A servant brought tankards of dark brown ale for them all and then quietly left the room. Garion quickly lifted his tankard and took a large swallow of the bitter drink before Aunt Pol could suggest something more bland. She watched him without comment, her eyes expressionless.
Grinneg sprawled in a large, hand-hewn chair with a bearskin tossed over it. "Why are you really in Tol Honeth, Barak?" he asked. "Grinneg," Barak said serously, "this is Belgarath. I'm sure you've heard of him."
The ambassador's eyes widened, and he inclined his head. "My house is yours," he said respectfully.
"Can you get me in to see Ran Borune?" Mister Wolf asked, sitting on a rough bench near the fireplace.
"Without any difficulty."
"Good," Wolf said. "I have to talk to him, and I don't want to stir up any fuss in the process."
Barak introduced the others, and his cousin nodded politely to each of them.
"You've come to Tol Honeth during a turbulent period," he said after the amenities were over. "The nobility of Tolnedra are gathering in the city like ravens on a dead cow."
"We picked up a hint or two of that on our way south," Silk told him. "Is it as bad as we heard?"
"Probably worse," Grinneg said, scratching one ear. "Dynastic succession only happens a few times in each eon. The Borunes have been in power now for over six hundred years, and the other houses are anticipating the changeover with a great deal of enthusiasm."
"Who's the most likely to succeed Ran Borune?" Mister Wolf asked. "Right at the moment the best would probably be the Grand Duke Kador of Tol Vordue," Grinneg answered. "He seems to have more money than the rest. The Honeths are richer, of course, but they've got seven candidates, and their wealth is spread out a little too thin. The other families aren't really in the running. The Borunes don't have anyone suitable, and no one takes the Ranites seriously."
Garion carefully set his tankard on the floor beside the stool he sat on. The bitter ale didn't really taste that good, and he felt vaguely cheated somehow. The half tankard he had drunk made his ears quite warm, though, and the end of his nose seemed a little numb.
"A Vorduvian we met said that the Horbites are using poison," Silk said.
"They all are." Grinneg wore a slightly disgusted look. "The Horbites are just a little more obvious about it, that's all. If Ran Borune dies tomorrow, though, Kador will be the next Emperor."
Mister Wolf frowned. "I've never had much success dealing with the Vorduvians. They don't really have imperial stature."
"The old Emperor's still in pretty fair health," Grinneg said. "If he hangs on for another year or two, the Honeths will probably fall into line behind one candidate - whichever one survives - and then they'll be able to bring all their money to bear on the situation. These things take time, though. The candidates themselves are staying out of town for the most part, and they're all being extremely careful, so the assassins are having a great deal of difficulty reaching them." He laughed, taking a long drink of ale. "They're a funny people."
"Could we go to the palace now?" Mister Wolf asked. "We'll want to change clothes first," Aunt Pol said firmly. "Again, Polgara?" Wolf gave her a long-suffering look.
"Just do it, father," she said. "I won't let you embarrass us by wearing rags to the palace."
"I'm not going to wear that robe again." The old man's voice was stubborn.
"No," she said. "It wouldn't be suitable. I'm sure the ambassador can lend you a mantle. You won't be quite so obvious that way." "Whatever you say, Pol." Wolf sighed, giving up.
After they had changed, Grinneg formed up his honorguard, a grimlooking group of Cherek warriors, and they were escorted along the broad avenues of Tol Honeth toward the palace. Garion, all bemused by the opulence of the city and feeling just a trifle giddy from the effects of the half tankard of ale he had drunk, rode quietly beside Silk, trying not to gawk at the huge buildings or the richly dressed Tolnedrans strolling with grave decorum in the noonday sun.
Chapter Sixteen
THE IMPERIAL PALACE Sat on a high hill in the center of Tol Honeth. It consisted not of one building, but rather was a complex of many, large and small, all built of marble and surrounded by gardens and lawns where cypress trees cast a pleasing shade. The entire compound was enclosed by a high wall, surmounted by statues spaced at intervals along its top. The legionnaires at the palace gate recognized the Cherek ambassador and sent immediately for one of the Emperor's chamberlains, a gray-haired official in a brown mantle.
