“I was wrong.” Ce’Nedra sobbed. “Wrong, wrong! I should have stayed in Riva.”
“No,” Polgara disagreed. “You’ve done something that none of the rest of us could have. You’ve guaranteed us the Arends. I’m not even sure Garion could have done that.”
“But they’re all going to die!” Ce’Nedra wailed.
“Where did you get that idea?”
“The Angaraks are going to outnumber us at least two to one. They’ll butcher my army.”
“Who told you that?”
“I—I listened,” Ce’Nedra replied, fumbling with the amulet at her throat. “I heard what Rhodar, Anheg, and the others said when they heard about the southern Murgos.”
“I see,” Polgara said gravely.
“We’re going to throw away our lives. Nothing can save us. And just now I even found a way to bring the serfs into it. Their lives are so miserable that they’ll follow me just for the chance to eat regularly. And I’ll do it, Lady Polgara. If I think I might need them, I’ll deliberately take them from their homes and lead them to their deaths. I can’t help myself.”
Polgara took a glass from a nearby table and emptied a small glass vial into it. “The war isn’t over yet, Ce’Nedra. It hasn’t even begun.” She swirled the dark amber liquid around in the bottom of the glass. “I’ve seen hopeless wars won before. If you give in to despair before you begin, you’ll have no chance at all. Rhodar’s a very clever tactician, you know, and the men in your army are very brave. We won’t commit to any battle until we absolutely have to, and if Garion can reach Torak in time—and if he wins—the Angaraks will fall apart, and we won’t have to fight them at all. Here.” She held out the glass. “Drink this.”
Numbly, Ce’Nedra took the glass and drank. The amber liquid was bitter, and it left a strange, fiery aftertaste in her mouth. “It all depends on Garion, then,” she said.
“It always has depended on him, dear,” Polgara told her.
Ce’Nedra sighed. “I wish—” she began, then faltered to a stop.
“Wish what, dear?”
“Oh, Lady Polgara, I never once told Garion that I love him. I’d give anything to be able to tell him that just once.”
“He knows, Ce’Nedra.”
“But it’s not the same.” Ce’Nedra sighed again. A strange lassitude had begun to creep over her, and she had stopped crying. It was difficult somehow even to remember why she had been weeping. She suddenly felt eyes on her and turned. Errand sat quietly in the corner watching her. His deep blue eyes were filled with sympathy and, oddly, with hope. And then Polgara took the princess in her arms and began rocking slowly back and forth and humming a soothing kind of melody. Without knowing when it happened, Ce’Nedra fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The attempt on her life came the following morning. Her army was marching south from Vo Wacune, passing through the sunlit forest along the Great West Road. The princess was riding at the head of the column, talking with Barak and Mandorallen, when an arrow, buzzing spitefully, came out of the trees. It was the buzz that gave Barak an instant of warning. “Look out!” he shouted, suddenly covering Ce’Nedra with his great shield. The arrow shattered against it, and Barak, cursing horribly, drew his sword.
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.”