Queen Of Sorcery Part 31

Then quite suddenly Tolnedran legionnaires were all around them, rising from the bushes or stepping out from behind trees. They made no attempt to attack, but stood in their brightly polished breastplates with their short spears at the ready.

Barak swore, and Mandorallen reined in his charger sharply. "Stand aside!" he ordered the soldiers, lowering his lance.

"Easy," Barak cautioned.

The Dryads, after one startled look at the soldiers, melted into the gloomy woods.

"What thinkest thou, Lord Barak?" Mandorallen asked blithely. "They cannot be over a hundred. Shall we attack them?"

"One of these days you and I are going to have to have a long talk about a few things," Barak said. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Hettar was edging closer, then he sighed. "Well, I suppose we might as well get on with it." He tightened the straps on his shield and loosened his sword in its sheath. "What do you think, Mandorallen? Should we give them a chance to run away?"

"A charitable suggestion, Lord Barak," Mandorallen agreed.

Then, some distance up the trail, a body of hors.e.m.e.n rode out from under the shadowy trees. Their leader was a large man wearing a blue cloak trimmed with silver. His breastplate and helmet were inlaid with gold, and he rode a prancing chestnut stallion whose hooves churned the damp leaves lying on the ground. "Splendid," he said as he rode up. "Absolutely splendid."

Aunt Pol fixed the newcomer with a cold eye. "Don't the legions have anything better to do than to waylay travelers?" she demanded.

"This is my legion, Madam," the man in the blue cloak said arrogantly, "and it does what I tell it to. I see that you have the Princess Ce'Nedra with you."

"Where I go and with whom is my concern, your Grace," Ce'Nedra said loftily. "It's of no concern to the Grand Duke Kador of the House y of Vordue."

"Your father is most concerned, Princess," Kador said. "All Tolnedra's searching for you. Who are these people?"

Garion tried with a dark scowl and a shake of his head to warn her, but it was too late.

"The two knights who lead our party are Sir Mandorallen, Baron of Vo Mandor, and Lord Barak, Earl of Trellheim," she announced. "The Algar warrior who guards our rear is Hettar, son of Cho-Hag, Chief of the Clan-Chiefs of Algaria. The lady-"

"I can speak for myself, dear," Aunt Pol said smoothly. "I'm curious to know what brings the Grand Duke of Vordue so far into southern Tolnedra."

"I have interests here, Madam," Kador said.

"Evidently," Aunt Pol replied.

"All the legions of the Empire are searching for the princess, but it's I who have found her."

"I'm amazed to find a Vorduvian so willing to aid in the search for a Borune princess," Aunt Pol observed. "Especially considering the centunes of enmity between your two houses."

"Shall we cease this idle banter?" Kador suggested icily. "My motives are my own affair."

"And unsavory, no doubt," she added.

"I think you forget yourself, Madam," Kador said. "I am, after all, who I am - and more to the point, who I will become."

"And who will you become, your Grace?" she inquired.

"I will be Ran Vordue, Emperor of Tolnedra," Kador announced.

"Oh? And just what's the future Emperor of Tolnedra doing in the Wood of the Dryads?"

"I'm doing what's necessary to protect my interests," Kador said stifly. "For the moment, it's essential that the Princess Ce'Nedra be in my custody."

"My father may have something to say about that, Duke Kador," Ce'Nedra said, "and about this ambition of yours."

"What Ran Borune says is of no concern to me, your Highness," Kador told her. "Tolnedra needs me, and no Borune trick is going to deny me the Imperial Crown. It's obvious that the old man plans to marry you to a Honeth or a Horbite to raise some spurious claim to the throne. That could complicate matters, but I intend to keep things simple."

"By marrying me yourself?" Ce'Nedra asked scornfully. "You'll never live that long."

"No," Kador said. "I wouldn't be interested in a Dryad wife. Unlike the Borunes, the House of Vordue believes in keeping its line pure and uncontaminated."

"So you're going to hold me prisoner?" Ce'Nedra asked.

"That'd be impossible, I'm afraid," Duke Kador told her. "The Emperor has ears everywhere. It's really a shame you ran away just when you did, your Highness. I'd gone to a great expense to get one of my agents into the Imperial kitchen and to obtain a quant.i.ty of a rare Nyissan poison. I'd even taken the trouble to compose a letter of sympathy to your father."

"How considerate of you," Ce'Nedra said, her face turning pale.

"Unfortunately, I'll have to be more direct now," Kador went on. "A sharp knife and a few feet of dirt should end your unfortunate involvement in Tolnedran politics. I'm very sorry, Princess. There's nothing personal in it, you understand, but I have to protect my interests."

"Thy plan, Duke Kador, hath one small flaw," Mandorallen said, carefully leaning his lance against a tree.

"I fail to see it, Baron," Kador said smugly.

"Throe error lay in rashly coming within reach of my sword," Mandorallen told him. "Thy head is forfeit now, and a man with no head has little need of a crown."

