The Belgariad, Vol. 2 (33 page)

"There's not much time, father," Olban said, coughing weakly. "Please listen."

"Very well, Olban," the Warder said, leaning forward to catch his son's words.

"At Riva - after Belgarion came - I was humiliated because you had been deposed. I couldn't bear it, father."

Olban coughed again, and a bloody froth came to his lips.

"You should have known me better than that, Olban," Brand said gently.

"I do - now." Olban sighed. "But I was young and proud, and Belgarion - a nobody from Sendaria - had pushed you from your rightful place."

"It wasn't my place to begin with, Olban," Brand told him. "It was his. Belgarion's the Rivan King. That has nothing to do with position or place. It's a duty - and it's his, not mine."

"I hated him," Olban whispered. "I began to follow him every place. Wherever he went, I wasn't far behind him."

"What for?" Brand asked.

"At first I didn't know. Then one day he came out of the throne room wearing his robe and crown. He seemed so puffed-up with his own importance - as if he really was a king instead of just a common Sendarian scullion. Then I knew what I had to do. I took my dagger and I threw it at his back."

Brand's face suddenly froze.

"For a long time after that, I tried to avoid him," Olban continued. "I knew that what I had done was wrong - even as the dagger left my fingers. I thought that if I stayed away from him, he'd never find out that I was the one who'd tried to kill him. But he has powers, father. He has ways of knowing things no man could possibly know. He sought me out one day and gave me back the dagger I'd thrown at him and he told me that I should never tell anyone what I'd done. He did that for you, father - to keep my disgrace from you."

Grim-faced, Brand rose to his feet. "Come," he said to his other three sons. "We have fighting to do - and no time to waste on traitors." Quite deliberately he turned his back on his dying son.
"I tried to repay his mercy, father," Olban pleaded. "I pledged my life to protecting his queen. Doesn't that count for anything?" Brand's face was stony, and he kept his back turned in grim silence. "Belgarion forgave me, father. Can't you find it in your heart to forgive me too?"

"No," Brand said harshly, "I cannot."

"Please, father," Olban begged. "Don't you have one tear for me?"

"Not one," Brand told him, but Ariana saw that his words were a lie. The grim, gray-clad man's eyes were full, but his face remained granitelike. Without another word, he strode from the tent.

Wordlessly, each of Olban's brothers clasped his hand in turn, and then they left to follow their father.

Olban wept quietly for a time, but then his growing weakness and the drug Ariana had given him drained away his grief. He lay, half dozing on his pallet for a time, then struggled to raise himself and beckoned to the Mimbrate girl. She knelt beside him, supporting him with one arm about his shoulders and her head bent to catch his faltering words. "Please," he whispered. "Please tell her Majesty what I said to my father - and tell her how sorry I was." And then his head fell forward against Ariana, and he quietly died in her arms.

Ariana had no time to mourn, for precisely then three Sendars carried Colonel Brendig into her tent. The colonel's left arm was mangled beyond all hope of repair.

"We were bringing down the bridge that crosses to the city," one of the Sendars reported tersely. "There was a support that wouldn't give way, so the colonel went down himself to chop it away. When it finally broke, the timbers of the bridge fell on him."

Ariana gravely examined Brendig's shattered arm. "I fear there is no recourse, my Lord," she told him. "The arm will have to come off, lest it mortify and carry thy life away with it."

Brendig nodded soberly. "That's about what I'd expected," he replied. "I suppose we'd better get on with it then."

"There!" King Rhodar shouted, pointing downriver. "The smoke - it's green! That's the signal. We can start the retreat now."

General Varana, however, was staring at the riverbank upstream. "It's too late, I'm afraid, your Majesty," he said quietly. "A column of Malloreans and Nadraks have just reached the river to the west of us. It very much looks as if we've been cut off."

