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?”