David and Leigh Eddings – Belgarath the Sorcerer

Eldallan was less than cooperative–at least right at first. He’d had

his men build him a crude chair, and he sat in it as if it were a

throne with his eight-year-old daughter, Mayaserana, playing with a

doll at his side.

“That’s an Alorn problem.” He rejected our appeal.

“My problem’s the Mimbrates.” In what had probably been an effort to

distinguish themselves from their countrymen to the south, the

Asturians had discarded the “thees” and thousand “foreasmuches.”

“I’m sure you’ll have second thoughts about that when you’re stretched

out on an altar with two or three Grolims carving out your heart, your

Grace,” I told him bluntly.

“That’s just a fairy story, Belgarath,” he scoffed.

“I’m not gullible enough to believe Alorn propaganda.”

“Why don’t you let me talk with him, father?” Pol suggested.

“I know Arends a little better than you do.”

“Gladly,” I agreed.

“This skeptic’s right on the verge of irritating me.”

“Please forgive my father, your Grace,” she said sweetly to the duke.

“Diplomacy’s not one of his strong points.”

“I’m no more inclined to accept your horror stories than I am his, Lady

Polgara. Your one-time affiliation with the Wacites is well-known.

You have no reason to love Asturians.”

“I’m not going to tell you horror stories, your Grace. I’m going to

show you what the Angaraks did to Drasnia.”

“Illusions.” He dismissed her proposal with a shrug.

“No, your Grace. Reality. I speak as the duchess of Erat, and no true

gentleman would question the word of a noblewoman–or have I erred in

assuming that there are gentlemen in Asturia?”

“You question my honor?”

“Aren’t you questioning mine?”

He struggled with it.

“Very well, your Grace,” he agreed reluctantly.

“If you give me your word of honor that what you propose to show me

really happened, I’ll have no choice but to accept it.”

“Your Grace is too kind,” she murmured.

“Let’s go back in time, and north to Drasnia. This is what truly

happened when Kal Torak came down onto the moors.” I heard–or

felt–the surge of her Will, and she made a small, curious gesture in

front of his face as she released it.

I didn’t see a thing, naturally; but the duke did.

“Why, father,” the little girl at his side said when he cried out in

horror, “whatever’s the matter?”

He wasn’t able to answer her. Polgara held him frozen in place for

about a quarter of an hour. His eyes grew wider and wider, and his

face turned deathly pale. After a few minutes, he was begging her to

stop.

But she didn’t.

He began to weep, and his daughter stared at him incredulously. I’m

sure he wanted to cover his eyes with his hands, but his limbs were

frozen, and he couldn’t move. He groaned. He even screamed a few

times, but Pol refused to relent. She kept him locked in place until

he’d been forced to witness the entire horror.

He fell out of his chair when she finally released him, and he lay on

the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

“What did you do to my father, bad Lady?” the little girl demanded.

“He’ll be fine in a few minutes, dear,” Pol told her gently.

“He just had a nightmare, that’s all.”

“But it’s daytime–and he isn’t even asleep.”

“That happens sometimes, Mayaserana. He’ll be all right.”

It took Eldallan about a half an hour to regain his composure, and when

he did, he was ready to listen.

“I’m not going to insist on a direct meeting between you and the

Mimbrate King,” I told him.

“That might be pushing things a bit.”

“He’s not the king,” Eldallan corrected me almost absently.

“He thinks he is, but that’s beside the point. My daughter and I’ll go

to Vo Mimbre and talk with him. We’ll hammer out the details of a

truce between the two of you, and I’ll arrange for some Sendars to act

as messengers. Sendars are neutral, and they’re honorable people, so

there won’t be any danger of trickery. Tell your archers to quit

wasting arrows on Mimbrates. You’re going to need every arrow you can

lay your hands on when the Angaraks come.”

“It shall be as you say, Ancient One.” He was suddenly a very

agreeable fellow. He definitely didn’t want Polgara to show him

anything else.

Pol and I went on to the yellow-walled city of Vo Mimbre. Mimbrate

poets have written all sorts of nonsense about their

“City of Gold,” but the plain truth of the matter is the fact that the

quarries of the region produce yellow building stones. There wasn’t

anything mystic or even significant about it at all.

