"What are you talking about?" Ran Borune asked.
"The legionnaires won't let me leave the palace grounds!"
"Oh," the Emperor said, "that."
"Exactly. That. "
"They're acting on my orders, Ce'Nedra," the Emperor told her.
"So they said. Tell them too stop it."
"No."
"No?" Her tone was incredulous. "No?" Her voice climbed several octaves. "What do you mean, no?"
"It's too dangerous for you to be out in the city just now," the Emperor said placatingly.
"Nonsense," she snapped. "I don't intend to sit around in this stuffy palace just because you're afraid of your own shadow. I need some things from the market."
"Send someone."
"I don't want to send anyone!" she shouted at him. "I want to go myself."
"Well, you can't," he said flatly. "Spend your time on your studies instead."
"I don't want to study," she cried. "Jeebers is a stuffy idiot, and he bores me. I don't want to sit around talking about history or politics or any of the rest of it. I just want an afternoon to myself."
"I'm sorry."
"Please, father," she begged, her tone dropping into a wheedling note. She took hold of one of the folds of his gold mantle and twisted it around one of her tiny fingers. "Please." The look she directed at the Emperor through her lashes would have melted stone.
"Absolutely not," he said, refusing to look at her. "My order stands. You will not leave the palace grounds."
"I hate you!" she cried. Then she ran from the garden in tears. "My daughter," the Emperor explained almost apologetically. "You can't imagine what it's like having a child like that."
"Oh, I can imagine, all right," Mister Wolf said, glancing at Aunt Pol. She looked back at him, her eyes challenging.
"Go ahead and say it, father," she told him. "I'm sure you won't be happy until you do."
Wolf shrugged. "Forget it."
Ran Borune looked thoughtfully at the two of them. "It occurs to me that we might be able to negotiate a bit here," he said, his eyes narrowing.
"What did you have in mind?" Wolf asked.
"You have a certain authority among the Alorns," the Emperor suggested.
"Some," Wolf admitted carefully.
"If you were to ask them, I'm sure they'd be willing to overlook one of the more absurd provisions of the Accords of Vo Mimbre."
"Which one is that?"
"There's really no necessity for Ce'Nedra to journey to Riva, is there? I'm the last emperor of the Borune Dynasty, and when I die, she won't be an Imperial Princess anymore. Under the circumstances, I'd say that the requirement doesn't really apply to her. It's nonsense anyway. The line of the Rivan King became extinct thirteen hundred years ago, so there isn't going to be any bridegroom waiting for her in the Hall of the Rivan King. As you've seen, Tolnedra's a very dangerous place just now. Ce'Nedra's sixteenth birthday's only a year or so off, and the date's well known. If I have to send her to Riva, half the assassins in the Empire are going to be lurking outside the palace gates, waiting for her to come out. I'd rather not take that kind of risk. If you could see your way clear to speak to the Alorns, I might be able to make a few concessions regarding the Murgos - restrictions on their numbers, closed areas, that sort of thing."
"No, Ran Borune," Aunt Pol said flatly. "Ce'Nedra will go to Riva. You've failed to understand that the Accords are only a formality. If your daughter's the one destined to become the bride of the Rivan King, no force on earth can prevent her from being in the throne room at Riva on the appointed day. My father's recommendations about the Murgos are only suggestions - for your own good. What you choose to do about the matter is your affair."
"I think we've just about exhausted the possibilities of this conversation," the Emperor stated coldly.
Two important-looking officials came into the garden and spoke briefly to Lord Morin.
"Your Highness," the gray-haired chamberlain said deferentially, "the Minister of Trade wanted to inform you that he's reached an excellent agreement with the trade deputation from Rak Goska. The gentlemen from Cthol Murgos were most accommodating."
"I'm delighted to hear it," Ran Borune said, throwing a meaningful look at Mister Wolf.
"The contingent from Rak Goska would like to pay their respects before they leave," Morin added.
"By all means," the Emperor said. "I'll be delighted to receive them here."
