Chapter 7
Kheva frowned intently at the map that lay on the table. "Since they're coming up the North Caravan Route, we can assume that their goal is Boktor. Since they intend to loot, sack, put to flame, and so on, I think we want our battle to be even before they reach here, maybe a few leagues up the Caravan Route. We can stop them in their tracks before they even reach Boktor."
"So where are we going to set up this barricade?" Barak rumbled, shifting slightly so that his mail shirt clinked. "Right across the caravan route?"
"We'd better," Garion put in, "If we don't want them to march right past and ignore the blockade altogether."
"March?" asked Varana incredulously. "They're actually marching?"
"They're not behaving like regular fanatics, your Majesty," Javelin told him, stretching his long, thin frame. "We'd better have a plan of battle and not just expect to sweep them off the Caravan Route."
"They're surely not as dangerous as, say, the Mallorean army we met at Thull Mardu," protested Varana. "These are Morindim. They won't suddenly drop religion and pursue sense because they feel bloodthirsty for land."
"But we still haven't found out who's leading the army, Varana," Belgarath said. "That makes all the difference. Back when Bear-shoulders and I went to take the Orb back from Torak, Zedar took charge of the Morindim, and they gathered together and combined their power. That never happens normally."
Varana's face was pained. "Please, Belgarath. We've gone through this before. I'll just except the fact that someone who's not a Karand or a Morind may be influencing their movements."
"Good." Belgarath looked around. "I'm sure each of you will be willing to send a few of your soldiers to help us drive back this host of Morindim that's running wild. We may need planning, but after all, Morindim still fight like Morindim."
Korodullin stood, turning to Kheva. "Your Majesty, I and my knights, clad as they are in invincible steel, shalt be glad to render aid unto thee in thy hour of strife with these foul Morindim, who threaten to unbalance the harmony that hath spread throughout the world like a gentle wind, and vanquish them in their very act of daring to march forth against thee."
Kheva blinked. "Thank you, your Majesty. What about the Asturians?"
Mayaserena bowed. "I shalt compel mine countrymen to don their garb of war and hasten to thy aid, your Majesty, for even as there is strife atwixt Mimbrate and Asturian, we are still not barbarians, and hesitate not when it comes to the defending of helpless women and children."
"Good, good," Kheva rubbed his hands. "Now what?"
"You could try working on the battle tactics," Ayan told him sarcastically.
"I was getting to that," he retorted.
"It didn't sound like it."
"Well, I was."
"Then why were you asking what to do next?"
Kheva let that slide. "Belgarath, do you think we need the Tolnedran generals for this?"
"Oh, yes," the old man said. "We used them in the Battle of Vo Mimbre, and they were absolutely brilliant."
Varana sighed.
Belgarath looked over at the Alorn side of the room. "There is something to be said for careful planning, you know, not just to wait till you're close enough and then charge them, swinging swords and foaming at the mouth."
"But, Belgarath," Barak said innocently, "That takes away half the fun."
"Alorns," sighed the Eternal Man.
"What exactly are we trying to accomplish here?" Hettar murmured.
"What are you Alorns doing?" asked Ayan, her voice slightly tinged with panic. "You're talking about games when you should be considering your war tactics!"
"They're not exactly on our doorstep, Ayan," Kheva told her. "We have plenty of time."
"Less time than you think!" she snapped. "And I'd call the North Caravan Route the path to the doorstep of Boktor, and the mountains the doorstep of Drasnia!"
"They're Morindim," Kheva said patiently. "They spend more time chanting and howling and dancing around bonfires than marching."
"Oh, yes? Then how did they get from the land of the Morindim to the North Caravan Route in a matter of weeks? Your brains are getting muddled with the weight of all that thinking, Kheva. The Morindim are not your Bear Cult."
"Obviously," Kheva shot back. "They're scared of the things they worship, they're scared of death, they're scared of the dark."
"And you aren't?"
"Scared of the dark?" Kheva's voice went up a notch. "Watch who you're talking to, girl."
