Belgarath started to swear. “What’s wrong with Pol?” he demanded harshly.
“The Grolims brought in an awful storm, and then there was fog. Lady Polgara and Beldin made the wind blow, and then she just collapsed. Beldin said that she exhausted herself and that we have to let her sleep.”
“Where’s Beldin?”
“He said that he had to keep an eye on the Grolims. Can you help us?”
“Ce’Nedra, I’m a thousand leagues away from you. Garion, Silk, and I are in Mallorea – practically on Torak’s doorstep. If I so much as raise my hand, it will wake him, and Garion’s not ready to meet him yet.”
“We’re doomed, then,” Ce’Nedra wailed.
“Stop that,” he snapped. “This isn’t the time for hysterics. You’re going to have to wake Polgara.”
“We’ve tried – and Beldin says that we’ve got to let her rest.”
“She can rest later,” Belgarath retorted. “Is that bag she always carries somewhere about – the one she keeps all those herbs in?”
“I – I think so. Durnik was carrying it a little while ago.”
“Durnik’s with you? Good. Now listen, and listen carefully. Get the bag and open it. What you want will be in a silk pouch. Don’t open any jars or bottles. She keeps her poisons in those. In one of the silk bags you’ll find a yellow-colored powder. It has a very acrid odor to it. Put a spoonful or so of that powder into a pot of boiling water. Put the pot beside Pol’s head and cover her face with a cloak so she has to breathe the fumes.”
“What will that do?”
“It will wake her up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t argue with me, Ce’Nedra. She’ll wake up, believe me. Those fumes would wake up a dead stick. As soon as she’s awake, she’ll know what to do.”
Ce’Nedra hesitated. “Is Garion there?” she blurted finally.
“He’s asleep. We had a rough time last night.”
“When he wakes up, tell him that I love him.” She said it very fast, as if afraid that if she thought about it at all, she wouldn’t be able to say it.
“Why confuse him?” the old man asked her.
“Belgarath!” Ce’Nedra’s voice was stricken.
“I was teasing. I’ll tell him. Now get to work – and don’t do this any more. I’m trying to sneak up on Torak, and it’s a little hard to sneak when you’re shouting at somebody a thousand leagues away.”
“We aren’t shouting.”
“Oh yes we are – it’s a special kind of shouting, but it’s shouting all the same. Now take your hand off that amulet and get to work.” And then his voice was gone.
Durnik, of course, would never understand, so Ce’Nedra did what was necessary by herself. She rummaged around until she found a small pot. She filled it with water and set it on the small fire the smith had built the night before. Then she opened Polgara’s herb bag. The blond child, Errand, stood at her side, watching her curiously.
“What are you doing, Princess?” Durnik asked, still hovering anxiously over the sleeping Polgara.
“I’m fixing something to make her rest easier,” Ce’Nedra lied.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Some of those are very dangerous.”
“I know which one I’m looking for,” she replied. “Trust me, Durnik.”
The powder she finally located was so acrid that it made her eyes water. She carefully measured out a bit of it and dumped it into the pot. The steaming fumes were awful, and the princess kept her face averted as she carried the pot to where Polgara lay. She set the pot beside the lady’s pale, sleeping face and then laid a cloak across her. “Give me a stick,” the princess said to the smith.
Durnik, his face dubious, handed her a broken-off arrow.
Ce’Nedra carefully propped up the cloak, making a small tent over the pot and Polgara’s face.
“What now?” Durnik asked.
“Now we wait,” Ce’Nedra told him.
Then, coming from the direction of the battle, a group of Sendarian soldiers, evidently wounded, appeared at the top of the grassy bank surrounding the secluded little beach. Their jerkins all had bloodstains on them, and several of the men wore bandages. Unlike most of the wounded who had already passed that morning, however, these men still carried their weapons.
Under the tented cloak, Polgara began to cough.
“What have you done?” Durnik cried, snatching the cloak away.
“It was necessary,” Ce’Nedra replied. “I talked with Belgarath. He told me that I had to wake her up – and how to do it.”
