The Malloreon: Book 02 - King of the Murgos

by David Eddings

‘Will they keep up the chase?’ Durnik asked his giant friend. The smith’s voice dropped from his lips with a great weariness.

  Toth made a number of obscure gestures.

  ‘What did he say?’ Garion asked.

  Durnik’s face was bleak. ‘He says that for as long as the fog lasts, they probably won’t give up. They don’t like the sun, but the fog’s hiding it, so—’ He shrugged.

  ‘We have to keep the shield up then, don’t we?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  The heath across which they rode was a blasted, ugly place, covered with low thorn bushes and dotted with shallow tarns filled with rusty-looking water. The fog eddied and billowed, and always at the farthest edge of vision lurked the shadowy forms of the Raveners.

  They rode on. Polgara and Belgarath took the burden of the shield, and Garion slumped in his saddle, trembling with exhaustion.

  Then, very faintly, he caught the smell of salt brine.

  ‘The sea!’ Durnik exulted. ‘We’ve reached the sea.’

  ‘Now all we need is a boat,’ Silk reminded him.

  Toth, however, pointed ahead confidently and made a curious gesture.

  ‘He says that there’s a ship waiting for us,’ Durnik told them.

  ‘There is?’ Silk seemed astonished. ‘How did he manage that?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ Durnik replied. ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘Durnik,’ Silk said, ‘exactly how do you know what he’s saying? Those gestures of his don’t make much sense to me at all.’

  Durnik frowned. ‘I really don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I hadn’t even thought about it. I just seem to know what he wants to say.’

  ‘Are you using sorcery?’

  ‘No. Maybe it’s because we’ve worked with each other a few times. That always seems to bring men closer together.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  They crested a moundlike hill to look down at a gravel beach where long rollers came in off the foggy sea to crash against the rounded pebbles and then slide back with a mournful hissing sound as the foam-flecked water slithered down the strand, only to pause and then crash back up again.

  ‘I don’t see your ship, Toth,’ Silk said almost accusingly. ‘Where is it?’

  Toth pointed out into the fog.

  ‘Really?’ Silk’s voice was sceptical.

  The mute nodded.

  The Raveners trailing behind grew more agitated as the company started down toward the beach. Their moans became more urgent, and they began to run back and forth along the crest of the hill, reaching out their clawed hands with a kind of desperate longing. They did not, however, pursue any farther.

  ‘Is it my imagination, or does it seem that they’re afraid of something?’ Velvet suggested.

  ‘They aren’t coming down the hill,’ Durnik agreed. He turned to Toth. ‘Are they afraid?’ he asked.

  Toth nodded.

  ‘I wonder what it is,’ Velvet said.

  The giant made a motion with both hands.

  ‘He says that it has to do with something being even more hungry than they are,’ Durnik said. ‘They’re afraid of it.’

  ‘Sharks, maybe?’ Silk suggested.

  ‘No. It’s the sea itself.’

  When they reached the gravel strand, they dismounted and stood in a weary little group at the water’s edge. ‘Are you all right, father?’ Polgara asked the old man, who was leaning against his saddle, staring out into the fog that lay thick and pale on the dark water.

  ‘What? Oh, yes. I’m fine, Pol—just a little puzzled, that’s all. If there is a ship out there, I’d sort of like to know who arranged for it and how they knew that we were going to arrive at this particular spot.’

  ‘More important than that,’ Silk added, ‘I’d like to know how we’re going to tell them that we’ve arrived. That fog’s like a blanket out there.’

  ‘Toth says they already know we’re here,’ Durnik told him. ‘They’ll probably show up in the next half hour or so.’

  ‘Oh?’ Belgarath said curiously. ‘And who sent this ship in the first place?’

  ‘He said it was Cyradis.’

  ‘I’m going to have to have a long talk with that young lady one of these days,’ Belgarath said. ‘She’s starting to make me just a little uneasy about certain things.’

  ‘They went back,’ Eriond told them as he stood stroking the bowed neck of his stallion.

  ‘Who did?’ Garion asked.

  ‘The Raveners,’ the boy replied, pointing back up the hill. ‘They gave up and started back toward the woods.’

