The Malloreon: Book 02 - King of the Murgos

by David Eddings

  ‘Is Zandramas still here with my son?’ Garion asked quickly, wanting to get that question out in the open before the elusive voice went off again.

  ‘No,’ the voice replied. ‘She left about a week ago.’

  ‘We’re gaining on her then,’ Garion said aloud, a sudden hope springing up in him.

  ‘That would be a logical assumption.’

  ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘Mallorea—but you knew that already, didn’t you?’

  ‘Could you get a little more specific? Mallorea’s a big place.’

  ‘Don’t do that, Garion,’ the voice told him. ‘UL told you that finding your son was your task. I’m not permitted to do it for you any more than he was. Oh, incidentally, keep an eye on Ce’Nedra.’

  ‘Ce’Nedra? What for?’

  But the voice had already gone. Garion swore and rode back the way he had come.

  A league or so to the south of the village, where a cove sheltered by two jutting headlands ran back into the shore line, the sword strapped across his back tugged at him. He reined in sharply and drew the blade. It turned in his hand to point unerringly due inland.

  He trotted his horse up the hill, with the blade of Iron-grip’s sword resting on the pommel of his saddle. The trail did not veer. Ahead of him lay a long, grassy slope and then the misty edge of the evergreen forest. He considered the situation for a moment and decided that it might be better to go back and tell the others, rather than pursue Zandramas alone. As he turned his horse toward the village, he glanced down at the shallow waters of the cove. There, lying on its side beneath the water, lay the sunken wreck of a small ship. His face grew bleak. Once again, Zandramas had rewarded those who had aided her by killing them. He kicked his mount into a loping canter and rode back across the foggy meadows lying between the sea and the dark forest toward the village.

  It was nearly noon when he reached the house Vard had provided for them, and he swung down out of his saddle, controlling his excitement as best he could.

  ‘Well?’ Belgarath, who sat before the fire with a mug in his hand, asked as Garion entered the room.

  ‘The trail’s about a league to the south.’

  Polgara, seated at the table, looked up quickly from the piece of parchment she had been examining. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

  ‘The Orb is.’ Garion unfastened his cloak. ‘Oh—I had another visit from our friend.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘He told me that Zandramas left the island about a week ago and that she’s going to Mallorea. That’s about all I could get out of him. Where’s Ce’Nedra? I want to tell her that we’re getting closer.’

  ‘She’s asleep,’ Polgara said, carefully folding the parchment.

  ‘Is that part of one of those books Grandfather’s been looking for?’ he asked.

  ‘No, dear. It’s the recipe for that soup we had at supper last night.’ She turned to Belgarath. ‘Well, father? Do we take up the trail again?’

  He thought about it, staring absently into the fire dancing on the hearth. ‘I’m not sure, Pol,’ he answered finally. ‘We were deliberately brought here to this island for something, and I don’t think that locating the trail was the only reason. I think we ought to stay here for another day or so.’

  ‘We’ve gained a great deal of time on Zandramas, father,’ she reminded him. ‘Why waste it by just sitting in one place?’

  ‘Call it a hunch, Pol. I’ve got a very strong feeling that we’re supposed to wait here for something—something fairly important.’

  ‘I think it’s a mistake, father.’

  ‘That’s your privilege, Pol. I’ve never told you what to think.’

  ‘Only what to do,’ she added tartly.

  ‘That’s my privilege. It’s a father’s duty to guide his children. I’m sure you understand.’

  The door opened, and Silk and Velvet came in out of the sunless noon. ‘Did you find the trail?’ Silk asked, removing his cloak.

  Garion nodded. ‘She came ashore a league or so down the beach. Then she sank the boat that brought her. It’s lying on the bottom with the full crew aboard, about fifty yards from shore.’

  ‘She’s running true to form, then,’ Silk noted.

  ‘What have you been up to this morning?’ Garion asked him.

  ‘Snooping.’

  ‘The term is “intelligence gathering,” Kheldar,’ Velvet said primly, also removing her cloak and smoothing the front of her dress.

  ‘It amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Of course, but “snooping” has such a nasty ring to it.’

