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built had not shared the grandiose delusions which afflicted the rulers of Urga, and so the building was more functional than ornate.
    "I hope you'll excuse me," General Atesca said to them when they had emerged from the audience chamber. "I'm obliged to deliver a full report to his Majesty -about various matters- and then I must return immediately to Rak Verkat." He looked at Garion. "The circumstances under which we met were not the happiest, your Majesty." he said, "but I hope you won't think too unkindly of me." He bowed rather stiffly and then left them in the care of a member of the Emperor's staff The man who led them down a long, dark-paneled hallway toward the center of the house was obviously not an Angarak. He had not the angular eyes nor the stiff, bleak-faced arrogance that marked the men of that race.
    His cheerful, round face seemed to hint at a Melcene heritage, and Garion remembered that the bureaucracy which controlled most aspects of Mallorean life was made up almost exclusively of Melcenes. "His Majesty asked me to assure you that your quarters are not intended to be a prison," the official told them as they approached a heavily barred iron door blocking off one portion of the hallway. "This was a Murgo house before we took the city, and it has certain structural peculiarities. Your rooms are in what once were the women's quarters, and Murgos are fanatically protective of their women. It has to do with their concept of racial purity, I think."
    At the moment, Garion had little interest in sleeping arrangements. All his concern was for Ce'Nedra. "Do you happen to know where I might find my wife?" he asked the moon-faced bureaucrat.
    "There at the end of this corridor, your Majesty," the Melcene replied, pointing toward a blue-painted door at the far end of the hall.
    "Thank you." Garion glanced at the others. "I'll be back in a little while," he told them and strode on ahead.
    The room he entered was warm and the lighting subdued. Deep, ornately woven Mallorean carpets covered the floor and soft green velvet drapes covered the tall, narrow windows. Ce'Nedra lay in a high-posted bed, against the wall opposite the door, and Polgara was seated at the bedside, her expression grave.
    "Has there been any change?" Garion asked her, softly closing the door behind him.
    "Nothing as yet," she replied.
    Ce'Nedra's face was pale as she slept with her crimson curls tumbled on her pillow.
    "She is going to be all right, isn't she?" Garion asked.
    "I'm sure of it, Garion."
    Another woman sat near the bed. She wore a light green, cowled robe; despite the fact that she was indoors, she had the hood pulled up, partially concealing her face.
    Ce'Nedra muttered something in a strangely harsh tone and tossed her head restlessly on her pillow. The cowled woman frowned. "Is this her customary voice, Lady Polgara?" she asked.
    Polgara looked at her sharply. "No," she replied. " As a matter of fact, it's not."
    "Would the drug you gave her in some way affect the sound of her speech?"
    "No, it wouldn't. Actually, she shouldn't be making any sounds at all."
    " Ah," the woman said. "I think perhaps I understand now." She leaned forward and very gently laid the fingertips of one hand on Ce'Nedra's lips. She nodded then and withdrew her hand. " As I suspected," she murmured.
    Polgara also reached out to touch Ce'Nedra's face.
    Garion heard the faint whisper of her will, and the candle at the bedside flared up slightly, then sank back until its flame was scarcely more than a pinpoint. "I should have guessed," Polgara accused herself.
    "What is it?" Garion asked in alarm.
    "Another mind is seeking to dominate your wife and to subdue her will, your Majesty," the cowled woman told him. "It's an art sometimes practiced by the Grolims. They discovered it quite by accident during the third age."
    "This is Andel, Garion," Polgara told him. "Zakath sent her here to help care for Ce'Nedra."
    Garion nodded briefly to the hooded woman." Exactly what