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society still has its little frictions, " Silk said blandly to General Atesca.
    "Angaraks," Atesca grunted. " Sometimes they have a little difficulty coping with the modern world. Excuse me, Prince Kheldar. I want to let his Majesty know that we're here." He went to a polished door at the other end of the room and spoke briefly with one of the guards. Then he came back. "The Emperor is being advised of our arrival," he said to them. "I expect that he'll see us in a few moments."
    A rather chubby, bald-headed man in a plain, though obviously costly, brown robe and with a heavy gold chain about his neck approached them. "Atesca, my dear fellow," he greeted the general, "they told me that you were stationed at Rak Verkat."
    "I have some business with the Emperor, Brador. What are you doing in Cthol Murgos?"
    "Cooling my heels," the chubby man replied. "I've been waiting for two days to see Kal Zakath."
    "Who's minding the shop at home?"
    "I've arranged it so that it more or less runs itself," Brador replied. "The report I have for his Majesty is so vital that I decided to carry it myself."
    "What could be so earthshaking that it would drag the Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs away from the comforts of Mal Zeth?"
    "I believe that it's time for his Imperial Exaltedness to tear himself away from his amusements here in Cthol Murgos and come back to the capital."
    "Careful, Brador," Atesca said with a brief smile. "Your fine-tuned Melcene prejudices are showing."
    "Things are getting grim at home, Atesca," Brador said seriously. "I've got to talk with the Emperor. Can you help me to get in to see him?"
    "I'll see what I can do."
    "Thank you, my friend," Brador said, clasping the general's arm. "The whole fate of the empire may depend on my persuading Kal Zakath to come back to Mal Zeth."
    "General Atesca," one of the spear-armed guards at the polished door said in a loud voice, "his Imperial Majesty will see you and your prisoners now."
    "Very good," Atesca replied, ignoring the ominous word "prisoners." He looked at Garion. "The Emperor must be very eager to see you, your Majesty," he noted.
    "It often takes weeks to gain an audience with him. Shall we go inside?"

CHAPTER TWO
    Kal Zakath, the Emperor of boundless Mallorea, lounged in a red-cushioned chair at the far end of a large plain room. The Emperor wore a simple white linen robe, severe and unadorned. Though Garion knew that he was at least in his forties, his hair was untouched by gray and his face was unlined. His eyes, however, betrayed a kind of dead weariness, devoid of any joy or even any interest in life. Curled in his lap lay a common mackerel-striped alley cat, her eyes closed and her forepaws alternately kneading his thigh. Although the Emperor himself wore the simplest of clothes, the guards lining the walls all wore steel breastplates deeply inlaid with gold.
    "My Emperor," General Atesca said with a deep bow,
    "I have the honor to present his Royal Majesty, King Belgarion of Riva."
    Garion nodded briefly, and Zakath inclined his head in response. "Our meeting is long overdue, Belgarion," he said in a voice as dead as his eyes. "Your exploits have shaken the world."
    "Yours have also made a certain impression, Zakath." Garion had decided even before he had left Rak Verkat -that he would not perpetuate the absurdity of the Mallorean's self-bestowed "Kal."
    A faint smile touched Zakath's lips. "Ah," he said in a tone which indicated that he saw through Garion's attempt to be subtle. He nodded briefly to the others, and his attention finally fixed itself upon the rumpled untidy form of Garion's grandfather.
    "And of course you, sir, would be Belgarath," he noted. "I'm a bit surprised to find you so ordinary looking. The Grolims of Mallorea all agree that you're a hundred feet tall -possible two hundred- and that you have horns and a forked tail."
    "I'm in disguise," Belgarath replied with aplomb.
    Zakath chuckled, though there was little amusement in that