  ‘Did you find out anything?’ Garion asked.

  ‘Not much,’ Silk admitted, coming to the fire to warm himself. ‘All these people are terribly polite, but they’re very good at evading direct questions. I can tell you one thing, though. This place isn’t a real village—at least not in the sense that we understand it. It’s all very carefully set up to look crude and rustic, and the people here go through the motions of tending crops and herds, but it’s all for show. Their tools show almost no signs of use, and their animals are just a bit too well groomed.’

  ‘What are they doing, then?’ Garion asked.

  ‘I think they spend their time in study,’ Velvet replied. ‘I was visiting with one of the women, and there was a sort of a chart on the table in her house. I got a look at it before she put it away. It looked like a map of some constellations—a sort of a picture of the night sky.’

  Belgarath grunted. ‘Astrologers. I’ve never had much faith in astrology. The stars seem to say something different every quarter-hour or so.’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘Back at Prolgu, the Gorim said that these people are Dals—the same as the ones who live in southern Mallorea—and no one has ever been able to figure out what the Dals are up to. They seem to be docile and placid, but I suspect that’s only a mask. There are several centers of learning in Dalasia, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that this place is very similar. Did either of you see anyone wearing a blindfold—the way Cyradis does?’

  ‘A seer?’ Silk said. ‘I didn’t.’ He looked at Velvet.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Toth might be able to give us some answers, father,’ Polgara said. ‘He seems to be able to communicate with these people in ways that we can’t.’

  ‘How do you propose to get answers out of a mute, Polgara?’ Silk asked her.

  ‘Durnik seems to be able to talk with him,’ she replied. ‘Where are they, by the way?’

  ‘They found a pond on the upper edge of the village,’ Velvet answered. ‘They’re checking to see if it’s occupied. Eriond is with them.’

  ‘Inevitably.’ Polgara smiled.

  ‘Doesn’t it get a little tedious?’ Velvet asked. ‘Having him spend all his time fishing, I mean?’

  ‘It’s a healthy activity,’ Polgara said. She looked meaningfully at the mug in Belgarath’s hand. ‘And probably much better for him than the amusements of some others I could name.’

  ‘What next, old friend?’ Silk asked Belgarath.

  ‘Let’s sit tight for a while and keep our eyes and ears open. I’ve got a nagging sort of feeling that something important’s going to happen here.’

  That afternoon a faint breeze began to stir the fog that had plagued them for the past week or so. When evening approached, the sky had blown clear except for a heavy cloud bank off toward the west, dyed a deep scarlet by the setting sun.

  Sadi had spent the day with Vard; when he returned, his expression was frustrated.

  ‘Were you able to get anything out of him?’ Silk asked.

  ‘Nothing that I could make any sense out of,’ the eunuch replied. ‘I think the grip these people have on reality is rather tenuous. The only thing that seems to interest them is some obscure thing they call the task. Vard wouldn’t tell me exactly what this task is, but they seem to have been gathering information about it since the beginning of time.’

  As twilight began to settle over th
e Isle, Durnik, with Eriond at his side, returned with his fishing pole across his shoulder and a frustrated look on his face.

  ‘Where’s Toth?’ Garion asked him.

  ‘He said that he had something to attend to,’ Durnik replied, carefully examining his tackle. ‘I think that maybe I need a smaller hook,’ he mused.

  As Polgara and Velvet began preparing supper, Silk looked over at Garion. ‘Why don’t we go stretch our legs?’ he suggested.

  ‘You mean right now?’

  ‘I’m a little restless.’ The weasel-faced man rose from his chair. ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘If you sit in that chair much longer, you’re going to put down roots.’

  Puzzled, Garion followed his friend outside. ‘What was that all about?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to find out what Toth’s up to and I don’t want Liselle tagging along.’

  ‘I thought you liked her.’

  ‘I do, but I’m getting a little tired of having her looking over my shoulder every place I go.’ He stopped. ‘Where are they going?’ he said, pointing at a line of torches strung out across the meadow lying between the village and the edge of the forest.

  ‘We could follow them and find out,’ Garion suggested.

  ‘Right. Let’s go.’

