference,

father,' I added. 'Torak's disciples aren't at all like us. We're a family,

but they aren't. Zedar, Urvon, and Ctuchik hate each other with a

passion that's almost holy. Zedar was having a great deal of trouble

keeping his gloating under control while he was talking with Torak.

Urvon and Ctuchik are currently in disfavor, and that makes Zedar

the cock of the walk. He's going to try to consolidate that by

delivering Vo Mimbre to Torak in one day. He'll throw everything

he's got at us tomorrow. Torak might abide by the prohibitions laid

down by the Necessities, but I don't think we can be sure that Zedar

won't break the rules.'

'That's the story of Zedar's life, Pol,' father grunted sourly. 'He's

made a career out of breaking the rules. What else were the two of

them talking about?'

'Their instructions, for the most part. Evidently the Ashabine

Oracles gave Torak far more in the way of details than the Mrin

Codex gives us. The third day of this little confrontation's going to

be very important, father. The legions absolutely must be here,

because their presence will force Torak to accept Brand's challenge.'

His eyes brightened. 'Well, now,' he said. 'Isn't that interesting?,

'Don't start gloating, father. Torak's ordered Zedar to throw

everything they've got at Vo Mimbre. If they can take the city, the

advantage swings back to them. Once we go past that third day,

we'll be looking at an entirely different EVENT, and we don't want

that at all.'

'Are they going to try to delay Eldrig's war-boats?' Beltira asked.

'Zedar suggested it, but Torak said no. He doesn't want to split

his forces. How long is it until morning?'

'Three or four hours,' father replied.

'I'll have time for a bath, then.'

Father rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

Dawn stained the sky off to the west, but Zedar was obviously

waiting for specific instructions before launching his attack. Then,

as the rim of the sun peeped up over the Ulgo mountains, a

hornblast came from the iron pavilion, and Zedar's siege engines, all in

unison, whipped forward to hurl a huge shower of rocks upon the

city, and that began the battle of Vo Mimbre.

There was the usual adjusting of the catapults until the rocks were

all hitting the walls instead of being scattered all over the city. Then

things settled down into the tedious thudding of rocks smashing

into the walls.

We could clearly see the Angarak troops massing at some distance

behind the catapults. Still father waited. Then, about mid-morning,

he ordered Wildantor to respond. The Asturian archers raised their

bows and loosed their arrows in unison. The hail-storm of

steeltipped arrows fell onto the Thulls manning the siege-engines, and

 

the bombardment of the walls stopped instantly. The surviving

Thulls fled back into the teeth of the massed Angaraks, leaving their

siege-engines unmanned and unprotected.

That was when Mandor signaled his mounted knights at the north

gate. The gate opened, and the knights charged out, armed wit"

battle axes rather than lances. When they returned, Zedar's

siege engines had all been reduced to kindling-wood.

I found the sound of Torak's screams of rage and disappointment

 

rather charming, actually. Evidently the idea that we might retaliate

against his attacks had never occurred to him ~ as his childish

temper-tantrum clearly demonstrated. Had he actually thought that

we'd just meekly hand the city over to him just because he wanted

it? I rather imagine that Zedar's life hung by a thread at that point.

Desperately, and obviously without thinking, he ordered a frontal

assault on that north gate. The assault melted under a storm of

 

 

arrows, and those few Angaraks who reached the walls were

drenched with boiling pitch and then set on fire. The sun went

down, and the first day was over. We were still safely inside the

walls, and Zedar was obliged to return to Torak's palace to report

his failure. Mother and I both wanted to eavesdrop on that particular

conversation.

As smoky evening settled over Vo Mimbre, mother and I merged

again and flew on silent wings over the wreckage of Angarak to the

place where Torak's rusty palace stood.

'Methinks I have erred, Zedar,'Torak was saying ominously when

we wriggled through our favorite little window. 'An Angarak

disciple would not have failed me so miserably this day. Should I

summon Ctuchik or Urvon to replace thee?'

Zedar choked a bit on that. 'Prithee, Master,' he begged. 'Permit

me to redeem myself in thine eyes. I do now perceive mine error.

Mine engines were not equal to the task I set them. I shall begin

anew, and by first light shall engines invincible be at mine immediate

disposal. Vo Mimbre is doomed, Master.'

'Or thou art, Zedar,' Torak replied in that dreadful, echoing voice

of his. 'Do that which is necessary to place me inside those golden

walls by nightfall.'

'Were it not for the restrictions which have been lain upon us,

might I easily accomplish that task, Lord.'

'The restrictions have been lain upon me, Zedar. They need not

be Of concern to thee.'

Zedar's eyes brightened. 'Then I may proceed without fear of the

chastisement of Necessity?'

Thou art commanded to proceed, Zedar. Should that result

in thy chastisement, it is no concern of mine. Take comfort in the fact that

I shall always remember thee fondly when thou art gone, however.

'but this is war, Zedar, and wars do frequently carry off friends. It

is regrettable, but the attaimnent of a goal doth always take

precedence. Should it come to pass that thou must lay down thy life

so that I may achieve mine ends, so be it.'

 

The casual indifference of the Dragon-God chilled Zedar's blood,

I'm sure, and it quite probably rearranged his thinking about just

how important he was in Torak's view of the world.

Mother and I returned to the city, and once again she told me to

go out and play' while she continued her surveillance of our

enemies. She wasn't quite as cold-blooded about it as Torak had

been, but still

Then, even as I was going down the stairs to the throne-room, I

realized that the battle had erased - or pushed into the background

- Torak's unwholesome lust for me. I was terribly disappointed in

him. A genuine suitor would never have let anything as petty as the

fate of the world distract him from what was supposed to occupy

his every waking thought. I sadly concluded that he probably didn't

really love me as much as he'd claimed. Sometimes a girl just can't

depend on anybody to do what's right.

