The Malloreon: Book 02 - King of the Murgos

by David Eddings

  ‘They are.’ Silk laughed gaily, looking around with some satisfaction at the carnage in the forest clearing.

  ‘Please stop!’ Ce’Nedra cried to Velvet in an anguished voice.

  ‘What?’ the blond girl asked absently, still leaning back against the silken cord drawn tightly about the neck of the now-limp man she had just strangled. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Ce’Nedra,’ she apologized. ‘My attention wandered a bit, I guess.’ She released the cord, and the black-faced dead man toppled to the ground at her feet.

  ‘Nice job,’ Silk congratulated her.

  ‘Fairly routine.’ She shrugged, carefully coiling up her garrote.

  ‘You seem to be taking it quite calmly.’

  ‘There’s no particular reason to get excited, Kheldar. It’s part of what we were trained to do, after all.’

  He looked as if he were about to reply, but her matter-of-fact tone obviously baffled him.

  ‘Yes?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Stop that!’ Durnik said in disgust to Sadi, who was moving about the clearing casually sticking his small, poisoned dagger into each of the bodies littering the ground.

  ‘Just making sure, Goodman,’ Sadi replied coolly. ‘It’s not prudent to leave an enemy behind you who might be feigning death.’ He moved over the black-robed man whom Silk had felled. ‘What’s this?’ he said with some surprise. ‘This one’s still alive.’ He reached down to push the dying man’s hood aside to look at his face, then pulled back his hand with a sharp intake of his breath. ‘You’d better have a look at this one, Belgarath,’ he said.

  Belgarath crossed the clearing to the eunuch’s side.

  ‘Doesn’t that purple lining on the inside of his hood mean that he’s a Grolim?’ Sadi asked.

  Belgarath nodded bleakly. He bent and lightly touched the hilt of Silk’s dagger that still protruded from the robed man’s stomach. ‘He doesn’t have much time left,’ he said. ‘Can you get him conscious enough to answer a few questions?’

  ‘I can try,’ Sadi told him. He went to his horse and took a vial of yellow liquid from his red case. ‘Could you get me a cup of water, Goodman?’ he asked Durnik.

  The smith’s face was disapproving, but he fetched a tin cup from one of the packs and filled it from one of their water bags.

  Sadi carefully measured a few drops of the yellow liquid into the cup, then swirled it around a few times. He knelt beside the dying man and almost tenderly lifted his head. ‘Here,’ he said gently, ‘drink this. It might make you feel better.’ He supported the Grolim’s head on his arm and held the cup to his lips. Weakly, the stricken man drank, then lay back. After a moment, a serene smile came to his ashen face.

  ‘There, isn’t that better?’

  ‘Much better,’ the dying man croaked.

  ‘That was quite a skirmish, wasn’t it?’

  ‘We thought to surprise you,’ the Grolim admitted, ‘but we were the ones who got the surprise.’

  ‘Your Master—what was his name again? I’m terrible at names.’

  ‘Morgat,’ the Grolim supplied with a bemused look on his face, ‘Hierarch of Rak Cthan.’

  ‘Oh, yes, now I remember. Anyway, Morgat should have given you more men to help you.’

  ‘I hired the men myself—at Rak Cthaka. They told me that they were professionals, but—’ He began to cough weakly.

  ‘Don’t tire yourself,’ Sadi said. He paused. ‘What’s Morgat’s interest in us?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s acting on the instructions of Agachak,’ the Grolim replied, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘Agachak is not one to take chances, and some very serious accusations were made back at Rak Urga, I understand. Agachak has ordered that every Grolim priest of the purple seek you out.’

  Sadi sighed. ‘It’s more or less what I’d expected,’ he said mournfully. ‘People always seem to distrust me. Tell me, how did you ever manage to find us?’

  ‘It was Cthrag Yaska,’ the Grolim replied, his breathing growing even more labored. ‘Its accursed song rings across Cthol Murgos like a beacon, drawing every Grolim of the purple directly to you.’ The dying man drew in a deep breath, and his unfocused eyes suddenly became alert. ‘What was in that cup?’ he demanded sharply. He pushed Sadi’s arm away and tried to rise to a sitting position. A great gush of blood spurted from his mouth, and his eyes went blank. He shuddered once with a long, gurgling groan. Then he fell limply back.

