"I think I'd better stop by the palace and have a talk with Ran Borune," Mister Wolf said. "The Borunes aren't the easiest emperors to deal with, but they're the most intelligent. I shouldn't have too much trouble convincing him that the situation's serious."

"How are you going to get to see him?" Aunt Pol asked him. "It could take weeks to get an appointment. You know how they are."

Mister Wolf made a sour face. "I suppose I could make a ceremonial visit of it," he said as they pushed their horses through the crowd.

"And announce your presence to the whole city?"

"Do I have any choice? I have to nail down the Tolnedrans. We can't afford to have them neutral."

"Could I make a suggestion?" Barak asked.

"I'll listen to anything at this point."

"Why don't we go see Grinneg?" Barak said. "He's the Cherek Ambassador here in Tol Honeth. He could get us into the palace to see the Emperor without all that much fuss."

"That's not a bad idea, Belgarath," Silk agreed. "Grinneg's got enough connections in the palace to get us inside quickly, and Ran Borune respects him."

"That only leaves the problem of getting in to see the ambassador," Durnik said as they stopped to let a heavy wagon pass into a side street.

"He's my cousin," Barak said. "He and Anheg and I used to play together when we were children." The big man looked around. "He's supposed to have a house near the garrison of the Third Imperial Legion. I suppose we could ask somebody the way."

"That won't be necessary," Silk said. "I know where it is."

"I should have known." Barak grinned.

"We can go through the north marketplace," Silk said. "The garrison's located near the main wharves on the downstream end of the island."

"Lead the way," Wolf told him. "I don't want to waste too much time here."

The streets of Tol Honeth teemed with people from all over the world. Drasnians and Rivans rubbed elbows with Nyissans and Thulls. There was a sprinkling of Nadraks in the crowd and, to Garion's eye, a disproportionate number of Murgos. Aunt Pol rode close beside Hettar, talking quietly to him and frequently laying her hand lightly on his sword arm. The lean Algar's eyes burned, and his nostrils flared dangerously each time he saw a scarred Murgo face.

The houses along the wide streets were imposing, with white marble facades and heavy doors, quite often guarded by private mercenary soldiers, who glared belligerently at passers-by.

"The Imperial City seems awash with suspicion," Mandorallen observed. "Do they fear their neighbors so?"

"Troubled times," Silk explained. "And the merchant princes of Tol Honeth keep a great deal of the world's wealth in their counting-rooms. There are men along this street who could buy most of Arendia if they wanted to."

"Arendia is not for sale," Mandorallen said stiffly.