They did not match. Now matter how hard Garion twisted and turned the sense of the two passages, there was no apparent way to make them match. Despite the fact that they both seemed to describe the same period of time, they simply went off in opposite directions. It was a bright, golden autumn morning outside, but the dusty library seemed somehow dim, chill, and uninviting.
Garion did not think of himself as a scholar and he had approached the task that Belgarath had laid upon him with some reluctance. The sheer volume of the documents he was obliged to read was intimidating, for one thing, and this gloomy little room with its smell of ancient parchment and mildewed leather bindings always depressed him. He had done unpleasant things before, however, and, although he was a bit grim about it, he nonetheless dutifully spent at least two hours a day confined in this prisonlike cell, struggling with ancient books and scrolls written in often-times difficult script. At least, he told himself, it was better than scrubbing pots in a scullery.
He set his teeth together and laid the two scrolls side by side on the table to compare them again. He read slowly and aloud, hoping perhaps to catch with his ears what his eyes might miss. The Darine Codex seemed relatively clear and straightforward. "Behold," it said, "in the day that Aldur's Orb burns hot with crimson fire shall the name of the Child of Dark be revealed. Guard well the son of the Child of Light for he shall have no brother. And it shall come to pass that those which once were one and now are two shall be rejoined, and in that rejoining shall one of them be no more."
The Orbhad turned crimson, and the name of the Child of Dark -Zandramas- had been revealed. That matched what had taken place. The information that the son of the Child of Light -his son- would have no brother had concerned Garion a bit. At first he had taken it to mean that he and Ce'Nedra would only have one child, but the more he thought about that, the more he realized that his reasoning there was flawed. All it really said was that they would only have one son. It said nothing about daughters. The more he thought about it, the more the notion of a whole cluster of chattering little girls gathered about his knee appealed to him.
The last passage, however -the one about the two which once were one- didn't really make any sense yet, but he was quite certain that it would, eventually.
He moved his hand over to trace the lines of the Mrin Codex, peering hard at them in the flickering yellow candlelight. He read slowly and carefully once more. " And the Child of Light shall meet with the Child of Dark and shall overcome him- " That obviously referred to the meeting with Torak. " -and the Darkness shall flee." The Dark Prophecyhad fled when Torak had died. "But behold, the stone which lies at the center of the light- " The Orb, obviously , " -shall- " One word seemed to be blotted at that point. Garion frowned, trying to make out what word might lie beneath that irregular splotch of ink. Even as he stared at it, a strange kind of weariness came over him, as if the effort to push aside that blot to see what lay beneath were as difficult as moving a mountain. He shrugged and went on, " -and this meeting will come to pass in a place which is no more, and there will the choice be made." That last fragment made him want to howl in frustration.
How could a meeting -or anything else- happen in a place which is no more? And what was the meaning of the word "choice"? What choice? Whose choice? Choice between what and what?
He swore and read it again. Once again he felt that peculiar lassitude when his eyes reached the blot on the page. He shrugged it off and went on. No matter what the word under the blot might be, it was still only one word, and one single word could not bethat important. Irritably he put the scroll aside and considered the discrepancy. The most immediate explanation was that this spot, like so many others, was a place where the Mrin Prophet's well-known insanity had simply got the best of him. Another possibility was that this particular copy was not precisely accurate. The scribe who had copied it off had perhaps inadvertently skipped a line or two at the time when he had blotted the page. Garion recalled an occasion when he had done that himself, turning a perfectly bland proclamation into a horrendous declaration that he was on the verge of naming himself military dictator of all the kingdoms lying on this side of the Eastern Escarpment. When he had caught the blunder, he had not just erased the offending lines, he had shudderingly burned the whole sheet to make sure that no one ever saw it.
He stood up, stretching to relieve his cramped muscles and going to the small, barred window of the library. The autumn sky was a crisp blue. The nights had turned chilly in the past few weeks, and the higher meadows lying above the city were touched with frost when the sun arose. The days, however, were warm and golden. He checked the position of the sun to gauge the time. He had promised to meet with Count Valgon, the Tolnedran ambassador, at midday and he did not want to be late. Aunt Pol had stressed the importance of punctuality, and Garion always did his best to be on time.
