The first snow of the season settled white and quiet through the breathless air onto the decks of their ship. It was a wet snow with large, heavy flakes that piled up on the lines and rigging, turning the tarred ropes into thick, white cables. The sea was black, and the swells rose and fell without sound. From the stem came the slow, measured beat of a muffled drum that set the stroke for the Mallorean oarsmen. The sifting flakes settled on the shoulders of the sailors and in the folds of their scarlet cloaks as they pulled steadily through the snowy morning. Their breath steamed in the chill dampness as they bent and straightened in unison to the beat of the drum.
Garion and Silk stood at the rail with their cloaks pulled tightly around them, staring somberly out through the filmy snowfall.
“Miserable morning,” the rat-faced little Drasnian noted, distastefully brushing snow from his shoulders.
Garion grunted sourly.
“You're in a cheerful humor today.”
“I don't really have all that much to smile about, Silk.” Garion went back to glowering out at the gloomy black-and-white morning.
Belgarath the Sorcerer came out of the aft cabin, squinted up into the thickly settling snow, and raised the hood of his stout old cloak. Then he came forward along the slippery deck to join them at the rail.
Silk glanced at the red-cloaked Mallorean soldier who had unobtrusively come up on deck behind the old man and who now stood leaning with some show of idleness on the rail several yards aft. “I see that General Atesca is still concerned about your well-being,” he said, pointing at the man who had dogged Belgarath's steps since they had sailed out of the harbor at Rak Verkat.
Belgarath threw a quick disgusted glance in the soldier's direction. “Stupidity,” he said shortly. “Where does he think I'm going?”
A sudden thought came to Garion. He leaned forward and spoke very quietly. “You know,” he said, “we could go someplace, at that. We've got a ship here, and a ship goes wherever you point it -Mallorea just as easily as the coast of Hagga.”
“It's an interesting notion, Belgarath,” Silk agreed.
“There are four of us, Grandfather,” Garion pointed out. “You, me, Aunt Pol, and Durnik. I'm sure we wouldn't have much difficulty in taking over this ship. Then we could change course and be halfway to Mallorea before Kal Zakath realized that we weren't coming to Rak Hagga after all.” The more he thought about it, the more the idea excited him. “Then we could sail north along the Mallorean coast and anchor in a cove or inlet someplace on the shore of Camat. We'd only be a week or so from Ashaba. We might even be able to get there before Zandramas does.” A bleak smile touched his lips. “I'd sort of like to be waiting for her when she gets there.”
“It's got some definite possibilities, Belgarath,” Silk said. “Could you do it?”
Belgarath scratched thoughtfully at his beard, squinting out into the sifting snow. “It's possible,” he admitted. He looked at Garion. “But what do you think we ought to do with all these Mallorean soldiers and the ship's crew, once we get to the coast of Camat? You weren't planning to sink the ship and drown them all, were you, the way Zandramas does when she's finished using people?”
“Of course not!”
“I'm glad to hear that -but then how did you plan to keep them from running to the nearest garrison just as soon as we leave them behind? I don't know about you, but the idea of having a regiment or so of Mallorean troops hot on our heels doesn't excite me all that much.”
Garion frowned. “I guess I hadn't thought about that,” he admitted.
“I didn't think you had. It's usually best to work your way completely through an idea before you put it into action. It avoids a great deal of spur-of-the-moment patching later on.”
“ All right,” Garion said, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“I know you're impatient, Garion, but impatience is a poor substitute for a well-considered plan.”
“Do you mind, Grandfather?” Garion said acidly.
“Besides, it might just be that we're supposed to go to Rak Hagga and meet with Kal Zakath. Why would Cyradis turn us over to the Malloreans, after she went to all the trouble of putting The Book of Ages into my hands? There's something else going on here, and I'm not sure we want to disrupt things until we find out a little more about them.”
The cabin door opened, and General Atesca, the commander of the Mallorean forces occupying the Isle of Verkat, emerged. From the moment they had been turned over to him, Atesca had been polite and strictly correct in all his dealings with them. He had also been very firm about his intention to deliver them personally to Kal Zakat in Rak Hagga. He was a tall, lean man, and his uniform was bright scarlet, adorned with numerous medals and decorations. He carried himself with erect dignity, though the fact that his nose had been broken at some time in the past made him look more like a street brawler than a general in an imperial army. He came up the slush-covered deck, heedless of his highly polished boots.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted them with a stiff, military bow. “I trust you slept well?”