"I need to see Ran Borune, Lord Morin," Grinneg told him as they all dismounted in a marble courtyard just inside the palace gate. "It's a matter of urgency."
"Of course, Lord Grinneg," the gray-haired man assented. "His Imperial Highness is always delighted to speak with the personal envoy of King Anheg. Unfortunately, his Highness is resting just now. I should be able to get you in to see him sometime this afternoon - tomorrow morning at the latest."
"This won't wait, Morin," Grinneg said. "We have to see the Emperor immediately. You'd better go wake him up."
Lord Morin looked surprised. "It can't be that urgent," he suggested chillingly.
"I'm afraid so," Grinneg said.
Morin pursed his lips thoughtfully as he looked at each member of the party.
"You know me well enough to realize that I wouldn't ask this lightly, Morin," Grinneg said.
Morin sighed. "I'm trusting you a great deal, Grinneg. All right. Come along. Ask your soldiers to wait."
Grinneg made a curt gesture to his guards, and the party followed Lord Morin through a broad courtyard to a columned gallery that ran along one of the buildings.
"How's he been?" Grinneg asked as they walked along the shady gallery.
"His health is still good," Morin answered, "but his temper's been deteriorating lately. The Borunes have been resigning their posts in flocks and returning to Tol Borune."
"That seems prudent under the circumstances," Grinneg said. "I suspect that a certain number of fatalities are likely to accompany the succession."
"Probably so," Morin agreed, "but his Highness finds it a bit distressing to be abandoned by members of his own family." He stopped by an arched marble gate where two legionnaires in gold-embellished breastplates stood stiffly. "Please leave your weapons here. His Highness is sensitive about such things - I'm sure you can understand."
"Of course," Grinneg said, pulling a heavy sword out from under his mantle and leaning it against the wall.
They all followed his example, and Lord Morin's eyes flickered slightly with surprise when Silk removed three different daggers from various places beneath his garments. Formidable eguipment - the chamberlain's hands flickered in the gestures of the secret language.
-Troubled times-Silk's fingers explained deprecatingly.
Lord Morin smiled faintly and led them through the gate into the garden beyond. The lawn in the garden was neatly manicured. There were softly splashing fountains, and the rosebushes were all well-pruned. Fruit trees that seemed to be very old were budding, almost ready to burst into bloom in the warm sun. Sparrows bickered over nesting sites on the twisted limbs. Grinneg and the others followed Morin along a curving marble walk toward the center of the garden.
Ran Borune XXIII, Emperor of Tolnedra, was a small, elderly man, quite bald and dressed in a gold-colored mantle. He lounged in a heavy chair beneath a budding grape arbor, feeding small seeds to a bright canary perched on the arm of his chair. The Emperor had a little, beaklike nose and bright, inquisitive eyes. "I said I wanted to be left alone, Morin," he said in a testy voice, looking up from the canary.
"A million apologies, your Highness," Lord Morin explained, bowing deeply. "Lord Grinneg, the ambassador of Cherek, wishes to present you a matter of gravest urgency. He convinced me that it simply could not wait."
The Emperor looked sharply at Grinneg. His eyes grew sly, almost malicious. "I see that your beard's beginning to grow back, Grinneg." Grinneg's face flushed slowly. "I should have known that you
r Highness would have heard of my little misfortune."
"I know everything that happens in Tol Honeth, Lord Grinneg," the Emperor snapped. "Even if all my cousins and nephews are running like rats out of a burning house, I still have a few faithful people around me. Whatever possessed you to take up with that Nadrak woman? I thought you Alorns despised Angaraks."
Grinneg coughed awkwardly and glanced quickly at Aunt Pol. "It was a kind of joke, your Highness," he said. "I thought it might embarrass the Nadrak ambassador - and his wife is, after all, a handsomelooking woman. I didn't know she kept a pair of scissors under her bed."
"She keeps your beard in a little gold box, you know." The emperor smirked. "And she shows it to all her friends."
"She's an evil woman," Grinneg said mournfully.
"Who are these?" the Emperor asked, waving one finger at the members of the party standing on the grass somewhat behind Ambassador Grinneg.