He turned back to the table and absently rerolled the two scrolls, his mind still wrestling with the problem of the conflicting passages. Then he blew out the candles and left the library, carefully closing the door behind him.
Valgon, as always, was tedious. Garion felt that there was an innate pomposity in the Tolnedran character that made it impossible for them to say what they meant without extensive embellishment. The discussion that day had to do with "prioritizing" the unloading of merchant vessels in the harbor at Riva. Valgon seemed terribly fond of the word "prioritizing," finding a way to insert it into the discussion at least once in every other sentence. The essence of Valgon's presentation seemed to be a request -or a demand- that Tolnedran merchantmen should always have first access to the somewhat limited wharves at the foot of the city.
"My dear Valgon," Garion began, seeking some diplomatic way to refuse, "I actually believe that this matter needs- " He broke off, looking up as the great carved doors to the throne room swung inward.
One of the towering, gray-cloaked sentries who always stood guard outside when Garion was in the throne room stepped in, cleared his throat, and announced in a voice that probably could have been heard on the other side of the island, "Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ce'Nedra of Riva, Imperial Princess of the Tolnedran Empire, Commander of the Armies of the West, and beloved wife of his Majesty, Belgarion of Riva, Godslayer, Lord of the Western Sea, and Overlord of the West!"
Ce'Nedra, demure and tiny, entered on the sentry's heels, her shoulders unbowed by the weight of all those vast titles. She wore a teal-green velvet gown, gathered beneath the bodice to conceal her expanding waistline, and her eyes were sparkling mischievously.
Valgon turned and bowed smoothly.
Ce'Nedra touched the sentry's arm, strained up on tiptoe, and whispered to him. The sentry nodded, turned back toward the throne at the front of the hall, and cleared his throat again. "His Highness, Prince Kheldar of Drasnia, nephew of the beloved late King Rhodar, and cousin to King Kheva, Lord of the Marches of the North!"
Garion started up from the throne in astonishment.
Silk entered grandly. His doublet was a rich pearl gray, his fingers glittered with rings, and a heavy gold chain with a large pendant sapphire hung about his neck. "That's all right, gentlemen," he said to Garion and Count Valgon with an airy wave of his hand, "you needn't rise." He extended his arm grandly to Ce'Nedra, and the two of them came down the broad, carpeted aisle past the three glowing firepits in the floor.
"Silk!" Garion exclaimed.
"The very same," Silk replied with a mocking little bow. "Your Majesty is looking well -considering."
"Considering what?"
Silk winked at him.
"I am quite overwhelmed to meet so famous a merchant prince again," Valgon murmured politely. "Your Highness has become a legend in recent years. Your exploits in the East are the absolute despair of the great commercial houses in Tol Honeth."
"Onehas had certain modest success," Silk responded, breathing on a large ruby ring on his left hand and then polishing it on the front of his doublet. "In your next report, please convey my regards to your new Emperor. His handling of the Vordue situation was masterly."
Valgon permitted himself a faint smile. "I'm sure his Imperial Majesty will appreciate your good opinion, Prince Kheldar." He turned to Garion. "I know that your Majesty and his old friend will have many things to discuss," he said. "We can take up this other matter at a later date, perhaps." He bowed. "With your Majesty's permission, I will withdraw."
"Of course, Valgon," Garion replied. "And thank you." The Tolnedran bowed again and quietly left the throne room.
Ce'Nedra came down to the foot of the throne and linked her arm affectionately with Silk's. "I hope you didn't mind being interrupted, Garion," she said. "I know that you and Valgon were having an absolutelyfascinating talk."
Garion made a face. "What was the idea behind all that formality?" he asked curiously. "The business with all those titles, I mean?"
Silk grinned. "Ce'Nedra's idea. She felt that if we overwhelmed Valgon with enough titles, we could persuade him to go away. Did we interrupt anything important?"
