The Malloreon: Book 02 - King of the Murgos

by David Eddings

Sadi squinted up at the stars. ‘Three or four months at this time of the year, Goodman.’

  Polgara had been humming quietly to herself as her needle flashed in the firelight. ‘Come here, Ce’Nedra,’ she said.

  The little queen rose and went over to where she sat. Polgara held up the green silk robe, measuring it against her tiny frame, then nodded in satisfaction.

  Ce’Nedra wrinkled her nose. ‘Do they have to smell so bad?’ she asked Sadi.

  ‘I don’t suppose they have to, but they always do, for some reason. Slaves have a certain odor about them, and it seems to rub off.’

  Polgara was looking at Toth as she held another of the slavers’ robes in her hands. ‘This could be a bit more challenging,’ she murmured.

  The giant gave her a brief, almost shy smile and rose to put more wood on the fire. As he poked the coals with a stick, a column of winking red sparks rose to greet the stars hanging low in the night sky. From somewhere down the ridge, as if in response to those sparks, there came a deep, coughing roar.

  ‘What’s that?’ Ce’Nedra cried.

  ‘Lion.’ Sadi shrugged. ‘Sometimes they hunt along the slave route—the old and crippled ones at any rate.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘Sometimes slaves get too sick to walk any farther and they have to be left behind. An old lion can’t chase anything that’s very nimble, and . . .’ He left it hanging in the air.

  She stared at him in horror.

  ‘You did ask, after all, your Majesty,’ he reminded her. ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t like the idea very much myself. That’s one of the reasons I left the slave trade to go into politics.’ He stood up and brushed off the back of his robe. ‘Now, if you dear people will excuse me, I have to go feed Zith. Please be careful when you go to your beds tonight. Sometimes she sneaks away after she’s been fed. I think it amuses her to hide from me, and one never knows where she might turn up.’ He walked out of the circle of golden firelight toward the place where he had spread his blankets.

  Silk stared after him, then turned back to the fire. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you,’ he declared, ‘but I’m sleeping right here tonight.’

  The next morning after breakfast, they donned the evil-smelling robes of Nyissan slavers. At Belgarath’s instruction, Garion once again covered the hilt of Iron-grip’s sword. ‘I think we’d better keep the Orb well wrapped as long as we’re in Cthol Murgos,’ the old man said. ‘It tends to get excited when there are Angaraks about.’

  They mounted their horses and followed the ancient highway up a ravine toward the jagged ridge top. As they rounded a bend, Polgara suddenly reined in her horse with a sharp hiss.

  ‘What’s the matter, Pol?’ Durnik asked her.

  She did not reply immediately, but her face grew pale. Her eyes flashed and the white lock of her brow suddenly flamed. ‘Monstrous!’ she said.

  ‘What is it, Aunt Pol?’ Garion asked.

  ‘Look over there,’ she answered, pointing with a trembling hand. There were white bones scattered about on the rocky ground several yards from the road; lying among them was a vacant-eyed human skull.

  ‘One of the slaves Sadi mentioned last night?’ Silk suggested.

  Polgara shook her head. ‘A part of the arrangement between Sariss and Naradas involved several men to escort Zandramas to the Murgo border,’ she reminded him. ‘When she got this far, she didn’t need them any more.’

  Silk’s face grew grim. ‘That seems to be in character. Every time she finishes with somebody, she kills him.’

  ‘She didn’t just kill them,’ Polgara said with a look of revulsion. ‘She broke their legs and left them for the lions. They waited all day for nightfall, and then the lions came.’

  Ce’Nedra’s face blanched. ‘How horrible!’

  ‘Are you sure, Pol?’ Durnik asked, his face slightly sick.

  ‘Some things are so dreadful that they leave their traces in the very rocks.’

  Belgarath had been staring bleakly at the gnawed bones. ‘This isn’t the first time she’s done this. She’s not satisfied with just killing people to cover her tracks. She has to commit atrocities.’

  ‘She’s a monster,’ Ce’Nedra declared. ‘She feeds on horror.’

  ‘It’s a bit more than that,’ Belgarath replied. ‘I think she’s trying to leave messages for us.’ He jerked his head toward the scattered bones. ‘That wasn’t really necessary. I think she’s trying to scare us off.’