"My cousin Barak and some friends," Grinneg said. "They're the ones who have to talk to you."
"The Earl of Trellheim?" the Emperor asked. "What are you doing in Tol Honeth, my Lord?"
"Passing through, your Highness," Barak replied, bowing.
Ran Borune looked sharply at each of the rest in turn as if actually seeing them for the first time. "And this would be Prince Kheldar of Drasnia," he said, "who left Tol Honeth in a hurry last time he was here - posing as an acrobat in a traveling circus, I believe, and about one jump ahead of the police."
Silk also bowed politely.
"And Hettar of Algaria," the Emperor continued, "the man who's trying to depopulate Cthol Murgos singlehandedly."
Hettar inclined his head.
"Morin," the Emperor demanded sharply, "why have you surrounded me with Alorns? I don't like Alorns."
"It's this matter of urgency, your Highness," Morin replied apologetically.
"And an Arend?" the Emperor said, looking at Mandorallen. "A Mimbrate, I should say." His eyes narrowed. "From the descriptions I've heard, he could only be the Baron of Vo Mandor."
Mandorallen's bow was gracefully elaborate. "Throe eye is most keen, your Highness, to have read us each in turn without prompting." "Not all of you precisely," the Emperor said. "I don't recognize the Sendar or the Rivan lad."
Garion's mind jumped. Barak had once told him that he resembled a Rivan more than anything else, but that thought had been lost in the welter of events which had followed the chance remark. Now the Emperor of Tolnedra, whose eye seemed to have an uncanny ability to penetrate to the true nature of things, had also identified him as a Rivan. He glanced quickly at Aunt Pol, but she seemed absorbed in examining the buds on a rosebush.
"The Sendar is Durnik," Mister Wolf said, "a smith. In Sendaria that useful trade is considered somewhat akin to nobility. The lad is my grandson, Garion."
The Emperor looked at the old man. "It seems that I should know who you are. There's something about you-" He paused thoughtfully. The canary, which had been perched on the arm of the Emperor's chair, suddenly burst into song. He launched himself into the air and fluttered directly to Aunt Pol. She held out her finger, and the bright bird landed there, tipped back his head and sang ecstatically as if his tiny heart were breaking with adoration. She listened gravely to his song. She wore a dark blue dress, elaborately laced at the bodice, and a short sable cape.
"What are you doing with my canary?" the Emperor demanded. "Listening," she said.
"How did you get him to sing? I've been trying to coax him into song for months."
"You didn't take him seriously enough."
"Who is this woman?" the Emperor asked.
"My daughter Polgara," Mister Wolf said. "She has a particularly keen understanding of birds."
The Emperor laughed suddenly, a harshly skeptical laugh. "Oh, come now. You really don't expect me to accept that, do you?"
Wolf looked at him gravely. "Are you really sure you don't know me, Ran Borune?" he asked mildly. The pale green mantle Grinneg had lent him made him look almost like a Tolnedran - almost, but not quite.
"It's a clever ruse," the Emperor said. "You look the part, and so does she, but I'm not a child. I gave up fairy tales a long time ago." "That's a pity. I'd guess that your life's been a little empty since then." Wolf looked around at the manicured garden with the servants and fountains and the members of the Emperor's personal guard posted unobtrusively here and there among the flowerbeds. "Even with all this, Ran Borune, a life without any wonder left in it is flat and stale." His voice was a little sad. "I think that perhaps you gave up too much."
"Morin," Ran Borune demanded peremptorily, "send for Zereel. We'll settle this immediately."
"At once, your Highness," Morin said and beckoned to one of the servants.
"May I have my canary back?" the Emperor asked Aunt Pol rather plaintively.
"Of course." She moved across the grass toward the chair, stepping slowly to avoid startling the trilling little bird.
"Sometimes I wonder what they're saying when they sing," Ran Borune said.
"Right now he's telling me about the day he learned to fly," Aunt Pol said. "That's a very important day for a bird." She reached out her hand, and the canary hopped onto the Emperor's finger, still singing and with its bright eye cocked toward Ran Borune's face.