Everyone was in the throne-room when I entered.

'What are they up to, Pol?' father asked. Father's protests when

I'd told him that I was 'going out to have a look' had been vehement,

but his objections hadn't been quite strong enough to prevent him

from using every scrap of information I'd managed to pick up. I've

noticed over the years that men frequently take strong positions

that are mostly for show. Then, having established their towering

nobility, they come back down to earth and take advantage of

whatever turns up.

'Zedar seems to have fallen out of favor,' I answered my father's

question. 'He was supposed to take Vo Mimbre yesterday, and Torak

was seriously put out with him for his failure.'

'Torak's never been noted for his forgiving nature,' Beltira said.

'The years haven't mellowed him very much, uncle.'

'Were you able to pick up any hints about what we should expect

tomorrow, Pol?' father pressed.

'Nothing very specific, Father. Torak himself is going to abide by

the restrictions the Necessities have placed on him, but he as much

as ordered Zedar to ignore them. He did say that he'd be just

brokenhearted if the Necessities should obliterate Zedar for breaking the

rules, but if that's the way it turns out - ah, well. Zedar seemed to

be quite upset about Torak's willingness to feed him to the wolves.'

'I wonder if our brother's starting to have some regrets about

changing sides yet,' Belkira said with an almost saintly smile.

'I rather think that Zedar's going to follow his Master's lead in

this,' I told them. 'Zedar just adores his own skin, so he's not likely

to risk it. More probably he'll order some Grolim priest - or several

Grolim priests - to stick their necks out instead. Grolims are fanatics

anyway, and the notion of dying for their God fills them with

ecstasy.'

'We could speculate all night about that,' father said. 'Just to be

on the safe side, though, we'd better assume that they'll try it and

 

 

that it'll work. If it doesn't, fine; if it does, we'd better be ready. We

might as well try to get some sleep now. I think we'll all need to

be alert tomorrow.'

The conference broke up, but father caught me in the hall

afterward. 'I think we'd better start repositioning our forces,' he said.

,I'll go tell Cho-Ram and Rhodar to start closing up the gap between

them and Torak's east flank. Then I'll go talk with Brand and Ormik

and have them ease down from the north. I want those armies to

be in place and fresh when Beldin gets here the day after tomorrow.

Keep an eye on things here, Pol. Zedar might decide to get an early

start.'

'I'll see to it, father,' I replied.

it was well before dawn when Zedar's new engines began hurling

rocks at Vo Mimbre. He'd constructed mangonels, over-sized

catapults that could throw half-ton boulders at the walls. The

thunderous crashing of those boulders shook every building in Vo Mimbre,

and the sound was positively deafening. Worse yet, Zedar's new

engines had enough range to put them back out of the reach of

Asturian arrows.

When father returned, he suggested that the twins could

plagiarize from Zedar and build mangonels for us as well. As is always

the case when there's a parity of weaponry, the defenders of any

fortified place have the advantage. Zedar was hurling rocks at our

walls; we were throwing rocks - or fire - at people. Our walls stood;

Torak's Angaraks didn't. Our showers of fist-sized rocks brained

Angaraks by the score, and our rain-squalls of burning pitch created

new comets right on the spot, since people who are on fire always

seem to want to run somewhere.

Zedar became desperate at that point, and he uncharacteristically

risked his own neck to summon a wind-storm to deflect the arrows

Of the Asturian archers when he mounted his next frontal assault.

That was a mistake, of course. The twins knew Zedar very well,

and they recognized the difference between his Will and that of

some expendable Grolim's. All they had to do at that point was

follow his lead. If Zedar didn't evaporate in a puff of smoke when

he used the Will and the Word to do something, it was obviously

'safe to do something similar in the same way. Zedar had to take

chances, but as long as we simply followed his lead, we weren't in

any danger. Blazing the trail in a dangerous situation probably

didn't make Zedar very happy, but Torak's ultimatum didn't give

him much choice. The twins erected a barrier of pure force, and

Zedar's wind-storm was neatly divided to flow around the dead

calm which had been suddenly clapped over Vo Mimbre.

Then, driven to desperation, Zedar enlisted the Grolim priests to

help him dry out the sea of mud surrounding the besieged city. it

took father and the twins a while to realize what was afoot, but by

the time Zedar mixed the now-dry mud with his wind-storm to

send clouds of billowing dust toward our walls, I'd already arrived

at a solution. The twins and I broke off a piece of Zedar's

windstorm, sent it swirling, tornado-like, several miles down the River

Arend, and then brought it back in the form of a waterspout. Then

we relaxed our grip on it. The resulting downpour laid the dust,

and we saw a horde of Murgos who'd been tiptoeing through the

obscuring dust-storm. The Asturian archers took it from there.

Father's contribution to the affair was a bit childish, but he seemed

to enjoy it. Giving an enemy an abbreviated version of the seven-year

itch doesn't really accomplish very much, but father was quite proud

of it, for some reason.

And so we'd survived the second day of the battle. I knew just

how significant that was, but I hadn't bothered to share the

information - largely at mother's insistence. 'It would only confuse them,

Pol,' she assured me. 'Men confuse easily anyway, so let's just keep

the importance of the third day to ourselves. Let's not give your

father an opportunity to wallow in excessive cleverness. He might

upset the balance of things that are supposed to happen.'

