“Oh, of course,” he replied with heavy sarcasm. “Why don’t you tell that to all those Murgos he crucified on the plains of Hagga? He can be polite when it doesn’t inconvenience him too much, but we’ve seriously irritated him. If we’re not gone by the time he gets here, I expect he’ll show us just how irritated he really is.”
“You’re wrong, Prince Kheldar,” Eriond said gravely. “He just doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do yet, that’s all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Back in Cthol Murgos, Cyradis told him that he was going to come to a crossroads in his life. This is it, I think. Once he makes the right choice, we can be friends again.”
“Just like that?”
“More or less, yes.”
“Polgara, would you please make him stop that?”
The tent was familiar. It was a Mallorean officer’s pavilion with the usual red carpeting, and furniture which could be easily disassembled. They had been housed in this same kind of pavilion many times in the past. Garion looked around without much interest, then he sprawled on a bench.
“What’s the matter, Garion?” Ce’Nedra asked, coming over to sit beside him.
“Isn’t it obvious? Why don’t they just leave us alone?”
“I think you worry too much,” she told him. She reached out and touched his forehead with one little finger. “Your friend in there isn’t going to let anything happen that’s not supposed to happen, so stop brooding about this. We’re supposed to go to Kell, and Zakath couldn’t stop us, even if he brought his whole army back from Cthol Murgos and piled them in our path.”
“You’re taking this all awfully calmly.”
“I have to believe, Garion,” she replied with a little sigh. “If I didn’t, I’d go insane.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “Now get that grumpy look off your face. You’re starting to look exactly like Belgarath.”
“Of course I am. He’s my grandfather, after all.”
“The resemblance shouldn’t start to show up for several thousand years yet, though,” she said tartly.
Two soldiers brought them a supper consisting of standard military rations. Silk opened one of the metal pots and looked inside. He sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
“What’s the trouble, Kheldar?” Sadi asked him.
“Beans,” Silk replied, pointing at the pot.
“I thought you liked beans.”
“Not to eat, I don’t.”
Because they had not slept the previous night, they retired early. Garion tossed restlessly for a while and then finally dropped off.
The following morning they all slept late, and Garion emerged from the curtained-off compartment he shared with Ce’Nedra to find Silk pacing up and down restlessly. “Finally,” the little man said with some relief. “I thought everybody was going to sleep till noon.”
“What’s your problem?” Garion asked him.
“I need somebody to talk to, that’s all.”
“Lonesome?”
“No. Edgy. Zakath’s probably going to show up today. Do you suppose we ought to wake Belgarath?”
“Why?”
“To find out if Beldin’s come up with a way to get us out of here, naturally.”
“You worry too much.”
“My, aren’t we complacent this morning?” Silk snapped.
“Not really, but there’s not much point in chewing off all our fingernails over something that’s out of our hands, is there?”
“Garion, why don’t you go back to bed?”
“I thought you were lonesome.”
“Not that lonesome.”
“Has Atesca come by this morning?”
“No. He’s probably fairly busy. He’s going to have some sort of campaign mapped out by die time Zakath gets here.” The little man flung himself into one of the folding chairs. **No matter what Beldin comes up with, we’re very likely to have at least a regiment hot on our heels when we ride out of here,” he predicted, “and I hate being chased.”
“We’ve had people chasing us ever since the night we left Faldor’s farm. You should be used to it by now.”
“Oh, I am, Garion. I still don’t like it, though.”
Perhaps an hour or so later, the others began to wake up, and not long after that, the same red-garbed soldiers brought them breakfast. The two men were the only people they had seen since they had been confined in the pavilion.
They spent the rest of the morning in desultory conversation. By unspoken agreement, no one mentioned their present situation.
About noon, General Atesca entered the tent. “His Imperial Majesty will arrive shortly,” he announced. “His ships are approaching the docks.”
“Thank you, General,” Belgaratb replied.
Atesca bowed stiffly and went back out.
Polgara rose to her feet. “Come along, ladies,” she said to Ce’Nedra and Velvet. “Let’s go make ourselves presentable.”