  Vard led the line of torch-bearing villagers toward the dark forest at the upper end of the meadow, and Toth, towering above all the rest, strode beside him. Garion and Silk, bent low to the tall grass, paralleled their course, but remained some distance away.

  As the torchlit file of villagers approached the edge of the woods, several dim figures emerged from the shadows under the trees and stood waiting. ‘Can you make them out at all?’ Garion whispered.

  Silk shook his head. ‘Too far,’ he murmured, ‘and there’s not enough light. We’re going to have to get closer.’ He dropped down onto his stomach and began to worm his way through the grass.

  The meadow was still wet from the days of dense fog; by the time Garion and Silk reached the protecting shadows at the edge of the trees, they were both soaking wet.

  ‘I’m not enjoying this much, Silk,’ Garion whispered somewhat crossly.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll melt,’ Silk whispered back. Then he raised his head and peered out through the trees. ‘Are those people blindfolded?’ he asked.

  ‘It sort of looks that way,’ Garion replied.

  ‘That would mean that they’re seers then, wouldn’t it? We didn’t see any of them in the village, so maybe they live somewhere in these woods. Let’s see if we can get a little closer. All of this is definitely stirring up my curiosity.’

  The villagers, still carrying their torches, moved into the damp forest for several hundred yards and finally stopped in a large clearing. Around the edge of that clearing stood a series of roughly squared-off blocks of stone, each of them about twice the height of a tall man. The villagers spaced themselves among those stone blocks, forming a torchlit circle, and the blindfolded seers, perhaps a dozen or so of them, gathered in the center and joined hands to form another circle. Standing immediately behind each of the seers was a large, muscular man—their guides and protectors, Garion surmised. In the very center, enclosed within that inner ring of seers, stood the silver-haired Vard and the giant Toth.

  Garion and Silk crept closer.

  The only sound in the clearing was the guttering of torches; then, very quietly at first, but with growing strength, the people in the circle began to sing. In many ways, their song was similar to the discordant hymn of the Ulgos, yet there were subtle differences. Though he was not schooled in musicology or harmony, Garion perceived that this hymn was older and perhaps more pure than the one which had rung through the caves of Ulgo for five millennia. In a sudden flash of insight, he also understood how endless centuries of confusing echos had gradually corrupted the Ulgos’ song. This hymn, moreover, was not raised to UL, but to a God unknown, and it was a plea to that unnamed God to manifest himself and to come forth to guide and protect the Dals, even as UL guided and protected the Ulgos.

  Then he heard or felt another sound joining with that unbelievably ancient hymn. A peculiar sighing within his mind signaled that these people, gathered in their strange circles, were bringing their combined wills to bear in a mystic accompaniment to the song their voices raised to the starry sky.

  There was a shimmering in the air in the very center of the clearing, and the glowing form of Cyradis appeared, robed and cowled in white linen and with her eyes covered by a strip of cloth.

  ‘Where did she come from?’ Silk breathed.

  ‘She’s not really there,’ Garion whispered. ‘It’s a projection. Listen.’

  ‘Welcome, Holy Seeress,’ Vard greeted the glowing image. ‘We are grateful that thou hast responded to our summons.’

  ‘Thy gratitude is unnecessary, Vard,’ the clear voice of the blindfolded girl replied. ‘I respond out of the duty imposed upon me by my task. Have the seekers arrived, then?’

  ‘They have, Holy Cyradis,’ Vard answered, ‘and the one called Belgarion hath found that which he sought here.’

  ‘The quest of the Child of Light hath but only begun,’ the image stated. ‘The Child of Dark hath reached the coast of far-off Mallorea and even now doth journey toward the House of Torak at Ashaba. The time hath come for the Eternal man to open the Book of Ages.’

  Vard’s face grew troubled. ‘Is that wise, Cyradis?’ he asked. ‘Can even Ancient Belgarath be trusted with what he may find in that volume? His entire life hath been devoted to but one of the two spirits which control all things.’