“You’ll hurt her,” Durnik accused. With sudden, uncharacteristic anger, he kicked the fuming pot, sending it rolling down the beach toward the water’s edge.
Polgara’s eyelids were fluttering as she continued to cough. When she opened her eyes, however, her look was blank, uncomprehending.
“Can you spare us some water?” one of the wounded Sendars asked as the group of men approached.
“There’s a whole river right there,” Ce’Nedra replied absently, pointing even as she intently stared into Polgara’s eyes.
Durnik, however, gave the men a startled look, then suddenly reached for his sword.
But the men in Sendarian jerkins had jumped down from the bank and were already upon them. It took three of them to disarm the powerful smith and to hold his arms.
“You’re not Sendars,” Durnik exclaimed, struggling with his captors.
“How clever of you to notice,” one of them replied in an accent so guttural that it was almost unintelligible. Another of them drew his sword and stood over the dazed Polgara. “Stop fighting, friend,” he told Durnik with an ugly smirk, “or I’ll kill this woman.”
“Who are you?” Ce’Nedra demanded indignantly. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Actually, we’re members of the Imperial Elite Guard,” the man with the sword answered urbanely. “And we’re here, your Highness, to extend to you the invitation of his Imperial Majesty ‘Zakath, Emperor of Mallorea. His Majesty requests the honor of your presence in his pavilion.” His face hardened, and he looked at his men. “Bring them,” he ordered. “Let’s get out of here before someone comes along and starts asking questions.”
“They’re digging in,” Hettar reported to King Rhodar, gesturing toward the west and their now-blocked escape route. “They’ve already got a trench-line running from the river for about a half a mile.”
“Is there any chance of going around them?” Rhodar asked.
Hettar shook his head. “That whole flank’s seething with Nadraks.”
“We’ll have to go through them, then,” the King of Drasnia decided. “I can’t very well attack trenches with cavalry,” Hettar pointed out.
“We’ll storm them with the infantry units,” Rhodar declared. “We’ll have a certain advantage. The Asturian bows have a longer range than the short ones the Malloreans use. We’ll move the archers to the front as we advance. They can rake the trenches and then harass the Mallorean archers behind the lines. The pikemen will go in first.” The sweating fat man looked at General Varana. “Can your legionnaires clear the trenches once we open a hole for you?”
Varana nodded. “We train extensively for trench fighting,” he replied confidently. “We’ll clear the trenches.”
“We’ll bring the wounded with the main force,” Rhodar said. “Somebody locate Polgara and the princess. It’s time to leave.”
“What task hast thou for Lord Hettar and me,” Mandorallen inquired. The great knight’s armor showed a number of dents, but he spoke as calmly as if he had not spent the entire morning involved in heavy fighting.
“I want you and your knights to hold the rear,” Rhodar told him. “Keep that army out there off my back.” He turned to Hettar. “And I want you and your clansmen to go to work on the Nadraks. I don’t want them to come swarming in while we’re working in the trenches.”
“It’s a desperate move, King Rhodar,” General Varana said seriously. “Attacking even hasty fortifications is always costly, and you’re going to do it with another army coming at you from the rear. If your attack is beaten back, you’ll be caught between two superior forces. They’ll grind you to dogmeat right on the spot.”
“I know,” Rhodar admitted glumly, “but our only hope of escape is breaking through those lines that have us blocked off. We’ve got to get back upriver. Tell your men that we have to take those trenches on the first charge. Otherwise, we’re all going to die right here. All right, gentlemen, good luck.”
Once again Mandorallen led his steel-clad knights in their fearsome charge, and once again the attacking Malloreans recoiled, driven back by the dreadful shock as the mounted men of Mimbre struck their front ranks. This time, however, the pikemen and legionnaires, as soon as they were disengaged from the enemy, turned sharply to the left and, at a jingling trot, abandoned their positions to follow the Sendars and Asturians who were already withdrawing from the field toward the west.