“Tolerably,” Silk replied.
“It seems to be snowing,” the general said, looking about and speaking in the tone of one making small talk for the sake of courtesy.
“I noticed that,” Silk said. “How long is it likely to take us to reach Rak Hagga?”
“ A few more hours to reach the coast, your Highness, and then a two-day ride to the city.”
Silk nodded. “Have you any idea why your Emperor wants to see us?” he asked.
“He didn't say,” Atesca answered shortly, “and I didn't think it appropriate to ask. He merely told me to apprehend you and to bring you to him at Rak Hagga. You are all to be treated with utmost courtesy as long as you don't try to escape. If you do that, his Imperial Majesty instructed me to be more firm.” His tone as he spoke was neutral, and his face remained expressionless. “I hope you gentlemen will excuse me now,” he, said. “I have some matters that need my attention.” He bowed curtly, turned, and left them.
“He's a gold mine of information, isn't he?” Silk noted dryly. “ Most Melcenes love to gossip, but you've got to pry every word out of this one.”
“Melcene?” Garion said. “I didn't know that.”
Silk nodded. “ Atesca's a Melcene name. Kal Zakath has some peculiar ideas about the aristocracy of talent. Angarak officers don't like the idea, but there's not too much they can do about it -if they want to keep their heads.”
Garion was not really that curious about the intricacies of Mallorean politics, so he let the matter drop, to return to the subject they had been discussing previously. “I'm not quite clear about what you were saying, Grandfather, “ he said, “about our going to Rak Hagga, I mean.”
“Cyradis believes that she has a choice to make,” the old man replied,” and there are certain conditions that have to be met before she can make it. I've got a suspicion that your meeting with Zakath might be one of those conditions.”
“You don't actually believe her, do you?”
“I've seen stranger things happen and I always walk very softly around the Seers of Kell.”
“I haven't seen anything about a meeting of that kind in the Mrin Codex.”
“ Neither have I, but there are more things in the world than the Mrin Codex. You've got to keep in mind the fact that Cyradis is drawing on the prophecies of both sides, and if the prophecies are equal, they have equal truth. Not only that, Cyradis is probably drawing on some prophecies that only the Seers know about. Wherever this list of preconditions came from, though, I'm fairly certain that she won't let us get to this 'place which is no more' until every item's been crossed off her list.”
“Won't let us?” Silk said.
“Don't underestimate Cyradis, Silk,” Belgarath cautioned. “She's the receptacle of all the power the Dals possess. That means that she can probably do things that the rest of us couldn't even begin to dream of. Let's look at things from a practical point of view, though. When we started out, we were a half a year behind Zandramas and we were planning a very tedious and time-consuming trek across Cthol Murgos -but we kept getting interrupted.” .
“Tell me about it,” Silk said sardonically.
“Isn't it curious that after all these interruptions, we've reached the eastern side of the continent ahead of schedule and cut Zandramas' lead down to a few weeks?”
Silk blinked, and then his eyes narrowed.
“Gives you something to think about, doesn't it?” The old man pulled his cloak more tightly about him and looked around at the settling snow. “Let's go inside,” he suggested. “It's really unpleasant out here.”
The coast of Hagga was backed by low hills, filmy-looking and white in the thick snowfall. There were extensive salt marshes at the water's edge, and, the brown reeds bent under their burden of wet, clinging snow. A black-looking wooden pier extended out across the marshes to deeper water, and they disembarked from the Mallorean ship without incident. At the landward end of the pier a wagon track ran up into the hills, its twin ruts buried in snow.
Sadi the eunuch looked upward with a slightly bemused expression as they rode off the pier and onto the road. He lightly brushed one long-fingered hand across his shaved scalp. “They feel like fairy wings,” he smiled.
“What's that?” Silk asked him.
“The snowflakes. I've almost never seen snow before -only when I was visiting a northern kingdom- and I actually believe that this is the first time I've ever been out of doors when it was snowing. It's not too bad, is it?”
Silk gave him a sour look. “The first chance I get, I'll buy you a sled,” he said.
