"I know which one I'm looking for," she replied. "Trust me, Durnik."

The powder she finally located was so acrid that it made her eyes water. She carefully measured out a bit of it and dumped it into the pot. The steaming fumes were awful, and the princess kept her face averted as she carried the pot to where Polgara lay. She set the pot beside the lady's pale, sleeping face and then laid a cloak across her. "Give me a stick," the princess said to the smith.

Durnik, his face dubious, handed her a broken-off arrow.

Ce'Nedra carefully propped up the cloak, making a small tent over the pot and Polgara's face.

"What now?" Durnik asked.

"Now we wait," Ce'Nedra told him.

Then, coming from the direction of the battle, a group of Sendarian soldiers, evidently wounded, appeared at the top of the grassy bank surrounding the secluded little beach. Their jerkins all had bloodstains on them, and several of the men wore bandages. Unlike most of the wounded who had already passed that morning, however, these men still carried their weapons.

Under the tented cloak, Polgara began to cough.

"What have you done?" Durnik cried, snatching the cloak away.

"It was necessary," Ce'Nedra replied. "I talked with Belgarath. He told me that I had to wake her up - and how to do it."

"You'll hurt her," Durnik accused. With sudden, uncharacteristic anger, he kicked the fuming pot, sending it rolling down the beach toward the water's edge.

Polgara's eyelids were fluttering as she continued to cough. When she opened her eyes, however, her look was blank, uncomprehending.

"Can you spare us some water?" one of the wounded Sendars asked as the group of men approached.

"There's a whole river right there," Ce'Nedra replied absently, pointing even as she intently stared into Polgara's eyes.

Durnik, however, gave the men a startled look, then suddenly reached for his sword.

But the men in Sendarian jerkins had jumped down from the bank and were already upon them. It took three of them to disarm the powerful smith and to hold his arms.

"You're not Sendars," Durnik exclaimed, struggling with his captors.

"How clever of you to notice," one of them replied in an accent so guttural that it was almost unintelligible. Another of them drew his sword and stood over the dazed Polgara. "Stop fighting, friend," he told Durnik with an ugly smirk, "or I'll kill this woman."

"Who are you?" Ce'Nedra demanded indignantly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Actually, we're members of the Imperial Elite Guard," the man with the sword answered urbanely. "And we're here, your Highness, to extend to you the invitation of his Imperial Majesty 'Zakath, Emperor of Mallorea. His Majesty requests the honor of your presence in his pavilion." His face hardened, and he looked at his men. "Bring them," he ordered. "Let's get out of here before someone comes along and starts asking questions."