"I am, you idiot. I'm looking straight at you. And what I'm seeing is a distracted young man who'd be better off in some court chasing young ladies than in a council of war!"
Kheva sprang up, knocking over his chair. "I'm the king of Drasnia! And what are you? A little girl who should be in bed by now!"
Ayan's face went cold. "Well, King of Drasnia, I suggest you do your job!" Her voice was scathing. "Unless you want to repeat Rhonar's feat and stand around wringing your hands while your country is sacked!"
"Children," Aunt Pol said sternly. Kheva and Ayan sat down, still glowering at each other.
Garion raised his voice slightly. "We need to have the Chereks and Rivans sailed up the Mrin to Boktor, the Arends and the legions and the Nyissan poisoners start marching up, and the Algars ride." He turned to Fulrach. "The Sendarians aren't really a fighting race, and this isn't a scrape-together-whoever-you-can like our last war, but we could definitely use them to supply food. That worked wonderfully last time."
"Last time." Fulrach shook his head. "It wasn't really so long ago, was it? And now we're fighting again."
"It seems like we're always fighting," agreed the Gorim softly.
"It will be over soon, Gorim," Aunt Pol told him gently. "Soon, the fighting will end, and there will be peace."
Barak muttered something.
"What was that?" asked Aunt Pol sharply.
"Nothing," Barak said quickly.
Urgit jumped up. "What?! I've got to get to Rak Gorut to marshal my forces!"
Anheg and Cho-Hag had risen as well. "The burning of Rak Cthan was something we did not foresee," Anheg said slowly. "I think we should return to Tol Honeth. The kingdoms will be having a council of war."
"You will be needed, Urgit," Cho-Hag said quietly. "You should come with us."
"I can't," Urgit said anxiously, running to the door. He called out, "Ready my horse and traveling packs!" Turning back, "I've got to save my other cities. I can't just sit in council while my country gets trampled, Anheg!"
"What about Prala?" Silk asked his brother. Urgit hesitated.
"She'll be safe here. Rak Urga is so far down no one can get here except by ship, and Karands can travel as well by ship as Queen Layla."
Despite himself, Anheg smiled. "All right. We'll sail for home, since we at least need to sit in at the councils."
Urgit bit his lip, then decided, "Take Prala and Engar with you. I don't want to risk her, and she'll enjoy visiting her friends."
"Certainly. Ce'Nedra and Liselle will be pleased to see her."
"Are you coming, Kheldar?" Urgit asked him.
"Of course."
"Another horse readied, and send word to the Cherek vessel to ready it!" Urgit shouted out the door. "Let's get this done as soon as possible."
Soon, they were galloping across the rocky terrain of the Urgan peninsula.
Silk looked back over his shoulder at the small group of soldiers accompanying them. "Are you sure this was necessary?"
"You know how people are about kings."
"Especially Prala."
Urgit sighed. "I'm just glad she agreed to get on the ship before I had to forcibly push her. With a three-year-old little boy, she shouldn't be going with me! I don't even know where she got the idea."
"The Cthan princess loves to fight," Silk shrugged. "Do you remember the time when you rode to save Rak Cthaka and your armies, and she insisted on coming with you?"
"Oh, yes. The time Garion's sword turned the rubies on mine bright blue?"
"Garion's sword is very enthusiastic."
"You've noticed that, I see."
Without warning, ranks of Karands rose out of the grass in front of them.
With a startled shout, the soldiers fell back, then drew their swords and charged. The Karands were turning, twisting, in a strange dance. They whirled, and then bright gleams flew from their hands. Knives imbedded themselves in the soldiers' arms, chests, legs. The ones not mortally wounded wrenched them out and started forward again, but suddenly stiffened, choked, and collapsed to the ground.
"Poison," hissed Silk.
"Very perceptive, Prince Kheldar." A black-robed man stepped out of the ranks of standing Karands and threw back the hood of his robe. "And your Majesty. We meet again."
Urgit nodded coldly. "Kradak."