‘What’s so amusing?’ she demanded.
‘You’d be like a turtle in something like that,’ he replied. ‘You wouldn’t be able to move.’
‘The drawings are only intended to give you a general idea,’ she told him, trying to keep a grip on her temper.
‘Why don’t you be a good girl and take these to a dressmaker?’ he suggested. ‘I work in steel, not brocade or satin. Armor like this would be useless, and so uncomfortable that you wouldn’t be able to wear it.’
‘Then modify it,’ she grated from between clenched teeth.
He glanced at her design again, then deliberately crumpled her drawings in his fist and threw them into the corner. ‘Foolishness,’ he grunted.
Ce’Nedra resisted the urge to scream. She retrieved the drawings. ‘What’s the matter with them?’ she persisted.
‘Too much here.’ He stabbed a thick finger at the shoulder represented on the drawing. ‘You wouldn’t be able to lift your arm. And here.’ He pointed at the armhole on the breastplate she had drawn. ‘If I make it that tight, your arms would stick straight out. You wouldn’t even be able to scratch your nose. As long as we’re at it, where did you get the whole notion in the first place? Do you want a mail shirt or a breastplate? You can’t have both.’
‘Why not?’
‘The weight. You wouldn’t be able to carry it.’
‘Make it lighter then. Can’t you do that?’
‘I can make it like cobwebs if you want, but what good would it be if I did? You could cut through it with a paring knife.’
Ce’Nedra drew in a deep breath. ‘Master armorer,’ she said to him in a level voice, ‘look at me. In all the world do you think there’s a single warrior small enough for me to fight?’
He considered her tiny form, scratching his bald head and looking down at her with pursed lips. ‘You are a bit undergrown,’ he admitted. ‘If you aren’t going to fight, why do you need armor?’
‘It’s not actually going to be armor,’ she explained to him rather impatiently, ‘but I need to look like I’m wearing armor. It’s sort of in the nature of a costume.’ She saw instantly that her choice of words had been a mistake. Delban’s face darkened, and he threw her drawings away again. It took another ten minutes to mollify him. Eventually, after much wheedling and outrageous flattery, she persuaded him to consider the whole notion as something in the nature of an artistic challenge.
‘All right,’ he surrendered finally with a sour look, ‘take off your clothes.’
‘What?’
‘Take your dress off,’ he repeated. ‘I need exact measurements.’
‘Do you realize what you’re suggesting?’
‘Little girl,’ he said testily, ‘I’m a married man. I’ve got daughters older than you are. You are wearing underclothes, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘That will satisfy the demands of modesty. Take off the dress.’
With a flaming face, Ce’Nedra removed her dress. Durnik the smith, who had watched the entire exchange from the doorway with an open grin on his face, politely turned his back.
‘You ought to eat more,’ Delban told her. ‘You’re as scrawny as a chicken.’
‘I can do without the comments,’ she replied tartly. ‘Get on with this. I’m not going to stand around in my chemise all day.’
Delban picked up a piece of stout cord with knots tied in it at regular intervals. He took a great many measurements with the cord, meticulously recording them on a piece of flat board. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘That ought to do it. Go ahead and get dressed again.’
Ce’Nedra scrambled back into her dress. ‘How long will it take?’ she asked.
‘Two or three weeks.’
‘Impossible. I need it next week.’
‘Two weeks,’ he repeated stubbornly.
‘Ten days,’ she countered.
For the first time since she had entered his workshop, the blunt man smiled. ‘She’s used to getting her own way, isn’t she?’ he observed to Durnik.
‘She’s a princess,’ Durnik informed him. ‘She usually gets what she wants in the end.’
‘All right, my scrawny little princess.’ Delban laughed. ‘Ten days.’
Ce’Nedra beamed at him. ‘I knew you’d see it my way.’
Precisely ten days later, the princess, with Durnik once again in tow, returned to Delban’s workshop. The mail shirt the craftsman had fashioned was so light that it could almost have been described as delicate. The helmet, hammered from thin steel, was surmounted with a white plume and was encircled with a gold crown. The greaves, which were to protect the fronts of Ce’Nedra’s legs, fit to perfection. There was even an embossed shield rimmed with brass and a light sword with an ornate hilt and scabbard.