Garion gave him a sour look. "He was talking about the problem of getting Tolnedran merchant vessels unloaded. I think that, if he'd thrown the word 'prioritizing' at me about one more time, I'd have jumped up and strangled him."
"Oh?" Ce'Nedra said, all wide-eyed and girlish. "Let's call him back, then."
"I take it that you're unfond of him," Silk suggested.
"He's a Honethite," Ce'Nedra replied, making an indelicate little sound. "I despise the Honeths."
"Let's go someplace where we can talk," Garion said, looking around at the formal throne room.
"Whatever your Majesty wishes," Silk said with a grand bow.
"Oh, stop that!" Garion said, coming down from the dais and leading the way to the side door.
When they reached the quiet, sunlit sanctuary of the royal apartment, Garion sighed with relief as he took off his crown and shrugged out of his formal state robes. "You have no idea how hot that thing gets," he said, tossing the robe in a heap on a chair in the corner.
"It also wrinkles, dear," Ce'Nedra reminded him, picking up the robe, folding it carefully, and hanging it over the chair back.
"Perhaps I could find one for you in Mallorean satin -suitable color and interwoven with silver thread," Silk suggested. "It would look very rich -tastefully understated- and not nearly so heavy."
"That's a thought," Garion said.
"And I'm sure I could offer it to you at a very attractive price."
Garion gave him a startled look, and Silk laughed.
"You never change, do you, Silk?" Ce'Nedra said.
"Of course not," the little thief replied, sprawling unasked in a chair.
"What brings you to Riva?" Garion asked him, taking a chair across the table from his friend.
"Affection -at least mostly. I haven't seen you two for several years now." He looked around. "I don't suppose you've got anything to drink handy?"
"We could probably find something." Garion grinned at him.
"We have a rather pleasant little wine," Ce'Nedra offered, going to a dark, polished sideboard. "We've been trying to keep Garion here away from ale."
One of Silk's eyebrows went up.
"He has an unfortunate tendency to want to sing when he drinks ale," the Queen explained. "I wouldn't really want to put you through that."
"All right," Garion said to her.
"It's not so much his voice," Ce'Nedra went on relentlessly. "It's the way he goes looking for the right notes -and doesn't find them."
"Do youmind?" Garion asked her.
She laughed a shimmering laugh and filled two silver goblets with a blood-red Tolnedran wine.
"Aren't you joining us?" Silk asked.
She made a face. "The heir to the Rivan Throne doesn't care much for wine," she replied, delicately placing one hand on her swelling abdomen. "Or perhaps he enjoys it too much. It makes him start kicking, and I'd rather that he didn't break too many of my ribs."
" Ah," Silk said delicately.
She brought the goblets to the table and set them down. "Now, if you two gentlemen will excuse me, it's time for my visit to the baths."
"Her hobby"' Garion said. "She spends at least two hours of every afternoon down in the women's baths -even when she isn't dirty."
She shrugged. "It relaxes my back. I've been carrying this burden lately." Once again she touched her abdomen. "And it seems to get heavier every day."
"I'm glad that it's the women who have the babies," Silk said. "I'm sure I wouldn't really have the strength for it."
"You're a nasty little man, Kheldar"' she retorted tartly.
"Of course I am." He smirked.
She gave him a withering look and went in search of Lady Arell, her usual companion in the baths.
"She looks absolutely blooming," Silk observed, "and she's not nearly as bad-tempered as I'd expected."
"You should have been around a few months ago."
"Bad?"
"You can't imagine."
"It happens, I suppose -or so I've been told."
"What have you been up to lately?" Garion asked, leaning back in his chair. "We haven't heard much about you."
"I've been in Mallorea," Silk replied, sipping at his wine. "The fur trade isn't very challenging any more, and Yarblek's been handling that end of the business. We felt that there was a great deal of money to be made in Mallorean silks, carpets, and uncut gemstones, so I went over to investigate."
"Isn't it a little dangerous for a Western merchant in Mallorea?"
Silk shrugged. "No worse than Rak Goska -or Tol Honeth, for that matter. I've spent my whole life in dangerous places, Garion."
