“Something in excess of a million, your Majesty.”
“That’s a solid number. Let’s stage up the troops and get ready to move.” He rose and went to the window. The leaves had begun to turn, filling die garden below with bright reds and yellows. “I want to quiet things down on the east coast,” he said, “and it’s turning into autumn now, so I think we want to move the troops before the weather starts to deteriorate. We’ll go on down to Maga Renn and send out scouting parties from there. If the circumstances are right, we’ll march. If not, we can wait at Maga Renn for more troops to come back from Cthol Murgos.”
“I’ll get started on that immediately, your Majesty.” Brador bowed and quietly left the room.
“Sit down, Atesca,” the Emperor said. “What’s happening in Cthol Murgos?”
“We’re going to try to hold the cities we’ve already taken, your Majesty,” Atesca reported, drawing up a chair. “We’ve gathered the bulk of our forces near Rak Cthan. They’re waiting there for transport to bring them back to Mallorea.”
“Any chance that Urgit might try a counterattack?”
“I wouldn’t think so, your Majesty. I don’t believe he’ll gamble his army in open country. Of course, you never know what a Murgo might do.”
“That’s true,” Zakath agreed. He kept his knowledge that Urgit was not actually a Murgo to himself. He leaned back. “You captured Belgarion for me once, Atesca,” he said.
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to do it again. He managed to get away. Careless of me, I suppose, but I had a lot on my mind at the time.”
“We’ll just have to pick him up again then, won’t we, your Majesty?”
The Alorn Council met at Boktor that year. Somewhat uncharacteristically, Queen Porenn took charge. The tiny blond queen of Drasnia, dressed in her usual black, walked quietly to the head of the table in the red-draped council chamber in the palace and took the chair normally reserved for the Rivan King. The others stared at her in astonishment.
“Gentlemen,” she began crisply, “I recognize the fact that this flies in the face of tradition, but our time is limited. Certain information has come to me that I think you should be made aware of. We have decisions to make and very little time in which to make them.”
Emperor Varana leaned back in his chair with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “We will now pause while the Alorn kings go into collective apoplexy,” he said.
King Anheg scowled at the curly-haired emperor for a moment, then laughed. “No, Varana,” he said wryly. “We all got that out of our systems when Rhodar persuaded us to follow Ce’Nedra into Mishrak ac Thull. It’s Porenn’s house; let her run things.”
“Why, thank you, Anheg.” The Queen of Drasnia actually sounded a little surprised. She paused, gathering her thoughts. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, our gathering this year includes kings who would not normally attend. The matter before us, however, concerns us all. I’ve recently received communications from Belgarath, Belgarion, and the others.”
There was an excited stir in the room. Porenn held up one hand. “They’re in Mallorea, close on the trail of the abductor of Belgarion’s son.”
“That young man can move faster than the wind sometimes,” King Fulrach of Sendaria observed. The years had given Fulrach a tendency toward portliness, and his brown beard was now streaked with silver.
“How did they get to Mallorea?” King Cho-Hag asked in his quiet voice.
“It seems that they were captured by Kal Zakath,” Porenn replied. “Garion and Zakath became friends, and Zakath took them with him when he returned to Mal Zeth.”
“Zakath actually became friends with somebody?” King
Drosta of Gar og Nadrak demanded incredulously in his shrill voice. “Impossible!”
“Garion has a way about him, sometimes,” Hettar murmured.
“The friendship, however, may have run its course,” Porenn continued. “Late one night, Garion and his friends slipped out of Mal Zeth without saying good-bye to the Emperor.”
“With the whole imperial army on their trail, I’d imagine,” Varana added.
“No,” Porenn disagreed. “Zakath can’t leave Mal Zeth just now. Tell them, Yarblek.”
Silk’s rangy partner rose to his feet. “They’ve got plague in Mal Zeth,” he said. “Zakath has sealed up the city. No one can go in or out.”
“Prithee,” Mandorallen asked, “how then was it possible for our friends to make good their escape?”
“I’d picked up an itinerant comedian,” Yarblek said sourly. “I didn’t think much of him, but he amused Vella. She’s fond of bawdy stories.”