Ce’Nedra, however, was staring disapprovingly at the breastplate Delban had made for her. It would quite obviously fit – too well. ‘Didn’t you forget something?’ she asked him.
He picked the breastplate up in his big hands and examined it. ‘It’s all there,’ he told her. ‘Front, back, all the straps to hook them together. What else did you want?’
‘Isn’t it a trifle – understated?’ Ce’Nedra suggested delicately.
‘It’s made to fit,’ he replied. ‘The understatement isn’t my fault.’
‘I want it a little more—’ She made a sort of curving gesture with her hands.
‘What for?’
‘Never mind what for. Just do it.’
‘What do you plan to put in it?’
‘That’s my business. Just do it the way I told you to.’
He tossed a heavy hammer down on his anvil. ‘Do it yourself,’ he told her bluntly.
‘Durnik,’ Ce’Nedra appealed to the smith.
‘Oh, no, princess,’ Durnik refused. ‘I don’t touch another man’s tools. That just isn’t done.’
‘Please, Delban,’ she wheedled.
‘It’s foolishness,’ he told her, his face set.
‘It’s important,’ she coaxed. ‘If I wear it like that, I’ll look like a little boy. When people see me, they have to know that I’m a woman. It’s terribly, terribly important. Couldn’t you – well – just a little bit?’ She cupped her hands slightly.
Delban gave Durnik a disgusted look. ‘You had to bring her to my workshop, didn’t you?’
‘Everybody said you were the best,’ Durnik replied mildly.
‘Just a little bit, Delban?’ Ce’Nedra urged.
Delban gave up. ‘Oh, all right,’ he growled, picking up his hammer. ‘Anything to get you out of my shop – but not clear out to here.’ He made an exaggerated gesture.
‘I’ll depend on your good taste, Delban.’ She smiled, patting his cheek with a fond little laugh. ‘Shall we say tomorrow morning?’
The armor, Ce’Nedra decided the following morning as she inspected herself in the mirror, was perfect. ‘Well, what do you think, Adara?’ she asked her friend.
‘It looks very nice, Ce’Nedra,’ the tall girl replied, although a bit dubiously.
‘It’s just exactly right,’ Ce’Nedra said happily, turning so that the blue cape fastened to the shoulder pieces of the breastplate flared and swirled dramatically. The gleaming mail shirt she wore under the breastplate reached to her knees and wrists. The greaves covering her calves and the armguards reaching to her elbows were inlaid with brass; Delban had steadfastly refused the notion of gold. The armor did chafe a bit through the thick linen undershirt she wore, Ce’Nedra privately admitted, but she was prepared to accept that. She brandished her sword, studying the effect in her mirror.
‘You’re holding it wrong, Ce’Nedra,’ Adara suggested politely.
‘Show me,’ Ce’Nedra said, handing over her sword.
Adara took the weapon and gripped it firmly, its point low. She looked extremely competent.
‘Where did you ever learn to do that?’ Ce’Nedra asked her.
‘We’re given instruction,’ Adara replied, ha
nding back the sword. ‘It’s traditional.’
‘Help me on with my shield.’
Between them, they managed to gird the princess in all her warlike equipment.
‘However do you keep it from getting tangled up in your legs?’ Ce’Nedra demanded, fumbling with the long scabbard at her waist.
‘Hold on to the hilt,’ Adara told her. ‘Do you want me to go along?’
Ce’Nedra thought about that as she smoothed her hair and settled her plumed helmet more firmly in place. ‘I guess not,’ she decided rather reluctantly. ‘I think I’ll have to face them alone. Do I really look all right?’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Adara assured her.
A sudden thought struck the princess. ‘What if they laugh?’ she demanded in a frightened voice.
‘You could draw your sword on them, I suppose,’ Adara replied gravely.
‘Are you making fun of me, Adara?’
‘Of course not, Princess,’ Adara answered with an absolutely straight face.
When Ce’Nedra reached the door to the council chamber, she drew in a deep breath and entered, once again without knocking. Knocking would have been inappropriate, suggesting somehow that she had doubts about her right to be there.
