Castle of Wizardry (50 page)

King Rhodar cleared his throat. "Kharel's a very senior member of the intelligence service," he said by way of introduction. "I've always found his reports to be extremely accurate."

"Your Majesty is too kind," an unfamiliar voice responded.

"Have the southern Murgos begun their march north?" King Anheg asked.

"It goes a bit farther than that, your Majesty," Kharel replied. "All reports I have
indicate
that the march is nearly completed. There are somewhat in excess of four million of them encamped in the vicinity of Rak Goska."

"What?" Anheg exclaimed.

"It appears that Taur Urgas began the march sometime last fall," the Drasnian told him.

"In the winter?"

"It seems so, your Majesty."

"I imagine that cost him a few of his men," King Cho-Hag said.

"A hundred thousand or so,
your
Majesty," Kharel answered, "but human life doesn't mean that much to Taur Urgas."

"This changes everything, Rhodar," Anheg said tersely. "Our advantage has always been the time that
march
was going to take. We've lost it now."

"Unfortunately there's more, your Majesty," Kharel continued. "The western Malloreans have begun to arrive at Thull Zelik. Their numbers aren't really that significant yet, but they're ferrying in several thousand a day."

"We've got to cut that off as quickly as we can," Anheg growled. "Rhodar, can you get your engineers to the eastern escarpment within a month? I'm going to have to portage a fleet across to the headwaters of the River Mardu. We've got to get ships into the Sea of the East as soon as possible. If we don't head off Zakath, his Malloreans will swarm us under."

"I'll send word to Porenn immediately," Rhodar agreed.

"One wonders if the noble count has any good news," the Earl of Seline suggested dryly.

"There is some possibility of division in the enemy ranks, my Lord," Kharel replied. "Taur Urgas is behaving as if he considers himself the only possible choice as overgeneral of the Angarak armies; at the moment, he's got the advantage of numbers on his side. That may change if the Malloreans manage to land a big enough army. There are rumors that 'Zakath would like to dispute the leadership of Taur Urgas, but he's reluctant to try it in the face of four million Murgos."

"Let's try to keep it that way," Rhodar said. "Taur Urgas is insane, and crazy men make mistakes. I've heard about '
Zakath,
and I'd rather not face him in the field."

King Cho-Hag spoke wryly. "Even as it stands without the Malloreans, we're going to be taking the field at about a two to one disadvantage - and that's assuming that we can persuade the Arends and Tolnedrans to join us."

"It's a rotten way to start a war, Rhodar," Anheg complained.

"We'll just have to adjust our tactics," Rhodar replied. "We've got to avoid a pitched battle as long as possible to save as many men as we can."

"I thought we weren't even considering a battle," Barak objected, "and Belgarath said that all he wants is a diversion."

"
The situation's
changed, Barak," King Rhodar declared. "We hadn't counted on the southern Murgos or the Malloreans being in place this soon. We're going to have to do something a bit more significant than stage a few hit-and-run attacks. The Angaraks have enough men now to be able to ignore minor raids and skirmishes. If we don't make a major thrust - and very soon they'll spread out all over the eastern half of the continent."

"Belgarath doesn't like it when you change plans on him," Anheg reminded Rhodar.

"Belgarath isn't here, and he doesn't know what's going on. If we don't act rather decisively, he and Belgarion and Kheldar haven't a hope of getting through."

"You're talking about a war we can't win, Rhodar," Anheg said bluntly.

"I know," King Rhodar admitted.

There was a long silence.

"So that's the way it is, then," Brand said finally.

"I'm afraid so," Rhodar told them somberly. "There has to be a diversion, or Belgarion and his sword will never get to the meeting with Torak. That's the only thing that really matters, and we'll all have to lay down our lives if necessary to make it happen."

"You're going to get us all killed, Rhodar," Anheg said bluntly, "and all our armies with us."

"If that's what it takes, Anheg," Rhodar answered grimly. "If Belgarion doesn't get to Torak, our lives don't mean anything, anyway. Even if we all have to die to get him there, it's still worth it."

Ce'Nedra's fingertips slid numbly from her amulet as she fell back in her chair. Suddenly she began to weep. "I won't do it," she sobbed. "I can't." She saw before her a multitude - an army of widows and orphans all staring accusingly at her, and she shrank from their eyes. If she perpetrated this horror, the rest of her life would be spent in an agony of self loathing. Still weeping, she stumbled to her feet, fully intending to rush to the council chamber and declare that she would have nothing further to do with this futile war. But then she stopped as the image of Garion's face rose in her mind - that serious face with the unruly hair she always wanted to straighten. He depended on her. If she shrank from this, the Angaraks would be free to hunt him down. His very life - and with it the future of the world - was in her hands. She had no choice but to continue. If only she did not know that the campaign was doomed! It was the knowledge of the disaster that awaited them that made it all so terrible.

Knowing that it was useless, she began to tug at the chain that held the amulet about her neck. Had it not been for the amulet, she would have remained blissfully ignorant of what lay ahead. Still sobbing, she yanked frantically at the chain, ignoring the sting as it cut into the soft skin of her neck. "I hate you!" she blurted irrationally at the silver amulet with its crowned tree.

But it was useless. The medallion would remain chained about her neck for the rest of her life. Ashen-faced, Ce'Nedra let her hands drop. Even if she were able to remove the amulet, what good would it do? She already knew and she must conceal the knowledge in her heart. If the faintest hint of what she knew showed in her face or her voice, she would fail - and Garion would suffer for her failure. She must steel herself and face the world as if certain of victory.