  ‘It won’t work,’ Garion said very quietly. ‘All she’s doing is adding to the final reckoning. When the time finally comes for her to pay it, I think she’s going to find that all of this is more than she can afford.’

  At the top of the ridge, the ancient road they had been following ended abruptly, sharply marking the invisible line where Nyissa ended and Cthol Murgos began. From the ridge top they looked out over an endless, unbroken expanse of shattered black rock and miles-wide beds of dark brown gravel, shimmering under a broiling sun.

  ‘Which way did Zandramas go from here?’ Durnik asked Garion.

  ‘She turned south,’ Garion replied, feeling the Orb pulling in a new direction.

  ‘We could gain time if we cut straight across that out there, couldn’t we?’

  ‘Absolutely out of the question, Goodman Durnik,’ Sadi declared. ‘That’s the Great Desert of Araga. It’s as big as Algaria. The only water there is in the wells of the Dagashi, and you wouldn’t want to get caught dipping into a Dagashi well.’

  ‘The Dagashi live out there?’ Durnik asked, shading his eyes with one hand to look out at the fiery wasteland.

  ‘They’re the only ones who can,’ Sadi replied. ‘Perhaps that explains why they’re so fearsome. We’re going to have to follow this ridge line south for a hundred leagues or so to get around that waste. Then we’ll strike out due southeast across Morcth and on down into the Great Southern Forest in Gorut.’

  Belgarath nodded. ‘Let’s get started then.’

  They rode south, skirting the western edge of the Desert of Araga and staying well up in the hills, which sloped steeply down to the desert floor. As they rode, Garion noticed that the trees on this side of the ridge were stunted and sparsely distributed. There was no grass growing in the rock-strewn ground, and the heather had given way to scrubby thorn bushes. The sharp ridge line appeared to be an abrupt demarcation between two entirely different climates. What had been only pleasantly warm on the west side became oppressively hot here on the east. There were almost no streams, and the few springs they found were tiny and seeped their water grudgingly into tepid little puddles hidden among the rust-colored boulders.

  On the morning of the third day after they had entered Cthol Murgos, Toth belted his blanket across one shoulder, took up his staff, and walked down to the mouth of the ravine where they had spent the night, to look out over the rocky desert lying below. The sun had not yet risen, and the light from the dawn sky was steely and shadowless, etching each rock and crag of the sun-blasted wasteland in sharp detail. After a moment, the giant returned and touched Durnik’s shoulder.

  ‘What is it, Toth?’ the smith asked.

  The mute pointed to the mouth of the ravine.

  ‘All right,’ Durnik said, rising from the spot where he had been kindling their morning fire. The two of them went down the ravine in the pale light and stood looking out. After a few moments, Durnik called back over his shoulder. ‘Belgarath, I think you’d better come here and look at this.’

  The old sorcerer finished pulling on his scuffed and mismatched boots and went down to join them, with his green silk robe flapping about his ankles. He stared out for a while, then muttered a curse. ‘We’ve got a problem,’ he announced without turning.

  The problem became apparent as soon as the rest of them reached the entrance to the ravine. Some distance out on the desert, a large cloud of dust was rising to hang motionless in the still morning air.

  ‘How many men do you think it would take to r
aise that much dust?’ Garion asked quietly.

  ‘At least several hundred,’ Silk told him.

  ‘Murgos?’

  ‘Not unless the Murgos have changed their habits,’ Velvet murmured. ‘Those men are dressed in red.’

  Silk peered intently out at the dust cloud. ‘You’ve got good eyes,’ he said finally to the blond girl.

  ‘One of the advantages of youth,’ she replied sweetly.

  He gave her a quick, irritable look.

  ‘I thought this was Murgo territory,’ Durnik objected.

  ‘It is,’ Sadi said, ‘but the Malloreans send patrols out every so often. Zakath’s been trying to find a way to come at Urgit from behind for a number of years now.’

  ‘How did they find water out there?’

  ‘I’m sure they brought it with them.’

  Toth turned toward the south side of the ravine and scrambled up the steep, rocky bank, sending long streams of dusty brown gravel slithering down behind him.