Morin turned and nodded shortly to the two officials near the gate. The officials turned and spoke to someone outside, and the gate swung open.
Five Murgos strode into the garden. Their coarse black robes were hooded, but the hoods were thrown back. The front of their robes were unclasped, and the chain mail shirts they all wore gleamed in the sunlight. The Murgo in front was a bit taller than the others, and his bearing indicated that he was the leader of the deputation. A welter of images and partial memories flooded Garion's mind as he looked at the scar-faced enemy he had known all his life. The strange pull of the silent, hidden linkage between them touched him. It was Asharak.
Something brushed Garion's mind, tentative only - not the powerful force the Murgo had directed at him in the dim hallway in Anheg's palace at Val Alorn. The amulet under his tunic became very cold and yet seemed to burn at the same time.
"Your Imperial Highness," Asharak said, striding forward with a cold smile, "we are honored to be admitted into your august presence." He bowed, his mail shirt clinking.
Barak was holding Hettar's right arm firmly, and Mandorallen moved and took the other.
"I'm overjoyed to see you again, worthy Asharak," the Emperor said. "I'm told that an agreement has been reached."
"Beneficial to both sides, your Highness."
"The best kind of agreement," Ran Borune approved.
"Taur Urgas, King of the Murgos, sends greetings," Asharak said. "His Majesty feels most keenly the desirability of cementing relations between Cthol Murgos and Tolnedra. He hopes that one day he may call your Imperial Highness brother."
"We respect the peaceful intentions and legendary wisdom of Taur Urgas." The Emperor smiled with a certain smugness.
Asharak looked around, his black eyes flat. "Well, Ambar," he said to Silk, "your fortunes seem to have improved since we met last in Mingan's counting room in Darine."
Silk spread his hands in an innocent-looking gesture. "The Gods have been kind - most of them, anyway."
Asharak smiled briefly.
"You know each other?" the Emperor asked, a bit surprised.
"We've met, your Highnešs," Silk admitted.
"In another kingdom," Asharak added. He looked directly then at Mister Wolf. "Belgarath," he said politely with a brief nod.
"Chamdar," the old man replied.
"You're looking well."
"Thank you."
"It seems that I'm the only stranger here," the Emperor said.
"Chamdar and I have known each other for a very long time," Mister Wolf told him. He glanced at the Murgo with a faintly malicious twinkle in his eyes. "I see that you've managed to recover from your recent indisposition."
Asharak's face flickered with annoyance, and he looked quickly at his shadow on the grass as if for reassurance.
Garion remembered what Wolf had said atop the tor after the attack of the Algroths - something about a shadow returning by an "indirect route." For some reason the information that Asharak the Murgo and Chamdar the Grolim were the same man did not particularly surprise him. Like a complex melody that had been faintly out of tune, the sudden merging of the two seemed right somehow. The knowledge clicked in his mind like a key in a lock.
"Someday you'll have to show me how you did that," Asharak was saying. "I found the experience interesting. My horse had hysterics, however."
"My apologies to your horse."
"Why is it that I feel as if I'm missing about half of this conversation?" Ran Borune asked.
"Forgive us, your Highness," Asharak said. "
Ancient Belgarath and I are renewing an old enmity. We've seldom had the opportunity to speak to each other with any degree of civility." He turned and bowed politely to Aunt Pol. "My Lady Polgara. You're as beautiful as ever." He eyed her with a deliberately suggestive stare.
"You haven't changed much either, Chamdar." Her tone was mild, even bland, but Garion, who knew her so well, recognized immediately the deadly insult she had just delivered to the Grolim.
"Charming," Asharak said with a faint smile.
"This is better than a play," the Emperor cried delightedly. "You people are actually dripping with malice. I wish I'd had the opportunity to see the first act."
"The first act was very long, your Highness," Asharak said, "and quite often tedious. As you may have noticed, Belgarath sometimes gets carried away with his own cleverness."
"I'm certain I'll be able to make up for that," Mister Wolf told him with a slight smile. "I promise you that the last act will be extremely short, Chamdar."
