The council chamber in which the Alorn Kings usually gathered was a large room high up in one of the massive towers of the Citadel. There were heavy beams on the ceiling, a deep maroon carpet on the floor, and a fireplace at the far end big enough to stand in. Maroon drapes flanked the windows where tatters of rain slashed across the solid stones of the tower. The walls of the chamber were covered with maps, and the large table was littered with parchments and ale cups. King Anheg, in his blue robe and dented crown, sprawled in the nearest chair, as shaggy and brutish-looking as always. King Rhodar was vast in his crimson mantle, but the other kings and generals wore rather plain clothing.
Ce’Nedra entered the chamber without knocking and stared regally at the somewhat confused men who struggled to their feet in acknowledgment of her presence.
“Your Highness,” King Rhodar began with a portly bow. “You honor us. Was there-”
“Your Majesty,” she responded with a little curtsy, “and gentlemen, I find that I need your advice in a matter of state.”
“We are all at your immediate disposal, your Highness,” King Rhodar replied with sly little twinkle in his eyes.
“In the absence of king Belgarion, it appears that I must act in his stead,” Ce’Nedra annaunced, “and I need your advice on how to proceed. I wish the transfer of power into my hands to go as smoothly as possible.”
They all stared at her disbelievingly.
King Rhodar recovered his wits first. “An interesting proposal, your Highness,” he murmured politely. “We have, however, made other arrangements. There’s a long-standing precedent in the matter. We thank your Highness for her gracious offer nonetheless.”
“It was not precisely an offer, your Majesty,” Ce’Nedra told him, “and any previous precedents have been superceded.”
King Anheg was spluttering, but Rhodar was already moving along smoothly. Ce’Nedra realized that the rotund Drasnian king was likely to be her most serious adversary – or her most effective ally. “We’d all be fascinated to examine the instrument vesting your Highness with royal authority,” he said. “I presume that the parchment you carry is relevant?”
“It is indeed, your Majesty,” Ce’Nedra declared. “The document quite clearly lists my responsibilities.”
“May I?” Rhodar asked, extending his hand.
Ce’Nedra handed him the parchment and he carefully unrolled it. “Uh – your Highness. This is your bethrothal agreement. Perhaps you meant to bring a different document.”
“The pertinent material is contained in the fourth paragraph, your Majesty.”
Rhodar quickly read the paragraph, frowning slightly.
“What does it say, Rhodar?” King Anheg asked impatiently.
“Interesting,” Rhodar murmured, scratching his ear.
“Rhodar,” Anheg complained, “what does it say?”
King Rhodar cleared his throat and began to read aloud. ” ‘It is agreed that King Belgarion and his Queen shall rule jointly, and that in his absence shall she assume fully the duties and authority of the Rivan Throne.'”
“Let me see that,” Anheg demanded, snatching the parchment from Rhodar.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Brand declared. “She isn’t his queen yet. She won’t be until after the wedding.”
“That’s only a formality, my Lord Warder,” Ce’Nedra told him.
“A rather important one, I’d say,” he retorted.
“The precedent is well-established,” she said coolly. “When a king dies, the next in line assumes the duties of the crown, doesn’t he, even though there hasn’t been a formal coronation?”
“That’s different,” Brand growled.
“I fail to see the difference, my Lord. I have been designated Belgarion’s co-ruler. In his absence or an emergency, I am obliged to take command. It is my right and my responsibility. The formalities may have to wait, but I am the Rivan Queen. This is King Belgarion’s will and intent. Will you defy your king?”
“There’s something to what she says, my Lord Warder,” the Earl of Seline mused. “The document is quite clear.”
“But look at this,” Anheg said triumphantly. “In paragraph two it says that should the wedding not take place, all gifts are to be returned. The wedding has not taken place.”
“I’m not sure that power is a gift, Anheg,” King Fulrach suggested. “You can’t give it and then take it back.”
“There’s no way she could rule,” Anheg declared stubbornly. “She doesn’t know the first thing about Alorns.”
“Neither did Garion,” King Cho-Hag murmured in his quiet voice. “She can learn the same way he did.”