  ‘Do you think we can outrun them?’ Silk asked Belgarath.

  ‘That probably wouldn’t be a very good idea. I think we’d better stay here until they’re out of the area.’

  Toth gave a low whistle from the top of the bank he had just climbed.

  ‘Go see what he wants, Durnik,’ Belgarath said.

  The smith nodded and started up the steep slope.

  ‘Do you think they’ll find us here?’ Ce’Nedra asked tensely.

  ‘It’s not too likely, your Majesty,’ Sadi replied. ‘I doubt that they’re going to take the time to search every ravine and gully in these mountains.’

  Belgarath squinted out at the dust cloud. ‘They’re moving toward the southwest,’ he noted. ‘If we sit tight for a day or so, they’ll move on out of our vicinity.’

  ‘I hate to lose the time,’ Garion fretted.

  ‘So do I, but I don’t think we’ve got much choice.’

  Durnik came sliding back down the bank of the ravine. ‘There’s another group of men up ahead,’ he reported tersely. ‘Murgos, I think.’

  Belgarath uttered a fairly rancid curse. ‘I really don’t want to get caught in the middle of a skirmish,’ he said. ‘Go up there and keep an eye on things,’ he told Silk. ‘Let’s not have any more surprises.’

  Silk started up the steep bank of the ravine. On an impulse, Garion followed him. When they reached the top, they took cover behind a scrubby thorn bush.

  The fiery ball of the sun slid up out of the desert lying to the east, and the obscuring cloud of dust raised by the advancing Mallorean column turned it to an ominous red. The figures of the men below, both the mounted Malloreans and the concealed Murgos were tiny in the distance, like toy figures on a miniature landscape.

  ‘As closely as I can tell, they’re about evenly matched,’ Silk noted, looking down at the two parties of troops.

  Garion considered it. ‘The Murgos are going to have the advantage, though. They’re on higher ground and they’ll have the element of surprise.’

  Silk grinned. ‘You’re turning into quite a tactician.’

  Garion let that pass.

  ‘Sadi was right,’ Silk said. ‘The Malloreans brought water with them.’ He pointed at two dozen or so cumbersome-looking wagons loaded with large casks, trailing along at the rear of the column advancing across the desert.

  The Malloreans reached the first of the shallow ravines stretching up into the foothills, then halted, while their scouts fanned out to search the rocky terrain. It was only a short time before alarmed shouts announced that at least some of the Murgos had been seen.

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ Garion said. ‘They didn’t even try to keep from being found.’

  ‘Murgos aren’t notorious for intelligence,’ Silk replied. As the red-clad Malloreans massed up for a charge, the concealed Murgos rose from their hiding places and began to shower their foes with arrows, but after only a few volleys, they began to pull back.

  ‘Why are they retreating?’ Garion demanded in disgust. ‘What’s the point of setting up an ambush and then turning around and running away from it?’

  ‘Nobody’s that stupid,’ Silk muttered his agreement. ‘They’re up to something else.’

  The retreating Murgos kept up a steady rain of arrows, littering the ravines stretching up into the hills with windrows of red-garbed dead as the Malloreans doggedly charged up into the foothills. Once again, the toylike quality of all those men so far below became apparent. At closer range, the carnage at the edge of that vast desert would have sickened Garion, but from up here he could watch with little more than curiosity.

  And then, when the great majority of the charging Malloreans were far up the ravines and gullies, a force of axe-wielding Murgo cavalry came pounding around the tip of a long, rocky ridge that protruded out into the wasteland.

  ‘That’s what they were up to,’ Garion said. ‘They lured the Malloreans into a charge so that they could attack from the rear.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Silk disagreed. ‘I think they’re after the supply wagons.’

  The galloping Murgo cavalry swept across the intervening space and then thundered along the sides of the poorly guarded Mallorean supply column, their axes rising and falling as they chopped open the water casks. With each stroke, sparkling water gushed out to soak into the arid floor of the desert. The sun, obscured by the dust of the charge, glowed red through the choking clouds to dye the gushing streams of water. From their vantage point high above the battle, it looked almost to Garion that the fluid spurting from the ruptured barrels was not water, but blood.