 

I'm sorry to have let that out, mother, but father's been just a little

too smug lately. Maybe it's time for him to find out what really

happened at Vo Mimbre.

 

The Arendish poet, Davoul the Lame, a weedy-looking fellow with

a bad limp and an exaggerated opinion of his own rather mediocre

talent, perpetrated a literary monstrosity he called 'The Latter Days

of the House of Mimbre,' during which he made much of Torak's

refusal to emerge from his rusty resting place. Davoul didn't explain

the Dragon-God's reluctance, but I think that those of you who've'

been paying attention have already guessed exactly what Was

behind it. To put it quite bluntly, Torak was afraid of that third day,

since the Ashabine Oracles told him that if his duel with the Child

of Light were to take place on that third day, he'd lose. Evidently,

he'd been forbidden to come out on the second day, so he'd been

forced to rely on Zedar to take the city. Zedar had failed, and now

Torak faced that day he so feared. When you get right down to it,

though, all he really had to do was stay home. If he'd done that,

he'd have won.

 

Don't rush me. I'll get to why he came out in my own time.

 

The key to our entire campaign was the Tolnedran legions, of course,

so just before dawn, I flew down the River Arend to make sure that

Eldrig's war-boats were coming upstream with those vital

reinforcements. I'll admit that I was enormously relieved to see that they

were approximately where they were supposed to be. Then Beltira

 

left the city to join the forces we had deployed to the east, Belkira

went north to join the Sendars, Rivans and Asturians, and father

and I simply flew out and settled in a tree to watch and to call out

our commands. Father, of course, was totally unaware of the fact

that I wasn't alone in that now-familiar owl. Fooling my father

wasn't very difficult - or very important. What really mattered was

the fact that Torak didn't know that mother was there either. Mother

 

was the Master's hidden disciple, and Torak didn't even know that

she existed. I'm absolutely convinced that it was her presence at Vo

Mimbre that ultimately defeated the One-eyed God.

The business with all that horn-blowing had been father's idea.

It didn't actually serve any purpose - except to satisfy father's need

for high drama. Members of our family were spread around among

our forces, and we had much more subtle ways to communicate

than tootling at each other, but father stubbornly insisted upon those

periodic horn-concertos. I'll admit that the Arends absolutely loved

the idea of mysterious horn-blasts echoing from the nearby hills and

 

also that those calls and responses made the Angaraks very nervous.

The Nadraks in particular were edgy about the horn calls, and so

'Yar lek Thun sent scouts out into the woods to see what was

happening. The Asturian archers with Brand's force were waiting for them,

and Var lek Thun didn't get the reports he yearned for.

'then Ad Rak Cthoros of the Murgos sent out scouts to the east,

and the Algar cavalry disposed of them as well.

At the next call of the horns, we got the answer we'd been waiting

for. uncle Beldin and General Cerran responded with a chorus of

Tolnedran trumpets. The Chereks and the Tolnedran legions had

arrived on the battlefield.

 

'that's when father, our resident field-marshal, soared up to his

post high above to direct his forces. When everything on the ground

was to his satisfaction, he ordered Brand to give the signal for our

opening ploy. Brand sounded two horn blasts, and they were echoed

by Cho-Ram. Mandor's answer was immediately followed by the

banging open of the gates of Vo Mimbre and the thundering charge

of the Mimbrate knights.

Zedar - who should have known better - took the form of a raven

and flew out of the iron pavilion to see what we were doing.

Mother surprised me at that point. Without any warning at all, she

launched our shared form from our perch and lifted us high above

that flapping black raven. Since we were so totally merged, I shared

her thoughts and feelings, and I was more than a little surprised to

discover that mother's enmity for Zedar predated his apostasy.

Mother, it appeared, had disliked Zedar the first time she'd laid eyes

on him. I got the distinct impression that he'd said something to father

about her that'd earned him a special place in her heart. Father's

always believed that the owl that came plummeting out of the sky

that morning was simply trying to frighten Zedar, but he was wrong.

Mother was trying her very best to kill Zedar.

 

I wonder how things might have turned out if she'd succeeded.

 

The charge of the Mimbrate knights at the Battle of Vo Mimbre has

spawned whole libraries of mediocre poetry, but from a strategic

point of view, its only purpose was to pin the Malloreans in place,

and it did exactly that. It was dramatic, noisy, noble, and very

stirring, but it was really rather secondary. Torak's understanding

of battle tactics was really quite limited, since he'd never really

engaged in a battle between equally matched forces before. During

the War of the Gods, he'd been outnumbered. During this war, it'd

been the other way around. He'd assumed that the attacks on his

armies would come from his flanks and his rear, and he'd placed

his hordes of Malloreans in the center to reinforce the Murgos,

Nadraks, and Thulls when necessary. The suicidal charge of the

Mimbrates prevented the Malloreans from meeting other dangers,

and it forced Torak, surrounded and outmaneuvered, to accept

Brand's challenge, the one thing he really didn't want to do.

Then Zedar tried again, as a deer this time. I've always had some

suspicions about that. Given Zedar's nature, isn't it possible that he

was simply trying to run away? The form of a deer was a serious

blunder, however, as I'm sure Zedar realized when father

started biting chunks out of his haunches.

Our combined forces inexorably tightened around the Angaraks.

Torak's army began to suffer dreadful casualties. Individual

Angarak soldiers began to look longingly at the far banks of the River

Arend. I now saw why Kal Torak had so feared this third day of

battle.