Sadi looked puzzled. “Excuse me, Kheldar, but what's a sled?” he asked.
Silk sighed. “Never mind, Sadi. I was only trying to be funny.”
At the top of the first hill a dozen or so crosses leaned at various angles beside the road. Hanging from each cross was a skeleton with a few tattered rags clinging to its bleached bones and a clump of snow crowning its vacant-eyed skull.
“One is curious to know the reason for that, General Atesca,” Sadi said mildly, pointing at the grim display at the roadside.
“Policy, your Excellency.” Atesca replied curtly. “His Imperial Majesty seeks to alienate the Murgos from their king. He hopes to make them realize that Urgit is the cause of their misfortunes.”
Sadi shook his head dubiously. “I'd question the reasoning behind that particular policy,” he disagreed.
“Atrocities seldom endear one to the victims. I've always preferred bribery myself.”
“Murgos are accustomed to being treated atrociously.” Atesca shrugged. “It's all they understand.”
“Why haven't you taken them down and buried them?” Durnik demanded, his face pale and his voice thick with outrage.
Atesca gave him a long, steady look. “Economy, Goodman,” he replied. “ An empty cross really doesn't prove very much. If we took them down, we'd just have to replace them with fresh Murgos. That gets to be tedious after a while, and sooner or later one starts to run out of people to crucify. Leaving the skeletons there proves our point -and it saves time.”
Garion did his best to keep his body between Ce'Nedra and the gruesome object lesson at the side of the road, trying to shield her from that hideous sight. She rode on obliviously, however, her face strangely numb and her eyes blank and unseeing. He threw a quick, questioning glance at Polgara and saw a slight frown on her face. He dropped back and pulled his horse in beside hers. “What's wrong with her?” he asked in a tense whisper.
“I'm not entirely sure, Garion,” she whispered back.
“Is it the melancholia again?” There was a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I don't think so,” Her eyes were narrowed in thought, and she absently pulled the hood of her blue robe forward to cover the white lock in the midnight of her hair. “I'll keep an eye on her.”
“What can I do?”
“Stay with her. Try to get her to talk. She might say something to give us some clues.”
Ce'Nedra, however, made few responses to Garion's efforts to engage her in conversation, and her answers for the remainder of that snowy day quite frequently had little relevance to either his questions or his observations.
As evening began to settle over the war-ravaged countryside of Hagga, General Atesca called a halt, and his soldiers began to erect several scarlet pavilions in the lee of a fire-blackened stone wall, all that remained of a burned-out village. “We should reach Rak Hagga by late tomorrow afternoon,” he advised them. “ That large pavilion in the center of the encampment will be yours for the night. My men will bring you your evening meal in a little while. Now, if you'll all excuse me-“ He inclined his head briefly, then turned his horse around to supervise his men.
When the soldiers had completed the erection of the pavilions, Garion and his friends dismounted in front of the one Atesca had indicated. Silk looked around at the guard detachment moving into position around the large red tent. “I wish he'd make up his mind,” he said irritably.
“I don't quite follow you, Prince Kheldar,” Velvet said to him. “Just who should make up his mind?”
“Atesca. He's the very soul of courtesy, but he surrounds us with armed guards.”
“The troops might just be there to protect us, Kheldar,” she pointed out. “This is a war zone, after all.”
“Of course,” he said dryly, “and cows might fly, too -if they had wings.”
“What a fascinating observation,” she marveled.
“I wish you wouldn't do that all the time.”
“Do what?” Her brown eyes were wide and innocent.
“Forget it.”
The supper Atesca's cooks prepared for them was plain, consisting of soldiers' rations and served on tin plates, but it was hot and filling. The interior of the pavilion was heated by charcoal braziers and filled with the golden glow of hanging oil lamps. The furnishings were of a military nature, the kinds of tables and beds and chairs that could be assembled and disassembled rapidly, and the floors and walls were covered with Mallorean carpets' dyed a solid red color.
Eriond looked around curiously after he had pushed his plate back. “They seem awfully partial to red, don't they?” he noted.
“I think it reminds them of blood,” Durnik declared bleakly. “They like blood.” He turned to look coldly at the mute Toth. “If you've finished eating, I think we'd prefer it if you left the table,” he said in a flat tone.
