The Malloreon: Book 02 - King of the Murgos

by David Eddings

  ‘The woods are mine!’ he shrieked. ‘Mine! Mine! Mine!’ Again he danced his insane caper of fury and shook both his fists at her.

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ she told him.

  The hermit leaped backward with a startled exclamation as the ground directly in front of his feet erupted with a seething green fire and a boiling cloud of bright purple smoke.

  ‘Did you like the colors?’ she inquired. ‘I like a little variety now and then, don’t you?’

  ‘Pol,’ Belgarath said in exasperation, ‘will you stop playing?’

  ‘This isn’t play, father,’ she replied firmly. ‘It’s education.’

  A tree some yards behind the hermit suddenly bent forward, enfolding him in its stout limbs and then straightening back up again, lifting him struggling into the air.

  ‘Have you had enough of this yet?’ she asked, looking up at the startled man, who was trying desperately to free himself from the branches wrapped about his waist. ‘Decide quickly, my friend. You’re a long way from the ground, and I’m losing interest in keeping you up there.’

  With a curse, the hermit wrenched himself free and tumbled heavily to the loam beneath the tree.

  ‘Did you hurt yourself?’ she inquired solicitously.

  Snarling, he cast a wave of absolute blackness at her.

  Still sitting her horse with unruffled calm, she began to glow with an intensely blue light that pushed the blackness away.

  Again the look of mad cunning came into the deranged hermit’s eyes. Garion felt a disjointed surge. Jerkily, one portion of his body at a time, the hermit began to expand, growing larger and larger. His face was wholly insane now, and he lashed out with one huge fist, shattering a nearby tree. He bent, picked up a long branch, and broke it in two. He discarded the shorter end and advanced upon Polgara, swinging his great club.

  ‘Pol!’ Belgarath shouted in sudden alarm. ‘Be careful of him!’

  ‘I can manage, father,’ she replied. Then she faced the ten-foot tall madman. ‘I think this has gone quite far enough,’ she told him. ‘I hope you know how to run.’ She made a peculiar gesture.

  The wolf that appeared between them was impossibly large—half again as big as a horse—and its snarl was thunderous.

  ‘I do not fear your apparitions, woman,’ the towering hermit roared. ‘I am God, and I fear nothing.’

  The wolf bit him, its teeth sinking into his shoulder. He screamed and jerked back, dropping his club. ‘Get away!’ he shouted at the snarling wolf.

  The beast crouched, its fangs bared.

  ‘Get away!’ the hermit screamed again. He flopped his hands in the air, and Garion again felt that disorganized surge as the insane man tried with all his might to make the wolf vanish.

  ‘I recommend immediate flight,’ Polgara suggested. ‘That wolf hasn’t been fed for a thousand years and it’s dreadfully hungry.’

  The hermit’s nerve broke at that point. He spun and ran desperately back into the woods, his pale, skinny legs flashing and his hair and beard streaming behind him. The wolf gave chase at a leisurely lope, snapping at his heels and growling horribly.

  ‘Have a pleasant day,’ Polgara called after him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Polgara’s expression was unreadable as she looked after the fleeing hermit. At last she sighed. ‘Poor fellow,’ she murmured.

  ‘Will the wolf catch him?’ Ce’Nedra asked in a small voice.

  ‘The wolf? Oh no, dear. The wolf was only an illusion.’

  ‘But it bit him. I saw the blood.’

  ‘Just a small refinement, Ce’Nedra.’

  ‘Then why did you say “poor fellow”?’

  ‘Because he’s completely mad. His mind is filled with all kinds of shadows.’

  ‘That happens sometimes, Polgara,’ Belgarath told her. ‘Let’s move along. I want to get deeper into these woods before the sun goes down.’

  Garion pulled his horse in beside Belgarath’s as they rode on into the forest. ‘Do you think he might have been a Grolim at one time?’ he asked.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well—I sort of thought—’ Garion struggled to put it into words. ‘What I mean is, there are two groups of sorcerers in the world—the Grolims and us. He wasn’t one of us, was he?’

  ‘What a peculiar notion,’ Belgarath said. ‘The talent is latent in everybody. It can show up any place—and does. It takes different directions in different cultures, but it’s all related—magic, witchcraft, sorcery, wizardry, and even the peculiar gift of the seers. It all comes from the same place, and it’s all basically the same thing. It just shows up in different ways, that’s all.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Then you’ve learned something today. No day in which you learn something is a complete loss.’

  The autumn sun was very bright, though it was low on the northern horizon. Winter was almost upon them. Once again Garion was reminded that they were in a strange part of the world where the seasons were reversed. Back at Faldor’s farm it was nearly summer now. The fields had been ploughed and the crops planted, and the days were long and warm. Here at the bottom of the world, however, it was quite the opposite. With a start, he realized that, except for that brief time in the desert of Araga, he had entirely missed summer this year. For some reason, he found that thought profoundly depressing.

  They had been climbing steadily for the past hour or more as they moved up into the low range of hills that formed the spine of the island. The land became more broken, with wooded gullies and ravines wrinkling the floor of the forest.