  ‘Dead,’ Sadi noted clinically. ‘That’s the problem with oret. It’s a little hard on the heart, and this fellow wasn’t in very good shape to begin with. I’m sorry, Belgarath, but it was the best I could do.’

  ‘It was enough, Sadi,’ the old man replied bleakly. ‘Come with me, Garion,’ he said. ‘Let’s go someplace quiet. You and I are going to have to have a long talk with the Orb.’

  ‘Do you suppose that you could hold off on that, Belgarath?’ Sadi asked, looking around nervously. ‘I think we want to get as far away from here as we can—almost immediately.’

  ‘I hardly expect those fellows to come back, Sadi,’ Silk drawled.

  ‘That’s not what concerns me, Kheldar. It’s not prudent to remain in the vicinity of so many dead bodies in this forest, and we’ve lingered much too long already.’

  ‘Would you like to explain that?’ Garion asked.

  ‘Do you remember the warning the Sendar on the road gave to you and Kheldar?’

  ‘About something he called the Raveners, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. How much did he tell you?’

  ‘He said that they’re ghouls—creatures that feed on the dead. But that’s just a ghost story, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I’ve heard the story from people who’ve actually seen them. We definitely want to get away from here. Most of the people who live in this forest—or near it—don’t bury their dead. They burn them instead.’

  ‘I’ve never cared much for that idea,’ Durnik said.

  ‘It has nothing to do with respect, Goodman—or the lack of it. It’s done to protect the living.’

  ‘All right,’ Silk said. ‘What are these ghouls supposed to look like? There are a lot of animals around that try to dig up dead bodies.’

  ‘The Raveners aren’t animals, Kheldar. They’re men—or at least that’s what they look like. Normally, they’re quite torpid and only come out at night, but during a war or a pestilence, when there are a large number of bodies unburied, they go into a kind of frenzy. The smell of death attracts them and makes them wild. They’ll attack anything when they’re like that.’

  ‘Father,’ Polgara said, ‘is this true?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve heard some unpleasant things about these woods myself. I don’t usually pursue ghost stories, so I didn’t bother to investigate.’

  ‘Every country has its stories of ogres and monsters,’ Silk said sceptically. ‘Only children are frightened by them.’

  ‘I’ll strike a bargain with you, Kheldar,’ Sadi said. ‘If we make it through these woods without seeing any Raveners, you can laugh at my timidity if you like, but for the sake of the ladies, let’s get away from here.’

  Belgarath was frowning. ‘I don’t altogether accept the notion of ghouls,’ he said, ‘but then, I didn’t believe there was such a thing as an Eldrak either—until I saw one. We want to move along anyway, and Garion and I can talk with the Orb later.’

  With Toth once more in the lead, they rode away at a gallop, still following the scarcely visible track that angled off toward the southeast. Their horses’ hooves tossed up clots of the leaves lying thick-spread on the forest floor as they plunged through the misty wood. The misshapen trees seemed to gape at them as they pounded past, and, though Garion knew it was only his imagination, those grotesque, almost human features seemed somehow to have taken on expressions of malicious glee.

  ‘Wait!’ Silk barked suddenly. ‘Stop!’

  They all reined in.


  ‘I thought I heard something—off that way,’ Silk said.

  They all sat straining their ears, trying to listen over the heavy panting of their horses.

  Faintly, from somewhere to the east, a scream came out of the fog.

  ‘There it is again,’ Silk said. He pulled his horse around.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Belgarath asked him.

  ‘I’m going to have a look.’

  But Toth had moved his horse around until it was blocking the Drasnian’s path. Gravely the giant shook his head.

  ‘Toth, we have to know what’s happening,’ Silk said.

  Toth shook his head again.

  ‘Toth,’ Garion said, ‘is what Sadi told us really true? Is there really such a thing as a Ravener?’

  Toth’s face grew bleak, and he nodded.

  Another scream came out of the dim woods, seeming much closer this time. The scream was filled with horror and agony.

  ‘Who is it?’ Ce’Nedra demanded, her voice shrill with fright. ‘Who’s screaming?’

