Sorceress of Darshiva

Majesty," Atesca said, "but you've sort of placed the man under your personal protection, so I thought I'd consult with you before I took action."
    "Whom am I protecting?" Zakath looked puzzled.
    "It's a corporal from the Mal Zeth garrison, your Majesty—a man named Actas. He was drunk on duty."
    "Actas? I don't recall—"
    "It was that corporal who'd been demoted just before we arrived in Mal Zeth,"
    Ce'Nedra reminded him. "The one whose wife was making such a scene in that side street."
    "Oh, yes," Zakath said. "Now I remember. Drunk, you say? He's not supposed to drink any more."
    "I doubt if he could drink any more, your Majesty," Atesca said with a faint smile, "at least not right now. He's as drunk as a lord."
    "Is he nearby?"
    "Just outside, your Majesty."
    Zakath sighed. "I guess you'd better bring him in," he said. He looked at Belgarath.
    "This should only take a moment or two," he apologized.
    Garion remembered the scrawny corporal as soon as the fellow staggered into the tent. The corporal tried to come to attention, without much success. Then he attempted to bang his breastplate in a salute, but hit himself in the nose with his fist instead. "Yer Imperrl Majeshy," he slurred.
    "What am I going to do with you, Actas," Zakath said wearily.
    " I’ve made a beash of myshelf, yer Majeshy,'' Actas confessed, "an absholute beash."
    "Yes," Zakath agreed, "you have." He turned his head away. "Please don't breathe on me, Actas. Your mouth smells like a reopened grave. Take him out and sober him up, Atesca."
    "I'll personally throw him in the river, your Majesty." Atesca was trying to suppress a grin.
    "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
    "Me, your Majesty?"
    Zakath's eyes narrowed slyly. "Well, Ce'Nedra?" he said. "He's your responsibility, too. What do we do with him?"
    She waved one little hand negligently. "Hang him," she said in an indifferent tone. She looked more closely at her hand. "Great Nedra!" she exclaimed. "I've broken another fingernail!"
    Corporal Actas' eyes were bulging and his mouth was suddenly agape. Trembling violently, he fell to his knees. "Please, your Majesty," he begged, suddenly cold sober. "Please!"
    Zakath squinted at the Rivan Queen, who sat mourning the broken nail. "Take him outside, Atesca," he said. "I'll give you orders for his final disposition in a moment."
    Atesca saluted and hauled the blubbering Actas to his feet.
    "You weren't really serious, were you, Ce'Nedra?" Zakath asked after the two men had left.
    "Oh, of course not," she said. "I'm not a monster, Zakath. Clean him up and send him back to his wife." She tapped one finger thoughtfully on her chin. "But erect a gibbet in the street in front of his house. Give him something to think about the next time he gets thirsty.''
    "You actually married this woman?" Zakath exclaimed to Garion.
    "It was sort of arranged by our families," Garion replied with aplomb. "We didn't have much to say about it."
    "Now, be nice, Garion," Ce'Nedra said with unruffled calm.
    They mounted their horses outside the pavilion and rode through the camp to the drawbridge spanning the deep, stake-studded ditch that formed a part of the outer fortifications. When they reached the far side of the ditch, Zakath let out an explosive breath of relief.
    "What is it?" Garion asked him.
    "I was half afraid that somebody might have found a way to keep me there." He glanced a bit apprehensively back over his shoulder. "Do you think we could possibly gallop for a ways?" he asked. "I'd hate to have them catch up with me."
    Garion began to have misgivings at that point. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked suspiciously.
    "I've never felt better—or more free—in my entire life," Zakath declared.
    "I was afraid of that," Garion muttered.
    "What?"
    "Just keep moving at a canter, Zakath. There's something I need to discuss with Belgarath. I'll be right back." He reined Chretienne in and rode back to where his grandfather and his aunt rode side by side, deep in conversation. "He's absolutely out of control," he told them. "What's happened to him?"
    "It's the first time in his entire life that he hasn't had the weight of half the world on his shoulders, Garion," Polgara replied calmly. "He'll settle down. Just give him a day or so."
    "Do we have a day or so? He's acting exactly the way Lellorin would—or maybe even Mandorallen. Can we afford that?"
    "Talk to him," Belgarath suggested. "Just keep talking. Recite the Book of Atom to him if you have to."
    "But