“Barak,” Greldik shouted back, “you’re turning into an old woman.”
“Anheg said the same thing just before Jarviksholm,” Barak noted.
“He’s a wise king.”
“It isn’t his ship.”
After they passed the Bore and entered the calmer waters of the Gulf of Cherek, King Anheg took a sizeable portion of the fleet and sailed northward toward Val Alorn. Before making the transfer to one of Anheg’s ships, Belgarath stood on deck, talking quietly with Garion and Polgara. “As soon as I finish at Val Alorn, I’ll go on down to Mar Terrin,” he told them. “If I don’t get back before you arrive at Rheon, be careful. The cult’s pretty fanatic, and this war they’ve started is directed at you personally, Garion.”
“I’ll watch out for him, father,” Polgara assured him.
“I can more or less take care of myself, Aunt Pol,” Garion told her.
“I’m sure you can, dear.” she replied, “but old habits die hard.”
“How old am I going to have to be before you realize that I’m grown up?”
“Why don’t you check back with me in a thousand years or so?” she said. “Maybe we can talk about it then.”
He smiled, then sighed. “Aunt Pol,” he said, “I love you.”
“Yes, dear,” she replied, patting his cheek, “I know, and I love you, too.”
At Kotu, the ship carrying Hettar and his wife and parents turned south toward Aldurford. “I’ll meet you at Rheon in about three weeks,” the hawk-faced Algar called across to theSeabird. “Save a little bit of the fighting for me.”
“Only if you hurry.” Lelldorin shouted back blithely.
“I’m not sure which are worse,” Polgara murmured to Ce’Nedra, “Arends or Alorns.”
“Could they possibly be related?” Ce’Nedra asked.
Aunt Pol laughed, then wrinkled her nose as she looked at the wharves of Kotu. “Come, dear,” she said, “let’s go below. Harbors always have the most distressing odors about them.”
The fleet passed Kotu and filed into the mouth of the Mrin River. The current was sluggish, and the fens lay green and soggy on either side. Garion stood near the bow of theSeabird, idly watching the gray-green reeds and scrubby bushes slide by as the oarsmen pulled steadily upstream.
“Ah, there you are, Garion,” Queen Porenn said, coming up behind him. “I thought we might talk for a few minutes.”
“Of course.” He had a rather special feeling for this small, blonde woman, whose courage and devotion bespoke at once an enormous affection and an iron-clad resolve.
“When we reach Boktor, I want to leave Kheva at the palace. I don’t think he’s going to like it very much, but he’s just a little young for battles. If he gets stubborn about it, could you order him to stay behind?”
“Me?”
“You’re the Overlord of the West, Garion,” she reminded him. “I’m only his mother.”
“Overlord of the West is an over-rated title, I’m afraid.” He tugged absently at one ear. “I wonder if I could possibly persuade Ce’Nedra to stay in Boktor as well,” he mused.
“I doubt it,” she said. “Kheva might accept you as his superior, but Ce’Nedra looks upon you as her husband. There’s a difference, you know.”
He made a wry face. “You’re probably right,” he admitted. “It’s worth a try, though. How far up the Mrin can we go by boat?”
“The north fork runs into a series of shallows about twenty leagues above Boktor,” she replied. “I suppose we could portage around them, but it wouldn’t accomplish very much. Ten leagues farther upstream you come to another stretch of shallows, and then there are the rapids. We could spend a great deal of time pulling the boats out of the water and then putting them back in again.”
“Then it would be faster just to start marching when we get to the first shallows?”
She nodded. “It’s likely to take several days for my generals to assemble their troops and get their supplies together,” she added. “I’ll instruct them to follow us as quickly as they can. Once they join us, we can go on to Rheon and lay siege until Brendig and Hettar arrive.”
“You know, you’re really very good at this, Porenn.”
She smiled sadly. “Rhodar was a very good teacher.”
“You loved him very much, didn’t you?”
She sighed. “More than you can possibly imagine, Garion.”
They reached Boktor the following afternoon, and Garion accompanied Queen Porenn and her slightly sullen son to the palace, with Silk tagging along behind. As soon as they arrived, Porenn sent a messenger to the headquarters of the Drasnian military forces.
