Queen of Sorcery

please thee or not, Asturias future is in Mimbrate hands. Thy rancorous denouncements and sulfurous rhetoric shall not alter that fact."
    "Don't thee me or thou me, Berentain," the dark-haired one sneered. "Your imitation Mimbrate courtesy turns my stomach."
    "Gentlemen, that's enough!" Count Reldegen said sharply, rapping his cane on the stone floor. "If you two are going to insist on discussing politics, I'll have you separated - forcibly, if necessary."
    The two young men scowled at each other and then stalked off to opposite sides of the room. "My son, Torasin," the count admitted apologetically, indicating the dark-haired youth, "and his cousin Berentain, the son of my late wife's brother. They've been wrangling like this for two weeks now. I had to take their swords away from them the day after Berentain arrived."
    "Political discussion is good for the blood, my Lord," Silk observed, "especially in the winter. The heat keeps the veins from clogging up."
    The count chuckled at the little man's remark.
    "Prince Kheldar of the royal house of Drasnia," Mister Wolf introduced Silk.
    "Your Highness," the count responded, bowing.
    Silk winced slightly. "Please, my Lord. I've spent a lifetime running from that mode of address, and I'm sure that my connection with the royal family embarrasses my uncle almost as much as it embarrasses me."
    The count laughed again with easy good nature. "Why don't we all adjourn to the dining table?" he suggested. "Two fat deer have been turning on spits in my kitchen since daybreak, and I recently obtained a cask of red wine from southern Tolnedra. As I recall, Belgarath has always had a great fondness for good food and fine wines."
    "He hasn't changed, my Lord," Aunt Pol told him. "My father's ternbly predictable, once you get to know him."
    The count smiled and offered her his arm as they all moved toward a door on the far side of the room.
    "Tell me, my Lord," Aunt Pol said, "do you by chance have a bathtub in your house?"
    "Bathing in winter is dangerous, Lady Polgara," the count warned her.
    "My Lord," she stated gravely, "I've been bathing winter or summer for more years than you could possibly imagine."
    "Let her bathe, Reldegen," Mister Wolf urged. "Her temper deteriorates quite noticeably when she thinks she's getting dirty."
    "A bath wouldn't hurt you either, Old Wolf," Aunt Pol retorted tartly. "You're starting to get a bit strong from the downwind side."
    Mister Wolf looked a bit injured.
    Much later, after they had eaten their fill of venison, gravy-soaked bread, and rich cherry tarts, Aunt Pol excused herself and went with a maidservant to oversee the preparation of her bath. The men all lingered at the table over their wine cups, their faces washed with the golden light of the many candles in Reldegen's dining hall.
    "Let me show you to your rooms," Torasin suggested to Lelldorin and Garion, pushing back his chair and casting a look of veiled contempt across the table at Berentain.
    They followed him from the room and up a long flight of stairs toward the upper stories of the house. "I don't want to offend you, Tor," Lelldorin said as they climbed, "but your cousin has some peculiar ideas."
    Torasin snorted. "Berentain's a jackass. He thinks he can impress the Mimbrates by imitating their speech and by fawning on them." His dark face was angry in the light of the candle he carried to light their way.
    "Why should he want to?" Lelldorin asked.
    "He's desperate for some kind of holding he can call his own," Torasin replied. "My mother's brother has very little land to leave him. The fat idiot's all calf eyed over the daughter of one of the barons in his district, and since the baron won't even consider a landless suitor, Berentain's trying to wheedle an estate from the Mimbrate governor. He'd swear fealty to the ghost of Kal Torak himself, if he thought it would get him land."
    "Doesn't he realize that he hasn't got a chance?" Lelldorin inquired. "There are too many land-hungry Mimbrate knights around the governor for him to even think of granting an estate to an Asturian."
    "I've told him the same thing myself," Torasin declared with scathing contempt, "but there's no reasoning with him. His behavior degrades our whole family."
    Lelldorin shook his head commiseratingly as they reached an upper hall. He looked around quickly then. "I have to talk with you, Tor," he blurted, his voice dropping to a whisper.
    Torasin looked at him sharply.
    "My father's committed me to