  ‘And without even saying goodbye,’ Silk added with a tight grin. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to people’s manners these days.’

  The ship that came ghosting out of the fog was curiously built with a high prow and stern and broad sails on her twin masts.

  ‘What’s making it go?’ Ce’Nedra asked, staring curiously at the shadowy shape.

  ‘I don’t quite follow you,’ Garion said.

  ‘They aren’t rowing,’ she pointed out, ‘and there isn’t even a hint of a breeze.’

  He looked sharply back at the ship and saw immediately that she was right. There were no oars protruding from the ghostly ship’s sides; but in spite of the dead-calm, foggy air, the sails were bellied outward, and the vessel moved smoothly through the oily-looking water.

  ‘Is it sorcery?’ she asked him.

  He pushed his mind out, searching for some hint. ‘It doesn’t seem to be,’ he replied. ‘At least not any kind that I know about.’

  Belgarath stood not far away, his expression profoundly disapproving.

  ‘How are they moving the ship, Grandfather?’ Garion asked him.

  ‘It’s a form of witchcraft,’ the old man told him, still scowling, ‘unpredictable and usually not very reliable.’ He turned to Toth. ‘You want us to go on board that?’ he asked.

  Toth nodded.

  ‘Will it take us to Verkat?’

  Toth nodded again.

  ‘You mean that it will, if the sprite that’s pushing it doesn’t get bored with the idea—or decide that it might be funny to take us in the opposite direction.’

  Toth held out both hands.

  ‘He says to trust him,’ Durnik supplied.

  ‘I wish people would quit saying that to me.’

  The ship slowed, and her keel ground gently on the gravel bottom. A broad ramp came sliding out over the side, and its weighted end sank in about three feet of water. Toth, leading his reluctant horse, waded out to the ramp. Then he turned and looked inquiringly back at the rest of them. He motioned with his arm.

  ‘He says we’re supposed to board now,’ Durnik said.

  ‘I heard him,’ Belgarath growled. ‘All right, I suppose we might as well.’ Sourly, he took his horse’s reins and waded out into the water.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The crew of the strange ship all wore rough, cowled tunics made of heavy cloth. The bones of their faces were prominent, giving their features a peculiarly hewn-out look and, like Toth, they were all mutes. They went about their work in absolute silence. Garion, accustomed to the bawling and cursing which accompanied the labors of Cherek sailors, found this stillness peculiar, even slightly unnerving. The ship itself made none of the usual sounds. There was no rasp of oars in their locks, no creak of rigging, no groaning of timbers—only the faint wash and run of water along the sides as they were propelled out across the fog-muffled sea by some force or spirit Garion could not even comprehend.

  Once the shore behind had sunk into the fog, there was no reference point, no hint of direction. The silent ship moved on.

  Garion stood with his arm about Ce’Nedra’s shoulders. The peculiar combination of his near-exhaustion from the ordeal in the wood of the Raveners and the pervading gloom of dark, unbroken water and thick-hanging fog made his mood melancholy and his thoughts abstracted. It was enough merely to stand at the side of his weary wife, holding her in th
e protecting curve of his arm and to look blankly, uncomprehendingly into the fog.

  ‘What in the world is that?’ Velvet exclaimed from somewhere behind him. He turned and looked toward the stern. From out of the pearly fog, there came a ghostly white bird with impossible wings—pinions that appeared longer than a tall man might stretch his arms. The wings did not move, and yet the silent bird came on, gliding through the misty air like a disembodied spirit.

  ‘Albatross,’ Polgara identified the magnificent creature.

  ‘Aren’t they supposed to be bad luck?’ Silk asked.

  ‘Are you superstitious, Prince Kheldar?’

  ‘Not exactly, but—’ He left it hanging.

  ‘It’s a sea bird, nothing more,’ she told him.

  ‘Why does it have such enormous wings?’ Velvet asked curiously.

  ‘It flies great distances over open water,’ Polgara said. ‘The wings hold it aloft without any effort. It’s very practical.’

  The great-winged bird tilted in the air, giving forth a strange, lonely cry, a sound that carried in it all the emptiness of a vast, rolling sea.