  ‘The men who attacked us,’ Eriond replied in a sick voice. ‘The ones who survived the fight. Something’s running them down one by one.’

  ‘Raveners?’ Garion asked him.

  ‘I think so. Whatever it is, it’s horrible.’

  ‘They’re coming this way,’ Sadi said. ‘Let’s get away from here.’ He drove his heels into his horse’s flanks.

  They plunged off into the gloomy wood, no longer even trying to follow the track. Their blind flight took them perhaps a half mile farther into the forest when Polgara suddenly pulled her horse to a halt. ‘Stop!’ she commanded.

  ‘What is it, Pol?’ Durnik asked her.

  But she pushed forward carefully to peer at a thicket half-obscured in the mist. ‘There’s someone ahead,’ she whispered.

  ‘A Ravener?’ Garion asked in a low voice.

  She concentrated for a moment. ‘No. It’s one of the attackers. He’s trying to hide.’

  ‘How far away is he?’

  ‘Not far.’ She continued to peer into the shrouding mist. ‘There,’ she said. ‘He’s behind that tree at the edge of the thicket—the one with the broken limb hanging down.’

  Garion vaguely saw a dark patch half-concealed behind a gnarled tree root rising out of the sodden leaves. Then a movement caught his eye, and he glimpsed a shambling figure coming out of the trees. It seemed gray, almost invisible in the hazy fog, and it was so gaunt that it resembled a skeleton. It was dressed in rags, stained with earth and blood. Its pale skull was covered with scanty hair, and it was half-crouched, snuffling audibly as it walked with its arms hanging loosely. Its eyes were vacant and its mouth agape.

  Then another emerged from the woods, and yet another. As the creatures advanced, they made a low moaning sound that expressed nothing remotely intelligible, but rather seemed to convey only a dreadful hunger.

  ‘He’s going to run!’ Polgara said.

  With a despairing cry, the hidden assassin leaped to his feet and desperately began to run. The Raveners took up the chase, their moaning coming faster. Their shambling gait quickened, and their emaciated legs carried them through the wood at a surprising rate of speed.

  Twisting and dodging, the panic-stricken ruffian fled among the trees, with his hideous pursuers gaining on him at every step. When he finally disappeared far back into the fog and gloom, they were no more than a few yards behind him.

  His shriek was a shocking, horrible sound. Again he screamed—and again.

  ‘Are they killing him?’ Ce’Nedra’s voice was shrill.

  Polgara’s face had gone absolutely white, and her eyes were filled with horror. ‘No,’ she replied in a shaking voice.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Silk demanded.

  ‘They’re eating him.’

  ‘But—’ Silk broke off as more shrieks came out of the fog. ‘He’s still—’ He stared at her, his eyes gone very wide and the blood draining from his cheeks.

  Ce’Nedra gasped. ‘Alive?’ she said in a choked whisper. ‘They’re eating him while he’s still alive?’

  ‘That’s what I was trying to warn you about, your Majesty,’ Sadi said grimly. ‘When they go into their frenzy, they don’t make any distinction between the living and the dead. They feed on anything.’

  ‘Toth,’ Belgarath said sharply. ‘Can they be frightened off?’

  The mute shook his head, then turned to Durnik, gesturing rapidly, touching his head and then his stomach.

  ‘He says that they aren’t able to think enough to be afraid,’ the smith told them. ‘All they know is hunger.’

  ‘What are we going to do, father?’ Polgara demanded.

  ‘We’re going to try to outrun them,’ he replied, ‘and if any of them get in our way, we’ll have to kill them.’ He looked back at Toth. ‘How far can they run?’ he asked.

  Toth raised one hand and traced an arc over his head, then another, and then another.

  ‘Four days,’ Durnik interpreted.

  Belgarath’s face became very grim. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, ‘and stay together.’

  Their pace through the dreadful wood was more measured now, and the men all rode with their weapons in their hands.

  The first attack came after they had gone no more than a mile. A dozen gray-faced Raveners shambled out from among the trees, moaning their hideous hunger and spreading out to block the path.

