“Let’s get her to bed,” Polgara said, leading the way, to one of the curtained-off sleeping chambers.
Garion picked up the tiny form of his sleeping wife and followed. “What’s wrong with her, Aunt Pol?” he demanded as he laid her gently on the bed.
“I’m not positive,” Polgara replied, covering Ce’Nedra with a rough soldier’s blanket. “I’ll need more time to pin it down.”
“What can we do?”
“Not very much while we’re on the road,” she admitted candidly, “We’ll keep her asleep until we get to Rak Hagga. Once I get her into a more stable situation, I’ll be able to work on it. Stay with her. I want to talk with Sadi for a few moments.”
Garion sat worriedly by the bed, gently holding his wife’s limp little hand while Polgara went back out to consult with the eunuch concerning the various drugs in his case. Then she returned, drawing the drape shut behind her. “He has most of what I need,” she reported quietly. “I’ll be able to improvise the rest.” She touched Garion’s shoulder and bent forward. “General Atesca just came in,” she whispered to him. “He wants to see you. I wouldn’t be too specific about the cause of Ce’Nedra’s attack. We can’t be sure just how much ’Zakath knows about our reasons for being here, and Atesca’s certain to report everything that happens, so watch what you say.”
He started to protest.
“You can’t do anything here, Garion, and they need you out there. I’ll watch her.”
“Is she subject to these seizures often?” Atesca was asking as Garion came through the draped doorway.
“She’s very high-strung,” Silk replied. “Sometimes circumstances get the best of her. Polgara knows what to do.”
Atesca turned to face Garion. “Your Majesty,” he said in a chilly tone, “I don’t appreciate your attacking my soldiers.”
“He got in my way, General,” Garion replied. “I don’t think I hurt him all that much.”
“There’s a principle involved, your Majesty.”
“Yes,” Garion agreed, “there is. Give the man my apologies, but advise him not to interfere with me again—particularly when it concerns my wife. I don’t really like hurting people, but I can make exceptions when I have to.”
Atesca’s look grew steely, and the gaze Garion returned was just as bleak. They stared at each other for a long moment. “With all due respect, your Majesty,” Atesca said finally, “don’t abuse my hospitality again.”
” Only if the situation requires it, General.”
“I’ll instruct my men to prepare a litter for your wife,” Atesca said then, “and let’s plan to get an early start tomorrow. If the Queen is ill, we want to get her to Rak Hagga as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, General,” Garion replied.
Atesca bowed coldly, then turned and left.
“Wouldn’t you say that was a trifle blunt, Belgarion?” Sadi murmured. “We are in Atesca’s power at the moment.”
Garion grunted. “I didn’t like his attitude.” He looked at Belgarath, whose expression was faintly disapproving.
“Well?” he asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I could hear you thinking all the way over here.”
“Then I don’t have to say it, do I?”
The next day dawned cold and raw, but the snow had stopped. Garion rode at the side of Ce’Nedra’s horse-borne litter with his face mirroring his concern. The road they followed ran northwesterly past more burned-out villages and shattered towns. The ruins were covered with a thick coating of the clinging wet snow that had fallen the previous day, and each of them was encircled by a ring of those grim, occupied crosses and stakes.
It was about midafternoon when they crested a hill and saw the lead-gray expanse of Lake Hagga stretching far in the north and east; on the near shore was a large, walled city.
“Rak Hagga,” Atesca said with a certain relief.
They rode on down the hill toward the city. A brisk wind was blowing in off the lake, whipping their cloaks about them and tossing the manes of their horses.
“All right, gentlemen,” Atesca said over his shoulder to his troops, “let’s form up and try to look like soldiers.” The red-cloaked Malloreans pulled their horses into a double file and straightened in their saddles.
The walls of Rak Hagga had been breached in several places, and the tops of the battlements were chipped and pitted from the storms of steel-tipped arrows that had swept over them. The heavy gates had been burst asunder during the final assault on the city and hung in splinters from their rusty iron hinges.
The guards at the gate drew themselves up and saluted smartly as Atesca led the way into the city. The battered condition of the stone houses within the walls attested to the savagery of the fighting which had ensued when Rak Hagga had fallen. Many of them stood unroofed to the sky, their gaping, soot-blackened windows staring out at the rubble-choked streets. A work gang of sullen Murgos, dragging clanking chains behind them, labored to clear the fallen building stones out of the slushy streets under the watchful eyes of a detachment of Mallorean soldiers.
“You know,” Silk said, “that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a Murgo actually work. I didn’t think they even knew how.”
The headquarters of the Mallorean army in Cthol Murgos was in a large, imposing yellow-brick house near the center of the city. It faced a broad, snowy square, and a marble staircase led up to the main door with a file of red-cloaked Mallorean soldiers lining each side.
“The former residence of the Murgo Military Governor of Hagga,” Sadi noted as they drew near the house.
“You’ve been here before, then?” Silk asked.
“In my youth,” Sadi replied. “Rak Hagga has always been the center of the slave trade.”
Atesca dismounted and turned to one of his officers.
“Captain,” he said, “have your men bring the Queen’s litter. Tell them to be very careful.”
As the rest of them swung down from their mounts, the captain’s men unfastened the litter from the saddles of the two horses that had carried it and started up the marble stairs in General Atesca’s wake.
Just inside the broad doors stood a polished table, and seated behind it was an arrogant-looking man with angular eyes and an expensive-looking scarlet uniform.
Against the far wall stood a row of chairs occupied by bored-looking officials.
“State your business,” the officer behind the table said brusquely.
Atesca’s face did not change expression as he silently stared at the officer.
“I said to state your business.”
“Have the rules changed, Colonel?” Atesca asked in a deceptively mild voice. “Do we no longer rise in the presence of a superior?”
“I’m too busy to jump to my feet for every petty Melcene official from the outlying districts,” the colonel declared.
“Captain,” Atesca said flatly to his officer, “if the colonel is not on his feet in the space of two heartbeats, would you be so good as to cut his head off for me?”
“Yes, sir,” the captain replied, drawing his sword even as the startled colonel jumped to his feet.
“Much better,” Atesca told him. “Now, let’s begin over again. Do you by chance remember how to salute?”
The colonel saluted smartly, though his face was pale.
“Splendid. We’ll make a soldier of you yet. Now, one of the people I was escorting—a lady of high station—fell ill during our journey. I want a warm, comfortable room prepared for her immediately.”
“Sir,” the colonel protested, “I’m not authorized to do that.”
“Don’t put your sword away just yet, Captain.”
“But, General, the members of his Majesty’s household staff make all those decisions. They’ll be infuriated if I overstep my bounds.”