 

 

I'll concede that father's generalship during the battles was

masterly. He countered the enemy's every move almost before Zedar

made it. The charge of the Mimbrate knights was decimating the

Malloreans, but even before Zedar could issue orders to the Murgos,

father unleashed Beltira and his combined force of Algars, Drasnians

and Ulgo irregulars, effectively pinning down the most numerous

of the Western Angaraks.

With the legions and Eldrig's Cherek berserkers marching up the

Valley, Zedar didn't dare weaken his right flank by ordering the

Nadraks and Thulls to come in and reinforce the Malloreans. The

only available force Zedar had left were his reserves, and once he

committed them to the battle raging before the city gates, Belkira

was free to advance against the Angarak rear.

It was at that stage of the battle that mother and I, still merged in

our assumed form, drifted across the bloody ground toward Torak's

pavilion. Battlefield intelligence has always been sketchy at best.

Many a battle has been lost simply because ordinary generals have

to wait for couriers or scouts to report enemy movements before

they can respond. Father didn't have that problem. The rest of us

could - and did communicate with him directly and almost

instantaneously. Moreover, mother and I could eavesdrop on Torak and

Zedar and pass along what we heard, so father could counter

Zedar's moves before he even made them.

Zedar was pleading with Torak to arm himself and go out of

the pavilion to strengthen Angarak resolve, but the Dragon-God

adamantly refused, since this was the day he'd so long feared.

 

I've looked into the Ashabine Oracles recently, and I can't for the

life of me see how Torak erred so profoundly in his interpretation

of certain passages. He evidently assumed automatically that he was

- and almost always would be the Child of Dark. Then, by

extenSion, he leapt to the conclusion that the Child of Light would always

be the Rivan King, Iron-grip's heir. That combination did take place

at Cthol Mishrak when Garion ultimately destroyed Torak, but that

was a different EVENT, and it took place in a different war, some

five hundred years later. Torak evidently confused the two, and that

was the error that won the day for us at Vo Mimbre.

Despite Zedar's shrill importunings, Torak himself remained quite

calm. 'It is not yet time for me to go forth to confront mine enemies,

Zedar,' he said. 'As I have told thee, this day is in the hands Of pure

 

chance. I do further assure thee, however, that one EVENT shall

precede my meeting with the Child of Light, and in that EVENT

shall I prevail, for it shall be a contest of Wills, and my Will doth

far outstrip the Will of the one who shall contend with me. That is

the contest which shall decide this day's outcome.'

Merged though we were, some of mother's thought still remained

concealed from me, but I did catch a faint tightening of her resolve.

Mother was obviously preparing herself for something, and she was

deliberately keeping it from me.

'I must reinforce the Malloreans, Master,' Zedar was saying with

a note of desperation. 'Have I thy permission to commit such forces

as we are holding in reserve?'

'As it seemeth best to thee, Zedar,' Torak replied with that

Godlike indifference that must have driven his disciple wild.'

Zedar went to the entrance of the pavilion and issued his

commands to the couriers posted outside. A short while later, the

Angarak reserves began their march toward the battle raging before the

city gates - even as the Chereks and General Cerran's legions broke

through the Nadrak lines to come to the aid of the Mimbrate

knights.

Then, as the confusion on the battlefield increased, father added

to it by telling uncle Belkira to unleash the Rivans, Sendars and

Asturian archers who'd been concealed in the forest to the north.

Bleak and silent, they emerged to occupy the positions Zedar's

reserves had just vacated.

The messengers, all bearing bad news, almost had to line up

outside the iron pavilion at that point.

'Lord Zedar!' the first exclaimed in a shrill voice, 'King, Ad rak

Cthoros is slain, and the Murgos are in confusion!'

'Lord Zedar!' the second courier interrupted, 'the Nadraks and

Thulls are in disarray and do attempt to take flight!'

'Lord Zedar!' the third bearer of bad tidings broke in, the force

to our north is vast! There are Asturian archers with them, and their

longbows will obliterate our reserves! Our center is in deadly peril,

and the reserves will be unable to come to their aid! We cannot

 

attack the archers, because they are protected by Sendars and

Rivans!

'Rivans!' Torak roared. 'The Rivans have come to this place to

confront me?'

'Yea, most Holy,' the now terrified messenger replied. 'The grey,

 

cloaks do march with the Sendars and Asturians upon our rear! Our

fate is sealed!'

 

 

'Kill him,' Torak told one of the Grolims standing in attendance.

,It is not the place of a messenger to speculate.'

Two Grolims, their eyes alight with fanatic zeal, fell upon the

unfortunate messenger, their knives flashing. He groaned, and then

fell to the floor.

'Doth he who stands at the forefront of the Rivans bear a sword?'

Torak demanded of the other messengers, who all stood ashen faced

and staring at their fallen compatriot.

'Yea, oh my God,' one of them replied, his voice squeaky with

terror.

'And doth that sword flame in his hands?'

'Nay, my God. It doth seem but an ordinary sword.'

'Now is my victory assured!' Torak exulted.

'My Lord?' Zedar sounded baffled.

'He who doth come against me is not the Rivan King, Zedar! It

is not the Godslayer whom I must face this day! His sword is but

common iron, and it is not infused by the might of Cthrag Yaska!

Verily, upon this day I will prevail. Bid my servants arm me, Zedar,

for now I will go forth from this place, and the world shall be mine!'

'Father!' I almost shouted the thought. Torak's coming out!'

'Of course he is, Pol,' father replied smugly. 'That's just the way I

planned it.' Trust father to take credit for almost anything that

happens. 'Come out of there now. It's time for you and me to join Brand.

Don't dawdle, Pol. We don't want to be late.'