"That's an amusing conceit, I suppose." The little old man smiled, staring out at the sunlight sparkling on the water in one of the fountains. "But I'm afraid I don't have time for that kind of thing. Right now the whole nation is holding its breath in anticipation of my death. They all seem to think that the greatest thing I can do for Tolnedra is to die immediately. Some of them have even gone to the trouble of trying to help me along. We caught four assassins inside the palace grounds just last week. The Borunes, my own family, are deserting me to the point that I scarcely have enough people left to run the palace, much less the Empire. Ah, here comes Zereel."
A lean, bushy-browed man in a red mantle covered with mystic symbols scurried across the lawn and bowed deeply to the emperor. "You sent for me, your Highness?"
"I am informed that this woman is Polgara the Sorceress," the Emperor said, "and that the old man there is Belgarath. Be a good fellow, Zereel, and have a look into their credentials."
"Belgarath and Polgara?" the bushy-browed man scoffed. "Surely your Highness isn't serious. The names are mythological. No such people exist."
"You see," the Emperor said to Aunt Pol. "You don't exist. I have it on the very best authority. Zereel's a wizard himself, you know." "Really?"
"One of the very best," he assured her. "Of course most of his tricks are just sleight of hand, since sorcery's only a sham, but he amuses me and he takes himself very seriously. You may proceed, Zereel, but try not to raise an awful stink, as you usually do."
"That won't be necessary, your Highness," Zereel said flatly. "If they were wizards of any kind, I'd have recognized them immediately. We have special ways of communicating, you know."
Aunt Pol looked at the wizard with one eyebrow slightly raised. "I think that you should look a bit closer, Zereel," she suggested. "Sometimes we miss things." She made an almost imperceptible gesture, and Garion seemed to hear a faint rush of sound.
The wizard stared, his eyes fixed on open air directly in front of him. His eyes began to bulge, and his face turned deathly pale. As if his legs had been cut from under him, he fell onto his face. "Forgive me, Lady Polgara," he croaked, groveling.
"That's supposed to impress me, I assume," the Emperor said. "I've seen men's minds overwhelmed before, however, and Zereel's mind isn't all that strong to begin with."
"This is getting tiresome, Ran Borune," she said tartly.
"You really ought to believe her, you know." The canary spoke in a tiny, piping voice. "I knew who she was immediately - of course we're much more perceptive than you things that creep around on the ground - why do you do that? If you'd just try, I'm sure you'd be able to fly. And I wish you'd stop eating so much garlic - it makes you sme
ll awful."
"Hush, now," Aunt Pol said gently to the bird. "You can tell him all about it later."
The Emperor was trembling violently, and he stared at the bird as if it were a snake.
"Why don't we all just behave as if we believed that Polgara and I are who we say we are?" Mister Wolf suggested. "We could spend the rest of the day trying to convince you, and we really don't have that much time. There are some things I have to tell you, and they're important no matter who I am."
"I think I can accept that," Ran Borune said, still trembling and staring at the now-silent canary.
Mister Wolf clasped his hands behind his back and stared up at a cluster of bickering sparrows on the limb of a nearby tree. "Early last fall," he began, "Zedar the Apostate crept into the throne room at Riva and stole the Orb of Aldur."
"He did what?" Ran Borune demanded, sitting up quickly. "How?" "We don't know," Wolf answered. "When I catch up with him, maybe I'll ask him. I'm sure, however, that you can see the importance of the event."
"Obviously," the Emperor said.
"The Alorns and the Sendars are quietly preparing for war," Wolf told him.
"War?" Ran Borune asked in a shocked voice. "With whom?" "The Angaraks, of course."
"What's Zedar got to do with the Angaraks? He could be acting on his own, couldn't he?"
"Surely you're not that simple," Aunt Pol remarked.
"You forget yourself, Lady," Ran Borune said stiffly. "Where's Zedar now?"
"He went through Tol Honeth about two weeks ago," Wolf replied. "If he can get across the border into one of the Angarak kingdoms before I can stop him, the Alorns will march."
"And Arendia with them," Mandorallen said firmly. "King Korodullin has also been advised."
"You'll tear the world apart," the Emperor protested.
"Perhaps," Wolf admitted, "but we can't let Zedar get to Torak with the Orb."
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