David Eddings - Castle of Wizardry

Brand’s youngest son, Olban, however, was already plunging at a dead run into the forest. His face had gone deathly pale, and his sword seemed to leap into his hand as he spun his horse. The sound of his galloping mount faded back among the trees. After several moments, there was a dreadful scream.

Shouts of alarm came from the army behind them and a confused babble of voices. Polgara rode forward, her face white.

“I’m all right, Lady Polgara,” Ce’Nedra assured her quickly. “Barak saved me.”

“What happened?” Polgara demanded.

“Someone shot an arrow at her,” Barak growled. “If I hadn’t heard it buzz, it might have been very bad.”

Lelldorin had picked up the shattered arrow shaft and was looking at it closely. “The fletching is loose,” he said, rubbing his finger over the feathers. “That’s what made it buzz like that.”

Olban came riding back out of the forest, his bloody sword still in his hand. “Is the queen safe?” he demanded; for some reason, his voice seemed on the verge of hysteria.

“She’s fine,” Barak said, looking at him curiously.

“Who was it?”

“A Murgo, I think,” Olban replied. “He had scars on his cheeks.”

“Did you kill him?”

Olban nodded. “Are you sure you’re all right, my Queen?” he asked Ce’Nedra. His pale, blond hair was tousled, and he seemed very young and very earnest.

“I’m just fine, Olban,” she replied. “You were very brave, but you should have waited instead of riding off alone like that. There might have been more than one.”

“Then I’d have killed them all,” Olban declared fiercely. “I’ll destroy anyone who even raises a finger against you.” The young man was actually trembling with rage.

“Thy dedication becomes thee, young Olban,” Mandorallen told him.

“I think we’d better put out some scouts,” Barak suggested to King Rhodar. “At least until we get out of these trees. Korodullin was going to chase all the Murgos out of Arendia, but it looks as if he missed a few.”

“Let me lead the scouting parties,” Olban begged.

“Your son has a great deal of enthusiasm,” Rhodar observed to Brand. “I like that in a young man.” He turned back to Olban. “All right,” he said. “Take as many men as you need. I don’t want any Murgos within five miles of the princess.”

“You have my word on it,” Olban declared, wheeling his horse and plunging back into the forest.

They rode a bit more cautiously after that, and archers were placed strategically to watch the crowd when Ce’Nedra spoke. Olban rather grimly reported that a few more Murgos had been flushed out of the trees ahead of them, but there were no further incidents.

It was very nearly the first day of summer when they rode out of the forest onto the central Arendish plain. Ce’Nedra by that time had gathered nearly every able-bodied Asturian into her army, and her hosts spread out behind her in a sea of humanity as she led the way out onto the plain. The sky above was very blue as they left the trees behind, and the grass was very green beneath the hooves of their horses.

“And where now, your Majesty?” Mandorallen inquired.

“To Vo Mimbre,” Ce’Nedra replied. “I’ll speak to the Mimbrate knights, and then we’ll go on to Tolnedra.”

“I hope your father still loves you, Ce’Nedra,” King Rhodar said. “It will take a lot of love to make Ran Borune forgive you for entering Tolnedra with this army at your back.”

“He adores me,” Ce’Nedra assured him confidently. King Rhodar still looked dubious.

The army marched down through the plains of central Arendia toward the capital at Vo Mimbre where King Korodullin had assembled the Mimbrate knights and their retainers. The weather continued fair, and they marched in bright sunshine.

One sunny morning shortly after they had set out, Lady Polgara rode forward and joined Ce’Nedra at the head of the column. “Have you decided how you’re going to deal with your father yet?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” the princess confessed. “He’s probably going to be extremely difficult.”

“The Borunes usually are.”

“I’m a Borune, Lady Polgara.”

“I know.” Polgara looked penetratingly at the princess. “You’ve grown considerably in the past few months, dear,” she observed.

“I didn’t really have much choice, Lady Polgara. This all came on rather suddenly.” Ce’Nedra giggled then as a thought suddenly struck her. “Poor Garion.” She laughed.

“Why poor Garion?”

“I was horrid to him, wasn’t I?”

“Moderately horrid, yes.”

“How were any of you able to stand me?”

“We clenched our teeth frequently.”

“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?”