  Garion spurred forward, swinging his sword in great arcs. Savagely, he chopped a path through the ranks of the slavering Raveners, who reached out mindlessly to pull him from his saddle. A terrible, rotting stink rose from them as he rode them down. He killed fully half of them as he crashed through, then whirled his horse to smash into them again, but pulled up sharply, his gorge rising. The Raveners who had escaped his sword were tearing at the bodies of those who had gone down, ripping out dripping gobbets of flesh and feeding them into their gaping mouths with their clawlike hands, even as they continued their awful moan.

  Cautiously Belgarath and the others circled around that dreadful feeding, averting their eyes as they passed.

  ‘It won’t work, father,’ Polgara declared. ‘Sooner or later one of us is going to make a mistake. We’re going to have to shield.’

  He thought about it for a moment. ‘You might be right, Pol,’ he admitted finally. He looked at Garion. ‘You and Durnik pay attention to how this is done,’ he instructed. ‘I want you to be able to take over when we get tired.’

  They started out at a walk as Belgarath and Polgara adjusted the barrier they were creating with the force of their combined will. They had gone no more than a little way when a gray-faced Ravener came loping out from among the twisted trees, slobbering and moaning. When it was perhaps ten yards from Durnik’s horse, it suddenly stumbled back as if it had just run headlong into something solid. Moaning dreadfully, it came forward again and began to claw at the empty air with its filthy, long-nailed hands.

  ‘Durnik,’ Polgara said quite calmly, ‘would you deal with it, please?’

  ‘All right, Pol.’ The smith’s face creased into an expression of extreme concentration, and he muttered a single word. The Ravener flickered and popped momentarily out of sight. When it reappeared, it was twenty yards away, beside a large tree. It struggled to lurch forward at them again, but seemed for some reason unable to move.

  ‘That should hold it,’ Durnik said.

  ‘What did you do?’ Silk asked, peering at the struggling creature.

  ‘I stuck its arm into that tree,’ Durnik replied. ‘If it wants to attack again, it’s either going to have to bring the tree along or leave the arm behind. I didn’t really hurt it, but it’s going to take it a day or so to get its arm loose.’

  ‘Have you got a good hold on our shield, Pol?’ Belgarath asked over his shoulder.

  ‘Yes, father.’

  ‘Let’s pick up the pace a trifle then. A bit of momentum won’t hurt.’

  They moved, first at a trot and then at a
loping canter. The shield Belgarath was projecting to the front ran ahead of them like a battering-ram, hurling the rag-clothed Raveners from their path.

  ‘Where do they get those clothes?’ Silk asked as he rode.

  Toth made a kind of digging motion with one hand.

  ‘He says that they take them off the bodies of the dead that they dig up,’ Durnik translated.

  Silk shuddered. ‘That would explain the smell, then.’

  The next few days began to blur in Garion’s mind. It was necessary to relieve Polgara and Belgarath every four hours or so, and the weight of the shield he and Durnik erected seemed to grow with each passing mile. The fog continued, making it impossible to see more than a hundred yards in any direction, and the twisted trees, with their semblance of human faces, emerged with a shocking suddenness out of that obscuring mist. Shapes, gray and emaciated, moved through that fog, and the mindless moaning came from all around them as they plunged through the ghoul-haunted wood.

  Night was a time of dreadful terror as the Raveners gathered around the shield, clawing at it and moaning their hideous longing. Exhausted by his efforts of the day, Garion was forced to use every ounce of his will—not merely to hold the shield in place when his turn came to maintain it, but also to ward off sleep. Even more than the Raveners, sleep was the enemy. He forced himself to walk up and down. He pinched himself. He even went so far as to put a large pebble in his left boot in hopes that the discomfort would help to keep him awake. Once, all his devices failed, and his head began to sag slowly forward as sleep finally overcame him.

  It was the putrid smell that jerked him awake. There, directly before him as his head came up, stood a Ravener. Its eyes were empty of all thought, its gaping mouth revealed broken, rotting teeth, and its black-nailed hands groped out—reaching for him. With a startled cry, he unleashed a heavy blow with his will, hurling the creature backward. Trembling violently, he re-established the barrier that had begun to falter.

  Then, at last, they reached the southernmost fringe of the dreadful forest and rode out from under the twisted trees onto a fog-shrouded heath.