Enchanter's End Game

time."

Chapter Fifteen
    THE SHIPS WERE horribly crowded, even though scarcely half the army could squeeze aboard them. The Algar clansmen and the Mimbrate knights patrolled the banks as the Chereks rowed downriver toward the rapids, and those infantry elements that could not be carried by the ships rode in close files on the spare horses of the cavalry.
    The Thullish grasslands on either side of the river were gently rolling, long hillsides covered with deep, sun-browned grass. Just back from the river there were sparse clusters of the twisted, sprucelike trees that had dotted the lower foothills, and near the water itself rose thickets of willow and creeping brambles. The sky remained clear, and it was still hot, though the river added enough moisture to the air to alleviate the parched aridity that had plagued men and horses alike in the vast, stony uplands. It was an alien landscape for all of them, and the cavalry patrolling the banks rode warily with their hands close to their weapons.
    And then they rounded a wide bend and saw the white, tumbling water of the rapids ahead. Barak swung the tiller of his big ship over and beached her. "Looks like it's time to get out and walk," he grunted.
    A dispute had arisen near the bow of the ship. The brown-bearded King Fulrach was loudly protesting the decision to leave his supply wagons behind at the rapids. "I didn't bring them all this way just to leave them sitting here," he declared with uncharacteristic heat.
    "They take too long to get anyplace," Anheg told him. "We're in a hurry, Fulrach. I've got to get my ships past Thull Mardu before the Murgos or the Malloreans wake up to what we're doing."
    "You didn't object to having them along when you got hungry or thirsty in the uplands," Fulrach told him angrily.
    "That was then. This is now. I've got to take care of my ships."
    "And I'm going to take care of my wagons."
    "They'll be all right, Fulrach," Rhodar said placatingly. "We do have to hurry, and your wagons can't move fast enough to keep up."
    "If somebody comes along and burns them, you're going to get very hungry before we get back to the forts, Rhodar."
    "We'll leave men to guard them, Fulrach. Be reasonable. You worry too much."
    "Somebody's got to. You Alorns seem to forget that the fighting's only half of it."
    "Stop acting like an old woman, Fulrach," Anheg said bluntly. Fulrach's face grew very cold. "I don't know that I care for that last remark, Anheg," he said stiffly. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away.
    "What's got into him?" the King of Cherek asked innocently.
    "Anheg, if you don't learn how to keep your mouth shut, we might have to muzzle you," Rhodar told him.
    "I thought we came here to fight Angaraks," Brand said mildly. "Have the rules been changed?"
    The irritable bickering among her friends worried Ce'Nedra, and she went to Polgara with her concern.
    "It's nothing all that important, dear," the lady replied as she scrubbed Errand's neck. "The upcoming battle's got them a bit edgy, that's all."
    "But they're men," Ce'Nedra protested, "trained warriors."
    "What does that have to do with it?" Polgara asked, reaching for a towel.
    The princess couldn't think of an answer.
    The portage at the rapids went smoothly, and the ships reentered the river below the tumbling stretch of seething white-water by late afternoon. Ce'Nedra by now was virtually ill as a result of the almost unbearable tension. All the months she had spent in raising the army and marching eastward were about to come to a final culmination. Within two days, they would hurl themselves at the walls of Thull Mardu. Was it the right time? Was it, in fact, really necessary? Couldn't they just portage around the city and avoid the battle entirely? Although the Alorn kings had assured her that the city had to be neutralized, Ce'Nedra's doubts grew with each mile. What if this was a mistake?
    The princess worried and fretted and worried some more as she stood at the prow of Barak's ship, staring at the broad river winding through the Thullish grasslands.
    Finally, just at evening of the second day after the portage, Hettar galloped back and reined in his horse on the north bank of the river. He motioned with his arm, and Barak swung his tiller over, angling the big ship in closer to the bank.
    "The city's about two leagues ahead," the tall Algar called across the intervening space. "If you get too much closer, they'll see you from the walls."
    "This is close enough, then,"