I wonder if I could get Mandorallen to try that.
When father and I flew on down out of the Ulgo mountains, we were both pleased to discover that the rain had temporarily let up, though the sky remained cloudy and threatening.
There’s a kind of unreality about the world when it’s viewed from a great height. Things which have enormous importance to those on the ground seem to shrink into insignificance. Men and their animals look like tiny creeping insects, and I’ve yet to see a national boundary etched across the face of the earth. I was startled nonetheless by the sheer size of the Angarak army crawling across the bland face of the Algarian plain. It’s been estimated that Torak invaded Drasnia with a half-million soldiers, and his campaign there hadn’t significantly reduced that number. As father and I drifted overhead, we saw the Algar cavalry units busily correcting that with their typical slash and run tactics. The folded – even wrinkled – surface of the plain provided many places of concealment for the small cavalry units, and they could – and did – come boiling out of those gullies and ravines at a dead run to amputate bits and pieces of the Angarak army as Torak doggedly lumbered southward toward the Stronghold. Taken individually, these little nicks and cuts weren’t really significant, but viewed in the aggregate, they could best be described as a continuing hemorrhage. I doubt that Torak even realized it, but he was slowly bleeding to death as he plodded south. The Angarak attempts to pursue and chastise their attackers only made things worse, since the Angarak pursuers rarely returned. I saw cavalry tactics at their finest down there. The initial assault of the Algar horsemen was relatively meaningless – a slap in the face, so to speak. Its only purpose was to sting the crack units of Angarak cavalry into pursuit – a pursuit that drew them into ambushes laid for them in various shallow ravines out beyond the edge of the main body of the army. Cho-Ram’s horsemen were methodically skimming the cream off Torak’s army.
When that process started to become tedious, the Algars entertained themselves by stampeding oceans of cattle right over the top of the assembled Malloreans, Murgos, Nadraks and Thulls. From a strategic point of view, Algaria was nothing more than a vast trap, and the Dragon-God had sprung it on himself.
It went on and on and on, tedious repetitions of the same ghastly little play. After a day or so, I’d seen enough, but father lingered. He seems to revel in that sort of thing for some reason.
On the third evening we flew some distance out to the flank of the invading army, and after we’d settled to earth I rather tartly told my blood-thirsty parent that I’d seen enough.
‘I suppose you’re right, Pol,’ he said almost regretfully. ‘We’d probably better get on back to the Isle of the Winds to let the Alorns know what’s afoot.’ Then he laughed. ‘You know, I think we all underestimated Algar Fleet-foot. This country of his is a stroke of pure genius. He deliberately turned his people into nomads so that there wouldn’t be any towns. The whole of Algaria’s nothing but a vast emptiness with grass growing on it. The Algars don’t have towns to defend, so they can give up huge pieces of their country without a second thought. They know that after the Angaraks have moved on, they can return. The only place of any significance in the whole silly kingdom is the Stronghold, and that’s not even a city. It’s nothing but bait.’
‘I always rather liked Algar,’ I admitted. ‘Under different circumstances, I might have set my cap for him. He could have made a very interesting husband.’
‘Polgara!’ Father actually sounded shocked, and I laughed about that for quite some time – long enough, anyway, to make him grouchy. I love to do that to him.
The weather went to pieces again that night, and father and I left Algaria the next morning in a drizzling rain. We crossed the Sendarian mountains and arrived at Riva on the Isle of the Winds two days later.
The Alorn Kings were most concerned about the second Angarak army commanded by Urvon. I guess that you can’t really enjoy a war if you have to keep looking back over your shoulder for unexpected enemies. The Alorns were also a bit upset when father suggested that we pick up our headquarters and move it to Tol Honeth. Alorns can be such children sometimes. They had this splendid war going on, and they selfishly didn’t want to share it.
I now knew Brand well enough to speak candidly with him. ‘Aren’t we being just a little blasé about this, my friend?’ I suggested. ‘You’re going to meet a God in single combat, and you’re shrugging it off as if it were some meaningless little chore – like fixing a fence or chopping wood for the evening fire.’
‘There’s not much point in getting excited about it, Pol,’ he said in his deep, soft voice. ‘It’s going to happen whether I like it or not. I can’t hide and I can’t run away, so why should I lose any sleep over it?’
‘For my sake, couldn’t you simulate worrying about it?’
His face creased into an expression of anticipated terror that was absolutely grotesque. ‘How’s this?’ he asked me.
I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I give up,’ I said. Brand didn’t look very much like Kamion had, but there were some distinct similarities in their behavior, and some even greater similarities in their relationship with me.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘My jaws are starting to lock up, so I don’t think I can hold this expression for long.’
‘Your wife’s name is Aren, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘I think she and I’d better get acquainted. You and I are going to be spending quite a bit of time together for several years, so I’d like to make sure she doesn’t break out in a bad case of jealousy.’
‘Aren’s a sensible woman. She knows I wouldn’t do anything improper.’
‘Brand,’ I said quite firmly, ‘I’m sure you’re a good administrator and a fearsome warrior, but you don’t know very much about women.’
‘I’ve been married to Aren for almost twenty years, Pol,’ he objected.
“That has absolutely nothing to do with it, Brand. She won’t be nearly as attractive if she suddenly turns bright green, and you won’t be nearly as robust if she starts feeding you boiled hay for the next twenty years.’
‘She wouldn’t do that – would she?’
‘Let’s play it safe, Brand.’ I thought about it. ‘When you introduce me to Aren, introduce me as “Ancient Polgara”. Let’s make an issue of my age.’