"Couldn't you just buy your goods at Yar Marak or Thull Zelik when they come off the Mallorean ships?"
"The prices are better at the source. Everytime an article goes through another pair of hands, the price doubles."
"That makes sense, I suppose." Garion looked at his friend, envying the freedom that made it possible for Silk to go anywhere in the world he wanted to go. "What's Mallorea really like?" he asked. "We hear stories, but I think that's all they are most of the time."
"It's in turmoil just now." Silk replied gravely. "Kal Zakath's off fighting his war with the Murgos, and the Grolims went all to pieces when they heard about the death of Torak. Mallorean society has always been directed from either Mal Zeth or Mal Yaska -the emperor or the church- but now nobody seems to be in charge. The government bureaucracy tries to hold things together, but Malloreans need strong leadership and right now they don't have it. All sorts of strange things are beginning to surface -rebellions, new religions, that kind of thing."
A thought occurred to Garion. "Have you run across the name Zandramas?" be asked curiously.
Silk looked at him sharply. "It's odd you should ask that," he said. "When I was in Boktor, just before Rhodar died, I was talking with Javelin. Errand happened to be there and he asked Javelin the same question. Javelin told him that it's a Darshivan name and that was about all he knew. When I went back to Mallorea, I asked in a few places, but people got very tight-lipped and white-knuckled every time I mentioned it, so I let it drop. I gathered that it has something to do with one of those new religions I mentioned before."
"Did you happen to hear anything about something called the Sardion -or Cthrag Sardius, maybe?"
Silk frowned, tapping the rim of his goblet thoughtfully against his lower lip. "It's got a familiar ring to it, but I can't quite put my finger on where I heard it."
"If you happen to remember, I'd appreciate your telling me anything you can find out about it."
"Is it important?"
"I think it might be. Grandfather and Beldin have been trying to track it down."
"I've got some contacts in Mal Zeth and Melcene," Silk noted. "When I get back, I'll see what I can find out."
"You're going back soon, then?"
Silk nodded. "I'd have stayed there, but a little crisis came up in Yar Nadrak. King Drosta started to get greedy. We've been paying him some very healthy bribes to persuade him to look the other way about some of our activities in his kingdom. He got the notion that we were making a great deal of money and he was toying with the idea of expropriating our holdings in Gar og Nadrak. I had to come back and talk him out of that notion."
"How did you manage that? I've always had the impression that Drosta does pretty much what he wants in Gar og Nadrak."
"I threatened him," Silk said. "I pointed out that I'm closely related to the King of Drasnia and hinted that I was on very good terms with Kal Zakath. The prospect of an invasion from either the East or the West didn't appeal to him, so he dropped the idea."
"Are
you on good terms with 'Zakath?"
"I've never met him -but Drosta doesn't know that."
"You lied? Isn't that dangerous?"
Silk laughed. "Lots of things are dangerous, Garion. We've both been in tight spots before. Rak Cthol wasn't the safest place in the world, if you'll recall, and Cthol Mishrak made me definitely edgy."
Garion toyed with his goblet. "You know something, Silk?" he said. "I sort of miss all that."
" All what?"
"I don't know -the danger, the excitement. Things have settled down pretty much for me. About the only excitement I get these days is in trying to maneuver my way around the Tolnedran ambassador. Sometimes I wish- " He left it hanging there.
"You can come to Mallorea with me, if you'd like," Silk offered. "I could find interesting work for a man of your talents."
"I don't think Ce'Nedra would be too pleased if I left just now."
"That's one of the reasons I never married," Silk told him. "I don't have to worry about things like that."
"Are you going to stop in Boktor on your way back?"
"Briefly, maybe. I visited the people I needed to see on my way here from Yar Nadrak. Porenn's doing very well with Kheva. He's probably going to be a good king when he grows up. And I stopped by to see Javelin, of course. It's more or less expected. He likes to get our impressions of foreign countries -even when we're not acting in any official capacity."
"Javelin's very good, isn't he?"
"He's the best."
"I always thought you were."
