Queen of Sorcery

Korodullin.
    "Nachak," the king replied, "the ambassador of Cthol Murgos. Shall I introduce thee to him, Ancient One?"
    "That won't be necessary," Mister Wolf answered bleakly. "Every Murgo alive knows who I am. Mothers in Cthol Murgos frighten their children into obedience by mentioning my name."
    "But I am not a child, old man," Nachak sneered. "I'm not afraid of you."
    "That could be a serious failing," Silk observed.
    The Murgo's name had struck Garion almost like a blow. As he looked at the scarred face of the man who had so misled Lelldorin and his friends, he realized that the players had once again moved their pieces into that last crucial position, and that who would win and who would lose once again depended entirely on him.
    "What lies have you told the king?" Nachak was demanding of Mister Wolf.
    "No lies, Nachak," Wolf told him. "Just the truth. That should be enough."
    "I protest, your Majesty," Nachak appealed to the king. "I protest in the strongest manner possible. All the world knows of his hatred for my people. How can you allow him to poison your mind against us?"
    "He forgot the thees and thous that time," Silk commented slyly.
    "He's excited," Barak replied. "Murgos get clumsy when they're excited. It's one of their shortcomings."
    "Alorns!" Nachak spat.
    "That's right, Murgo," Barak said coldly. He was still holding Hettar's arm.
    Nachak looked at them, and then his eyes widened as he seemed to see Hettar for the first time. He recoiled from the Algar's hate-filled stare, and his half dozen knights closed protectively around him. "Your Majesty," he rasped, "I know that man to be Hettar of Algaria, a known murderer. I demand that you arrest him."
    "Demand, Nachak?" the king asked with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Thou wilt present demands to me in my own court?"
    "Forgive me, your Majesty," Nachak apologized quickly. "The sight of that animal so disturbed me that I forgot myself."
    "You'd be wise to leave now, Nachak," Mister Wolf recommended. "It's not really a good idea for a Murgo to be alone in the presence of so many Alorns. Accidents have a way of happening under such conditions."
    "Grandfather," Garion said urgently. Without knowing exactly why, he knew that it was time to speak. Nachak must not be allowed to leave the throne room. The faceless players had made their final moves, and the game must end here. "Grandfather," he repeated, "there's something I have to tell you."
    "Not now, Garion." Wolf was still looking with hard eyes at the Murgo.
    "It's important, grandfather. Very important."
    Mister Wolf turned as if to reply sharply, but then he seemed to see something - something that no one else in the throne room could see and his eyes widened in momentary amazement. "All right, Garion," he said in a strangely quiet voice. "Go ahead."
    "Some men are planning to kill the king of Arendia. Nachak's one of them." Garion had said it louder than he'd intended, and a sudden silence fell over the throne room at his words.
    Nachak's face went pale, and his hand moved involuntarily toward his sword hilt, then froze. Garion was suddenly keenly aware of Barak hulking just behind him and Hettar, grim as death in black leather towering beside him. Nachak stepped back and made a quick gesture to his steel-clad knights. Quickly they formed a protective ring around him, their hands on their weapons. "I won't stay and listen to such slander," the Murgo declared.
    "I have not yet given thee my permission to withdraw, Nachak," Korodullin informed him coolly. "I require thy presence yet a while." The young king's face was stern, and his eyes bored into the Murgo's. Then he turned to Garion. "I would hear more of this. Speak truthfully, lad, and fear not reprisal from any man for thy words."
    Garion drew a deep breath and spoke carefully. "I don't really know all the details, your Majesty," he explained. "I found out about it by accident."
    "Say what thou canst," the king told him.
    "As nearly as I can tell, your Majesty, next summer when you travel to Vo Astur, a group of men are going to try to kill you somewhere on the highway."
    "Asturian traitors, doubtless," a gray-haired courtier suggested.
    "They call themselves patriots," Garion answered.
    "Inevitably," the courtier sneered.
    "Such attempts are not uncommon," the king stated. "We will take steps to guard against them. I thank thee for this information."
    "There's more, your Majesty," Garion added. "When they attack, they're going to be wearing