'I do wish he'd grow up.' Mother's thought was almost clinical as

we wriggled back out of the narrow window. Things were moving

very fast now, but I still had time to develop a strong suspicion that

something was about to happen that I wouldn't like. That suspicion

was powerfully reinforced by the fact that this time, mother

remained merged with me when we discarded our owl. She'd never

done that before, and she adamantly refused to explain it.

Brand was evidently in the grip of that powerful awareness that's

characteristic of the Children of Light. He seemed almost inhumanly

calm and completely detached from what was about to happen.

Immediately after father arrived, however, Brand's expression and

manner abruptly changed. His face took on a look of inhuman

resolve, and when he spoke it was in a voice of thunder or the deep

subterranean roar of an earthquake. 'In the name of Belar I defy

thee, Torak, maimed and accursed! In the name of Aldur also I cast

my despite into thy teeth! Let the bloodshed be abated, and I will

meet thee - man against God - and I shall prevail against thee!

Before thee I cast my gage! Take it up or stand exposed as craven

before men and Gods!'

Torak, with Zedar close behind him, had come out of that

ridiculous tin castle by now, and Brand's challenge didn't seem to sit too

well with the God of Angarak. He roared out his rage and lashed

out with his massive sword, shattering boulders and showering the

area around him with sparks. That's when Zedar bolted.

'Who among mortal kind is so foolish as to thus defy the King of

the World?' Torak bellowed. 'Who among ye would contend with

a God?'

'I am Brand, Warder of Riva, and I defy thee, foul and misshapen

Godling, and all thy putrid host! Bring forth thy might! Take up

my gage or slink away and come no more against the kingdoms of

the west!'

The entire purpose of the challenge, of course, had been to so

enrage Torak that his mind would stop functioning. Had the God

of Angarak been thinking clearly, he'd have smelled the trap being

set for him His rage, however, seems to have obliterated any

suspicion or even any traces of sanity. 'BEHOLD!' he said in a mighty

voice, 'I am Torak, King of Kings and Lord of Lords! I fear no man

of mortal kind nor the dim shades of long-forgotten gods! I will go

forth and destroy this loud-mouthed Rivan fool, and mine enemies

shall fall away before my wrath, and Cthrag Yaska shall be mine

again, and the world also!'

And that, of course, was what the entire battle, the whole war,

had been all about. Everything we'd suffered had only had one goal

- to get Torak close enough to the Master's Orb so that it could

dispose of him.

The thunderous exchange had stunned both armies into

immobility. The fighting broke off as Kal Torak strode north through his

cringing troops and Brand, with my wolfish father trotting along

beside him and mother and I in our combined owl hovering over

his head, marched south to meet his enemy.

When they were about twenty paces apart, an EVENT occurred

an EVENT that father didn't even notice. Brand identified himself

and added a few more insults just for good measure to keep Torak's

brain on fire.

Torak, however, spoke to father. 'Begone, Belgarath,' he warned.

'Flee if thou wouldst save thy life.'

Father responded appropriately, snarling his defiance.

Then Torak fixed his single eye on me, but he did not threaten.

His tone was honeyed, and the force of his Will overpowering.

,Abjure thy father, Polgara, and come with me. I will wed thee and

 

 

make thee Queen of all the world, and thy might and thy power

shall be second only to mine.'

I've seen small, helpless creatures in the presence of a snake on

occasion. The mouse or rabbit knows that the snake is there, and

he knows that it's dangerous, but he seems frozen in place, unable

to move as the reptile slowly approaches. I found myself in much

the same condition. Torak's Will had simply overwhelmed me.

The histories of that brief encounter all state that I screamed my

defiance of the One-eyed God, but I didn't. I was unable to utter

even a single sound. Torak had met me, and he had conquered me.

His single eye burned with triumph as he felt all of my defenses

crumble.

What Torak didn't know, and could not know, was that he faced

three of the Master's disciples in that moment rather than just two,

and he didn't even know of the existence of the third. It was the

third disciple who defeated him at Vo Mimbre, probably because

the third disciple had ties not only to Aldur, but also to UL, Torak's

own father.

Our owl, trembling in every feather, hovered indecisively over

Brand's head, and then I felt the whole of my awareness shunted

off into a very small corner of our shared form, and the third disciple,

my mother, took over. I've been in the presence of Gods many times,

but I've never felt anything as overpowering as mother's Will on

that day. She drew that force about her and hurled it directly into

Torak's teeth. Had he been human, that force would have exploded

him into atoms. The vehicle of her Will was our shared voice, and

had it not been so carefully directed, it probably would have

shattered glass in all the kingdoms of the west. Because that voice was

so tightly controlled and directed, I don't think anyone actually

recognized just how enormous it really was. Birds squawk, warble,

tweet, and scream all the time, and nobody really pays much

attention. Torak didn't shrug it off, though. Mother's shriek of defiance

carried overtones of the voice of Aldur, and it also was the voice of

Ull. Torak's Will, which he thought to be so overwhelming, had

been directed at me, since he didn't even know that mother was

there. The shriek of response, which he thought was coming from

me, was so vast that it made the blow he'd aimed at me seem puny

by comparison. The maimed God of Angarak was suddenly made

uncertain and afraid. I think I may be the only one who saw him

visibly flinch when it struck him or saw the burning'-of the Eye that

Was Not flicker with fear and indecision. It was at that point that

Torak's supreme self-confidence shriveled within him, and he was

filled with self-doubt when he faced the Rivan Warder. That doubt

and fear made the outcome inevitable.

History reports that it was Brand who defeated Torak that day

before the walls of Vo Mimbre, but history is wrong. It was mother

who defeated him, and she used our combined voice to do it. In a

peculiar way, my mother won the Battle of Vo Mimbre.

