Queen of Sorcery

Princess. There's nothing personal in it, you understand, but I have to protect my interests."
    "Thy plan, Duke Kador, hath one small flaw," Mandorallen said, carefully leaning his lance against a tree.
    "I fail to see it, Baron," Kador said smugly.
    "Throe error lay in rashly coming within reach of my sword," Mandorallen told him. "Thy head is forfeit now, and a man with no head has little need of a crown."
    Garion knew that a part of Mandorallen's brashness arose from his desperate need to prove to himself that he was no longer afraid.
    Kador looked at the knight apprehensively. "You wouldn't do that," he said without much certainty. "You're too badly outnumbered."
    "Thou art imprudent to think so," Mandorallen said. "I am the hardiest knight on life and fully armed. Thy soldiers will be as blades of grass before me. Thou art doomed, Kador." And with that he drew his great sword.
    "It was bound to happen," Barak said wryly to Hettar and drew his own sword.
    "I don't think we'll do that," a new voice announced harshly. A familiar black-robed man rode out from behind a nearby tree on a sablecolored horse. He muttered a few quick words and gestured sharply with his right hand. Garion felt a dark rush and a strange roaring in his mind. Mandorallen's sword spun from his grip.
    "My thanks, Asharak," Kador said in a relieved tone. "I hadn't anticipated that."
    Mandorallen pulled off his mailed gauntlet and nursed his hand as if he had been struck a heavy blow. Hettar's eyes narrowed, and then went strangely blank. The Murgo's black mount glanced curiously at him once and then looked away almost contemptuously.
    "Well, Sha-dar," Asharak gloated with an ugly smirk on his scarred face, "would you like to try that again?"
    Hettar's face had a sick look of revulsion on it. "It's not a horse," he said. "It looks like a horse, but it's something else."
    "Yes," Asharak agreed. "Quite different, really. You can sink yourself into its mind if you want, but I don't think you'll like what you find there." He swung down from his saddle and walked toward them, his eyes burning. He stopped in front of Aunt Pol and made an ironic bow. "And so we meet again, Polgara."
    "You've been busy, Chamdar," she replied.
    Kador, in the act of dismounting, seemed startled. "You know this woman, Asharak?"
    "His name is Chamdar, Duke Kador," Aunt Pol said, "and he's a Grolim priest. You thought he was only buying your honor, but you'll soon find that he's bought much more than that." She straightened in her saddle, the white lock at her brow suddenly incandescently bright. "You've been an interesting opponent, Chamdar. I'll almost miss you."
    "Don't do it, Polgara," the Grolim said quickly. "I've got my hand around the boy's heart. The instant you start to gather your will, he'll die. I know who he is and how much you value him."
    Her eyes narrowed. "An easy thing to say, Chamdar."
    "Would you like to test it?" he mocked.
    "Get down off your horses," Kador ordered sharply, and the legionnaires all took a threatening step forward.
    "Do as he says," Aunt Pol ordered quietly.
    "It's been a long chase, Polgara," Chamdar said. "Where's Belgarath?"
    "Not far," she told him. "Perhaps if you start running now, you can get away before he comes back."
    "No, Polgara." He laughed. "I'd know if he were that close." He turned and looked intently at Garion. "You've grown, boy. We haven't had a chance to talk for quite some time, have we?"
    Garion stared back at the scarred face of his enemy, alert, but strangely not afraid. The contest between them for which he had been waiting all his life was about to begin, and something deep within his mind told him that he was ready.
    Chamdar looked into his eyes, probing. "He doesn't know, does he?" he asked Aunt Pol. And then he laughed. "How like a woman you are, Polgara. You've kept the secret from him simply for the sake of the secret itself. I should have taken him away from you years ago."
    "Leave him alone, Chamdar," she ordered.
    He ignored that. "What's his real name, Polgara? Have you told him yet.
    "That doesn't concern you," she said flatly.
    "But it does, Polgara. I've watched over him almost as carefully as you have." He laughed again. "You've been his mother, but I've been his father. Between us we've raised a fine son - but I still want to know his real name."
    She straightened. "I think this has gone far enough, Chamdar," she said coldly. "What are your terms?"
    "No terms, Polgara," the Grolim answered. "You