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light, dear."
    Garion fumbled for one of the candles, brushed his sleeve against it, and then deftly caught it before it hit the floor. He was sort of proud of that.
    "Don't play with it, Garion. Just light it." Her tone was so familiar and so commonplace that he began to laugh, and the little surge of his will that he directed at the candle was a stuttering sort of thing. The flame that appeared bobbled and hiccuped at the end of the wick in a soundless golden chortle.
    Polgara looked steadily at the giggling candle, then closed her eyes. "Oh, Garion," she sighed in resignation.
    He moved about the room relighting the other candles and fanning the braziers back into life. The flames were all quite sedate -except for the original one, which continued to dance and laugh in blithe glee.
    Polgara turned to the hooded Dalasian healer. "You're most perceptive, Andel," she said. "That sort of thing is difficult to recognize unless you know precisely what you're looking for."
    "The perception was not mine, Lady Polgara," Andel replied. " I was advised by another of the cause of her Majesty's illness."
    "Cyradis?"
    Andel nodded. " The minds of all our race are joined with hers, for we are but the instruments of the task which lies upon her. Her concern for the Queen's well-being prompted her to intervene." The hooded woman hesitated. "The Holy Seeress also asked me to beg you to intercede with your husband in the matter of Toth. The Goodman's anger is causing that gentle guide extreme anguish, and his pain is also hers. What happened at Verkat had to happen -otherwise the meeting between the Child of Light and the Child of Dark could not come to pass for ages hence."
    Polgara nodded gravely. "I thought it might have been something like that. Tell her that I'll speak with Durnik in Toth's behalf."
    Andel inclined her head gratefully.
    "Garion," Ce'Nedra murmured drowsily, "where are we?"
    He turned to her quickly. " Are you all right?" 'he asked, taking her hand in his.
    "Mmmm," she said. "I'm just so very sleepy. What happened -and where are we?"
    "We're at Rak Hagga." He threw a quick glance at Polgara, then turned back to the bed. "You just had a little fainting spell is all," he said with a slightly exaggerated casualness. "How are you feeling?"
    "I'm fine, dear, but I think I'd like to sleep now." And her eyes went closed. Then she opened them again with a sleepy little frown. "Garion," she murmured, "why is that candle acting like that?"
    He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Don't worry about it, dear," he told her, but she had already fallen fast asleep.

    It was well past midnight when Garion was awakened by a light tapping on the door of the room in which he slept. "Who is it?" he asked, half rising in his bed.
    "A messenger from the Emperor, your Majesty," A voice replied from the other side of the door. "He instructed me to ask if you would be so good as to join him in his private study."
    "Now? In the middle of the night?"
    "Such was the Emperor's instruction, your Majesty."
    "All right," Garion said, throwing off his blankets, and swinging around to put his feet on the cold floor.
    "Give me a minute or so to get dressed."
    "Of course, your Majesty."
    Muttering to himself, Garion began to pull on his clothes by the faint light coming from the brazier in the corner. When he was dressed, he splashed cold water on his face and raked his fingers through his sandy hair, trying to push it into some semblance of order. Almost as an afterthought he ducked his head and arm through the strap attached to the sheath of Iron-grip's sword and shrugged it into place across his back. Then he opened the door. " All right," he said to the messenger, "let's go."
    Kal Zakath's study was a book-lined room with several leather-upholstered chairs, a large polished table and a crackling fire on the hearth. The Emperor, still clad in plain white linen, sat in a chair at the table, shuffling through a stack of parchment sheets by the light of a