  ‘It must be so, Vard, else the meeting of the Child of Light and the Child of Dark will not come to pass at the appointed time, and our task will remain uncompleted.’ She sighed. ‘The time draws nigh,’ she told them. ‘That for which we have waited since the beginning of the First Age fast approaches, and all must be accomplished ere the moment in which I must perform that task which hath lain upon us throughout the weary centuries. Give the Book of Ages to Eternal Belgarath that he may lead the Child of Light to the place which is no more—where all will be decided forever.’ Then she turned to the towering mute standing impassively beside the white-robed Vard. ‘My heart is empty without thee,’ she told him in a voice very near to tears. ‘My steps falter, and I am alone. I pray thee, my dear companion, make haste in the completion of thy task, for I am made desolate by thine absence.’

  Quite clearly in the flickering torchlight Garion could see the tears in Toth’s eyes and the anguish on his face. The giant reached out toward the glowing image, then let his hand fall helplessly.

  Cyradis also raised her hand, it seemed almost involuntarily.

  Then she vanished.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘Are you sure she said Ashaba?’ Belagarath asked intently.

  ‘I heard her, too, Grandfather,’ Garion confirmed what Silk had just reported. ‘She said that the Child of Dark had reached Mallorea and was journeying to the House of Torak at Ashaba.’

  ‘But there’s nothing there,’ Belgarath objected. ‘Beldin and I ransacked that place right after Vo Mimbre.’ He began to pace up and down, scowling darkly. ‘What could Zandramas possibly want there? It’s just an empty house.’

  ‘Maybe you can find some answers in the Book of Ages,’ Silk suggested.

  Belgarath stopped and stared at him.

  ‘Oh, I guess we hadn’t got to that part yet,’ the little man said. ‘Cyradis told Vard that he was supposed to give you the book. He didn’t like it very much, but she insisted.’

  Belgarath’s hands began to tremble, and he controlled himself with an obvious effort.

  ‘Is it important?’ Silk asked curiously.

  ‘So that’s what this has all been about!’ the old man burst out. ‘I knew there was a reason for bringing us here.’

  ‘What’s the Book of Ages, Belgarath?’ Ce’Nedra asked him.

  ‘It’s a part of The Mallorean Gospels—the holy book of the Seers at Kell.
It looks as if we were led here specifically for the purpose of putting that book into my hands.’

  ‘This is all just a little obscure for me, old friend,’ Silk said, shivering. ‘Let’s go get cleaned up, Garion. I’m soaked all the way through.’

  ‘How did you two get so wet?’ Velvet asked.

  ‘We were crawling around in the grass.’

  ‘That would account for it, I suppose.’

  ‘Do you really have to do that, Liselle?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Never mind. Come on, Garion.’

  ‘What is it about her that irritates you so much?’ Garion asked as the two of them went down the hall toward the back of the house.

  ‘I’m not really sure,’ Silk replied. ‘I get the feeling that she’s laughing at me all the time—and that she’s got something on her mind that she isn’t telling me. For some reason, she makes me very nervous.’

  After they had dried themselves and changed into clean clothing, they returned to the warm, firelit main room of the house to find that Toth had returned. He sat impassively on a bench near the door, with his huge hands folded on his knees. All traces of the anguish Garion had seen on his face in the clearing were gone now, and his expression was as enigmatic as ever.

  Belgarath sat beside the fire holding a large leather-bound book tilted to catch the light, his eyes poring over it intently.

  ‘Is that the book?’ Silk asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Polgara replied. ‘Toth brought it.’

  ‘I hope that it says something to make this trip worth all the trouble.’

  As Garion, Silk, and Toth ate, Belgarath continued to read, turning the crackling pages of the Book of Ages impatiently. ‘Listen to this,’ he said. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud: ‘“Know ye, oh my people, that all adown the endless avenues of time hath division marred all that is—for there is division at the very heart of creation. But the stars and the spirits and the voices within the rocks speak of the day when the division will end and all will be made one again, for creation itself knows that the day will come. And two spirits contend with each other at the very center of time, and these spirits are the two sides of that which hath divided creation. Now the day must come when we must choose between them, and the choice we must make is the choice between absolute good and absolute evil, and that which we choose—good or evil—will prevail until the end of days. But how may we know which is good and which is evil?