“That's hardly polite, Durnik,” Polgara said reprovingly.
“I wasn't trying to be polite, Pol. I don't see why he has to be with us in the first place. He's a traitor. Why doesn't he go stay with his friends?”
The giant mute rose from the table, his face melancholy. He lifted one hand as if he were about to make one of those obscure gestures with which he and the smith communicated, but Durnik deliberately turned his back on him. Toth sighed and went over to sit unobtrusively in one corner.
“Garion,” Ce'Nedra said suddenly, looking around with a worried little frown, “where's my baby?”
He stared at her.
“Where's Geran?” she demanded, her voice shrill.
“Ce'Nedra-“ he started.
“I hear him crying. What have you done with him?” She suddenly sprang to her feet and began to dash about the tent, flinging back the curtains that partitioned off the sleeping quarters and yanking back the blankets on each bed. “Help me!” she cried to them. “Help me find my baby!”
Garion crossed the tent quickly to take her by the arm.
“Ce'Nedra-“
“No!” she shouted at him. “You've hidden him somewhere! Let me go!” She wrenched herself free of his grasp and began overturning the furniture in her desperate search, sobbing and moaning unintelligibly.
Again Garion tried to restrain her, but she suddenly hissed at him and extended her fingers like talons to claw at his eyes.
“Ce'Nedra! Stop that!”
But she darted around him and bolted out of the pavilion into the snowy night.
As Garion burst through the tent flap in pursuit, he found his way barred by a red-cloaked Mallorean soldier.
“You! Get back inside!” the man barked, blocking Garion with the shaft of his spear. Over the guard's shoulder, Garion saw Ce'Nedra struggling with another soldier; without even thinking, he smashed his fist into the face in front of him. The guard reeled backward and fell.
Garion leaped over him, but found himself suddenly seized from behind by a half-dozen more men. “Leave her alone!” he shouted at the guard who was cruelly holding one of the little queen's arms behind her.
“Get back inside the tent!” a rough voice barked, and Garion found himself being dragged backward step by step toward the tent flap. The soldier holding Ce'Nedra was half lifting, half pushing her back toward the same place. With a tremendous effort, Garion got control of himself and coldly began to draw in his will.
“That will be enough!” Polgara's voice cracked from the doorway to the tent.
The soldiers stopped, looking uncertainly at each other and somewhat fearfully at the commanding presence in the doorway.
“Durnik!” she said then. “Help Garion bring Ce'Nedra back inside.”
Garion shook himself free of the restraining hands and he and Durnik took the violently struggling little Queen from the soldier and pulled her back toward the pavilion.
“Sadi,” Polgara said as Durnik and Garion entered the tent with Ce'Nedra between them, “do you have any oret in that case of yours?”
“Certainly, Lady Polgara,” the eunuch replied, “but are you sure that oret is appropriate here? I'd be more inclined toward naladium, personally.”
“I think we've got more than a case of simple hysteria on our hands, Sadi. I want something strong enough to insure that she doesn't wake up the minute my back's turned”
“Whatever you think best, Lady Polgara.” He crossed the carpeted floor, opened his red leather case, and took out a vial of dark blue liquid. Then he went to the table and picked up a cup of water. He looked at her inquiringly.
She frowned. “Make it three drops,” she decided.
He gave her a slightly startled look, then gravely measured out the dosage. It took several moments of combined effort to get Ce'Nedra to drink the contents of the cup. She continued to sob and struggle for several moments, but then her struggles grew gradually weaker, and her sobbing lessened. Finally she closed her eyes with a deep sigh, and her breathing became regular.
“Let's get her to bed,” Polgara said, leading the way, to one of the curtained-off sleeping chambers.
Garion picked up the tiny form of his sleeping wife and followed. “What's wrong with her, Aunt Pol?” he demanded as he laid her gently on the bed.
“I'm not positive,” Polgara replied, covering Ce'Nedra with a rough soldier's blanket. “I'll need more time to pin it down.”
“What can we do?”
“Not very much while we're on the road,” she admitted candidly, “We'll keep her asleep until we get to Rak Hagga. Once I get her into a more stable situation, I'll be able to work on it. Stay with her. I want to talk with Sadi for a few moments.”
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 northwesterly 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 in 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 l'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 earthshaking 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?”