“He is likely to be waiting for news, isn’t he?” Anheg grinned.
“I hope he’s patient, then,” Barak replied, “because he’ll be waiting for a long time.”
Ariana, her face somber, took Lelldorin to task very firmly for his lack of discretion, even as she tended his wound. Her words far surpassed a simple scolding. She grew eloquent, and her lengthy, involuted sentences gave her remonstrance a depth and scope that reduced her young man very nearly to tears. His wound, admittedly minor, became a symbol of his careless lack of regard for her. Her expression grew martyred, and his grew anguished. Ce’Nedra observed how neatly Ariana twisted each of the young man’s lame excuses into an even greater personal injury, and filed this excellent technique away in a compartment of her complex little mind for future use. True, Garion was somewhat brighter than Lelldorin, but the tactic would probably work on him too, if she practiced a little.
Taiba’s meeting with Relg, on the other hand, involved no words. The beautiful Marag woman who had emerged from the slave pens beneath Rak Cthol only to enter a slavery even more profound, flew to the Ulgo fanatic’s side upon his return. With a low cry, she unthinkingly embraced him. Relg flinched away from her, but the almost automatic, “Don’t touch me,” seemed to die on his lips, and his eyes went very wide as she clung to him. Then Taiba remembered his aversion and helplessly let her arms drop, but her violet eyes glowed as they drank in his pale, large-eyed face. Then slowly, almost as if he were putting his arm into a fire, Relg reached out and took her hand. A brief look of incredulity crossed her face, followed almost immediately by a slow blush. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, then walked off together, hand in hand. Taiba’s eyes were demurely downcast, but there hovered about her rich, sensual mouth a tiny little smile of triumph.
The victory over the Murgo column raised the spirits of the army tremendously. The heat and dust no longer seemed to sap their energy as it had during the first few days of the march, and a growing sense of camaraderie grew between the diversified units as they pushed steadily eastward.
It took them four more days of steady marching to reach the headwaters of the River Mardu and another day to push on down along the tumbling flow to a spot where the ships could safely be launched. Hettar and his Algar patrols ranged far ahead and reported that there remained only one more stretch of rapids about ten leagues ahead before the river settled into tranquility on the Thullish plain.
“We can portage around the rapids,” King Anheg declared. “Let’s get these ships into the water. We’ve lost enough time already.”
There was a rather high earthbank at that point, but the army attacked it vigorously with shovels and mattocks, and it was soon reduced to a sloping ramp. One by one the ships were rolled down the ramp into the water.
“We’ll need a while to raise the masts,” Anheg said.
“Leave that until later,” Rhodar told him.
Anheg looked at him sharply.
“You’re not going to be able to use your sails anyway, Anheg, and the masts stick up too high. The stupidest Thull in the world will know what’s going on if he sees a forest of ship masts coming down the river toward him.”
It was evening by the time the ships had all been launched and Polgara led the princess, Ariana and Taiba on board Barak’s ship. A breeze coming upriver gently rippled the surface of the water and set the ship to rocking slowly. Beyond the watchfires, the Thullish grassland stretched as if forever beneath a purpling sky where, one by one, the stars were emerging.
“How far is it to Thull Mardu?” Ce’Nedra asked Barak.
The big man pulled at his beard, squinting downriver. “One day to the rapids,” he replied, “then one day to make the portage around them. Then about two days after that.”
“Four days,” she said in a small voice. He nodded.
“I wish it was over,” she sighed.
“All in good time, Ce’Nedra,” he told her. “All in good time.”
Chapter Fifteen
THE SHIPS WERE horribly crowded, even though scarcely half the army could squeeze aboard them. The Algar clansmen and the Mimbrate knights patrolled the banks as the Chereks rowed downriver toward the rapids, and those infantry elements that could not be carried by the ships rode in close files on the spare horses of the cavalry.
The Thullish grasslands on either side of the river were gently rolling, long hillsides covered with deep, sun-browned grass. Just back from the river there were sparse clusters of the twisted, sprucelike trees that had dotted the lower foothills, and near the water itself rose thickets of willow and creeping brambles. The sky remained clear, and it was still hot, though the river added enough moisture to the air to alleviate the parched aridity that had plagued men and horses alike in the vast, stony uplands. It was an alien landscape for all of them, and the cavalry patrolling the banks rode warily with their hands close to their weapons.
And then they rounded a wide bend and saw the white, tumbling water of the rapids ahead. Barak swung the tiller of his big ship over and beached her. “Looks like it’s time to get out and walk,” he grunted.
A dispute had arisen near the bow of the ship. The brown-bearded King Fulrach was loudly protesting the decision to leave his supply wagons behind at the rapids. “I didn’t bring them all this way just to leave them sitting here,” he declared with uncharacteristic heat.
“They take too long to get anyplace,” Anheg told him. “We’re in a hurry, Fulrach. I’ve got to get my ships past Thull Mardu before the Murgos or the Malloreans wake up to what we’re doing.”
“You didn’t object to having them along when you got hungry or thirsty in the uplands,” Fulrach told him angrily.
“That was then. This is now. I’ve got to take care of my ships.”
“And I’m going to take care of my wagons.”
“They’ll be all right, Fulrach,” Rhodar said placatingly. “We do have to hurry, and your wagons can’t move fast enough to keep up.”
“If somebody comes along and burns them, you’re going to get very hungry before we get back to the forts, Rhodar.”
“We’ll leave men to guard them, Fulrach. Be reasonable. You worry too much.”
“Somebody’s got to. You Alorns seem to forget that the fighting’s only half of it.”
“Stop acting like an old woman, Fulrach,” Anheg said bluntly. Fulrach’s face grew very cold. “I don’t know that I care for that last remark, Anheg,” he said stiffly. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away.
“What’s got into him?” the King of Cherek asked innocently.
“Anheg, if you don’t learn how to keep your mouth shut, we might have to muzzle you,” Rhodar told him.
“I thought we came here to fight Angaraks,” Brand said mildly. “Have the rules been changed?”
The irritable bickering among her friends worried Ce’Nedra, and she went to Polgara with her concern.
“It’s nothing all that important, dear,” the lady replied as she scrubbed Errand’s neck. “The upcoming battle’s got them a bit edgy, that’s all.”
“But they’re men,” Ce’Nedra protested, “trained warriors.”
“What does that have to do with it?” Polgara asked, reaching for a towel.
The princess couldn’t think of an answer.
The portage at the rapids went smoothly, and the ships reentered the river below the tumbling stretch of seething white-water by late afternoon. Ce’Nedra by now was virtually ill as a result of the almost unbearable tension. All the months she had spent in raising the army and marching eastward were about to come to a final culmination. Within two days, they would hurl themselves at the walls of Thull Mardu. Was it the right time? Was it, in fact, really necessary? Couldn’t they just portage around the city and avoid the battle entirely? Although the Alorn kings had assured her that the city had to be neutralized, Ce’Nedra’s doubts grew with each mile. What if this was a mistake?
The princess worried and fretted and worried some more as she stood at the prow of Barak’s ship, staring at the broad river winding through the Thullish grasslands.
Finally, just at evening of the second day after the portage, Hettar galloped back and reined in his horse on the north bank of the river. He motioned with his arm, and Barak swung his tiller over, angling the big ship in closer to the bank.
“The city’s about two leagues ahead,” the tall Algar called across the intervening space. “If you get too much closer, they’ll see you from the walls.”
“This is close enough, then,” Rhodar decided. “Pass the word to anchor the ships. We’ll wait here until dark.”