Garion sat worriedly by the bed, gently holding his wife’s limp little hand while Polgara went back out to consult with the eunuch concerning the various drugs in his case. Then she returned, drawing the drape shut behind her. ‘He has most of what I need,’ she reported quietly. ‘I’ll be able to improvise the rest.’ She touched Garion’s shoulder and bent forward. ‘General Atesca just came in,’ she whispered to him. ‘He wants to see you. I wouldn’t be too specific about the cause of Ce’Nedra’s attack. We can’t be sure just how much Zakath knows about our reasons for being here, and Atesca’s certain to report everything that happens, so watch what you say.’
He started to protest.
‘You can’t do anything here, Garion, and they need you out there. I’ll watch her.’
‘Is she subject to these seizures often?’ Atesca was asking as Garion came through the draped doorway.
‘She’s very high-strung,’ Silk replied. ‘Sometimes circumstances get the best of her. Polgara knows what to do.’
Atesca turned to face Garion. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said in a chilly tone, ‘I don’t appreciate your attacking my soldiers.’
‘He got in my way, General,’ Garion replied. ‘I don’t think I hurt him all that much.’
‘There’s a principle involved, your Majesty.’
‘Yes,’ Garion agreed, ‘there is. Give the man my apologies, but advise him not to interfere with me again—particularly when it concerns my wife. I don’t really like hurting people, but I can make exceptions when I have to.’
Atesca’s look grew steely, and the gaze Garion returned was just as bleak. They stared at each other for a long moment. ‘With all due respect, your Majesty,’ Atesca said finally, ‘don’t abuse my hospitality again.’
‘Only if the situation requires it, General.’
‘I’ll instruct my men to prepare a litter for your wife,’ Atesca said then, ‘and let’s plan to get an early start tomorrow. If the Queen is ill, we want to get her to Rak Hagga as soon as possible.’
‘Thank you, General,’ Garion replied.
Atesca bowed coldly, then turned and left.
‘Wouldn’t you say that was a trifle blunt, Belgarion?’ Sadi murmured. ‘We
are
in Atesca’s power at the moment.’
Garion grunted. ‘I didn’t like his attitude.’ He looked at Belgarath, whose expression was faintly disapproving. ‘Well?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You didn’t have to. I could hear you thinking all the way over here.’
‘Then I don’t have to say it, do I?’
The next day dawned cold and raw, but the snow had stopped. Garion rode at the side of Ce’Nedra’s horse-borne litter with his face mirroring his concern. The road they followed ran north-westerly past more burned-out villages and shattered towns. The ruins were covered with a thick coating of the clinging wet snow that had fallen the previous day, and each of them was encircled by a ring of those grim, occupied crosses and stakes.
It was about midafternoon when they crested a hill and saw the lead-gray expanse of Lake Hagga stretching far to the north and east; on the near shore was a large, walled city.
‘Rak Hagga,’ Atesca said with a certain relief.
They rode on down the hill toward the city. A brisk wind was blowing in off the lake, whipping their cloaks about them and tossing the manes of their horses.
‘All right, gentlemen,’ Atesca said over his shoulder to his troops, ‘let’s form up and try to look like soldiers.’ The red-cloaked Malloreans pulled their horses into a double file and straightened in their saddles.
The walls of Rak Hagga had been breached in several places, and the tops of the battlements were chipped and pitted from the storms of steel-tipped arrows that had swept over them. The heavy gates had been burst asunder during the final assault on the city and hung in splinters from their rusty iron hinges.
The guards at the gate drew themselves up and saluted smartly as Atesca led the way into the city. The battered condition of the stone houses within the walls attested to the savagery of the fighting which had ensued when Rak Hagga had fallen. Many of them stood unroofed to the sky, their gaping, soot-blackened windows staring out at the rubble-choked streets. A work-gang of sullen Murgos, dragging clanking chains behind them, labored to clear the fallen building stones out of the slushy streets under the watchful eyes of a detachment of Mallorean soldiers.
‘You know,’ Silk said, ‘that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a Murgo actually work. I didn’t think they even knew how.’
The headquarters of the Mallorean army in Cthol Murgos was in a large, imposing yellow-brick house near the center of the city. It faced a broad, snowy square, and a marble staircase led up to the main door with a file of red-cloaked Mallorean soldiers lining each side.
‘The former residence of the Murgo Military Governor of Hagga,’ Sadi noted as they drew near the house.
