“Do you think he’d be proud of me—if he knew what I’m doing, I mean?”
“Yes,” Polgara told her, “I think he would be.”
“I’m going to make it all up to him, you know,” Ce’Nedra promised. “I’m going to be the best wife in the world.”
“That’s nice, dear.”
“I won’t scold or shout or anything.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ce’Nedra,” Polgara said wisely.
“Well,” the little princess amended, “almost never anyway.”
Polgara smiled. “We’ll see.”
The Mimbrate knights were encamped on the great plain before the city of Vo Mimbre. Together with their men-at-arms, they comprised a formidable army, glittering in the sunlight.
“Oh dear,” Ce’Nedra faltered as she stared down at the vast gathering from the hilltop where she and the Alorn Kings had ridden to catch the first glimpse of the city.
“What’s the problem?” Rhodar asked her.
“There are so many of them.”
“That’s the whole idea, isn’t it?”
A tall Mimbrate knight with dark hair and beard, wearing a black velvet surcoat over his polished armor, galloped up the hill and reined in some yards before them. He looked from face to face, then inclined his head in a polite bow. He turned to Mandorallen. “Greetings to the Bastard of Vo Mandor from Korodullin, King of Arendia.”
“You still haven’t gotten that straightened out, have you?” Barak muttered to Mandorallen.
“I have not had leisure, my Lord,” Mandorallen replied. He turned to the knight. “Hail and well-met, Sir Andorig. I pray thee, convey our greetings to his Majesty and advise him that we come in peace—which he doubtless doth know already.”
“I will, Sir Mandorallen,” Andorig responded.
“How’s your apple tree doing, Andorig?” Barak asked, grinning openly.
“It doth flourish, my Lord of Trellheim,” Andorig answered proudly. “My care for it bath been most tender, and I have hopes of a bounteous harvest. I am confident that I have not disappointed Holy Belgarath.” He turned and clattered back down the hill, sounding his horn every hundred yards or so.
“What was that all about?” King Anheg asked his red-bearded cousin with a puzzled frown.
“We’ve been here before,” Barak replied. “Andorig didn’t believe us when we told him who Belgarath was. Belgarath made an apple tree grow up out of the stones of the courtyard, and that sort of convinced him.”
“I pray thee,” Mandorallen said then, his eyes clouded with a sudden pain. “I see the approach of dear friends. I shall return presently.” He moved his horse at a canter toward a knight and a lady who were riding out from the city.
“Good man there,” Rhodar mused, watching the great knight as he departed. “But why do I get the feeling that when I’m talking to him my words are bouncing off solid bone?”
“Mandorallen is my knight,” Ce’Nedra quickly came to the defense of her champion. “He doesn’t need to think. I’ll do his thinking for him.” She stopped suddenly. “Oh dear,” she said. “That sounds dreadful, doesn’t it?”
King Rhodar laughed. “You’re a treasure, Ce’Nedra,” he said fondly, “but you do tend to blurt things out on occasion.”
“Who are those people?” Ce’Nedra asked, curiously watching as Mandorallen rode to meet the couple who had emerged from the gates of Vo Mimbre.
“That’s the Baron of Vo Ebor,” Durnik replied quietly, “and his wife, the Baroness Nerina. Mandorallen’s in love with her.”
“What?”
“It’s all very proper,” Durnik assured her quickly. “I didn’t understand it at first myself, but I guess it’s the sort of thing that happens here in Arendia. It’s a tragedy, of course. All three of them are suffering terribly.” The good man sighed.
“Oh dear,” Ce’Nedra said, biting her lip. “I didn’t know—and I’ve treated him so badly at times.”
“I’m sure he’ll forgive you, princess,” Durnik told her. “He has a very great heart.”
A short time later, King Korodullin rode out from the city, accompanied by Mandorallen and a score of armored knights. Ce’Nedra had met the young King of Arendia several years before, and she remembered him as a pale, thin young man with a beautiful voice. On this occasion he was dressed in full armor and a crimson surcoat. He raised his visor as he approached. “Your Majesty,” he greeted her gravely, “we have awaited thy coming with great anticipation.”
“Your Majesty is too kind,” Ce’Nedra replied.
“We have marvelled at the stories of thy mobilization of our Asturian cousins,” the king told her. “Throe oratory must be wondrously persuasive to move them to lay aside their customary enmities.”
“The day wears on, your Majesty,” King Rhodar observed. “Her Majesty would like to address your knights—with your permission, of course. Once you’ve heard her, I think you’ll understand her value to our cause.”
“At once, your Majesty,” Korodullin agreed. He turned to one of his men. “Assemble the knights and men-at-arms of Mimbre that the Rivan Queen may disclose her mind to them,” he commanded.
The army which had followed Ce’Nedra down through the plains of Arendia had begun to arrive and was flowing down onto the plain before the city in a vast multitude. Drawn up to meet that force stood the glittering Mimbrate knights. The air crackled with suspicion as the two groups eyed each other.
“I think we’d better move right along,” King Cho-Hag suggested. “An accidental remark out there could precipitate some unpleasantness we’d all prefer to avoid.”
Ce’Nedra had already begun to feel sick to her stomach. The feeling by now, however, was so familiar that it no longer even worried her. A platform had been erected on a spot that stood midway between Ce’Nedra’s army and the armored knights of King Korodullin. The princess, accompanied by all her friends and the Mimbrate honor guard, rode down to the platform, where she nervously dismounted.
“Feel free to speak at length, Ce’Nedra,” Lady Polgara quietly advised. “Mimbrates dote on ceremony and they’re as patient as stones if you give them something formal to watch. It’s about two hours until sunset. Try to time the climax of your speech to coincide with that.”
Ce’Nedra gasped. “Two hours?”
“If you need longer, we can build bonfires,” Durnik offered helpfully.
“Two hours ought to be about right,” Lady Polgara surmised.
Ce’Nedra quickly began mentally revising her speech. “You’ll make sure they can all hear me?” she asked Polgara.
“I’ll take care of it, dear.”
Ce’Nedra drew in a deep breath. “All right, then,” she said, “here we go.” And she was helped up onto the platform.
It was not pleasant. It never was, but her weeks of practice in northern Arendia had given her the ability to assess the mood of a crowd and to adjust the pace of her delivery accordingly. As Polgara had suggested, the Mimbrates seemed quite willing to listen interminably. Moreover, standing here on the field at Vo Mimbre gave her words a certain dramatic impact. Torak himself had stood here, and the vast human sea of the Angarak hordes had hurled themselves from here against the unyielding walls of the city gleaming at the edge of the plain. Ce’Nedra spoke, the words rolling from her mouth as she delivered her impassioned address. Every eye was upon her, and every ear was bent to her words. Whatever sorcery Lady Polgara used to make the Rivan Queen’s voice audible at the farthest edge of the crowd was clearly working. Ce’Nedra could see the impact of what she was saying rippling through the hosts before her like a breeze touching a field of bending wheat.
And then, as the sun hovered in golden clouds just above the western horizon, the little queen moved into the climactic crescendo of her oration. The words “pride,”
“honor,”
“courage,” and “duty” sang in the blood of her rapt listeners. Her final question, “Who will follow me?” was delivered just as the setting sun bathed the field with flaming light and was answered with an ear-splitting roar as the Mimbrate knights drew their swords in salute.