‘Well, gentlemen?’ she said to the assembled kings and generals as she stepped to the center of the room where they could all see her.
King Rhodar rose politely. ‘Your Majesty,’ he greeted her, bowing. ‘We were curious about your absence. The reason is now abundantly clear.’
‘Do you approve?’ she could not help asking. She turned so they could all see her armor.
King Rhodar looked at her, his eyes speculative. ‘It is impressive, don’t you think?’ he said to the others. ‘Just the right touches in the right places. The Arends will flock to her, and the Tolnedrans – well, we’ll have to see about the Tolnedrans.’
King Anheg looked like a man having a serious struggle with himself. ‘Why do I feel that I’m being pushed into something?’ he complained. ‘The very notion of this makes my blood cold, but I can’t think of any rational arguments against it.’ He critically scrutinized Ce’Nedra. ‘She doesn’t really look all that bad, does she?’ he conceded grudgingly. ‘It’s absolutely unnatural, of course, but the armor does add something. This might even work.’
‘I’m so glad I meet with your Majesty’s approval,’ Ce’Nedra almost gushed at him. She tried to curtsy, but her armor made that impossible. She gave a helpless little laugh and fluttered her eyelashes at the brutish-looking King of Cherek.
‘Don’t do that, Ce’Nedra,’ he told her irritably. ‘I’m having enough trouble with this as it is.’ He almost glared at her. ‘All right,’ he said finally, ‘as long as we all understand that she’s not going to make any decisions, I’ll go along with the idea. I don’t like it much, but that’s beside the point, I suppose.’ He stood up and bowed to her. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, looking as if the words nearly choked him.
Ce’Nedra beamed at him and instinctively tried to respond to his bow.
‘Don’t bow, Ce’Nedra,’ he advised her with a pained look. ‘The Overlord of the West doesn’t bow to anyone.’ He turned in exasperation to the King of Drasnia. ‘That isn’t going to work, Rhodar. What are we going to call her? The Overlady of the West? We’ll be the laughing-stock of the twelve kingdoms if we do.’
‘We call her the Rivan Queen, my dear Anheg,’ King Rhodar replied urbanely. ‘And we break the head of any man who refuses to bow to her.’
‘You can count on that.’ Anheg scowled. ‘If I bow to her, everybody’s going to bow to her.’
‘I’m glad that’s all been settled,’ a familiar voice came from a dim corner of the council chamber.
‘Lady Polgara,’ Ce’Nedra gasped with a certain confusion. ‘I didn’t realize you were here.’
‘That’s fairly obvious,’ Polgara replied. ‘You have been busy, haven’t you dear?’
‘I—’ Ce’Nedra faltered.
Polgara carefully set down her teacup and moved into the light. Her face was serious, but there was a faintly amused twinkle in her eyes as she examined the armor-clad princess. ‘Very interesting,’ was all she said.
Ce’Nedra was crushed.
‘Gentlemen,’ Polgara said to the council, ‘I’m sure you still have much to discuss. In the meantime, her Majesty and I need to have a little discussion of our own. I’m sure you’ll excuse us.’ She moved toward the door. ‘Come along, Ce’Nedra,’ she said without so much as a backward glance.
Trembling, the princess followed her from the room.
Polgara said nothing until the door to her own chambers had closed behind them. Then she turned and looked gravely at the princess in her armor. ‘I’ve heard about what you’ve been up to, Ce’Nedra. Would you care to explain?’
‘They were all arguing so much,’ Ce’Nedra began lamely. ‘They needed somebody to unite them.’
‘And you decided to take that upon yourself?’
‘Well—’
‘How did you know they were arguing?’
Ce’Nedra flushed guiltily.
‘I see,’ Polgara murmured. ‘You’ve discovered how to use my sister’s amulet. How clever of you.’
‘Let me do it, Lady Polgara!’ Ce’Nedra pleaded suddenly. ‘Let me lead them; I know I can do it. Let me prove that I’m fit to be Garion’s queen.’
Polgara gazed at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re growing up very rapidly, Ce’Nedra,’ she said finally.
‘You’ll let me do it?’