After the destruction of Vo Astur in 3822, the Mimbrate dukes had taken

to calling themselves “the kings of All Arendia,” but that was a

fiction. The authority of that throne in Vo Mimbre stopped at the edge

of the Arendish Forest.

Arends aren’t quite as stubborn as Tolnedrans are about certain

peculiar things, so when Pol and I reached Vo Mimbre and identified

ourselves, we were immediately escorted to the throne room of

“King” Alodrigen XII. Aldorigen was a bit older than Duke Eldallan,

and quite a bit bulkier. Mimbrates start wearing full armor when

they’re still children, and the sheer dead weight of all that steel

puts muscle on them. It doesn’t noticeably add brain capacity,

however.

Once again, I’ll resist using the word “coincidence.” It just

“happened” that Aldorigen also had a child of about eight years–a son

named Korodullin.

Isn’t that interesting?

Aldorigen was no less stubborn than Eldallan had been, so Polgara was

obliged to repeat her performance. The king came around as quickly as

his Asturian counterpart had. The Asturians and Mimbrates have always

claimed that they’re completely different from each other. To be

honest with you, though, I’ve never been able to really tell them

apart, even though Mimbrates still use archaic speech and Asturians

don’t.

After Polgara’d brought Aldorigen to his senses, I spoke with the

Sendarian ambassador and arranged for several go-bet weens to carry

information back and forth between Mimbre and Asturia, and then Pol and

I proceeded–damply–to Tol Honeth.

Ran Borune’s skepticism about Torak’s intentions had been evaporated by

what had happened in Drasnia, and he was willing at least to listen to

us.

“I assume the Alorns have a plan,” he said after we had explained the

situation to him.

“A tentative one,” I replied.

“Kal Torak’s invasion of Drasnia taught us not to lock our thinking in

stone. We do know that this is going to be settled one way or another

someplace in Arendia, but we can’t be certain which route Torak’s going

to take to get there. What he did in Drasnia suggests that he wants to

obliterate the Alorns before he gets to Arendia.

Eldrig expects him to invade Cherek, but I’m not so sure. We do know

that he’s going to lay siege to the Algarian Stronghold, but we’re not

sure what he’ll do before that. He might even try to attack the Isle

of the Winds. That’s his ultimate goal, and he might try to go there

and retake the Orb of Aldur before he goes to Arendia.”

“I thought you could see the future, Belgarath.”

“Sort of,” I replied, making a sour face.

“There are a couple of prophecies, but they’re very obscure.”

“Are your Alorns going to want help in the north?”

“I think they can manage. If Torak does decide to go directly to the

Isle, he’ll run head-on into the Cherek fleet, and the entire war could

be settled in the Sea of the Winds. If it happens that way, I know

who’s going to win. No navy on earth is a match for Eldrig’s

war-boats.”

“Are you and Lady Polgara planning to stay here for long?”

“As long as it takes.”

“I want to talk with my generals, but we’ll need to coordinate our

strategy. Can I offer you the hospitality of the palace here?”

“We appreciate the thought, Ran Borune,” Polgara said, “but it might

cause you some problems. The Honethites and Vorduvians would probably

make a very big issue of the fact that you’re consorting with “heathen

sorcerers.”

“I’m the emperor here, Lady Polgara, and I’ll consort with whomever I

bloody well please.”

“Isn’t he a dear man?” Pol said to me.

“She’s right, Ran Borune,” I told the emperor.

“We’ve got enough trouble with Kal Torak. Let’s not go out of our way

to pick fights with the other great families. We’ll stay at the Cherek

embassy. The ambassador’s got a war-boat at his disposal, and I need

to send the Alorn kings a report about what we accomplished in Arendia.

Who’s the current Nyissan Ambassador?”

“A reptilian sort of fellow named Podiss,” Ran Borune replied with

obvious distaste.

“I’ll need to talk with him, as well,” I said.

“I want to let Salmissra know that we’re coming.”

“Why bring her into it at all?”

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