  With a great outcry of chagrin, the Mallorean charge faltered. Then the red-clad figures far below turned and desperately ran back toward the desert to protect their precious water supply. But it was too late. With brutal efficiency, the Murgo cavalry had already axed open every barrel and cask and were riding back the way they had come with triumphant jeers.

  The Murgos, whose feigned retreat had drawn the Mallorean troops into their fatal charge, ran back down the ridges to resume their former positions. From their vantage points above the now-demoralized Malloreans, they sent great sheets of arrows arching up into the morning sky to rain down upon their enemies. In the midst of that deadly rain, the Malloreans desperately tried to salvage what little water was left in the bottoms of their shattered barrels, but their losses from the arrow storm soon grew unacceptable. The men in red tunics broke and ran out into the waiting desert, leaving their wagons behind.

  ‘That’s a brutal way to make war,’ Silk said.

  ‘The battle’s pretty much over then, isn’t it?’ Garion said as the black-robed Murgos moved down into the ravines to butcher the wounded.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Silk replied sounding almost sick. ‘The fighting’s all done. The dying isn’t, though.’

  ‘Maybe the ones who are left can make it back across the desert.’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘All right, then,’ a lean man in a black robe said, stepping out from behind a nearby rocky outcrop with a half-drawn bow in his hands. ‘Now that you’ve seen it all, why don’t we go back down to your camp and join the others?’

  Chapter Ten

  Silk rose to his feet slowly, keeping both hands in plain sight. ‘You’re very quiet on your feet, friend,’ he observed.

  ‘I’m trained to be so,’ the man with the bow replied. ‘Move. Your friends are waiting.’

  Silk gave Garion a quick warning look—Let’s go along until we can size up the situation—his fingers cautioned.—I’m sure this one isn’t alone.—

  They turned and slid down the bank to the floor of the ravine, with the stranger following watchfully behind them, his bow at the ready. At the upper end of the gully where they had pitched their tents the previous night, a score of black-robed men armed with bows guarded the others. They all had the scarred cheeks and angular eyes of Murgos, but there were certain subtle differences. The Murgos Garion had seen before had always been heavy-sh
ouldered, and their stance had been marked by a stiff arrogance. These men were leaner, and their bearing was at once wary and peculiarly relaxed.

  ‘You see, noble Tajak,’ Sadi said obsequiously to the lean-faced man who seemed to be in charge, ‘it is exactly as I told you. I have only these two other servants.’

  ‘We know your numbers, slaver,’ the lean-faced man replied in a harshly accented voice. ‘We’ve been watching you since you entered Cthol Murgos.’

  ‘We made no effort to hide,’ Sadi protested mildly. ‘The only reason we remained concealed here was to avoid becoming involved in that unpleasantness down at the edge of the desert.’ He paused. ‘One is curious, however, to know why the noble Dagashi would choose to concern themselves with the activities of a party of Nyissan slavers. Surely we are not the first to come this way.’

  Tajak ignored that, looking carefully at Garion and his friends with his slate-hard black eyes. ‘What’s your name, slaver?’ he asked Sadi finally.

  ‘I am Ussa of Sthiss Tor, good master, a duly registered slave trader. I have all the proper documents, if you’d care to examine them.’

  ‘How is it that none of your servants are Nyissan?’

  Sadi spread his hands innocently. ‘The war here in the south makes most of my countrymen a bit reluctant to venture into Cthol Murgos just now,’ he explained, ‘so I was forced to hire foreign adventurers instead.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ the Dagashi said in a flat, unemotional voice. He gave Sadi a penetrating look. ‘Are you interested in money, Ussa of Sthiss Tor?’ he asked suddenly.

  Sadi’s dead eyes brightened, and he rubbed his hands together eagerly. ‘Well, now,’ he said, ‘why don’t we talk about that? Just exactly how may I serve you? And how would you be willing to pay me?’

  ‘You will need to discuss that with my master,’ Tajak replied. ‘My orders were to find a party of slavers and tell them that I could put them in touch with someone who could see that they were well-paid for a fairly minor service. Are you interested in such a proposition?’

  Sadi hesitated, glancing surreptitiously at Belgarath for some kind of instruction.