‘We’ll talk about it. Take off your helmet and shield, dear, and stand your sword over in the corner. I’ll make us a nice cup of tea, and you can tell me exactly what you’ve got in mind. I’d rather not have any surprises, once we get started in this.’
‘You’re going with us?’ For some reason that startled Ce’Nedra.
‘Of course I am,’ Polgara told her. She smiled then. ‘Possibly I can keep at least you out of trouble. I seem not to have had much success with Garion.’ She stopped and looked rather pointedly at Ce’Nedra’s breastplate. ‘Isn’t that a trifle overdone, dear?’
Ce’Nedra blushed. ‘I thought it would be more – well—’ She floundered with it defensively.
‘Ce’Nedra,’ Polgara told her, ‘you don’t have to be so selfconscious. You’re still a young girl, after all. Give it some time. Things will improve.’
‘I’m so flat,’ the princess wailed, almost in despair about it. A thought occurred to her. ‘Do you suppose you could – well—’ She made a sort of a gesture.
‘No, dear,’ Polgara said firmly. ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea. It would do some very strange things to certain necessary balances within you, and those are not the sort of things to be tampered with. Just be patient. If nothing else, a few children will fill you out.’
‘Oh, Lady Polgara,’ Ce’Nedra said with a helpless little laugh, ‘you seem to know everything. You’re like the mother I never had.’ Impulsively she threw her arms about Polgara’s neck.
Polgara wrinkled her nose. ‘Ce’Nedra,’ she suggested, ‘why don’t you take off your armor? You smell like an iron pot.’
Ce’Nedra began to laugh.
In the days that followed, a number of people left Riva on important missions. Barak sailed north to Val Alorn to attend the outfitting of the Cherek fleet. Mandorallen left for Vo Mimbre to report to King Korodullin. The fiery young Lelldorin, who had received a pardon at Garion’s request, took ship to return to Asturia to make certain preparations there. Hettar, Relg, and Colonel Brendig departed for Camaar, where they would separate and each would return home to oversee the final stages of the mobilization. Events, which always moved at their own pace, began to stir and quicken as the West moved inexorably toward war.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Princess Ce’Nedra soon discovered that Alorns were a surprisingly emotional people. She was forced from the outset to abandon the stereotyped Tolnedran view of this northern race as brutish sa
vages, ravening on the extreme edges of civilization. She found them instead to be an extraordinarily complex people often capable of an extreme range of highly subtle emotions.
There was nothing subtle, however, about the apoplectic fury of King Anheg of Cherek when he came bursting into the council chamber a few days later with his eyes bulging and his face aflame. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’ he bellowed at Ce’Nedra.
‘Done to what, your Majesty?’ she replied calmly.
‘To Cherek!’ he shouted, his dented crown sliding down over one ear. ‘This little game you’ve been playing gave my wife the brilliant idea that she’s going to run my country while I’m gone.’
‘She’s your wife, King Anheg,’ Ce’Nedra pointed out coolly. ‘It’s only proper that she should mind the kingdom in your absence.’
‘Mind?’ he almost screamed. ‘Islena doesn’t have a mind. There’s nothing between her ears but empty air.’
‘Why did you marry her then?’
‘It certainly wasn’t for her mind.’
‘She might surprise you, Anheg,’ King Rhodar suggested with an amused look on his face.
‘The only thing that would surprise me would be to find anything left when I get back,’ Anheg retorted, collapsing in a chair. ‘And there’s nothing I can do to stop her. No matter what I say, she’ll assume the throne as soon as I leave. It’s going to be a disaster. Women have no business in politics. They’re too weak-brained for it.’
‘I’m afraid that suggestion won’t endear you very much in this particular company, Anheg.’ King Rhodar chuckled, glancing at Polgara. One of her eyebrows had shot up at Anheg’s last remark.
‘Oh – sorry, Polgara,’ Anheg muttered, embarrassed. ‘I didn’t mean you, of course. I don’t really think of you as a woman.’
‘I wouldn’t pursue it any further, Anheg,’ King Rhodar advised him. ‘You’ve blundered quite enough for one day already.’
‘That’s all right, Rhodar,’ Polgara said in a frigid tone. ‘I find the observations of the King of Cherek most interesting.’
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