‘You’ve been here before, then?’ Silk asked.
‘In my youth,’ Sadi replied. ‘Rak Hagga has always been the center of the slave trade.’
Atesca dismounted and turned to one of his officers. ‘Captain,’ he said, ‘have your men bring the Queen’s litter. Tell them to be very careful.’
As the rest of them swung down from their mounts, the captain’s men unfastened the litter from the saddles of the two horses that had carried it and started up the marble stairs in General Atesca’s wake.
Just inside the broad doors stood a polished table, and seated behind it was an arrogant-looking man with angular eyes and an expensive-looking scarlet uniform. Against the far wall stood a row of chairs occupied by bored-looking officials.
‘State your business,’ the officer behind the table said brusquely.
Atesca’s face did not change expression as he silently stared at the officer.
‘I said to state your business.’
‘Have the rules changed, Colonel?’ Atesca asked in a deceptively mild voice. ‘Do we no longer rise in the presence of a superior?’
‘I’m too busy to jump to my feet for every petty Melcene official from the outlying districts,’ the colonel declared.
‘Captain,’ Atesca said flatly to his officer, ‘if the colonel is not on his feet in the space of two heartbeats, would you be so good as to cut his head off for me?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the captain replied, drawing his sword even as the startled colonel jumped to his feet.
‘Much better,’ Atesca told him. ‘Now, let’s begin over again. Do you by chance remember how to salute?’
The colonel saluted smartly, though his face was pale.
‘Splendid. We’ll make a soldier of you yet. Now, one of the people I was escorting—a lady of high station—fell ill during our journey. I want a warm, comfortable room prepared for her immediately.’
‘Sir,’ the colonel protested, ‘I’m not authorized to do that.’
‘Don’t put your sword away just yet, Captain.’
‘But, General, the members of his Majesty’s household staff make all those decisions. They’ll be infuriated if I overstep my bounds.’
‘I’ll explain it to his Majesty, Colonel,’ Atesca told him. ‘The circumstances are a trifle unusual, but I’m sure he’ll approve.’
The colonel faltered, his eyes filled with indecision.
‘Do it, Colonel! Now!’
‘I’ll see to it at once, General,’ the colonel replied, snapping to attention. ‘You men,’ he said to the soldiers holding Ce’Nedra’s litter, ‘follow me.’
Garion automatically started to follow the litter, but Polgara took his arm firmly. ‘No, Garion. I’ll go with her. There’s nothing you can do right now, and I think Zakath’s going to want to talk to you. Just be careful of what you say.’ And she went off down the hallway behind the litter.
‘I see that Mallorean society still has its little frictions,’ Silk said blandly to General Atesca.
‘Angaraks,’ Atesca grunted. ‘Sometimes they have a little difficulty coping with the modern world. Excuse me, Prince Kheldar. I want to let his Majesty know that we’re here.’ He went to a polished door at the other end of the room and spoke briefly with one of the guards. Then he came back. ‘The Emperor is being advised of our arrival,’ he said to them. ‘I expect that he’ll see us in a few moments.’
A rather chubby, bald-headed man in a plain, though obviously costly, brown robe and with a heavy gold chain about his neck approached them. ‘Atesca, my dear fellow,’ he greeted the general, ‘they told me that you were stationed at Rak Verkat.’
‘I have some business with the Emperor, Brador. What are you doing in Cthol Murgos?’
‘Cooling my heels,’ the chubby man replied. ‘I’ve been waiting for two days to see Kal Zakath.’
‘Who’s minding the shop at home?’
‘I’ve arranged it so that it more or less runs itself,’ Brador replied. ‘The report I have for his Majesty is so vital that I decided to carry it myself.’
‘What could be so earth-shaking that it would drag the Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs away from the comforts of Mal Zeth?’
‘I believe that it’s time for his Imperial Exaltedness to tear himself away from his amusements here in Cthol Murgos and come back to the capital.’
‘Careful, Brador,’ Atesca said with a brief smile. ‘Your fine-tuned Melcene prejudices are showing.’
‘Things are getting grim at home, Atesca,’ Brador said seriously. ‘I’ve
got
to talk with the Emperor. Can you help me to get in to see him?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thank you, my friend,’ Brador said, clasping the general’s arm. ‘The whole fate of the empire may depend on my persuading Kal Zakath to come back to Mal Zeth.’
