Enchanter's End Game

even finished greeting Lady Polgara. Adara turned deathly pale, but bravely kept her seat. Then the hideous little man turned to greet Ce'Nedra with a few raucous questions that made the princess blush to the roots of her hair. Adara prudently withdrew at that point.
    "What's wrong with your wenches, Pol?" Beldin asked innocently, scratching at his matted hair. "They seemed a little vaporish."
    "They're well-bred ladies, Uncle," Polgara replied. "Certain expressions are offensive to their ears."
    "Is that all?" He laughed coarsely. "This redheaded one seems a bit less delicate."
    "Your remarks offend me as much as they offend my companions, Master Beldin," Ce'Nedra retorted stiffly, "but I don't think I'll be routed by the foul mouthings of an ill-bred hunchback."
    "Not bad," he complimented her, sprawling uncouthly in a chair, "but you've got to learn to relax. An insult's got a certain rhythm and flow to it that you haven't quite picked up yet."
    "She's very young, Uncle," Polgara reminded him.
    Beldin leered at the princess. "Isn't she, though?"
    "Stop that," Polgara told him.
    "We've come-"
    "-to join your expedition," the twins said.
    "Beldin feels-"
    "-that you might encounter Grolims, and-"
    "-need our help."
    "Isn't that pathetic?" Beldin demanded. "They still haven't learned to talk straight." He looked at Polgara. "Is this all the army you've got?"
    "The Chereks will be joining us at the river," she replied.
    "You should have talked faster," he told Ce'Nedra. "You haven't got nearly enough men. Southern Murgos proliferate like maggots in dead meat, and Malloreans spawn like blowflies."
    "We'll explain our strategy to you in good time, Uncle," Polgara promised him. "We are not going to meet the armies of Angarak head on. What we're doing here is only diversionary."
    He grinned a hideous little grin. "I'd have given a lot to see your face when you found out that Belgarath had slipped away from you," he said.
    "I wouldn't dwell on that, Master Beldin," Ce'Nedra advised. "Lady Polgara was not pleased by Belgarath's decision, and it might not be prudent to raise it again."
    "I've seen Pol's little tantrums before." He shrugged. "Why don't you send somebody out for a pig or a sheep, Pol? I'm hungry."
    "It's customary to cook it first, Uncle."
    He looked puzzled. "What for?" he asked.

Chapter Ten
    THREE DAYS LATER the army began to move out from the Algar Stronghold toward the temporary encampment the Algars had erected on the east bank of the Aldur River. The troops of each nation moved in separate broad columns, trampling a vast track through the knee-high grass. In the center column the legions of Tolnedra, standards raised, marched with parade-ground perfection. The appearance of the legions had improved noticeably since the arrival of General Varana and his staff. The mutiny on the plains near Tol Vordue had given Ce'Nedra a large body of men, but no senior officers, and once the danger of surprise inspections was past, a certain laxity had set in. General Varana had not mentioned the rust spots on the breastplates nor the generally unshaven condition of the troops. His expression of mild disapproval had seemed to be enough. The hard-bitten sergeants who now commanded the legions had taken one look at his face and had immediately taken steps. The rust spots vanished, and shaving regularly once again became popular. There were, to be sure, a few contusions here and there on some freshly shaved faces, mute evidence that the heavy-fisted sergeants had found it necessary to vigorously persuade their troops that the holiday was over.
    To one side of the legions rode the glittering Mimbrate knights, their varicolored pennons snapping in the breeze from the up-raised forest of their lances. Their faces shone with enthusiasm and little else. Ce'Nedra privately suspected that a large part of their fearsome reputation stemmed from that abysmal lack of anything remotely resembling thought. With only a little encouragement, a force of Mimbrates would cheerfully mount an assault on winter or a changing tide.
    On the other flank of the marching legions came the green - and brown - clad bowmen of Asturia. The placement was quite deliberate. The Asturians were no more blessed with intelligence than their Mimbrate cousins, and it was generally considered prudent to interpose other troops between the two Arendish forces to avoid unpleasantness.
    Beyond the Asturians marched the grim-faced Rivans, all in gray, and accompanying