And so it was that the Rivan Queen drew herself erect and bravely lifted her chin - even though her heart lay like lead in her breast.

BARAK'S NEW SHIP was larger by half than most of the other Cherek warboats in the fleet, but she moved before the spring breeze like a gull skimming low over the water. Fleecy white clouds ran across the blue sky, and the surface of the Sea of the Winds sparkled in the sunlight as the great ship heeled over and cut cleanly through the waves. Low on the horizon before them rose the green shoreline of the hook of Arendia. They were two days out from Riva, and the Cherek fleet spread out behind them in a vast crowd of sails, carrying the graycloaked Rivans to join the armies of King Fulrach of Sendaria.

Ce'Nedra nervously paced the deck near the prow, her blue cloak tossing in the wind and her armor gleaming. Despite the dreadful knowledge concealed in her heart, there was an excitement to all of this. The gathering of men, swords, and ships, the running before the wind, the sense of a unified purpose, all combined to make her blood race and to fill her with an exhilaration she had never felt before.

The coast ahead loomed larger - a white sand beach backed by the dark green of the Arendish forest. As they neared the shoreline, an armored knight on a huge roan stallion emerged from the trees and rode down the beach to the edge of the water where foamy breakers crashed on the damp sand. The princess shaded her eyes with one hand and peered intently at the gleaming knight. Then, as he turned with a broad sweep of his arm which told them to continue up the coast, she saw the crest on his shield. Her heart suddenly soared.

"Mandorallen!" she cried out in a vibrant trumpet note as she clung to the ropes in the very prow of Barak's ship, with the wind whipping at her hair.

The great knight waved a salute and, spurring his charger, galloped through the seething foam at the edge of the beach, the silver and blue pennon at the tip of his lance snapping and streaming over his head. Their ship heeled over as Barak swung the tiller, and, separated by a hundred yards or so of foaming surf, the ship and the rider on the beach kept abreast of each other.

It was a moment Ce'Nedra would remember for all her life - a single image so perfect that it seemed forever frozen in her memory. The great ship flew before the wind, cutting the sparkling blue water, with her white sails booming; the mighty warhorse on the beach plunged through the gleaming foam at the edge of the sand with spray flying out from beneath his great hooves. Locked together in that endless moment, ship and rider raced along in the warm spring sunshine toward a wooded promontory a mile ahead, with Ce'Nedra exulting in the ship's prow and her flaming hair streaming like a banner.

Beyond the promontory lay a sheltered cove, and drawn up on the beach stood the camp of the Sendarian army, row upon orderly row of dun-colored tents. Barak swung his tiller over, and his sails flapped as the ship coasted into the cove with the Cherek fleet close behind.

"Ho, Mandorallen!" Barak bellowed as the anchor ropes sang and great iron anchors plunged down through crystal water toward the sandy bottom.

"My Lord Barak," Mandorallen shouted his reply, "welcome to Arendia. Lord Brendig hath devised a means to speed thy disembarking." He pointed to where a hundred or so Sendarian soldiers were busily poling a series of large rafts into position, lashing them together to form a long floating wharf extending out into the waters of the cove.

Barak laughed. "Trust a Sendar to come up with something practical."

"Can we go ashore now?" King Rhodar asked plaintively as he emerged from the cabin. The king was not a good sailor, and his broad, round face had a pale greenish cast to it. He looked oddly comical in his mail shirt and helmet, and the ravages of seasickness on his face added little to his dignity. Despite his unwarlike exterior, however, the other kings had already begun to defer to his wisdom. Beneath his vast rotundity, Rhodar concealed a genius for tactics and a grasp of overall strategy that made the others turn to him almost automatically and accept his unspoken leadership.

A small fishing boat that had been pressed into service as a ferry drew alongside Barak's ship, almost before the anchors had settled, and the kings and their generals and advisers were transferred to the beach in less than half an hour.

"I think I'm hungry," Rhodar announced the moment he stepped onto solid ground.

Anheg laughed. "I think you were born hungry." The king wore a mail shirt and had a broad swordbelt about his waist. His coarse features seemed less out of place somehow, now that he was armed.

"I haven't been able to eat for two days, Anheg." Rhodar groaned. "My poor stomach's beginning to think I've abandoned it."

"Food hath been prepared, your Majesty," Mandorallen assured him. "Our Asturian brothers have provided goodly numbers of the king's deer - doubtless obtained lawfully - though I chose not to investigate that too closely."

Someone standing in the group behind Mandorallen laughed, and Ce'Nedra looked at the handsome young man with reddish-gold hair and the longbow slung over the shoulder of his green doublet. Ce'Nedra had not had much opportunity to become acquainted with Lelldorin of Wildantor while they had been at Riva. She knew him to be Garion's closest friend, however, and she realized the importance of gaining his confidence. It should not be too hard, she decided as she looked at his open, almost innocent face. The gaze he returned was very direct, and one glance into those eyes told the princess that there was a vast sincerity and very little intelligence behind them.

"We've heard from Belgarath," Barak advised Mandorallen and the young Asturian.

"Where are they?" Lelldorin demanded eagerly.

"They were in Boktor," King Rhodar replied, his face still a trifle green from his bout of seasickness. "For reasons of her own, my wife let them pass through. I imagine they're somewhere in Gar
og
Nadrak by now."

Lelldorin's eyes flashed. "Maybe if I hurry, I can catch up with them," he said eagerly, already starting to look around for his horse.

"It's fifteen hundred leagues, Lelldorin," Barak pointed out politely.

"Oh-" Lelldorin seemed a bit crestfallen. "I suppose you're right. It would be a little difficult to catch them now, wouldn't it?"