"Threats, old man?" Asharak asked. "I thought we'd agreed to be civilized."
"I can't recall when we ever agreed on anything," Wolf said. He turned to the Emperor. "I think we'll leave now, Ran Borune," he said. "With your permission, of course."
"Of course," the Emperor replied. "I'm pleased to have met you though I still don't believe in you, naturally. My skepticism, however, is theological, not personal."
"I'm glad of that," Wolf said, and quite suddenly he grinned impishly at the Emperor.
Ran Borune laughed.
"I look forward to our next meeting, Belgarath," Asharak said.
"I wouldn't if I were you," Wolf advised him, then turned and led the way out of the Emperor's garden.
Chapter Seventeen
It was midafternoon when they emerged from the palace gate. The broad lawns were green in the warm spring sunlight, and the cypress trees stirred in a faint breeze.
"I don't think we want to stay in Tol Honeth too much longer," Wolf said.
"Do we leave now, then?" Mandorallen asked.
"There's something I have to do first," Wolf replied, squinting into the sunlight. "Barak and his cousin will come along with me. The rest of you go on back to Grinneg's house and wait there."
"We'll stop by the central market on our way," Aunt Pol told him. "There are a few things I need."
"This isn't a shopping expedition, Pol."
"The Grolims already know we're here, father," she said, "so there's no point in creeping about like sneak thieves, is there?"
He sighed. "All right, Pol."
"I knew you'd see it my way," she said.
Mister Wolf shook his head helplessly and rode off with Barak and Grinneg. The rest of them rode down the hill from the palace toward the gleaming city below. The streets at the foot of the hill were broad and lined on either side by magnificent houses-each almost a palace in itself.
"The rich and the noble," Silk said. "In Tol Honeth, the closer you live to the palace, the more important you are."
"'Tis oft times thus, Prince Kheldar," Mandorallen observed. "Wealth and position sometimes need the reassurance of proximity to the seat of power. By ostentation and propinquity to the throne, small men are able to avoid facing their own inadequacy."
"I couldn't have said it better myself," Silk said.
The central marketplace of Tol Honeth was a vast square filled with bright-colored booths and stalls where a significant portion of the goods of the world were on display. Aunt Pol dismounted, left her horse with one of the Cherek guards, and moved busily from booth to booth, buying, it appeared, almost everything in sight. Silk's face blanched often at her purchases, since he was paying for them.
"Can't you talk to her?" the small man pleaded with Garion. "She's destroying me."
"What makes you think she'd listen to me?" Garion asked.
"You could at least try, " Silk said desperately.
Three richly mantled men stood near the center of the market, arguing heatedly.
"You're mad, Haldor," one of them, a thin man with a snub nose, said agitatedly. "The Honeths would strip the Empire for their own profit." His face was flushed, and his eyes bulged dangerously.
"Would Kador of the Vorduvians be any better?" the stout man named Haldor demanded. "You're the one who's mad, Radan. If we put Kador on the throne, he'll grind us all under foot. There's such a thing as being too imperial."
"How dare you?" Radan almost screamed, his perspiring face growing darker. "Grand Duke Kador is the only possible choice. I'd vote for him even if he hadn't paid me." He flung his arms about wildly as he talked, and his tongue seemed to stumble over his words.
"Kador's a pig," Haldor said flatly, carefully watching Radan as if gauging the impact of his words. "An arrogant, brutal pig with no more right to the throne than a mongrel dog. His great-grandfather bought his way into the House of Vordue, and I'd sooner open a vein than bow to the offspring of a sneak thief from the docks of Tol Vordue."
Radan's eyes almost started from his head at Haldor's calculated insults. He opened his mouth several times as if trying to speak, but his tongue seemed frozen with fury. His face turned purple, and he clawed at the air in front of him. Then his body stiffened and began to arch backward.
Haldor watched him with an almost clinical detachment.
With a strangled cry, Radan toppled back onto the cobblestones, his arms and legs threshing violently. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he began to foam at the mouth as his convulsions became more violent. He began to bang his head on the stones, and his twitching fingers clutched at his throat.