  Polgara inclined her head in response to that strange greeting.

  ‘What did he say, Pol?’ Durnik asked her in an oddly subdued voice.

  ‘It was quite formal,’ she replied. ‘Sea birds have a great deal of dignity—perhaps because they spend so much time alone. It gives them leisure to formulate their thoughts, I suppose. Land birds babble a great deal, but sea birds try to be profound.’

  ‘They’re strange creatures, aren’t they—birds I mean?’

  ‘Not once you get used to them.’ She looked out at the alabaster bird coasting in the silent air beside the ship with an indecipherable expression on her face.

  The albatross moved his great wings and pulled ahead of the ship to station himself just in front of the prow, hanging apparently motionless in the mist.

  Belgarath had been staring up at the sails, which bellied out improbably in the dead-calm air. Finally he grunted and turned to Toth. ‘How long does the trip to Verkat take?’ he asked.

  Toth measured out a short space with his hands.

  ‘That’s not very specific, my friend.’

  Toth pointed upward and spread his fingers wide.

  ‘He says about five hours, Belgarath,’ Durnik translated.

  ‘We’re moving faster than it appears then,’ the old man observed. ‘I wonder how they managed to persuade the sprite to concentrate on one thing for that long, though. I’ve never run into one before that could keep hold of an idea for more than a minute.’

  ‘Do you want me to ask him?’ Durnik offered.

  Belgarath squinted back up at the sails. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I guess not. I might not like the answer.’

  The northwest coast of the Isle of Verkat rose dark and indistinct out of the fog as evening approached. They sailed closer, with the gleaming albatross hovering just ahead, and Garion saw that the low hills behind the gravel strand were thickly covered with dark evergreens wreathed in fog. Some distance back up from the beach, a few scattered lights gleamed golden in the windows of a village, and a line of torches wound down from that village toward the shore. Faintly, Garion could hear the sound of singing. The words were indistinct, but the overall tone of the song conveyed a great sadness and an endless longing.

  Their ship moved silently across a shallow bay, then coasted gently up beside a rude stone quay that looked more like a natural rock formation than any man-made structure.

  A tall man in a white linen robe stood on the quay. Although his face was unlined and his eyebrows were black as ravens’ wings, his flowing hair was as silver as Belgarath’s. ‘Welcome,’ he greeted them. His voice was deep and peculiarly gentle. ‘I am Vard. We have long awaited your coming, which the Book of the Heavens revealed to us ages past.’

  ‘Now you see why I don’t like these people,’ Belgarath muttered. ‘I hate it when someone pretends to know everything.’

  ‘Forgive us, Holy Belgarath,’ the man on the quay said with a slight smile. ‘If it will make you more comfortable, we will conceal what we have read in the stars.’

  ‘You’ve got sharp ears, Vard,’ the old man noted.

  ‘If you wish to believe so.’ Vard shrugged. ‘A place has been made ready for you—and food prepared. Your journey has been long and difficult, and I’m sure you are all very tired. If you will come with me, I will show you the way. My people will bring your mounts and your belongings.’

  ‘You are very kind, Vard,’ Polgara said across the rail of the ship as the mute sailors ran their ramp out to the stones of the quay.

  Vard bowed. ‘We are honored by your presence, Lady Polgara,’ he replied. ‘We have stood in awe of you since the beginning of the Third Age.’

  The path leading up from the bay was narrow and it wound about with no seeming purpose. ‘I fear that you will find our village rude by comparison with the mighty cities of the west,’ the white-robed man apologized. ‘We have ever been indifferent to our surroundings.’

  ‘One place is much the same as another,’ Belgarath agreed, peering ahead toward the cluster of lighted windows glowing in the mist.

  The village consisted of a score or so buildings constructed of rough field stone and thatched with straw. They seemed scattered at random with nothing resembling an organized street anywhere in sight. The place was tidy, however, with none of the clutter that inevitably seemed to spring up in such places, and the doorstep of each house showed signs of frequent scrubbing.