"Not by a long way, Garion." Silk smiled. "I'm too erratic -brilliant, maybe, but erratic. I get sidetracked too easily. When Javelin goes after something, he doesn't let anything distract him until he gets it. Right now, he's trying to get to the bottom of this Bear-cult thing."
"Is he having any luck?"
"Not yet. He's been trying for several years to get somebody into the inner councils of the cult, but he hasn't been able to manage it. I told him that he ought to send in Hunter, but he told me that Hunter's busy with something else and to mind my own business."
"Hunter? Who's Hunter?"
"I have no idea," Silk admitted. "It's not really a who, you see. It's a name that's applied to the most secret of our spies, and it changes from time to time. Only Javelin knows who Hunter is and he won't tell anybody -not even Porenn. Javelin himself was Hunter for a time -about fifteen years ago. It's not always necessarily a Drasnian, though -or even a man. It can be anybody in the world. It might even be somebody we know -Barak, maybe, or Relg- or maybe somebody in Nyissa."
"Mandorallen, perhaps?" Garion suggested, smiling.
Silk considered that. "No, Garion," he concluded. "I don't think Mandorallen has the right equipment. It can surprise you though. On several occasions, Hunter has even been a Murgo."
"A Murgo? How could you possibly trust a Murgo?"
"I didn't say we always have totrust Hunter."
Garion shook his head helplessly. "I'll never understand spies and spying."
"It's a game," Silk told him. " After you've played for a while, the game itself gets to be more important than which side you're on. Our reasons for doing things sometimes get pretty obscure."
"I've noticed that," Garion said. "And as long as the subject has come up, what's yourreal reason for coming to Riva?"
"It's nothing all that secret, Garion," Silk replied urbanely , adjusting the cuffs of his gray doublet. "I realized a few years ago that a traveling merchant tends to lose track of things. If you want to stay on top of a local situation, you need to have an agent on the scene -somebody who can take advantage of opportunities when they arise. I've located some markets for certain Rivan products- glass, good boots, those wool capes, that sort of thing- and I decided that it might not be a bad idea to have a representative here."
"That's really a very good idea, Silk. Things are a little static down in the city. We could use some new businesses to liven things up."
Silk beamed at him.
"And I can always use the additional revenue," Garion added.
"What?"
"Thereare a few taxes, Silk -nothing too burdensome, but I'm sure you understand. A kingdom is very expensive to run."
"Garion!" Silk's voice was anguished.
"It's one of the first things I learned. People don't mind taxes so much if they're sure that everybody's paying the same. I can't really make exceptions at all -not even for an old friend. I'll introduce you to Kail. He's my chief administrator. He'll set things up for you."
"I'm terribly disappointed in you, Garion," Silk said with a crestfallen look.
"As you've said so many times, business is business, after all."
There was a light tap on the door.
"Yes?" Garion answered.
"The Rivan Warder, your Majesty," the sentry outside announced.
"Send him in."
The tall, graying Rivan Warder entered quietly. "Prince Kheldar," he greeted Silk with a brief nod, then turned to Garion. "I wouldn't bother you, your Majesty." he apologized, "but a matter of some urgency has come up."
"Of course, Brand," Garion replied politely. "Sit down."
"Thank you, Belgarion," Brand said gratefully, sinking into a chair. "My legs aren't what they used to be."
"Isn't it a joy to grow older?" Silk said. "The mind gets better, but everything else starts to fall apart."
Brand smiled briefly. "There's been a bit of a squabble in the garrison here in the Citadel, Belgarion," he said, getting directly to the point. "I'll discipline the two young men involved myself, but I thought that perhaps ifyou spoke to them, it might head off bloodshed."
"Bloodshed?"
"They were bickering over something quite unimportant, and one thing led to another. They scuffled a bit and knocked a few of each other's teeth loose. That should have been the end of it, but they started issuing each other formal challenges. I was fairly sure that you would want to keep the swords out of it."
"Definitely."
"I can order them to withdraw the challenges, but there's always the possibility that they'll sneak out some night and find a private place to do war on each other. I think that if the king spoke with them, we might be able to head off that sort of foolishness. They're a couple of fairly good young men, and I don't think we want to have them chop each other into dog meat."
