"How's he been?" Grinneg asked as they walked along the shady gallery.

"His health is still good," Morin answered, "but his temper's been deteriorating lately. The Borunes have been resigning their posts in flocks and returning to Tol Borune."

"That seems prudent under the circumstances," Grinneg said. "I suspect that a certain number of fatalities are likely to accompany the succession."

"Probably so," Morin agreed, "but his Highness finds it a bit distressing to be abandoned by members of his own family." He stopped by an arched marble gate where two legionnaires in gold-embellished breastplates stood stiffly. "Please leave your weapons here. His Highness is sensitive about such things - I'm sure you can understand."

"Of course," Grinneg said, pulling a heavy sword out from under his mantle and leaning it against the wall.

They all followed his example, and Lord Morin's eyes flickered slightly with surprise when Silk removed three different daggers from various places beneath his garments. Formidable eguipment - the chamberlain's hands flickered in the gestures of the secret language.

-Troubled times-Silk's fingers explained deprecatingly.

Lord Morin smiled faintly and led them through the gate into the garden beyond. The lawn in the garden was neatly manicured. There were softly splashing fountains, and the rosebushes were all well-pruned. Fruit trees that seemed to be very old were budding, almost ready to burst into bloom in the warm sun. Sparrows bickered over nesting sites on the twisted limbs. Grinneg and the others followed Morin along a curving marble walk toward the center of the garden.

Ran Borune XXIII, Emperor of Tolnedra, was a small, elderly man, quite bald and dressed in a gold-colored mantle. He lounged in a heavy chair beneath a budding grape arbor, feeding small seeds to a bright canary perched on the arm of his chair. The Emperor had a little, beaklike nose and bright, inquisitive eyes. "I said I wanted to be left alone, Morin," he said in a testy voice, looking up from the canary.

"A million apologies, your Highness," Lord Morin explained, bowing deeply. "Lord Grinneg, the ambassador of Cherek, wishes to present you a matter of gravest urgency. He convinced me that it simply could not wait."

The Emperor looked sharply at Grinneg. His eyes grew sly, almost malicious. "I see that your beard's beginning to grow back, Grinneg."

Grinneg's face flushed slowly. "I should have known that your Highness would have heard of my little misfortune."

"I know everything that happens in Tol Honeth, Lord Grinneg," the Emperor snapped. "Even if all my cousins and nephews are running like rats out of a burning house, I still have a few faithful people around me. Whatever possessed you to take up with that Nadrak woman? I thought you Alorns despised Angaraks."

Grinneg coughed awkwardly and glanced quickly at Aunt Pol. "It was a kind of joke, your Highness," he said. "I thought it might embarrass the Nadrak ambassador - and his wife is, after all, a handsomelooking woman. I didn't know she kept a pair of scissors under her bed."

"She keeps your beard in a little gold box, you know." The emperor smirked. "And she shows it to all her friends."

"She's an evil woman," Grinneg said mournfully.

"Who are these?" the Emperor asked, waving one finger at the members of the party standing on the grass somewhat behind Ambassador Grinneg.

"My cousin Barak and some friends," Grinneg said. "They're the ones who have to talk to you."

"The Earl of Trellheim?" the Emperor asked. "What are you doing in Tol Honeth, my Lord?"

"Passing through, your Highness," Barak replied, bowing.

Ran Borune looked sharply at each of the rest in turn as if actually seeing them for the first time. "And this would be Prince Kheldar of Drasnia," he said, "who left Tol Honeth in a hurry last time he was here - posing as an acrobat in a traveling circus, I believe, and about one jump ahead of the police."

Silk also bowed politely.

"And Hettar of Algaria," the Emperor continued, "the man who's trying to depopulate Cthol Murgos singlehandedly."

Hettar inclined his head.

"Morin," the Emperor demanded sharply, "why have you surrounded me with Alorns? I don't like Alorns."

"It's this matter of urgency, your Highness," Morin replied apologetically.

"And an Arend?" the Emperor said, looking at Mandorallen. "A Mimbrate, I should say." His eyes narrowed. "From the descriptions I've heard, he could only be the Baron of Vo Mandor."

Mandorallen's bow was gracefully elaborate. "Throe eye is most keen, your Highness, to have read us each in turn without prompting."

"Not all of you precisely," the Emperor said. "I don't recognize the Sendar or the Rivan lad."

Garion's mind jumped. Barak had once told him that he resembled a Rivan more than anything else, but that thought had been lost in the welter of events which had followed the chance remark. Now the Emperor of Tolnedra, whose eye seemed to have an uncanny ability to penetrate to the true nature of things, had also identified him as a Rivan. He glanced quickly at Aunt Pol, but she seemed absorbed in examining the buds on a rosebush.

"The Sendar is Durnik," Mister Wolf said, "a smith. In Sendaria that useful trade is considered somewhat akin to nobility. The lad is my grandson, Garion."

The Emperor looked at the old man. "It seems that I should know who you are. There's something about you-" He paused thoughtfully. The canary, which had been perched on the arm of the Emperor's chair, suddenly burst into song. He launched himself into the air and fluttered directly to Aunt Pol. She held out her finger, and the bright bird landed there, tipped back his head and sang ecstatically as if his tiny heart were breaking with adoration. She listened gravely to his song. She wore a dark blue dress, elaborately laced at the bodice, and a short sable cape.

"What are you doing with my canary?" the Emperor demanded.

"Listening," she said.

"How did you get him to sing? I've been trying to coax him into song for months."

"You didn't take him seriously enough."

"Who is this woman?" the Emperor asked.

"My daughter Polgara," Mister Wolf said. "She has a particularly keen understanding of birds."

The Emperor laughed suddenly, a harshly skeptical laugh. "Oh, come now. You really don't expect me to accept that, do you?"

Wolf looked at him gravely. "Are you really sure you don't know me, Ran Borune?" he asked mildly. The pale green mantle Grinneg had lent him made him look almost like a Tolnedran - almost, but not quite.