 

PART SEVEN

 

Annath

 

 

*CHAPTER34

 

'Prepare then to perish all!' Torak thundered, but the faint hint of

doubt in his voice suggested that he was not as absolutely certain

as his doomsday pronouncement seemed to indicate. The Ashabine

Oracles had warned him about the third day of the battle, but so

firm was his belief that he'd face the Rivan King and his star-born

sword on that day that when it was Brand who offered the challenge,

Torak exultantly believed that he'd won and that the warning about

the third day was no longer valid. It was that and only that that

persuaded him to come out of the iron pavilion on that fatal day.

What he failed to realize was that Brand wasn't his opponent on

that field, it was the Master's Orb.

He'd emerged from his pavilion sublimely convinced that he was

going to get everything he wanted on this day, and it was that

conviction that led him to hurl his Will at me; but mother had simply

shunted me out of the way and had answered for me, disdainfully

rejecting him. The appearance of Brand instead of the Rivan King

suggested to Torak that he'd win; mother's scornful rejection

suggested that he'd lose. Torak was a God, and he wasn't equipped to

deal with uncertainty. Thus it was with doubt gnawing at his soul

that he rushed at Brand, flailing at him with that huge sword. There

almost seemed to be a kind of desperation in his charge. Brand, on

the other hand, seemed calm, even abstracted. His responses were

studied, one might almost say slightly bored.

The duel seemed to last forever, with Torak growing more

frenzied and Brand growing progressively more indifferent. Finally, the

dragon-God hacked his way through Brand's defenses and cut a

deep gash in Brand's shoulder, and that was the signal we'd been

waiting for without even knowing that we were waiting for it. I

strongly suspect that it was part of the agreement between the

contending Purposes that Torak had to draw blood before Brand could

overwhelm him. Brand's shoulder gushed blood and father howled

even as I screamed.

Then Brand was unleashed. His studied, almost bored expression

vanished, replaced with an intent alertness. He scraped his

sword edge down across the face of his shield, cutting away the soldier's

cloak which had hidden what was embedded in the shield's center.

The Master's Orb, all ablaze, struck the Dragon-God full in the face

with its fire.

Of course that had been what the whole war had been about.

We'd spent ten years and sacrificed thousands of lives with no other

purpose than to bring Torak to a place where he'd be forced to face

the Orb at a certain predetermined place and time.

I don't think any of us had fully understood just how painful the

presence of the Orb would be for the God of Angarak. He screamed

as its baleful fire struck him and seared his face again. Screaming

still, he cast off his shield and threw away his sword, desperately

trying to cover his face.

And that's when Brand struck him down. Swiftly seizing his

sword-hilt in both hands, the Rivan Warder drove his blade directly

into the maimed God's left eye-socket where the Eye that was Not

still blazed as brightly as it had on that day almost fifty centuries

before when the Orb had punished him for raising it to crack the

world.

Torak shrieked again, staggering back. He jerked Brand's sword

from his eye, and bright blood gushed forth. Weeping blood, the

God of Angarak stood stock still for a moment. Then he toppled,

and the very earth shuddered.

I don't believe that anyone on that vast battlefield moved or made

a sound for the space of a hundred heartbeats after that thunderous

fall. What had just happened was such a titanic EVENT that I was a

bit surprised that the sun didn't falter and then stop in his inexorable

course. I was probably the only one there who heard a single sound

the exulting sound of mother's howls of triumph. My mother's spent

thousands of years in the form of the woman we know as Poledra, but

down in the deepest levels of her being, she's still a wolf.

My own sense of triumph was heavily overlaid with relief. I'm'

usually very sure of myself, but my brief encounter with Torak's

Will had shaken me to the core of my being. I'd discovered that

when Torak commanded, I had to obey, and that discovery had filled

me with uncertainty and terror.

What followed the fall of Torak wasn't pleasant. The Angaraks

were surrounded and completely demoralized. To massacre them

- and there's no other word for it - was excessive, to say the very

least. Brand, however, was implacable. Finally, General Cerran

firmly suggested that enough was enough, but Brand was an alorn

at the very bottom, and when it comes to killing Angaraks, no alorn

 

 

can ever get enough. The butchery went on through the night, and

when the sun rose, there weren't any live Angaraks left on the

battlefield.

Then, when there was no one left to kill, Brand, his wounded

shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling, ordered his alorns to

bring Torak's body to him so that he could 'look upon the face of

the King of the World' - only Torak's body wasn't there anymore.

That's when Brand rather peremptorily sent for my family and me.

The twins, Beldin, father and I picked our way across the littered

field to the hilltop where Brand stood surveying the wreckage of

Angarak. 'Where is he?' he demanded of us in a tone I really didn't

like much.

'Where's who?' Beldin replied.

'Torak, of course. Nobody seems to be able to find his body.'

'What an amazing thing,' Beldin said sardonically. 'You didn't

actually think you'd find him, did you? Zedar carried him off just

as soon as the sun went down.'

'He what?'

'Didn't you tell him?' Beldin said to father.

'He didn't need to know about it. If he had, he might have tried

to stop it.'

'What's going on here?' Brand's regal tone was starting to irritate

Me.

 

'It was part of the agreement between the Necessities,' father

explained. 'In exchange for your victory, you weren't to be allowed

to keep Torak's body - not that it'd have done any good if you had.

This wasn't the last EVENT, Brand, and we haven't seen the last of

Torak.'

'But he's dead.'

