Guardians of the West

worried.
    "Is there anything wrong, General?" she asked him.
    "What? Oh, no, your Majesty. I'll go to headquarters and issue the necessary orders immediately "
    "Thank you, General Haldar. That will be all."
    "He certainly heard something he didn't like," Silk observed after the general had left.
    "We've all heard things lately that we haven't liked," Garion said.
    "It wasn't quite the same, though," Silk muttered. "Excuse me for a bit. I think I'm going to go ask a few questions." He rose from his chair and quietly left the room.
    Early the next morning, the fleet weighed anchor and began to move slowly upstream from Boktor. Though the day had dawned clear and sunny, by noon a heavy cloud cover had swept in off the Gulf of Cherek to turn the Drasnian countryside gray and depressing.
    "I hope it doesn't rain," Barak growled from his place at the tiller. "I hate slogging through mud on my way to a fight."
    The shallows of the Mrin proved to be a very wide stretch of river where the water rippled over gravel bars.
    "Have you ever considered dredging this?" Garion asked the Queen of Drasnia.
    "No," she replied. "As a matter of policy I don't want the Mrin navigable beyond this point. I'd rather not have Tolnedran merchantmen bypassing Boktor." She smiled sweetly at Ce'Nedra. "I'm not trying to be offensive, dear," she said, "but your countrymen always seem to want to avoid customs. As things now stand, I control the North Caravan Route and I need that customs revenue."
    "I understand, Porenn," Ce'Nedra assured her. "I'd do it that way myself."
    They beached the fleet on the northern bank of the river, and Garion's forces began to disembark. "You'll lead the ships back down-river and across to Darine, then?" Barak said to the bearded Greldik.
    "Right," Greldik said. "I'll have Brendig and his Sendars back here within a week."
    "Good. Tell him to follow us to Rheon as quickly as he can. I've never been happy with the idea of long sieges."
    "Are you going to send Seabird back with me?"
    Barak scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "No," he said finally. "I think I'll leave her here."
    "Believe me, I'm not going to get her sunk, Barak."
    "I know, but I just feel better about the idea of having her here in case I need her. Will you come to Rheon with Brendig? There's bound to be some good fighting."
    Greldik's face grew mournful. "No," he replied. "Anheg ordered me to come back to Val Alorn when I finish freighting the Sendars here."
    "Oh. That's too bad."
    Greldik grunted sourly. "Have fun at Rheon," he said, "and try not to get yourself killed."
    "I'll make a special point of it."
    By the time the troops and supplies had all been unloaded, it was late afternoon. The clouds continued to roll in, though there was as yet no rain. "I think we may as well set up a camp here," Garion said to the others as they all stood on the gently sloping riverbank. "We wouldn't get too far before dark anyway, and if we get a good night's sleep, we can start early in the morning."
    "That makes sense," Silk agreed.
    "Did you find out anything about Haldar?" Queen Porenn asked the rat-faced little man. "I know there was something about him that was bothering you."
    "Nothing really very specific." Silk shrugged. "He's been doing a lot of traveling lately, though."
    "He's a general, Kheldar, and my Chief-of-Staff. Generals do have to make inspection tours from time to time, you know."
    "But usually not alone," Silk replied. "When he makes these trips, he doesn't even take his aide along."
    "I think you're just being overly suspicious."
    "It's my nature to be suspicious, Auntie dear."
    She stamped her foot. "Will you stop calling me that?"
    He looked at her mildly. "Does it really bother you, Porenn?" he asked.
    "I've told you that it bothers me."
    "Maybe I ought to try to remember that, then."
    "You're absolutely impossible, do you know that?"
    "Of course I do, Auntie dear."
    For the next two days the Rivan army marched steadily eastward across the desolate, gray-green moors, a wasteland of barren, sparsely vegetated hills interspersed with rank patches of thorn and bramble springing up around dark pools of stagnant water. The sky remained gray and threatening, but there was as yet no rain.
    Garion rode at the head of the column with a bleakly determined look on his face, speaking infrequently except to issue commands. His scouts reported at intervals, announcing that there was no sign of cult forces ahead and with equal certainty that there was as