THE NEWS OF the death of Taur Urgas spread through the Murgo army in a vast groan, and the heart went out of the black-robed troops. Taur Urgas had been feared by his men, but his savage madness had lent them all a peculiar sense that they were invincible. They had felt somehow that nothing could stand in his path, and that they, as the instruments of his brutal will, shared in some measure his apparent invulnerability. But with his death, each Murgo became aware with a sudden cold touch of fear that he also could die, and the assault on the armies of the west along the south bank faltered.

King Cho-Hag watched the crumbling of the Murgo resolve with a certain grim satisfaction, then rode down to the lines of infantry and the milling Mimbrate knights to confer with the other leaders. King Fulrach strode forward from the ranks of his Sendars. The dumpy, brown-bearded monarch looked almost comical in his burnished breastplate, but his sword showed signs of recent use, and his helmet was dented in a
couple of places, mute evidence that the King of Sendaria had participated in the fight.

"Have you seen Anheg's signal yet?" Fulrach demanded as he approached.

Cho-Hag shook his head. "It should come any time now, though," he replied. "We'd better make some plans. Have you seen Korodullin?"

"The physicians are working on him," Fulrach said.

"Is he hurt?" Cho-Hag was startled.

"I don't think it's too serious. He went to help his friend, the Baron of Vo Ebor, and a Murgo hit him in the head with a mace. His helmet absorbed most of the blow. He's bleeding out of the ears a bit, but the physicians say he'll recover. The baron's in worse shape, though."

"Who's in charge of the Mimbrates, then?"

"Sir Andorig. He's a good man in a fight, but his understanding is a bit limited."

Cho-Hag laughed shortly. "You've just described most of Arendia, my friend. They're all good in a fight, and they all have limited understanding." Carefully he dismounted, holding onto his saddle as his weak legs nearly buckled. "We can make our decisions without Andorig's help, I think." He looked at the retreating Murgos. "As soon as we see Anheg's signal, I think we're going to want to get out of here in a hurry. The Murgos are demoralized right now, but they'll probably stiffen up again as soon as the shock wears off."

Fulrach nodded. "Did you really kill Taur Urgas in a duel?" he asked.

Cho-Hag nodded. "It wasn't really all that much of a duel. He was raving when he came at me and didn't even try to defend himself. When Anheg signals, we'll have the Mimbrates charge the Murgo front. The Murgos will probably break and run. I'll follow after them with my clansmen to hurry them along. That should give you and your foot troops time to start upriver. Andorig and I'll keep the Murgos off your back until you get clear. How does that sound?"

King Fulrach nodded. "It sounds workable," he agreed. "Do you think they'll try to follow us?"

Cho-Hag grinned. "I'll encourage them not to," he replied. "Have you got any idea of what's going on across the river?"

"It's hard to say, but things don't look very good."

"Can you think of any way we can send them help?"

"Not on short notice," Fulrach answered.

"Neither can I," Cho-Hag said. He began to pull himself back up into his saddle. "I'll go give Andorig his instructions. Keep your eyes open for Anheg's signal."

"Belgarath!" Ce'Nedra called out silently, her hand tightly clasped about the amulet at her throat.

"Belgarath, can you hear me?" She was standing several yards away from where Durnik was trying to make the unconscious Polgara as comfortable as possible. The princess had her eyes tightly closed and she was putting every ounce of concentration into casting her thought to the sky, reaching out with all her heart toward the ancient sorcerer.

"Ce'Nedra?" The old man's voice was as clear as if he were standing beside her. "What are you doing?

Where's Polgara?"

"Oh, Belgarath!" The princess almost sobbed with relief. "Help us. Lady Polgara's unconscious, and the
Malloreans are attacking again. We're being slaughtered, Belgarath. Help us."

"Slow down," he commanded brusquely. "What happened to Pol? Where are you?"

"We're at Thull Mardu," Ce'Nedra replied. "We had to take the city so that the Cherek fleet could go on down the river. The Malloreans and the Murgos crept up on us. They've been attacking since early this morning."

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."