Sorceress of Darshiva

again. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"
    Mandorallen's face came suddenly alight. " Tis a duty, my Lord," he exclaimed, "a moral obligation. The Gods look with great disfavor upon those who fail to come to the aid of travelers in peril."
    "Somehow I knew you'd see it that way," Barak said, slapping his friend on the shoulder with one huge hand.
    "Sophistry," Relg said with a note of finality in his harsh voice. The UIgo zealot now wore a tunic that looked very much like the one Durnik customarily wore. His once-pale skin was now sun-browned, and he no longer wore a cloth across his eyes. The years of working out of doors near the house he had built for Taiba and their horde of children had gradually accustomed his skin and eyes to sunlight.
    "What do you mean, sophistry?" Barak protested.
    "Just what I said, Barak. The Gods look at our intent, not our clever excuses. You want to go to Mallorea to aid Belgarion—we all do—but don't try to fool the Gods with these trumped-up stories."
    They all stared at the zealot helplessly.
    "But it was such a good plan," Barak said plaintively.
    "Very good," Relg agreed, "but it's disobedient, and disobedience of the Gods—and of prophecy—is sin."
    "Sin again, Relg?" Barak said in disgust. "I thought you'd gotten over that."
    "Not entirely, no."
    Barak's son Unrak, who at fourteen was already as big as a grown man, rose to his feet. He wore a mail shirt and had a sword belted at his side. His hair was flaming red, and his downy beard had already begun to cover his cheeks. "Let's see if I've got this right," he said. Unrak's voice no longer cracked and warbled, but had settled into a resonant baritone. "We have to obey the prophecy, is that it?"
    "To the letter," Relg said firmly.
    "Then I have to go to Mallorea," Unrak said.
    "That went by a little fast," his father said to him.
    "It's not really all that complicated, father. I'm the hereditary protector of the heir to the Rivan Throne, aren't I?"
    "He's got a point there," Hettar said. "Go ahead, Unrak. Tell us what you've got in mind."
    "Well," the young man said, blushing slightly under the scrutiny of his elders, "if Prince Geran's in Mallorea and in danger, I have to go there. The prophecy says so. Now, I don't know where he is, so I'm going to have to follow King Belgarion until he finds his son so that I can protect him."
    Barak grinned broadly at his son.
    "But," Unrak added, "I'm a little inexperienced at this protection business, so I might need a little guidance. Do you suppose, father, that I might be able to persuade you and your friends to come with me? Just to keep me from making any mistakes, you understand."
    Hettar rose and shook Barak's hand. "Congratulations," he said simply.
    "Well, Relg," Barak said, "does that satisfy your sense of propriety?"
    Relg considered it. "Why yes," he said, "as a matter of fact, I think it does." Then he grinned the first grin Barak had ever seen on his harsh face. "When do we leave?" he asked.

    His Imperial Majesty, Kal Zakath of Mallorea, stood at the window in a high tower in Maga Renn, looking out at the expanse of the great River Magan. A huge armada of craft of all sizes dotted the surface of the river up-of the city and moved down in orderly progression to the wharves where the imperial regiments waited to embark.
    "Have you had any further news?" the Emperor asked.
    "Things are a bit chaotic down there, your Imperial Majesty," Brador, the brown-robed Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs, reported, "but it appears that the major confrontation between Urvon and Zandramas is going to take place in Peldane. Urvon has been moving down from the north, and Zandramas annexed Peldane last month to put a buffer between him and Darshiva. She's been rushing her forces into Peldane to meet him."
    "What's your assessment, Atesca?" Zakath asked.
    General Atesca rose and went to the map hanging on the wall. He studied it for a moment, then stabbed one blunt finger at it. "Here, your Majesty," he said, "the town of Ferra. We move down in force and occupy that place. It's a logical forward base of operations. The River Magan is about fifteen miles wide at that point, and it shouldn't be too difficult to interdict any further movement across it from Darshiva. That will eliminate Zandramas' reinforcements. Urvon will have numerical superiority when they meet, and he'll crush her army. He'll take casualties, though. Both sides are fanatics, and they'll fight to the death.