Ce’Nedra had been rather carefully assessing their mood. Most of them seemed willing at least to consider her idea. Only the two conservatives, Brand and Anheg, were actually resisting. It seemed the time now for a dignified withdrawal coupled with a disarming offer. “I will leave you gentlemen to discuss the matter,” she declared somewhat loftily. “I would like you to know, however, that I realize the gravity of the situation confronting the West.” She deliberately put on a winsome, little-girl face. “I’m only a young girl,” she confessed, “unused to the intricacies of strategy and tactics. I could never make any decisions in that area without the fullest advice from you gentlemen.”
She curtsied then to King Rhodar, choosing him deliberately. “Your Majesty,” she said, “I shall await your decision.”
He bowed in response, a bit floridly. “Your Majesty,” he replied with a sly wink.
Ce’Nedra retired and literally flew down the corridors to her own quarters. Breathlessly she closed the door behind her and touched the talisman at her throat with trembling fingertips. She sorted quickly through random conversation until she found the one she wanted.
“-refuse to be a party to an absurdity,” Anheg was saying.
“Anheg, my friend,” King Fulrach of Sendaria said with surprising firmness, “you are my dear brother king, bu you do have a few blind spots. Wouldn’t it be more statesmanlike to consider the advantages and disadvantages of the situation dispassionately.”
“The Alorns will never follow her,” Anheg declared. “That’s a major disadvantage right there.”
“The Alorns will follow us, though,” King Cho-Hag said quietly. “She’s only going to be a figurehead, after all – a symbol of unity.”
“I suspect that Cho-Hag’s hit the exact point we should examine most closely,” King Rhodar urged. “My apologies, Baron Mandorallen, but the Arends are totally disunited. Asturia and Mimbre are hovering on the verge of reopening hostilities, and a call from King Korodullin could very possibly be ignored in northern Arendia – in which case the Mimbrate knights would almost be compelled to stay home to defend against possible Asturian uprisings. We have to have someone who can make them forget their squabbles and join with us. We need the Asturian bowmen and the Mimbrate knights.”
“I must sadly concur, your Majesty,” Mandorallen agreed. “My poor Arendia must needs be united in one cause from the outside. We are not wise enough to unify ourselves.”
“Ce’Nedra can serve us there as well as Garion could have done,” Barak reasoned. “I don’t think anybody expected him to be a general. All we were going to do was put a crown on him and let him ride at the head of the army – and Arends get all gushy and romantic about pretty girls. That betrothal document makes her claim at least semi-legitimate. All we’d have to do is act as if we accepted her and talk very fast. Add the prospect of a nice little war someplace, and the Arends will unite behind us, I think.”
“The main point to consider, though,” King Rhodar emphasized, “is the impact she’s going to have in Tolnedra. Ran Borune dotes on her, and he might agree to lend her his legions – at least some of them – which he’d never do, if we were the ones asking it of him. He’ll see the political advantage of having her in command almost immediately. We need those legions. I personally don’t like Tolnedrans, but the legions are the finest fighting force in the world. I’ll bend my knee to Ce’Nedra if I have to in order to get them. Let her play queen if she wants to.”
Ce’Nedra smiled. Things were going even better than she had expected. All in all, she was quite pleased with herself as she sat down at her dressing table and began to brush her hair, humming softly all the while.
Chapter Twenty-three
DELBAN THE ARMORER WAS a gruff, bald man with broad shoulders, huge callused hands and a grizzled beard. He was a craftsman, an artist, and he had absolutely no respect for anyone. Ce’Nedra found him to be impossible.
“I don’t make armor for women,” was his initial response to her inquiry when she, accompanied by Durnik the smith, entered his workshop. He had then turned his back on her and begun pounding noisily on a sheet of glowing steel. It took the better part of an hour to convince him even to consider the idea. The heat shimmered out from his glowing forge, and the red brick walls seemed to reflect the heat and intensify it. Ce’Nedra found herself perspiring heavily. She had made some sketches of what she thought might be a suitable design for her armor. All in all, she thought it would look rather nice, but Delban laughed raucously when he saw them.