He’ll just rush out onto that plain around Vo Mimbre and start the
assault on the city. Whether we like it or not, that’ll be the first
day of that three-day battle the Mrin talks about, and I want Eldrig
and Cerran to be a lot closer before things get that far along.”
“He might just go ahead and attack anyway, Belgarath,” Rhodar pointed
out.
“He’s the one with the calendar, so he knows when he has to be there.
We don’t. If he’s running behind, he won’t stop.”
“Logic suggests that he gave himself plenty of time, Rhodar,” Pol
disagreed.
“A lot of things have to happen before the EVENT, and Torak knows
that–probably even better than we do. Certain things are going to
have to be in place before Brand can issue his challenge, and if Torak
does anything to disrupt any of that, we’ll have an entirely different
EVENT–one that’s probably not even mentioned in the Mrin or the
Ashabine Oracles. At that point, nobody’ll know what’s going to
happen.”
“We could just go ahead and throw everything we’ve got in his path,”
Rhodar suggested.
“That should delay him a bit.”
“But that’d put the battle someplace other than at Vo Mimbre,”
Brand objected, “and the EVENT must take place there.”
“Well, father,” Pol said to me, “are you going to make one of those
great leaps of faith you keep talking about?”
“I think I’m going to have to. You and I should probably go to Vo
Mimbre and give Aldorigen some instructions. I don’t want the Mimbrate
knights to start feeling muscular and invincible. If they come
charging out of the gates of Vo Mimbre before the legions and the
Chereks are in place, they’ll be obliterated. I think we’re only going
to have one chance at this, so we’d better get it right the first time.
We’ve done all we can here, so you gentlemen had better take your leave
of Ran Borune and go join your forces. We all know the signals and
what we’re supposed to do when they come. Pol and I’ll go to Vo Mimbre
and put a leash on Aldorigen. Then we’ll just sit tight and wait for
the Cherek fleet. Don’t provoke any confrontations, but don’t let Kal
Torak lure you out of position, either.”
We all rose to our feet.
“Good luck, gentlemen,” Pol said gravely.
Then the meeting broke up. The kings went across town to the Imperial
Palace to advise Ran Borune that they were leaving, and then Cho-Ram
and Rhodar rode west to swing around Kal Torak’s left flank to join
their armies in the mountains, while Brand and Ormik of Sendaria rode
north to join theirs at the verge of the Arendish Forest.
Pol and I lingered while I had a few words with the twins.
“Try to keep Ran Borune from getting hysterical,” I told them.
“If he loses his nerve at this point, we’ll be in trouble.” Then Pol
and I left the embassy, crossed the north bridge across the Nedrane,
and went into a birch grove to change form.
“I’m going to do something you aren’t going to like, father,” Pol told
me.
“I have to use Mother’s form during all of this. I’m acting on
instructions, so don’t waste your time getting indignant.”
“I’ll try to control myself,” I replied. I knew a great deal more
about what was going on than Ran Borune did, but there were still many
things happening that I didn’t know about. It was probably just as
well, I suppose.
If I’d known everything, I’d have been the one going into hysterics.
The weather had begun to moderate–slightly. At least it wasn’t
perpetually raining anymore. The forces that had been building since
Kal Torak had left Ashaba had reached their climax in the blizzard that
had buried Urvon, but it would still take a while for things to settle
back down to normal. The skies over northern Tolnedra and southern
Arendia were still cloudy, and even though it was early summer, it
wasn’t really warming up very much.
Pol and I reached Vo Mimbre in the middle of the night, and we settled
down on the battlements of Aldorigen’s palace. We waited until the
steel-clad sentry had clanked past, and then we changed back into our
own forms and descended to the dimly lighted throne room.
“Why don’t you let me handle this, father?” Polgara suggested.
“I
know Arends much better than you do, and I can explain things to
Aldorigen in a way that won’t offend him. You just sit there looking
impressive and let me do the talking.”
“Gladly,” I agreed.
“Trying to talk with an Arend makes my teeth itch.”
“Oh, father!” Strangely enough, she said it almost affectionately.
Dawn was murkily starting to peep through the windows of the throne
room when the great doors opened and Aldorigen and his
seven-teen-year-old son, Korodullin, entered. Pol and I were sitting
back in a corner , so they didn’t see us right at first.
“He is a miscreant, sire,”
Korodullin was saying hotly, “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, but I have
given mine oath. Thou shalt not speak disparagingly unto him, nor
offer him any impertinence whilst he is within the confines of Vo
Mimbre. If thou canst not restrain thine are, remain in thy chambers
until he doth depart. He will be here ere noon, and he and I must
speak of diverse matters concerning the forthcoming battle. He will be
here under safe-conduct, and no man–not even thou–shall stain mine
honor by word or deed. I will have thy pledge to that effect, or I
shall have thee confined.”
Korodullin drew himself up. He was a handsome young devil, I’ll give
him that, but his face was filled with anger, and it was frighteningly
devoid of anything even remotely resembling good sense.
“It shall be as my king commands,” he grated out from between tightly
clenched teeth.
What was going on here?
I’d have eavesdropped a bit longer, but Polgara was already moving down
toward the dais where the two were standing.
“Good morrow, your Majesty,” she greeted Aldorigen with an exquisitely
graceful 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 hither to consult with thee and to divulge unto thee
certain information concerning that which hath come to pass which doth
concern thee and thy realm most poignantly.”
How could she possibly manage to get all of that into one sentence?
Aldorigen bowed deeply to her.
“My poor city is honored by thy presence, divine Lady Polgara,” he
responded, “for thou, like the sun itself, do bring light and joy to
all that thou look st upon.” If you give a couple of Arends a little
bit of leisure, they’ll keep on exchanging involuted and increasingly
complicated compliments for days on end. Once Polgara lapsed into the
“thees” and “thous,” her good sense went out the window, and she became
an Arend to her fingertips. I knew that I’d just be wasting my breath
if I tried to hurry them along, so I pulled a small, tightly wound
scroll out from under my tunic, sat down in a chair not far from the
dais, and tried to look studious and preoccupied.
After about a half hour or so, during which my daughter and the
so-called king of Arendia compared each other to suns, moons, rainbows,
summer mornings, stars, eagles in flight, roaring lions, and gentle
doves, Polgara got down to the point. She impressed the necessity of
waiting for the signal to attack upon the witless Aldorigen by the
simple expedient of repeating it over and over and over again, couching
it in different similes or metaphors with each repetition. Gradually
the light of understanding began to flicker, dimly, in his eyes.
“Prithee, my Lord King,” she protested,
“I would not dare presume to give instruction to the paramount monarch
of all this world . . .” And that went on for about another half hour
as the two of them tried to outdo each other in a cloying display of
humility. Then finally Pol got around to asking him what he and his
son had been arguing about when they’d entered the throne room.
“The miscreant Asturian, Eldallan, hath besought me that I provide him
safe-conduct that he and I might confer at some length on diverse
matters of concern to us both in regard to the forthcoming battle.
Methinks, however, that there is some faint odor of subterfuge in his
request.
Our battle plans are clear, and they are not complex. There is no need
for this meeting.”
“The rogue hath seized this opportunity to spy out our defenses,”
Korodullin asserted hotly.
“He is Asturian, and therefore a knave by definition. Should the