  Vard led them to a fair-sized house in the center of the village and opened the door for them. ‘This will be yours for as long as you remain,’ he said. ‘The table is prepared, and some of my people will attend you. Should you require anything else, please send for me.’ Then he bowed, turned, and walked away into the foggy twilight.

  The inside of the house was by no means palatial, but it belied the crude-appearing exterior. Each room contained a low, cheery fireplace, exuding warmth and light. The door-ways were arched and the walls all whitewashed. The furniture was plain, but stoutly made, and the beds were covered with thick, down-filled comforters.

  A table and benches stood in the large central room, and a number of covered earthenware pots stood on that table. The smells coming from those pots reminded Garion that he had not eaten a hot meal in several days.

  ‘They’re a strange sort of people,’ Velvet observed, removing her cloak, ‘but you certainly can’t fault their hospitality.’

  Silk had been eyeing the table. ‘We wouldn’t want to offend them by letting supper get cold, would we? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m famished.’

  The supper that had been laid for them was delicious. None of the dishes were anything out of the ordinary, but each was delicately seasoned. The main course was a well-browned haunch of some animal Garion did not recognize, but he found it rich and full-flavored.

  ‘What is this delicious roast?’ Ce’Nedra asked, helping herself to another piece.

  ‘Goat, I think,’ Polgara replied.

  ‘Goat?’

  ‘It seems to be.’

  ‘But I hate goat.’

  ‘That’s your third slice, dear,’ Polgara pointed out.

  After they had eaten, they sat around the fireplace. Garion felt a vast weariness and knew that he should go to bed, but he was simply too comfortable to move.

  ‘Did you get any hints that Zandramas came through here?’ Silk asked him.

  ‘What? Oh—no. Nothing.’

  ‘She seems to want to avoid inhabited places,’ Belgarath noted. ‘I don’t think she’d have come to the village here. Probably tomorrow you’re going to have to ride out and see if you can cross her trail.’

  ‘Wouldn’t she have gone straight to Rak Verkat?’ Silk suggested. ‘That’s where all the ships are, and she wants to go to Mallorea, doesn’t she?’

  ‘She might have made other arrangements,’ the old man told him. ‘She does have a price
on her head, and the Malloreans at Rak Verkat are probably as interested in collecting it as the ones at Rak Hagga. She’s made careful preparations in advance for every step of this journey. I don’t think she’d have left anything to chance, once she got this far.’

  Sadi came back into the room, holding the small earthenware bottle. ‘Margravine Liselle,’ he said acidly, ‘do you suppose I could have my snake back?’

  ‘Oh, I’m ever so sorry, Sadi,’ she apologized. ‘I completely forgot I had her.’ She dipped into the front of her dress and gently removed the little green reptile.

  Silk drew back with a sharp intake of his breath.

  ‘I wasn’t really trying to steal her,’ Velvet assured Sadi. ‘It was just that the poor dear was cold.’

  ‘Of course.’ He took his snake from her.

  ‘I was only trying to keep her warm, Sadi. You certainly wouldn’t want her to get sick, would you?’

  ‘Your concern touches my heart.’ He turned and went back toward the sleeping rooms with Zith lazily coiled about his wrist.

  The following morning, Garion went into the shed attached to the back of the house, saddled his horse, and rode back down to the gravel strand, where the waves rolled endlessly in off the foggy sea to crash against the shore. He stopped, looking first up the beach, then down. He shrugged and turned his horse toward the northeast.

  The upper edge of the rock-strewn beach was thick with windrows of white-bleached driftwood. As he rode, he idly ran his eyes along those tangled heaps of branches and broken logs. Occasionally, he noted a squared-off timber lying among the other bits and pieces, mute evidence that some ship had come to grief. The possibility occurred to him that the shipwreck that had set those timbers adrift might have taken place as long as a century ago and that the debris might well have floated half around the world to wash up on this strand of salt-crusted pebbles.

  ‘That’s all very interesting,’ the dry voice in his mind told him, ‘but you’re going the wrong way.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ Garion asked, reining in.

  ‘Why do we always have to start these conversations with that same question? The answer wouldn’t mean anything to you, so why pursue it? Turn around and go back. The trail is on the other side of the village, and you don’t have time to ride all the way around the island.’