Enchanter's End Game

small suggestion offend your Majesty?" he asked.
    "That all depends on the suggestion," Rhodar retorted. Then he made a face and apologized. "I'm sorry, Varana. This delay's making me bad-tempered. What did you have in mind?"
    "I think you might want to give some thought to moving your command operations up to the top about now. You'll want things running smoothly by the time the bulk of your infantry arrives, and it usually takes a couple of days to iron out the wrinkles when you set things up."
    King Rhodar stared at a Cherek ship being hoisted ponderously up the cliff face. "I'm not going to ride up on one of those, Varana," he declared flatly.
    "It's absolutely safe, your Majesty," Varana assured him. "I've made the trip myself several times. Even Lady Polgara went up that way just this morning."
    "Polgara could fly down if something went wrong," Rhodar said. "I don't have her advantages. Can you imagine the size of the hole I'd make in the ground if I fell that far?"
    "The alternative is extremely strenuous, your Majesty. There are several ravines running down from the top. They've been leveled out a bit so that the horses can go up, but they're still very steep."
    "A little sweating won't hurt me."
    Varana shrugged. "As your Majesty wishes."
    "I'll keep you company, Rhodar," Ce'Nedra offered brightly. He gave her a suspicious look.
    "I don't really trust machines either," she confessed. "I'll go change clothes, and then we can start."
    "You want to do it today?" His voice was plaintive.
    "Why put it off?"
    "I can think of a dozen reasons."
    The term "very steep" turned out to be a gross understatement. "Precipitous" might have been more accurate. The incline made riding horses out of the question, but ropes had been strung along the steeper stretches to aid in the climb. Ce'Nedra, dressed in one of her short Dryad tunics, scampered hand over hand up the ropes with the agility of a squirrel. King Rhodar's pace, however, was much slower.
    "Please stop groaning, Rhodar," she told him after they had climbed for an hour or so. "You sound like a sick cow."
    "That's hardly fair, Ce'Nedra," he wheezed, stopping to mop his streaming face.
    "I never promised to be fair," she retorted with an impish grin. "Come along, we still have a long way to go." And she flitted up another fifty yards or so.
    "Don't you think you're a little underdressed?" he puffed disapprovingly, staring up at her. "Proper ladies don't show off so much leg."
    "What's wrong with my legs?"
    "They're bare - that's what's wrong with them."
    "Don't be such a prig. I'm comfortable. That's all that matters. Are you coming or not?"
    Rhodar groaned again. "Isn't it almost time for lunch?"
    "We just had lunch."
    "Did we? I'd forgotten already."
    "You always seem to forget your last meal - usually before the crumbs have been brushed away."
    "That's the nature of a fat man, Ce'Nedra." He sighed. "The last meal is history. It's the next one that's important." He stared mournfully up the brutal trail ahead and groaned again.
    "This was all your idea," she heartlessly reminded him.
    The sun was low in the west when they reached the top. As King Rhodar collapsed, Princess Ce'Nedra looked around curiously. The fortifications which had been erected along the top of the escarpment were extensive and quite imposing. The walls were of earth and stone and were perhaps thirty feet high. Through an open gate the princess saw a series of other, lower walls, each fronted by a ditch bristling with sharpened stakes and thorny brambles. At various points along the main wall rose imposing blockhouses, and within the walls were neat rows of huts for the soldiers.
    The forts swarmed with men, and their various activities raised an almost perpetual cloud of dust. A party of Algar clansmen, smokestained and mounted on spent-looking horses, rode slowly in through the gate; and a few moments later, a contingent of gleaming Mimbrate knights, pennons snapping from their lances and the great hoofs of their chargers clattering on the stony ground, rode out in search of yet another town to destroy.
    The huge hoists at the edge of the escarpment creaked and groaned under the weight of the Cherek ships being raised from the plain below; some distance away, within the fortified walls, the growing fleet sat awaiting the final portage to the headwaters of the upper River Mardu, some fifty leagues distant.
    Polgara, accompanied by Durnik and the towering Barak, approached to greet the princess