Sadi looked down at his plain tunic and hose. “Hardly suitable for an imperial audience,” he said. “Do you think we ought to change?”
“Why bother?” Belgarath shrugged. “Let’s not give Zakath the impression that we take him seriously.”
“Don’t we?”
“Maybe, but we don’t need to let him know about it.”
Not much later, the Emperor of Mallorea entered with General Atesca and the Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs. As was his custom, Zakath wore a plain linen robe, but he had a scarlet military cape draped across his shoulders. His eyes were once again melancholy, and his pallid lips expressionless. “Good day, your Majesty,” he said to Garion in a flat, emotionless tone. “You’ve been well, I trust?”
“Tolerably, your Majesty,” Garion replied. If Zakath wanted formality, Garion would give him formality.
“Your extensive travels must have been fatiguing,” Zakath said in that same flat tone, “particularly for the ladies. I’ll see to it that your return journey to Mal Zeth is made in easy stages.”
“Your Majesty is very kind, but we’re not going back to Mal Zeth.”
“You’re wrong, Belgarion. You are going back to Mal Zeth.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a pressing engagement elsewhere.”
“I’ll convey your regrets to Zandramas when I see her.”
“I’m sure she’d be overjoyed to hear that I’m not coming.”
“Not for very long, she won’t. I fully intend to have her burned as a witch.”
“Good luck, your Majesty, but I don’t think you’ll find that she’s very combustible.”
“Aren’t you gentlemen being just a little silly?” Polgara asked then. She had changed into a blue dress and she sat at a table, calmly mending a pair of Eriond’s socks.
“Silly?” Zakath snapped, his eyes suddenly flashing.
“You’re still friends and you both know it. Now stop behaving like a couple of schoolboys.”
“I think you go too far, Lady Polgara,” Zakath told her in a frigid tone.
“Really?” she replied. “I thought I’d described the situation rather accurately. You’re not going to put Garion in chains, and he’s not going to turn you into a radish, so stop trying to bully each other.”
“I think we can continue this discussion some other time,” Zakath said curtly. He bowed slightly to Polgara and left the tent.
“Wasn’t that perhaps a trifle abrupt, Lady Polgara?” Sadi asked her.
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “It cut through a lot of nonsense.” She carefully folded the socks she had been mending. “Eriond, I think it’s time for you to trim your toenails again. You’re cutting your way out of your socks faster than I can mend them.”
“He’s gone back to being the way he was before, hasn’t he?” Garion said sadly. “Zakath, I mean.”
“Not entirely,” Polgara disagreed. “Most of that was a pose to conceal his real feelings.” She looked at Belgarath. “Well, father, has Uncle Beldin come up with anything yet?”
“He was working on something this morning. I can’t talk to him right now because he’s chasing a rabbit. We’ll get back in touch after he finishes his lunch.”
“Can’t he concentrate on business?”
“Oh, come now, Pol. I’ve known you to go out of your way for a fat rabbit on occasion.”
“You don’t!” Ce’Nedra gasped to Polgara, her eyes wide with sudden horror.
“I really don’t think you’d understand, dear,” Polgara told her. “Why don’t you bring me your gray dress? I noticed a rip in the hem and I’ve already got my sewing box out.”
They waited out the remainder of the afternoon; after supper, they sat around talking quietly.
Silk squinted toward the door of the tent, beyond which the guards were posted. “Any luck with Beldin yet?” he whispered to Belgarath.
“He’s working on something—something fairly exotic, I’d imagine, knowing Beldin. He’s still hammering out the details. He’ll tell me the whole thing once he gets it put together. “
“Wouldn’t it be better if the two of you worked on it together?”
“He knows what he has to do. I’d just get in his way if I tried to stick my oar in, too.” The old man stretched and yawned. Then he stood up. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” he said, “but I think I’ll go to bed.”
The next morning, Garion rose quietly, dressed, and slipped out of the curtained-off chamber, leaving Ce’Nedra still asleep.