Garion knew that a part of Mandorallen's brashness arose from his desperate need to prove to himself that he was no longer afraid.

Kador looked at the knight apprehensively. "You wouldn't do that," he said without much certainty. "You're too badly outnumbered."

"Thou art imprudent to think so," Mandorallen said. "I am the hardiest knight on life and fully armed. Thy soldiers will be as blades of gra.s.s before me. Thou art doomed, Kador." And with that he drew his great sword.

"It was bound to happen," Barak said wryly to Hettar and drew his own sword.

"I don't think we'll do that," a new voice announced harshly. A familiar black-robed man rode out from behind a nearby tree on a sablecolored horse. He muttered a few quick words and gestured sharply with his right hand. Garion felt a dark rush and a strange roaring in his mind. Mandorallen's sword spun from his grip.

"My thanks, Asharak," Kador said in a relieved tone. "I hadn't antic.i.p.ated that."

Mandorallen pulled off his mailed gauntlet and nursed his hand as if he had been struck a heavy blow. Hettar's eyes narrowed, and then went strangely blank. The Murgo's black mount glanced curiously at him once and then looked away almost contemptuously.

"Well, Sha-dar," Asharak gloated with an ugly smirk on his scarred face, "would you like to try that again?"

Hettar's face had a sick look of revulsion on it. "It's not a horse," he said. "It looks like a horse, but it's something else."

"Yes," Asharak agreed. "Quite different, really. You can sink yourself into its mind if you want, but I don't think you'll like what you find there." He swung down from his saddle and walked toward them, his eyes burning. He stopped in front of Aunt Pol and made an ironic bow. "And so we meet again, Polgara."

"You've been busy, Chamdar," she replied.

Kador, in the act of dismounting, seemed startled. "You know this woman, Asharak?"

"His name is Chamdar, Duke Kador," Aunt Pol said, "and he's a Grolim priest. You thought he was only buying your honor, but you'll soon find that he's bought much more than that." She straightened in her saddle, the white lock at her brow suddenly incandescently bright. "You've been an interesting opponent, Chamdar. I'll almost miss you."

"Don't do it, Polgara," the Grolim said quickly. "I've got my hand around the boy's heart. The instant you start to gather your will, he'll die. I know who he is and how much you value him."

Her eyes narrowed. "An easy thing to say, Chamdar."

"Would you like to test it?" he mocked.

"Get down off your horses," Kador ordered sharply, and the legionnaires all took a threatening step forward.

"Do as he says," Aunt Pol ordered quietly.

"It's been a long chase, Polgara," Chamdar said. "Where's Belgarath?"

"Not far," she told him. "Perhaps if you start running now, you can get away before he comes back."

"No, Polgara." He laughed. "I'd know if he were that close." He turned and looked intently at Garion. "You've grown, boy. We haven't had a chance to talk for quite some time, have we?"

Garion stared back at the scarred face of his enemy, alert, but strangely not afraid. The contest between them for which he had been waiting all his life was about to begin, and something deep within his mind told him that he was ready.

Chamdar looked into his eyes, probing. "He doesn't know, does he?" he asked Aunt Pol. And then he laughed. "How like a woman you are, Polgara. You've kept the secret from him simply for the sake of the secret itself. I should have taken him away from you years ago."

"Leave him alone, Chamdar," she ordered.

He ignored that. "What's his real name, Polgara? Have you told him yet.

"That doesn't concern you," she said flatly.

"But it does, Polgara. I've watched over him almost as carefully as you have." He laughed again. "You've been his mother, but I've been his father. Between us we've raised a fine son - but I still want to know his real name."

She straightened. "I think this has gone far enough, Chamdar," she said coldly. "What are your terms?"

"No terms, Polgara," the Grolim answered. "You and the boy and I are going to the place where Lord Torak awaits the moment of his awakening. My hand will be about the boy's heart the entire time, so you'll be suitably docile. Zedar and Ctuchik are going to destroy each other fighting over the Orb - unless Belgarath finds them first and destroys them himself - but the Orb doesn't really interest me. It's been you and the boy I've been after from the very beginning."

"You weren't really trying to stop us, then?" she asked.

Chamdar laughed. "Stop you? I've been trying to help you. Ctuchik and Zedar both have underlings here in the West. I've delayed and deceived them at every turn just so you could get through. I knew that sooner or later Belgarath would find it necessary to pursue the Orb alone, and when that happened, I could take you and the boy."

"For what purpose?"

"You still don't see?" he asked. "The first two things Lord Torak sees when he awakens will be his bride and his mortal enemy, kneeling in chains before him. I'll be exalted above all for so royal a gift."

"Let the others go then," she said.

"The others don't concern me," Chamdar said. "I'll leave them with the n.o.ble Kador, I don't imagine he'll find it convenient to keep them alive, but that's up to him. I've got what I want."