'No, Brand.' I told him as gently as I could. 'You didn't really

think that sword of yours could kill him, did you? The only sword

that can do that is still hanging on the wall back at Riva.'

'Hang it all Pol,' he exclaimed. 'Nobody survives a sword-thrust

through the head!

'Except a God, Brand. He's comatose, but he will wake up again.

The final duel's still out in the future, and that one's going to involve

Torak and the Rivan king. That'll be the one where they take out

their real swords and where somebody really gets killed. You did

very well here, dear one, but try to keep your perspective. What

 

happened here was really nothing more than a skirmish.'

I could tell that he really didn't like that, but his distinctly imperial

behavior was starting to run away with him, and I felt that he

needed to be brought up short. 'Then all of this has been for nothing,,

he said dejectedly.

'I wouldn't exactly call it nothing, Brand,' father said. 'If Torak

had won here, he'd own the world. You stopped him. That counts

for something, doesn't it?'

Brand sighed. 'I suppose so,' he said. Then he looked out over

the bloody field. 'I guess we'd better clean this up. It's summer, and

if we just leave all those bodies lying out there to rot, there'll be a

pestilence in Vo Mimbre before the snow flies.'

The funeral pyres were vast, and it took every tree from the forest

just to the north to consume all those dead Angaraks.

After we'd tidied up, we discovered that Aldorigen and Eldallan

had gone off some distance to discuss their differences. The

discussion was evidently quite spirited, since they were both dead

when they were finally discovered. There was a rather profound

object lesson in that fact. If Mimbre and Asturia were to continue

their centuries-old squabble, it was quite obvious that they'd soon

go down that very same road.

There were hot-heads on both sides who'd have preferred to

ignore the obvious, but Mandorin and Wildantor, the two Arendish

heroes of the battle, stepped in to put an end to the bickering by

the simple expedient of offering to fight any of their compatriots

who were too fond of their antagonism to listen to reason. There's

a certain direct charm to the assertion that 'If you don't do it my

way, I'll kill you.'

Anyway, the two Arendish friends approached Brand with an

absurd proposal. They offered him the crown of Arendia. As luck

had it, I was close enough to Brand to dig my elbow sharply into

his ribs to keep him from laughing in their faces. He managed to

keep a straight face and diplomatically declined, pleading a prior

commitment.

That bell that rings inside my head when two young people whO

are destined to marry meet for the first time had already given

me the answer to Arendia's political problems, and I'd obliquely

suggested it to Brand - quite some time before the battle, actually.

When he raised the possibility to Mandorin and Wildantor, however,

they both burst out laughing. The reason for their laughter became

obvious when the proposal was presented to Korodullin and

Mayaserana. Terms such as 'Mimbrate butcher' and 'outlaw wench' do

not bode well for the prospects of a happy marriage.

That's when I stepped in. 'Why don't you children think this over

 

 

before you make a final decision?' I suggested. 'You both need to

calm down and talk it over between you - in private.' Then I ordered

them to be locked up together in a little room at the top of the south

tower of the palace.

'They'll kill each other, Pol,' father predicted when we were alone.

'No, actually they won't. Trust me, Old Man. I know exactly what

I'm doing. I have arranged a lot of marriages, after all.'

'Not like this one - and if one of them kills the other, Arendia's

going to explode in our faces.'

'Nobody's going to get killed, father, and nothing's going to

explode. It may not look like it, but the notion of marrying each

other is already planted, and it's starting to seep into their minds

slowly, I'll grant you. They're Arends after all, and nothing seeps

through solid stone very fast.'

'I still think it's a mistake.'

'I don't suppose you'd care to make a wager on that, would you,

father?' I offered.

He glared at me and then left, muttering to himself. Father and

I have occasionally made wagers with each other, and as nearly as

I can recall, he hasn't won any yet.

Then came the famous conference that resulted in what history

calls 'the Accords of Vo Mimbre'. We didn't treat Tolnedra very

well during that conference, I'm afraid. The presence of the legions

at the battle had saved the world from Angarak enslavement, and

then we turned right around and treated Tolnedra like a defeated

enemy. First, however, we had to head off the enthusiastic Alorn

Kings, who all wanted to offer Brand the crown of the King of the

World. When Mergon, the Tolnedran ambassador, protested, the

Alorns started flexing their muscles. Maybe someday, somewhere,

there'll be an international conference where everyone behaves like

a civilized adult, but when it finally rolls around it'll probably signal

the end of the world.

 

MY only real contribution to our impromptu get-together was so

Obscure that it didn't even make sense to me at the time. It does

now, of course, but that's only in retrospect. I was adamant about

it, and the others gave up and put it in the Accords just as I dictated

it. 'From this day forward upon her sixteenth birthday shall each

Princess of Imperial Tolnedra present herself in the Hall of the Rivan

King. In her wedding gown shall she be clad, and three days shall

she abide there against the coming of the King. And if he comes

not to claim her, shall she be free to go wheresoever her father, the

Emperor, shall decree, for she shall not be the favored one.'

Mergon, the Tolnedran ambassador, objected violently, of course,

but I had all these nice burly Alorns around me to flex their muscles

and make dire predictions about what would happen if the

Tolnedrans chose to ignore my simple little request.

That took care of the Tolnedran government, but it didn't really

have much impact on Ce'Nedra, who turned out to be the lucky

girl. She seems to have had certain objections. She didn't have a

very high opinion of her pre-ordained husband in the first place,

and when she discovered that he outranked her, she went up in

flames. Rank and station were very important to Ce'Nedra,

evidently. I'll grant you that our tiny princess can be absolutely

adorable - when she wants something - but she aged me far more than

several dozen centuries ever did. To give you some idea of just how

stubborn she could be, it finally took a God - Eriond - to get her

anywhere near the Hall of the Rivan King on the appointed day.