"Amazing potency," the third mantled man said to Haldor. "Where did you find it?"
"A friend of mine recently made a voyage to Sthiss Tor," Haldor said, watching Radan's convulsions with interest. "The beautiful part of it is that it's completely harmless unless one gets excited. Radan wouldn't drink the wine until I tasted it first to prove that it was safe."
"You've got the same poison in your own stomach?" the other man asked with astonishment.
"I'm quite safe," Haldor said. "My emotions never get the best of me."
Radan's convulsions had grown weaker. His heels beat at the stones with a rapid pattering sound; then he stiffened, gave a long, gurgling sigh, and died.
"I don't suppose you've got any of the drug left, do you?" Haldor's friend asked thoughtfully. "I'd be willing to pay quite a bit for something like that."
Haldor laughed. "Why don't we go to my house, and we'll talk about it? Over a cup of wine, perhaps?"
The other man threw him a startled glance; then he laughed too, although a bit nervously. The two of them turned and walked away, leaving the dead man sprawled on the stones.
Garion stared in horror at them and then at the black-faced corpse lying so grotesquely twisted in the center of the marketplace. The Tolnedrans near the body seemed to ignore its existence. "Why doesn't somebody do something?" he demanded.
"They're afraid," Silk said. "If they show any concern, they might be mistaken for partisans. Politics here in Tol Honeth are taken very seriously."
"Shouldn't someone notify the authorities?" Durnik suggested, his face pale and his voice shaking.
"I'm sure it's already been taken care of," Silk said. "Let's not stand around staring. I don't think we want to get involved in this sort of thing."
Aunt Pol came back to where they were standing. The two Cherek warriors from Grinneg's house who had been accompanying her were loaded down with bundles and both of them looked a little sheepish about it.
"What are you doing?" she asked Silk.
"We were just watching a bit of Tolnedran politics in action," Silk said, pointing at the dead man in the center of the square.
"Poison?" she asked, noting Radan's contorted limbs.
Silk nodded. "A strange one. It doesn't seem to work unless the victim gets excited."
"Athsat," she said with a grim nod.
"You've heard of it before?" Silk seemed surprised.
She nodded. "It's quite rare, and very expensive. I didn't think the Nyissans would be willing to sell any of it."
"I think we should move away from here," Hettar suggested. "There's a squad of legionnaires coming, and they might want to question any witnesses."
"Good idea," Silk said and led them toward the far side of the marketplace.
Near the row of houses that marked the edge of the square, eight burly men carried a heavily veiled litter. As the litter approached, a slender, jeweled hand reached languidly out from behind the veil and touched one of the porters on the shoulder. The eight men stopped immediately and set the litter down.
"Silk," a woman's voice called from within the litter, "what are you doing back in Tol Honeth?"
"Bethra?" Silk said. "Is that you?"
The veil was drawn back, revealing a lushly endowed woman lounging on crimson satin cushions inside the litter. Her dark hair was elaborately curled with strings of pearls woven into her tresses. Her pink silken gown clung to her body, and golden rings and bracelets clasped her arms and fingers. Her face was breathtakingly beautiful, and her long-lashed eyes were wicked. There was about her a kind of overripeness and an almost overpowering sense of self indulgent corruption. For some reason Garion felt himself blushing furiously.
"I thought you'd still be running," she said archly to Silk. "The men I sent after you were very professional."
Silk bowed with an ironic little flourish. "They were quite good, Bethra," he agreed with a wry grin. "Not quite good enough, but very good, actually. I hope you didn't need them anymore."
"I always wondered why they didn't come back." She laughed. "I should have known, of course. I hope you didn't take it personally."
"Certainly not, Bethra. It's just part of the profession, after all."
"I knew you'd understand," she said. "I had to get rid of you. You were disrupting my entire plan."
Silk grinned wickedly. "I know," he gloated. "And after all you had to go through to set it up - and with the Thullish ambassador, no less."
She made a disgusted face.
"Whatever happened to him?" Silk asked.
"He went swimming in the Nedrane."