“She’s probably going to be very disappointed,” Velvet said.
“I think disappointment might be too mild a term,” Silk suggested. “I think chagrin might come closer. Couple that with exasperation and a healthy dose of fear, and we’ll be looking at somebody who’s not going to be thinking too clearly. We’re feirly sure there’s going to be a fight when we get there, and you’ve always got an advantage in a fight when the opposing general is distracted.”
“It’s sound tactical reasoning, Garion,” Zakath conceded.
“I’ll go along with it,” Belgarath said. “If nothing else, it should give me the opportunity to pay Zandramas back for all the times she’s upset me. I think I still owe her just a bit for
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slicing pieces out of the Ashabine Oracles. I’ll talk with Captain Kresca early tomorrow morning and find out if there’s a beach on the east side of the peak. With a neap tide, our chances should be pretty good. Then we’ll work our way up along the side of the peak, staying out of sight. We’ll take cover near the cave mouth and wait for Zandramas to put in an appearance. Then we’ll step out and surprise her.”
“I can add an even bigger advantage,” Beldin said. “I’ll scout on ahead and let you know when she lands. That way, you’ll be ready for her.”
“Not as a hawk, though, uncle,” Polgara suggested.
“Why not?”
“Zandramas isn’t stupid. A hawk wouldn’t have any business on that reef. There wouldn’t be anything there for him to eat.”
“Maybe she’ll think the storm blew me out to sea.”
“Do you want to risk your tail feathers on a maybe? A seagull, uncle.”
“A seagull?” he objected. “But they’re so stupid—and so dirty.”
“You? Worried about dirt?” Silk asked him, looking up. Silk had been busily counting on his fingers.
“Don’t push it, Kheldar,” Beldin growled ominously.
“What day of the month was Prince Geran born on?” Silk asked Ce’Nedra.
“The seventh, why?”
“We appear to have another one of those things that’s setting out to make tomorrow very special. If IVe counted right, tomorrow will be your son’s second birthday.”
“It can’t be!” she exclaimed. “My baby was born in the wintertime.”
“Ce’Nedra,” Garion said gentiy, “Riva’s up near the top of the world. This reef is near the bottom. It is winter in Riva right now. Count up the months since Geran was born—the time he spent with us before Zandramas stole him, the time we spent marching on Rheon, the trip to Prolgu then to Tol Honeth and on to Nyissa and all those other places where we had to stop. I think if you count rather closely, you’ll find that it has been very close to two years.”
She frowned, ticking the months off. Finally, her eyes went very wide. “I think he’s right!” she exclaimed. “Geran will be two years old tomorrow!”
Dumik laid his hand on the litde queen’s arm. “I’ll see if I can make something for you to give as a present, Ce’Nedra,”
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he said gently. “A boy ought to have a birthday present after he’s been separated from his family for so long.”
Ce’Nedra’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Durnik!” She wept, embracing him. “You think of everything.”
Garion looked at Aunt Pol, his fingers moving slightly.—Why don’t you ladies take her in and put her to bed?—\vt suggested.—We’re all through here, and if she thinks too much about this, she’s going to get herself worked up. Tomorrow’s going to be hard enough for her anyway, —
—You might be right. —
After the ladies had left, Garion and the other men sat around the bolted-down table reminiscing. They covered in some detail the various adventures they had shared since that wind-tossed night so long ago when Garion, Belgarath, Aunt Pol, and Dumik had crept out through the gate of Faldor’s farm into the world where the possible and the impossible inexorably merged. Again Garion felt that sense of cleansing, coupled with something else. It was as if, by recapitulating all that had happened in their long journey to the reef lying out there in the darkness, they were somehow bringing everything into focus to strengthen their resolve and their sense of purpose. It seemed to help for some reason.
“I think that’s about enough of that,” Belgarath said finally, rising to his feet. “Now we all know what’s behind us. It’s time to pack all that away and start looking ahead. Let’s get some sleep. *’
Ce’Nedra stirred restlessly when Garion slipped into bed. “I thought you were going to stay up all night,” she said sleepily.
“We were talking.”
“I know. I could hear the murmur of voices even in here. And men think women talk all the time.”
“Don’t you?”
“Probably, but a woman can talk while her hands are busy. A man can’t.”
“You might be right.”
There was a moment of silence. “Garion,” she said.
“Yes, Ce’Nedra?”
“Can I borrow your knife—the little dagger Durnik gave you when you were a boy?”
“If you want something cut, point it out. I’11 cut it for you.”
“It’s nothing like that, Garion. I just want to have a knife tomorrow.”
“What for?”
“As soon as I see Zandramas, I’m going to kill her.”
“Ce’Nedra!”
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“I have every right to kill her, Garion. You told Cyradis you didn’t think you could do it because Zandramas is a woman. I don’t suffer from the same kind of delicacy as you do. I’m going to carve out her heart—if she has one—slowly.” She said it with a fierceness he had never heard in her voice before. ‘ ‘I want blood, Garion! Lots of blood, and I want to hear her scream as I twist the knife in her. You’ll lend me your dagger, won’t you?’* “Absolutely not!”
“That’s all right, Garion,” she said in an icy tone. “I^n sure Liselle will lend me one of hers. LiseUe’s a woman and she knows how I feel,” Then she turned her back on him. “Ce’Nedra,” he said placatingly. “Yes?” Her tone was sulky. “Be reasonable, dear.”
“I don’t want to be reasonable. I want to kill Zandramas.” ‘ ‘I ‘m not going to let you put yourself in that kind of danger. We have much more important things to do tomorrow.” She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just—” “Just what?”
She turned back and put her arms around his neck. “Never mind, Garion,” she said. “Let’s go to sleep now.” She nestled down against him, and after a few moments her regular breathing told him that she had drifted off.
“You should have given her the knife, “the voice in his mind told him. “Silk could have stolen it back from her sometime tomorrow. ” “But—”
“We’ve sot something else to talk about, Garion. Have you been thinking about your successor ?”
“Well—sort of. It doesn’t really fit any of them, you know. ” “Have you given serious consideration to each of them?” ‘ 7 suppose I have, but I haven’t been able to make any decisions yet. ”
‘ ‘You ‘re not supposed to make your choice yet. All you had to do was think about each one of them and get them all firmly fixed in your mind. ”
” When do / make the choice then ?” ‘ ‘At the last possible moment, Garion. Zandramas might be able to hear your thoughts, but she can’t hear what you haven’t decided yet. ”
“What if I make a mistake?”
“I really don’t think you can, Garion. I really don’t. ”
Garion’s sleep was troubled that night. His dreams seemed
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chaotic, disconnected, and he woke often only to sink back into a restless doze. There was at first a kind of distorted recapitulation of the strange dreams that had so disturbed him that night long ago on the Isle of the Winds just before his life had been unalterably changed. The question “Are you ready?” seemed to echo again and again in the vaults of his mind. Again he faced Rundorig with Aunt Pol’s matter-of-fact instruction to kill his boyhood friend roaring in his mind. And then the boar he had encountered in the snowy wood outside Val Alorn was there, pawing at the snow, its eyes aglow with rage and hate. ‘ ‘Are you ready?” Barak asked him before releasing the beast. Then he stood on the colorless plain surrounded by the pieces of the incomprehensible game trying to decide which piece to move while the voice in his mind urged him to hurry.
The dream subtly changed and took on a different tone. Our dreams, no matter how bizarre, have a familiarity to them, since they are formed and shaped by our own minds. Now it seemed as if Garion’s dreams were being formed by a different and unfriendly awareness almost in the same way that Torak had intruded himself in dreams and in thoughts before the meeting at Cthol Mishrak.