“Be careful, Yarblek,” the Nadrak dancer warned. “You still have your health, but I can fix that for you.” She put one hand suggestively on a dagger hilt. Vella wore a stunning lavender gown. There were a few concessions to Nadrak customs in her dress, however. She still wore polished leather boots—with daggers in their tops—and the customary wide leather belt about her waist was still adorned with similar knives. The men in the room, however, had all been surreptitiously eyeing her since she had entered. No matter how she was dressed, Vella still had the power to attract every eye.
“Anyway,” Yarblek hurried on, “the fellow knew of a tunnel that runs from the palace to an abandoned quarry outside the city. It got us all out of Mal Zeth with no one the wiser.”
“Zakath won’t like that,” Drosta said. “He hates to let people go once he’s caught them.”
“There’s been an uprising of some sort in the Seven Kingdoms of Karanda in northern Mallorea,” Porenn went on. “I understand that there are demons involved.”
“Demons?” Varana said skeptically. “Oh, come now, Porenn.”
“That’s what Belgarath reports.”
“Belgarath has a warped sense of humor, sometimes,” Varana scoffed. “He was probably just joking. There’s no such thing as a demon.”
“You’re wrong, Varana,” King Drosta said with uncharacteristic soberness. “I saw one once—up in Morindland when I was a boy.”
“What did it look like?” Varana did not sound convinced.
Drosta shuddered. “You really don’t want to know.”
“At any rate,” Porenn said, “Zakath has ordered the bulk of his army back from Cthol Murgos to put down this uprising. It won’t be very long until he floods the entirety of Karanda with troops, and that’s the area where our friends are. That’s why I’ve called this meeting. What are we going to do about it?”
Lelldorin of Wildantor came to his feet. “We’ll need fast horses,” he said to Hettar.
“Why?” Hettar asked.
“To get to their aid, of course.” The young Asturian’s eyes were flashing with excitement.
“Uh—Lelldorin,” Barak said gently, “the Sea of the East is between here and Mallorea.”
“Oh,” Lelldorin said, looking slightly abashed. “I didn’t know that. We’ll need a boat, too, won’t we?”
Barak and Hettar exchanged a long look. “Ship,” Barak corrected absently.
“What?”
“Never mind, Lelldorin,” Barak sighed.
“We can’t,” King Anheg said flatly. “Even if we could get through, we’d destroy Garion’s chances of winning in the fight with the Child of Dark. That’s what the Seeress told us at Rheon, remember?”
“But this is different,” Lelldorin protested, tears standing in his eyes.
“No,” Anheg said. “It’s not. This is exactly what we were warned against. We can’t go near them until this is over.”
“But—”
“Lelldorin,” Anheg said. “I want to go as much as you do, but we can’t. Would Garion thank us if we were responsible for the loss of his son?”
Mandorallen rose to his feet and began to pace up and down, his armor clinking. “Methinks thy reasoning is aright, your Majesty,” he said to Anheg. “We may not join with our friends, lest our presence imperil their quest, and we would all give up our lives to prevent that. We may, however, journey straightaway to Mallorea and, without going near them, place ourselves between them and the hordes of Kal Zakath. We can thereby bring the unfriendly advance of the Malloreans to a precipitous halt and thus allow Garion to escape.”
Barak stared at the great knight, whose face shone with unthinking zeal. Then he groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“There, there,” Hettar murmured, patting the big man sympathetically on the shoulder.
King Fulrach rubbed at his beard. “Why does it seem that we’ve done this before?” he asked. “It’s the same as last time. We have to create a diversion to help our friends get through. Any ideas?”
“Invade Mallorea,” Drosta said eagerly.
“Sack Zakath’s coastline,” Anheg said just as eagerly.
Porenn sighed.
“We could invade Cthol Murgos,” Cho-Hag suggested thoughtfully.
“Yes!” Hettar agreed fiercely.
Cho-Hag held up his hand. “Only as a ruse, my son,” he said. “Zakath has committed forces to the conquest of Cthol Murgos. If the armies of the West moved into that region, he’d almost be obliged to try to counter us, wouldn’t he?”
Varana slid lower in his chair. “It’s got possibilities,” he admitted, “but it’s already autumn, and the mountains of Cthol Murgos are brutal in the winter. It’s a bad time to move troops around down there. An army can’t move very fast on frozen feet. I think we might be able to accomplish the same thing by diplomacy—without risking a single toe.”