Garion nodded his agreement. "Send the pair of them to me first thing in the- "
The medallion he always wore gave a peculiar little twitch, and he broke off what he was saying, startled by the flutter against his chest. The amulet suddenly seemed to grow very hot, and there was a strange humming sound in his ears.
"What is it, Garion?" Silk asked him curiously.
Garion started to hold up one hand as he tried to pinpoint the source of the humming sound. Then his amulet gave a violent lurch that was almost like a blow to his chest. The humming shattered, and he heard Ce'Nedra's voice crying to him."Garion! Help me!"
He sprang to his feet as Brand and Silk stared at him in amazement. "Ce'Nedra?" he shouted. "Where are you?"
"Help me, Garion! The baths!"
"Quick!" Garion exclaimed to the others. "Ce'Nedra needs us -in the baths!" and he ran from the room, grabbing up a plain sword standing sheathed in the corner as he passed.
"What is it?" Silk demanded, running along behind as they burst into the outer corridor.
"I don't know," Garion shouted. "She called me for help." He shook his sword as he ran, trying to free it of its sheath. "Something's happening down in the baths."
It was a long way down seemingly endless flights of torchlit stairs to the baths in the cellars of the Citadel. Garion went down those stairs three and four at a time with Silk and Brand hot on his heels. Startled servants and officials jumped out of their way as they rushed down, faces grim and with drawn weapons in their hands.
At the bottom of the last flight of stairs they found the heavy door to the women's baths bolted from the inside.
Instantly summoning his will, Garion focused it and commanded, "Burst!" The ironbound door blasted inward off its hinges.
The scene inside was one of horror. The Lady Arell lay in a crumpled heap on the tile floor with the hilt of a dagger protruding from between her shoulders. In the center of the steaming pool, a tall, raw-boned woman in a dark cloak was grimly holding something under the water -something that struggled weakly- and floating on the surface above that struggling form was a great fan of coppery red hair.
"Ce'Nedra!" Garion shouted, leaping feet first into the pool with his sword aloft.
The cloaked woman gave him one startled glance and fled, splashing frantically away from the enraged king.
Ce'Nedra's tiny body rose limply to the surface of the pool, and she floated facedown and bobbing slightly in the water. With a cry of anguish, Garion dropped his sword and struggled through the warm, waist-deep water -his desperate arms reaching out toward the limp body floating just beyond his grasp.
Roaring with rage, Brand ran around the tiled walkway surrounding the pool with his sword aloft to pursue the tall woman, who was fleeing through a narrow doorway on the far side of the bath, but Silk was already ahead of him, running swiftly after the woman with a long-bladed dagger held low.
Garion caught up the body of his wife in his arms and struggled toward the edge of the pool. With horror he realized that she was not breathing.
"What can I do?" he cried desperately. "Aunt Pol, what can I do?" But Aunt Pol was not there. He laid Ce'Nedra on the tiles on the edge of the pool. There was no sign of movement, no flutter of breath, and her face was a ghastly blue-gray color.
"Somebody help me!" Garion cried out, catching the tiny, lifeless form in his arms and holding it very close to him.
Something throbbed, sharply against his chest, and he looked into his wife's still face, desperately searching for some sign of life. But Ce'Nedra did not move, and her little body was limp. Again he caught her to him.
Once again he felt that sharp throb -almost like a blow against his heart. He held Ce'Nedra away from him again, searching with tear-filled eyes for the source of that strange, jolting throb. The flickering light of one of the torches stuck in iron rings around the marble walls of the pool seemed to dance on the polished surface of the silver amulet at her throat. Could it have been- ? With a trembling hand he put his fingertips to the amulet. He felt a tingling shock in his fingers. Startled, he jerked his hand away. Then he closed his fist about the amulet. He could feel it in his palm, throbbing like a silver heart, beating with a faltering rhythm.
"Ce'Nedra!" he said sharply. "You've got to wake up. Please don't die, Ce'Nedra!" But there was no sign, no movement from his wife. Still holding the amulet, Garion began to weep. "Aunt Pol," he cried brokenly, "what can I do?"
