David Eddings - Castle of Wizardry

A strange thought occurred to the princess then. “You knew, didn’t you?” she blurted. “You knew all along.”

A faint flicker of amusement touched Polgara’s lips. “You always seem to forget that I have certain advantages, dear,” she replied, “and one of those is that I have a general idea of how things are going to turn out.”

“How could you possibly—”

“Certain events don’t just happen, Ce’Nedra. Some things have been implicit in this world since the moment it was made. What happened today was one of those things.” She reached over and picked up an age darkened scroll from the table. “Would you like to hear what the Prophecy says about you?”

Ce’Nedra felt a sudden chill.

Polgara ran her eyes down the crackling parchment. “Here it is,” she said, lifting the scroll into the candlelight. “ ‘And the voice of the Bride of Light shall be heard in the kingdoms of the world,’” she read, “ ‘and her words shall be as a fire in dry grass, that the multitudes shall rise up to go forth under the blaze of her banner.’”

“That doesn’t mean anything at all, Lady Polgara,” Ce’Nedra objected. “It’s absolute gibberish.”

“Does it become any clearer when you find out that Garion is the Child of Light?”

“What is that?” Ce’Nedra demanded, staring at the parchment. “Where did you get it?”

“It’s the Mrin Codex, dear. My father copied it for me from the original. It’s a bit obscure because the Mrin prophet was so hopelessly insane that he couldn’t speak coherently. King Dras Bull-neck finally had to keep him chained to a post like a dog.”

“King Dras? Lady Polgara, that was over three thousand years ago!”

“About that long, yes,” Polgara agreed.

Ce’Nedra began to tremble. “That’s impossible!” she blurted.

Polgara smiled. “Sometimes, Ce’Nedra, you sound exactly like Garion. I wonder why young people are so fond of that word.”

“But, Lady Polgara, if it hadn’t been for that young man who was so insulting, I might not have said anything at all.” The princess bit her lip. She had not meant to confess that.

“That’s probably why he was so insulting, then. It’s quite possible that insulting you at that particular moment was the only reason he was born in the first place. The Prophecy leaves nothing to chance. Do you think you might need him to help you get started next time? I can arrange to have him get drunk again if you do.”

“Next time?”

“Of course. Did you think that one speech to a very small audience was going to be the end of it? Really, Ce’Nedra, you have to learn to pay more attention to what’s going on. You’re going to have to speak in public at least once a day for the next several months.”

The princess stared at her in horror. “I can’t!” she wailed.

“Yes, you can, Ce’Nedra. Your voice will be heard in the land, and your words shall be as a fire in dry grass, and the multitudes of the West shall rise up to follow your banner. Down through all the centuries, I’ve never known the Mrin Codex to be wrong—not once. The important thing at the moment is for you to get plenty of rest and to eat regularly. I’ll prepare your meals myself.” She looked rather critically at the tiny girl. “It would help if you were a bit more robust, but I guess we’ll have to make do with what we have. Go get your things, Ce’Nedra. From now on, you’ll be staying with me. I think I’m going to want to keep an eye on you.”

In the weeks that followed, they moved down through the moist, green Arendish forest, and word of their coming spread throughout Asturia. Ce’Nedra was dimly aware that Polgara was carefully controlling the size and composition of the audiences to be addressed. Poor Lelldorin was seldom out of his saddle as he and a carefully selected group of his friends ranged ahead of the advancing army to prepare each gathering.

Ce’Nedra, once she had finally accepted her duty, had assumed that speaking in public would grow easier with practice. Unfortunately, she was wrong. Panic still gripped her before each speech, and quite frequently she was physically sick. Although Polgara assured her that her speeches were getting better, Ce’Nedra complained that they were not getting easier. The drain on her physical and emotional reserves became more and more evident. Like most girls her age, Ce’Nedra could and often did talk endlessly, but her orations were not random talk. They required an enormous control and a tremendous expenditure of emotional energy, and no one could help her.

As the crowds grew larger, however, Polgara did provide some aid in a purely technical matter. “Just speak in a normal tone of voice, Ce’Nedra,” she instructed. “Don’t exhaust yourself by trying to shout. I’ll see to it that everybody can hear you.” Aside from that, however, the princess was on her own, and the strain became more and more visible. She rode listlessly at the head of her growing army, seeming sometimes almost to be in a trance.

Her friends watched her and worried.

“I’m not sure how much longer she can keep up this pace,” King Fulrach confided to King Rhodar as they rode directly behind the drooping little queen toward the ruins of Vo Wacune, where she was to address yet another gathering. “I think we tend sometimes to forget how small and delicate she is.”

“Maybe we’d better consult with Polgara,” King Rhodar agreed. “I think the child needs a week’s rest.”

Ce’Nedra, however, knew that she could not stop. There was a momentum to this, a kind of accelerating rhythm that could not be broken. At first, word of her coming had spread slowly, but now it ran ahead of them, and she knew they must run faster and faster to keep up with it. There was a crucial point at which the curiosity about her must be satisfied or the whole thing would collapse and she’d have to begin all over again.

The crowd at Vo Wacune was the largest she had yet addressed. Half convinced already, they needed only a single spark to ignite them. Once again sick with unreasoning panic, the Rivan Queen gathered her strength and rose to address them and to set them aflame with her call to war.

When it was over and the young nobles had been gathered into the growing ranks of the army, Ce’Nedra sought a few moments of solitude on the outskirts of the camp to compose herself. This had become a kind of necessary ritual for her. Sometimes she was sick after a speech and sometimes she wept. Sometimes she merely wandered listlessly, not even seeing the trees about her. At Polgara’s instruction, Durnik always accompanied her, and Ce’Nedra found the company of this solid, practical man strangely comforting.

They had walked some distance from the ruins. The afternoon was bright and sunny, and birds sang among the trees. Pensively, Ce’Nedra walked, letting the peace of the forest quiet the agitated turmoil within her.

“It’s all very well for noblemen, Detton,” she heard someone say somewhere on the other side of a thicket, “but what does it have to do with us?”

“You’re probably right, Lammer,” a second voice agreed with a regretful sigh. “It was very stirring, though, wasn’t it?”

“The only thing that ought to stir a serf is the sight of something to eat,” the first man declared bitterly. “The little girl can talk all she wants about duty, but my only duty is to my stomach.” He stopped abruptly. “Are the leaves of that plant over there fit to eat?” he asked.

“I think they’re poisonous, Lammer,” Detton replied.

“But you’re not sure? I’d hate to pass up something I could eat if there was any chance that it wouldn’t kill me.”

Ce’Nedra listened to the two serfs with growing horror. Could anybody be reduced to that level? Impulsively, she stepped around the thicket to confront them. Durnik, as always, stayed close by her side.