"You swine!" Aunt Pol raged helplessly. "You filthy swine!"

With a bland smile Chamdar slapped her sharply across the face. "You really must learn to control your tongue, Polgara," he said. Garion's brain seemed to explode. Dimly he saw Durnik and the others being restrained by the legionnaries, but no soldier seemed to consider him a danger. He started toward his enemy without thinking, reaching for his dagger.

"Not that way!" It was that dry voice in his mind that had always been there, but the voice was no longer pa.s.sive, disinterested.

"I'll kill him!" Garion said silently in the vaults of his brain.

"Not that way!" the voice warned again. "They won't let you - not with your knife. "

"How, then?"

"Remember what Belgarath said - the Will and the Word."

"I don't know how I can't do that. "

"You are who you are. I'll show you. Look!" Unbidden and so clearly that it was almost as if he were watching it happen, the image of the G.o.d Torak writhing in the fire of Aldur's...o...b..rose before his eyes. He saw Torak's face melting and his fingers aflame. Then the face shifted and altered until it was the face of the dark watcher whose mind had been linked with his for as long as he could remember. He felt a terrible force building in him as the image of Chamdar wrapped in seething flame stood before him.

"Nowl " the voice commanded him. "Do it!"

It required a blow. His rage would be satisfied with nothing less. He leaped at the smirking Grolim so quickly that none of the legionnaires could stop him. He swung his right arm, and at the instant his palm struck Chamdar's scarred left cheek, he felt all the force that had built in him surge out from the silvery mark on his palm. "Burn!" he commanded, willing it to happen.

Taken off guard, Chamdar jerked back. A momentary anger began to appear on his face, and then his eyes widened with an awful realization. For an instant he stared at Garion in absolute horror, and then his face contorted with agony. "No!" he cried out hoa.r.s.ely, and then his cheek began to smoke and seethe where the mark on Garion's hand had touched it. Wisps of smoke drifted from his black robe as if it had suddenly been laid on a red-hot stove. Then he shrieked and clutched at his face. His fingers burst into flame. He shrieked again and fell writhing to the damp earth.

"Stand still!" It was Aunt Pol's voice this time, sounding sharply inside Garion's head.

Chamdar's entire face was engulfed in flames now, and his shrieks echoed in the dim wood. The legionnaires recoiled from the burning man, and Garion suddenly felt sick. He started to turn away.

"Don't weaken!" Aunt Pol's voice told him. "Keep your will on him!" Garion stood over the blazing Grolim. The wet leaves on the ground smoked and smoldered where Chamdar thrashed and struggled with the fire that was consuming him. Flames were spurting from his chest, and his shrieks grew weaker. With an enormous effort, he struggled to his feet and held out his flaming hands imploringly to Garion. His face was gone, and greasy black smoke rolled off his body, drifting low to the ground. "Master," he croaked, "have mercy!"

Garion's heart wrenched with pity. All the years of that secret closeness between them pulled at him.

"No!" Aunt Pol's stern voice commanded. "He'll kill you if you release him!"

"I can't do it, " Garion said. "I'm going to stop it. " As once before, he began to gather his will, feeling it build in him like some vast tide of pity and compa.s.sion. He half reached toward Chamdar, focusing his thought on healing.

"Garion!" Aunt Pol's voice rang. "It was Chamdar who killed your parents!"

The thought forming in his mind froze.

"Chamdar killed Geran and Ildera. He burned them alive just as he's burning now. Avenge them, Garion! Keep the fire on him!"

All the rage and fury he had carried within him since Wolf had told him of the deaths of his parents flamed in his brain. The fire, which a moment before he had almost extinguished, was suddenly not enough. The hand he had begun to reach out in compa.s.sion stiffened. In terrible anger he raised it, palm out. A strange sensation tingled in that palm, and then his own hand burst into flames. There was no pain, not even a feeling of heat, as a bright blue fire burst from the mark on his hand and wreathed up through his fingers. The blue fire became brighter - so bright that he could not even look at it.

Even in the extremity of his mortal agony, Chamdar the Grolim recoiled from that blazing hand. With a hoa.r.s.e, despairing cry he tried to cover his blackened face, staggered back a few steps, and then, like a burning house, he collapsed in upon himself and sank back to earth.

"It is done!" Aunt Pol's voice came again. "They are avenged!" And then her voice rang in the vaults of his mind with a soaring exultation. "Belgarion!" she sang. "My Belgarion!"

Ashen-faced Kador, trembling in every limb, backed in horror from the still-burning heap that had been Chamdar the Grolim. "Sorcery!" he gasped.

"Indeed," Aunt Pol said coolly. "I don't think you're ready for this kind of game yet, Kador."

The frightened legionnaires were also backing away, their eyes bulging at what they had just seen.

"I think the Emperor's going to take this whole affair rather seriously," Aunt Pol told them. "When he hears that you were going to kill his daughter, he'll probably take it personally."