It's entirely possible that Eriond will unify the world in peace and

harmony, but that won't even come close to his victory over

Ce'Nedra that day in the caverns of Ulgo.

That, of course, brings us to the question of just who it was who

prompted mother to insist that I slip that ridiculous obligation into

the Accords of Vo Mimbre. If we were out to elect the most probable

perpetrator, my vote would go to UL. I'm sure that Gods have a

sense of humor, and UL's would probably be the most obscure.

 

Note that I avoided the word 'perverted' there. Still, one does have

to wonder about a God who turns his chosen people into moles,

doesn't one?

 

Despite my reservations about the Father of the Gods and his

probable involvement, I will credit the Gorim of Ulgo with keeping the

entire conference from blowing up into a general war. The very

presence of 'the holiest man in the world' kept everyone at least

marginally civil, and when he read the Accords to us after it Was

all over, the document had a faint tinge of 'Holy Writ', and the

various items it contained seemed to have almost the force Of

religious obligations. People are used to doing peculiar things for

religious reasons, so the fact that many things in the Accords didn't

make any sense was smoothed over as long as we all tacitly agreed

to view them as religious.

it had taken us several weeks to hammer out the Accords, and

that had given Korodullin and Mayaserana enough time to stop

talking about politics and get down to more important things. When

Brand sent for them, they came hand in hand into the throne-room

with that rather silly look on their faces that I recognized

immediately. They'd definitely made peace with each other. I leaned over

to whisper to my father almost as soon as the blushing pair entered.

 

'I think you just lost our wager, Old Man,' I said. 'I seem to forget.

What was it you put on the line when we made the bet?'

He glared at me.

'I told you so, father,' I said sweetly. 'Try to get used to the sound

of that. I'm going to tell you that I told you so quite often over the

next several centuries. Look upon it as educational. Maybe the next

time I tell you that I know what I'm doing, you'll believe me.'

'Do you mind, Polgara?'

'Not at all, father. I just wanted to be sure that you remembered,

 

that's all.' I gave my head a little toss. 'I told you so,' I added.

Mandor and Wildantor went out and found a priest to perform

 

the wedding ceremony. I didn't see any blood or visible bruises on

the priest when they brought him in, but his slightly frightened eyes

hinted that there'd been some threats. It was a start, I guess. Threats

are a little more civilized than open violence.

We'd just come through a war, so there was a great deal of

disordered confusion in Vo Mimbre. The wedding of Korodullin and

Mayaserana, therefore, was not surrounded by all the pomp and

 

ceremony - and parties - which would have taken place in

peacetime. I don't think that really disappointed the bride and groom

very much. Once Mandorin had patiently pounded the idea that

the wedding technically unified Arendia - under a Mimbrate king

 

- the priest of Chaldan became very cooperative, and his

spur-of-the-moment wedding sermon wasn't really too bad. What escaped him

- and most of the Mimbrate wedding guests was the fact that the

wedding produced a joint monarchy. The unification of my poor

Arendia took place in the royal bedchamber.

Then it was time for us to point the Alorns in a generally northerly

direction and to tell them to go home. The presence of a unified

Aloria no ]more than two hundred leagues north of Tol Honeth was

Probably making Ran Borune very nervous. Moreover, there were

Inevitably members of the Bear-Cult in the ranks of the Alorn armies,

and it wouldn't have been a good idea to give them time to start

having religious experiences brought on by our proximity to Tol

Honeth and all its wealth.

Father and I rode with Brand on up to the Arendish Fair. Then

we said goodbye and rode east toward the border of Ulgoland,

where we were met by several battalions of Algar horsemen. It was

courteous of Cho-Ram to provide us with an escort, so father and

I didn't make an issue of the fact that the Algars were more of an

inconvenience than anything else. It was late summer anyway, and

since there wasn't anything pressing for us to do, we didn't really

mind a horseback ride through the mountains.

'I'm going on down to the Vale,' father said when we reached

the Algarian plain. 'Are you going back to Aldurford?'

'I don't think so. There were a lot of Algar soldiers at Vo Mimbre,

and I wouldn't want some neighbor who's a veteran to start making

some connections. Celane and I'd better start fresh somewhere.'

'Maybe you're right. Let's get you out of sight somewhere. Have

you got anyplace particular in mind?'

'I think I'll take the boy to Sendaria. After Vo Mimbre, there aren't

too many Murgos left in the world, and they aren't going to be

welcome in Sendaria - or anyplace else, for that matter.'

He shrugged. 'That's your decision, Pol. Celane's your

responsibility, so whatever you decide is all right with me.'

'Thank you.' I wasn't really trying to be sarcastic, but it did sort

of come out that way. 'Is there something pressing for you to attend

to at the Vale?'

'I need a vacation, that's about all. I've been running, a little light

on sleep for the past several years.' He scratched at his bearded

cheek. 'I'll give things a while to settle down, and then I want to

look in on those families I've been watching for the last millennium

or so. I want to make sure that they're all still intact.'

'What if they aren't?'

'I'll have to make some other arrangements.'

'Enjoy yourself, but stay out of my hair, father, and this time

mean it.'

'Whatever you say, Pol. Give my best to Gelane.' Then he rode

off south toward the Vale while the Algars and I went on toward

the Stronghold. It occurred to me as we rode that I sometimes

underestimated my father. I'd devoted centuries to one family, but father

had been manipulating several all at one time. That probably

explained why he seemed so much like a vagabond most