David Eddings - Enchanter's End Game

“I hope that this won’t offend your Imperial Majesty,” Ce’Nedra began bravely, “but one is curious about your plans in regard to our future.”

“Please set your mind at rest, your Highness,” ’Zakath replied in his dead-sounding voice. “Word has reached me that the madman, Taur Urgas, is dead. I will never be able to repay you for that service, and I bear you absolutely no ill will whatsoever.” He glanced toward one corner of his tent where his cat, purring ecstatically, was lying on her back in Errand’s lap with all four paws in the air. The smiling child was gently stroking her furry belly. “How charming,” ’Zakath murmured in an oddly melancholy voice.

Then the Emperor of boundless Mallorea rose and approached the divan where Durnik supported Lady Polgara. “My Queen,” he said, bowing to her with profound respect. “Your beauty quite transcends all reports.”

Polgara opened her eyes and gave him a level gaze. A wild hope leaped in Ce’Nedra’s heart. Polgara was conscious.

“You are courteous, my Lord,” Polgara told him in a weak voice.

“You are my queen, Polgara,” ’Zakath told her, “and I can now understand my God’s ages-old longing for you.” He sighed then as his apparently habitual melancholy descended upon him once again.

“What are you going to do with us?” Durnik asked, his arms still holding Polgara protectively.

’Zakath sighed again. “The God of my people is not a good or kindly God,” he told the smith. “If the arranging of things had been left to me, all might have been different. I was not consulted, however. I am Angarak, and I must bow to the will of Torak. The sleep of the Dragon God grows fitful, and I must obey his commands. Though it wounds me deeply, I must turn you and your companions over to the Grolims. They will deliver you up to Zedar, disciple of Torak in Cthol Mishrak, City of Night, where he will decide your fate.”

They remained for nearly a week in the Imperial compound as the personal guests of the Emperor ’Zakath, who for some strange reason seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in their company. Quarters were provided for them within the labyrinth of silken tents and pavilions that sheltered ’Zakath’s household staff, and their every comfort received the personal attention of the Emperor himself.

The strange, sad-eyed man puzzled Princess Ce’Nedra. Although he was the absolute soul of courtesy, the memory of his interview with King Gethell frightened her. His ruthlessness was all the more chilling because he never lost his temper. He never seemed to sleep either, and when, often in the middle of the night, he felt some obscure need for conversation, he would send for Ce’Nedra. He never apologized for having interrupted her rest. It apparently did not even occur to him that his summons might in some way inconvenience her.

“Where did King Rhodar receive his military training?” ’Zakath asked her during one of these midnight interviews. “None of my information about him even hints about any such talent.” The Emperor was seated deep in the purple cushions of a soft chair with golden candlelight playing over his face and his cat dozing in his lap.

“I really couldn’t say, your Majesty,” Ce’Nedra replied, toying absently with the sleeve of the pale silk gown that had been provided for her soon after her arrival. “I only met Rhodar last winter.”

“Very peculiar,” ’Zakath mused. “We had always assumed that he was just a foolish old man doting on his young wife. We had never even considered him a possible threat. We concentrated our attentions on Brand and Anheg. Brand is too self effacing to be a good leader, and Anheg seemed too erratic to give us much concern. Then Rhodar appeared out of nowhere to take charge of things. The Alorns are an enigma, aren’t they? How can a sensible Tolnedran girl stand them?”

She smiled briefly. “They have a certain charm, your Majesty,” she told him rather pertly.

“Where is Belgarion?” The question came without any warning.

“We don’t know, your Majesty,” Ce’Nedra answered evasively. “Lady Polgara was furious when he slipped away.”

“In the company of Belgarath and Kheldar,” the Emperor added. “We heard of the search for them. Tell me, Princess, does he by any chance have Cthrag Yaska with him?”

“Cthrag Yaska?”

“The burning stone—what you in the west call the Orb of Aldur.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that, your Majesty,” she told him rather primly, “and I’m sure you’re too courteous to try to wring the information out of me.”

“Princess,” he said reprovingly.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty,” she apologized and gave him that quick, little girl smile that was always her weapon of last resort.

’Zakath smiled gently. “You’re a devious young woman, Ce’Nedra,” he said.

“Yes, your Majesty,” she acknowledged. “What prompted you and Taur Urgas to bury your enmity and unite against us?” Ce’Nedra wanted to demonstrate that she too could ask surprise questions.

“There was no unity in our attack, Princess,” he replied. “I was merely responding to Taur Urgas.”

“I don’t understand.”

“So long as he remained at Rak Goska, I was perfectly content to stay at Thull Zelik; but as soon as he began to march north, I had to respond. The land of the Thulls is of too much strategic importance to allow it to be occupied by a hostile force.”

“And what now, ’Zakath?” Ce’Nedra asked him impudently. “Taur Urgas is dead. Where will you turn now in search of an enemy?”

He smiled a wintry smile. “How little you understand us, Ce’Nedra. Taur Urgas was only the symbol of Murgo fanaticism. Ctuchik is dead, and Taur Urgas is dead, but Murgodom lives on—even as Mallorea will live on when I am gone. Our enmity goes back for eons. At last, however, a Mallorean Emperor is in a position to crush Cthol Murgos once and for all and make himself undisputed overking of Angarak.”

“It’s all for power, then?”

“What else is there?” he asked sadly. “When I was very young, I thought that there might be something else—but events proved that I was wrong.” A brief look of pain crossed his face, and he sighed. “In time you will discover that same truth. Your Belgarion will grow colder as the years pass and the chill satisfaction of power comes more and more to possess him. When it is complete, and only his love of power remains, then he and I will move against each other as inevitably as two great tides. I will not attack him until his education is complete. There is no satisfaction in destroying a man who does not fully comprehend reality. When all of his illusions are gone and only his love of power remains, then he will be a fit opponent.” His face had grown bleak. He looked at her, his eyes as dead and cold as ice. “I think I’ve kept you from your rest too long, Princess,” he said. “Go to bed and dream of love and other absurdities. The dreams will die all too soon, so enjoy them while you can.”

Early the next morning, Ce’Nedra entered the pavilion where Polgara rested, recuperating from the struggle with the Grolims at Thull Mardu. She was alert, but still dreadfully weak.

“He’s every bit as insane as Taur Urgas was,” Ce’Nedra reported. “He’s so obsessed with the idea of becoming overking of Angarak that he isn’t even paying any attention to what we’ve been doing.”

“That may change once Anheg starts sinking his troop ships,” Polgara replied. “There’s nothing we can do at the moment, so just keep listening to him and be polite.”

“Do you think we should try to escape?”

“No.”