"Garion?" It was Aunt Pol's startled voice, coming to him across the empty miles.
"Aunt Pol," he sobbed, "help me!"
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"It's Ce'Nedra. She -she's been drowned!" And the full horror of it struck him like some great, overwhelming blow, and he began to sob again, great, tearing sobs.
"Stop that!" Aunt Pol's voice cracked like a whip. "Where?" she demanded. "When did this happen?"
"Here in the baths. She's not breathing, Aunt Pol. I think she's dead."
"Stop babbling, Garion!" Her voice was like a slap in the face. "How long has it been since her breathing stopped?"
"A few minutes -I don't know."
"You don't have any time to lose. Have you got her out of the water?"
"Yes -but she's not breathing, and her face is like ashes."
"Listen carefully. You've got to force the water out of her lungs. Put her down on her face and push on her back. Try to do it in the same rhythm as normal breathing, and be careful not to push too hard. You don't want to hurt the baby."
"But- "
"Do as I say, Garion!"
He turned his silent wife over and began to carefully push down on her ribs. An astonishing amount of water came out of the tiny girl's mouth, but she remained still and unmoving.
Garion stopped and took hold of the amulet again. "Nothing's happening, Aunt Pol."
"Don't stop."
He began pushing on Ce'Nedra's ribs again. He was about ready to despair, but then she coughed, and he almost wept with relief. He continued to push at her back. She coughed again, and then she began to cry weakly. Garion put his hand on the amulet. "She's crying, Aunt Pol! She's alive!"
"Good. You can stop now. What happened?"
"Some woman tried to kill her here in the baths. Silk and Brand are chasing the woman now."
There was a long silence. "I see," Aunt Pol said finally. "Now listen, Garion -carefully. Ce'Nedra's lungs will be very weak after this. The main danger right now is congestion and fever. You've got to keep her warm and quiet. Her life -and the baby's- depend on that. As soon as her breathing is stronger, get her into bed. I'll be there as soon as I can." Garion moved quickly, gathering up every towel and robe he could find to make a bed for his weakly crying wife. As he covered her with a cloak, Silk returned, his face grim, and Brand, puffing noticeably, was right behind him.
"Is she all right?" the big Warder asked, his face desperately concerned.
"I think so," Garion said. " I got her breathing started again. Did the woman get away?"
"Not exactly." Silk replied. "She ran upstairs until she reached the battlements. When she got up there, I was right behind her. She saw that there was no way to escape, so she threw herself off."
Garion felt a surge of satisfaction at that. "Good," he said without thinking.
"No. Not really. We needed to question her. Now we'll never find out who sent her here to do this."
"I hadn't thought of that."
Brand had gone sadly to the silent body of his niece. "My poor Arell," he said, his voice full of tears. He knelt beside her and took hold of the dagger protruding from her back.
"Even in death, she served her queen," he said almost proudly.
Garion looked at him.
"The dagger's stuck," Brand explained, tugging at it. "The woman who killed her couldn't get it out. That's why she was trying to drown Ce'Nedra. If she'd been able to use this knife, we'd have been too late."
"I'm going to find out who's responsible for this," Garion declared from between clenched teeth. "I think I'll have him flayed."
"Flaying is good," Silk agreed. "Or boiling. Boiling has always been my favorite."
"Garion," Ce'Nedra said weakly, and all thoughts of vengeance fled from Garion's mind as he turned to her. While he held his wife close to him, he dimly heard Silk speaking quietly to Brand.
"After somebody picks up what's left of our would-be assassin," the little man was saying in a terse voice, "I'd like to have all of her clothing brought to me."
"Her clothing?"
"Right. The woman isn't able to talk anymore, but her clothing might. You'd be surprised at how much you can learn about someone by looking at his undergarments. We want to find out who was behind this, and that dead woman out there is our only clue. I want to find out who she was and where she came from. The quicker I can do that, the quicker we can start heating up the oil."
"Oil?"
"I'm going to simmer the man who was behind this -slowly and with a great deal of attention to every exquisite detail."