"Thank you, your Majesty," General Kradak said in a flat voice. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.
"One of my father's generals," Urgit told Sadi sourly. "They all treat me like that." He began to pace up and down again, scuffing his feet at the carpet. "How much do you know about King Belgarion, Sadi?" he asked suddenly.
The eunuch shrugged. "Well, I've met him once or twice."
"Didn't you say that most of your servants are Alorns?"
"Alorn mercenaries, yes. They're dependable and very good to have around if a fight breaks out."
The Murgo King turned to Belgarath, who sat dozing in a chair. "You—old man," he said abruptly. "Have you ever met Belgarion of Riva?"
"Several times," Belgarath admitted calmly.
"What kind of man is he?"
"Sincere," Belgarath replied. "He tries very hard to be a good king."
"Just how powerful is he?"
"Well, he has the whole Alorn Alliance to back him up, and technically he's the Overlord of the West—although the Tolnedrans are likely to go their own way, and the Arends would rather fight each other."
"That's not what I meant. How good a sorcerer is he?"
"Why ask me, your Majesty? Do I look like the kind of man who'd know very much about that sort of thing? He managed to kill Torak, though, and I'd imagine that took a bit of doing."
"How about Belgarath? Is there really such a person, or is he just a myth?"
"No, Belgarath is a real person."
"And he's seven thousand years old?"
"Seven thousand or so." Belgarath shrugged. "Give or take a few centuries."
"And his daughter Polgara?"
"She's also a real person."
"And she's thousands of years old?"
"Something like that. I could probably figure it out if I needed to, but a gentleman doesn't ask questions about a lady's age."
Urgit laughed—a short, ugly, barking sound. "The words 'gentleman' and 'Murgo' are mutually exclusive, my friend," he said. "Do you think Belgarion would receive my emissaries, if I sent them to Riva?"
"He's out of the country just now," Belgarath told him blandly.
"I hadn't heard that."
"He does it from time to time. Every so often he gets bored with all the ceremonies and goes away."
"How does he manage that? How can he just pick up and leave?"
"Who's going to argue with him?"
Urgit began to gnaw worriedly on one fingernail. "Even if the Dagashi Kabach succeeds in killing Zakath, I'm still going to have a Mallorean army on my doorstep. I'm going to need an ally if I'm ever going to get rid of them." He began to pace up and down again. "Besides," he added, "if I can reach an agreement with Belgarion, maybe I'll be able to get Agachak's fist off my throat. Do you think he'd listen to a proposal from me?"
"You could ask him and find out, I suppose."
The door opened again and the Queen Mother, assisted by the girl Prala, entered.
"Good morning, mother," Urgit greeted her. "Why are you out roaming the halls of this madhouse?"
"Urgit," she said firmly, "you'd be much more admirable if you stopped trying to make a joke out of everything."
"It keeps me from brooding about my circumstances," he told her flippantly. "I'm losing a war, half of my subjects want to depose me and send my head to Zakath on a plate, I'll be going mad soon, and I think I'm developing a boil on my neck. There are only a few things left for me to laugh about, mother, so please let me enjoy a joke or two while I still can."
"Why do you keep insisting that you're going to go mad?"
"Every male in the Urga family for the past five hundred years has gone mad before he reached fifty," he reminded her. "It's one of the reasons we make such good kings. Nobody in his right mind would want the throne of Cthol Murgos. Was there anything special you wanted, mother? Or did you just want to enjoy my fascinating companionship?"
She looked around the room. "Which of you gentlemen is married to that little red-haired girl?" she asked.
Garion looked up quickly. "Is she all right, my Lady?"
"Pol, the lady with the white lock at her brow, said that you should come at once. The young woman seems to be in some distress."
Garion stood up to follow as the Queen Mother started slowly back toward the door. Just before she reached it, she stopped and glanced at Silk, who had pulled up his hood as soon as she had entered. "Why don't you accompany your friend?" she suggested, "Just for the sake of appearances?"
They went out of the room and on down one of the garish halls of the Drojim to a dark-paneled door guarded by a pair of mail-shirted men-at-arms. One of them opened the door with a respectful bow to Lady Tamazin, and she led them inside. Her quarters were decorated much more tastefully than the rest of the Drojim. The walls were white, and the decor much more subdued. Aunt Pol sat on a low divan, holding the weeping Ce'Nedra in her arms with Velvet standing nearby.
—Is she all right?—Garion's fingers asked quickly.
—I don't think it's too serious—Polgara's hands replied. —A bout of nerves most likely, but I don't want any of these fits of depression to go on for too long. She still hasn't fully recovered from her melancholia. See if you can comfort her.—
Garion went to the divan and enclosed Ce'Nedra gently in his arms. She clung to him, still weeping.
"Is the young lady subject to these crying-spells, Pol?" the Queen Mother asked as the two of them took chairs on opposite sides of the cheery fire that danced on the grate.
"Not all that frequently, Tamazin," Polgara answered. "There's been a recent tragedy in her family, though, and sometimes her nerves get the best of her."
"Ah," Urgit's mother said. "Could I offer you a cup of tea, Pol? I always find tea in the morning so comforting."
"Why, thank you, Tamazin. I think that would be very nice."
Gradually, Ce'Nedra's weeping subsided, though she still clung tightly to Garion. At last she raised her head and wiped at her eyes with her fingertips. "I'm so very sorry," she apologized. "I don't know what came over me."
"It's all right, dear," Garion murmured, his arms still about her shoulders.
She dabbed at her eyes again, using a wispy little handkerchief. "I must look absolutely terrible," she said with a teary little laugh.