‘General Atesca,’ one of the spear-armed guards at the polished door said in a loud voice, ‘his Imperial Majesty will see you and your prisoners now.’
‘Very good,’ Atesca replied, ignoring the ominous word ‘prisoners.’ He looked at Garion. ‘The Emperor must be very eager to see you, your Majesty,’ he noted. ‘It often takes weeks to gain an audience with him. Shall we go inside?’
CHAPTER TWO
Kal Zakath, the Emperor of boundless Mallorea, lounged in a red-cushioned chair at the far end of a large plain room. The Emperor wore a simple white linen robe, severe and unadorned. Though Garion knew that he was at least in his late forties, his hair was untouched by gray and his face was unlined. His eyes, however, betrayed a kind of dead weariness, devoid of any joy or even any interest in life. Curled in his lap lay a common mackerel-striped alley cat, her eyes closed and her forepaws alternately kneading his thigh. Although the Emperor himself wore the simplest of clothes, the guards lining the walls all wore steel breastplates deeply inlaid with gold.
‘My Emperor,’ General Atesca said with a deep bow, ‘I have the honor to present his Royal Majesty, King Belgarion of Riva.’
Garion nodded briefly, and Zakath inclined his head in response. ‘Our meeting is long overdue, Belgarion,’ he said in a voice as dead as his eyes. ‘Your exploits have shaken the world.’
‘Yours have also made a certain impression, Zakath.’ Garion had decided even before he had left Rak Verkat that he would not perpetuate the absurdity of the Mallorean’s self-bestowed ‘Kal’.
A faint smile touched Zakath’s lips. ‘Ah,’ he said in a tone which indicated that he saw through Garion’s attempt to be subtle. He nodded briefly to the others, and his attention finally fixed itself upon the rumpled, untidy form of Garion’s grandfather. ‘And of course you, sir, would be Belgarath,’ he noted. ‘I’m a bit surprised to find you so ordinary looking. The Grolims of Mallorea all agree that you’re a hundred feet tall—possibly two hundred—and that you have horns and a forked tail.’
‘I’m in disguise,’ Belgarath replied with aplomb.
Zakath chuckled, though there was little amusement in that almost mechanical sound. Then he looked around with a faint frown. ‘I seem to note some absences,’ he said.
‘Queen Ce’Nedra fell ill during our journey, your Majesty,’ Atesca advised him. ‘Lady Polgara is attending her.’
‘Ill? Is it serious?’
‘It’s difficult to say at this point, your Imperial Majesty,’ Sadi replied unctuously, ‘but we have given her certain medications, and I have every confidence in Lady Polgara’s skill.’
Zakath looked at Garion. ‘You should have sent word on ahead, Belgarion. I have a healer on my personal staff—a Dalasian woman with remarkable gifts. I’ll send her to the Queen’s chambers at once. Our first concern must be your wife’s health.’
‘Thank you,’ Garion replied with genuine gratitude.
Zakath touched a bellpull and spoke briefly with the servant who responded immediately to his summons.
‘Please,’ the Emperor said then, ‘seat yourselves. I have no particular interest in ceremony.’
As the guards hastily brought chairs for them, the cat sleeping in Zakath’s lap half opened her golden eyes and looked around at them. She rose to her paws, arched her back, and yawned. Then she jumped heavily to the floor with an audible grunt and waddled over to sniff at Eriond’s fingers. With a faintly amused look, Zakath watched his obviously pregnant cat make her matronly way across the carpet. ‘You’ll note that my cat has been unfaithful to me—again.’ He sighed in mock resignation. ‘It happens fairly frequently, I’m afraid, and she never seems to feel the slightest guilt about it.’
The cat jumped up into Eriond’s lap, nestled down, and began to purr contentedly.
‘You’ve grown, boy,’ Zakath said to the young man. ‘Have they taught you how to talk as yet?’
‘I’ve picked up a few words, Zakath,’ Eriond said in his clear voice.
‘I know the rest of you—by reputation at least,’ Zakath said then. ‘Goodman Durnik and I met on the plains of Mishrak ac Thull, and of course I’ve heard of the Margravine Liselle of Drasnian Intelligence and of Prince Kheldar, who strives to become the richest man in the world.’
Velvet’s graceful curtsy of acknowledgement was not quite so florid as Silk’s grandiose bow.
‘And here, of course,’ the Emperor continued, ‘is Sadi, Chief Eunuch in the palace of Queen Salmissra.’