“Shall we take some tea while we’re waiting, gentlemen?” the little blonde queen offered as the three of them sat comfortably in a large, airy chamber with red velvet drapes at the windows.
“Only if you can’t find anything stronger.” Silk replied with an impudent grin.
“Isn’t it a trifle early in the day for that, Prince Kheldar?” she asked him reprovingly.
“I’m an Alorn, Auntie dear. It’s never too early in the day.”
“Kheldar, please don’t call me that. It makes me feel positively antique.”
But youare, Porenn -my aunt, I mean, not antique, of course.”
“Are you ever serious about anything?”
“Not if I can help it.”
She sighed and then laughed a warm tinkle of a laugh.
Perhaps a quarter of an hour later, a stocky man with a red face and a somewhat gaudy orange uniform was shown into the room. “Your Majesty sent for me?” he asked, bowing respectfully.
“Ah, General Haldar,” she replied. “Are you acquainted with his Majesty, King Belgarion?”
“We met briefly, ma’am -at your late husband’s funeral.” He bowed floridly to Garion. “Your Majesty.”
“General.”
“And of course you’ve met Prince Kheldar.”
“Of course,” the general replied. “Your Highness.”
“General.” Silk looked at him closely “Isn’t that a new decoration, Haldar?” he asked.
The red-faced general touched the cluster of medals on his chest somewhat deprecatingly. “That’s what generals do in peacetime, Prince Kheldar. We give each other medals.”
“l’m afraid that the peacetime is at an end, General Haldar,” Porenn said rather crisply. “You’ve heard what happened at Jarviksholm in Cherek, I presume.”
“Yes, your Majesty,” he replied. “It was a well-executed campaign.”
“We are now going to proceed against Rheon. The Bear-cult has abducted King Belgarion’s son.”
“Abducted?”
Haldar’s expression was incredulous.
“I’m afraid so. I think the time has come to eliminate the cult entirely. That’s why we’re moving on Rheon. We have a fleet in the harbor loaded with Belgarion’s Rivans. Tomorrow, we’ll sail up to the shallows and disembark. We’ll march overland toward Rheon. I want you to muster the army and follow us as quickly as you possibly can.”
Haldar was frowning as if something he had heard had distracted him. “Are you sure that the Rivan Prince was abducted, your Majesty?” he asked. “He was not killed?”
“No,” Garion answered firmly. “It was clearly an abduction.”
Haldar began to pace up and down agitatedly. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Do you understand your instructions, General?” Porenn asked him.
“What? Oh yes, your Majesty. I’m to gather the army and catch up with King Belgarion’s Rivans before they reach Rheon.”
“Precisely. We’ll besiege the town until the rest of our forces arrive. We’ll be joined at Rheon by Algars and elements of the Sendarian army.”
“I’ll start at once, your Majesty,” he assured her. His expression was still slightly abstracted, and his frown was worried.
“Is there anything wrong, General?” she asked him.
“What? Oh, no, your Majesty. I’ll go to headquarters and issue the necessary orders immediately ”
“Thank you, General Haldar. That will be all.”
“He certainly heard something he didn’t like,” Silk observed after the general had left.
“We’ve all heard things lately that we haven’t liked,” Garion said.
“It wasn’t quite the same, though,” Silk muttered. “Excuse me for a bit. I think I’m going to go ask a few questions.” He rose from his chair and quietly left the room.
Early the next morning, the fleet weighed anchor and began to move slowly upstream from Boktor. Though the day had dawned clear and sunny, by noon a heavy cloud cover had swept in off the Gulf of Cherek to turn the Drasnian countryside gray and depressing.
“I hope it doesn’t rain,” Barak growled from his place at the tiller. “I hate slogging through mud on my way to a fight.”
The shallows of the Mrin proved to be a very wide stretch of river where the water rippled over gravel bars.
“Have you ever considered dredging this?” Garion asked the Queen of Drasnia.
“No,” she replied. “As a matter of policy I don’t want the Mrin navigable beyond this point. I’d rather not have Tolnedran merchantmen bypassing Boktor.” She smiled sweetly at Ce’Nedra. “I’m not trying to be offensive, dear,” she said, “but your countrymen always seem to want to avoid customs. As things now stand, I control the North Caravan Route and I need that customs revenue.”