  ‘I hate mountain country,’ Sadi complained, looking at a cliff that suddenly reared up out of the trees. ‘Broken terrain is always so inconvenient.’

  ‘It’s going to be just as troublesome for the Malloreans,’ Silk pointed out.’

  ‘That’s true, I suppose,’ Sadi admitted, ‘but I’m afraid I still don’t like hills and valleys. They seem so unnatural for some reason. Give me a nice flat swamp anytime.’

  ‘Let me check that ravine just ahead,’ Durnik said. ‘It’s getting on toward sunset, and we’re going to need a safe place to spend the night.’ He cantered his horse to a narrow notch, splashed across the turbulent brook that issued from its mouth, and disappeared upstream.

  ‘How far do you think we’ve come today?’ Velvet asked.

  ‘Six or eight leagues,’ Belgarath replied. ‘We should be deep enough into the forest to avoid being noticed—unless the Malloreans intend to take this search of theirs seriously.’

  ‘Or unless that seeress we met accidentally happens to mention the fact that we’re here,’ she added.

  ‘Why are you so suspicious about those people?’ Ce’Nedra asked her.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure,’ the blond girl replied, ‘but I get an uneasy feeling everytime one of them sends us off in some direction or other. If they’re supposed to be so neutral, why are they going out of their way to help us?’

  ‘It’s her Academy training, Ce’Nedra,’ Silk said. ‘Scepticism is one of the major branches of study there.’

  ‘Do you trust her, Kheldar?’ Velvet asked pointedly.

  ‘Of course not—but then I graduated from the Academy, too.’

  Durnik came back out of the ravine with a satisfied look on his face. ‘It’s a good place,’ he announced. ‘It’s secure, sheltered, and well out of sight.’

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ Belgarath said.

  They followed the smith up the ravine, with the brook gurgling and splashing beside them. After a few hundred yards, the ravine angled sharply to the left; farther along, it twisted back to the right again and opened out into a wooded basin. The brook they had been following upstream spilled out over the edge of a steep limestone cliff above the basin to fall as a misty spray into a pond at the upper end of the little canyon.

  ‘Very nice, Durnik,’ Polgara congratulated her husband. ‘And that pond really didn’t have anything at al
l to do with your choice, did it?’

  ‘Well—’ he said.

  She laughed a rich, warm laugh, leaned across, and kissed him lightly. ‘It’s all right, Durnik,’ she said, ‘but first we’ll need shelter. Then you can see if the pond is occupied.’

  ‘Oh, it is, Pol,’ he assured her. ‘I saw one jumping.’ He hesitated. ‘I mean—well, I just happened to notice it in passing, is all.’

  ‘Of course, dear.’

  He lowered his head slightly, much like an abashed schoolboy, but Garion could see the faint flicker of a smile playing about the smith’s lips. It was almost with a shock that he realized that his plain, honest friend was far more devious than he sometimes appeared. Since Polgara enjoyed catching him in these little subterfuges so much, Durnik often arranged things so that she could catch him—just for the sake of the pleasure it gave her.

  They set the tents back under the trees, not too far from the edge of the pond. As usual, the chore of gathering firewood fell to Garion and Eriond while Durnik and Toth put up the tents. Also, as usual, Silk and Belgarath disappeared until all the work was completed. Sadi sat chatting with Velvet and Ce’Nedra, and his contralto voice seemed somehow as feminine as theirs.

  As Polgara began to busy herself with supper, Durnik looked critically around at the camp site. ‘I guess that’s about it,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, dear,’ Polgara agreed.

  ‘Do you need anything else?’

  ‘No, dear.’

  ‘Well, I suppose—’ He glanced toward the pond.

  ‘Go ahead, Durnik,’ she told him. ‘Just be sure to come back when supper’s ready.’

  ‘Are you coming, Toth?’ Durnik asked his friend.

  As evening darkened their concealed basin, and the stars came out in the velvety sky overhead, they gathered about the fire and ate a supper consisting of lightly grilled lamb, steamed vegetables, and dark bread, all drawn from the supplies Vard had pressed upon them before they had left the village near the beach.

  ‘A meal fit for a king, Lady Polgara,’ Sadi said expansively, leaning back.

  ‘Yes,’ Garion murmured.

  Sadi laughed. ‘I keep forgetting,’ he said. ‘You’re such an unassuming fellow, Belgarion. If you asserted yourself a bit, people might take more note of your royalty.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more, Sadi,’ Ce’Nedra said.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea at the moment,’ Garion told them. ‘Just now, I don’t really want that kind of recognition.’

  Silk rose from the place where he had been sitting.

  ‘Where are you going, Kheldar?’ Velvet asked him.

  ‘I’m going to have a look around,’ he replied. ‘I’ll give you a full report when I come back, so that you can make note of it in the document you’re preparing for Javelin.’

  ‘You’re not taking this situation well at all, Prince Kheldar.’

  ‘I just don’t like being spied on.’

  ‘Try to look at it as a friendly concern for your welfare. It’s not really spying, if you consider it in that light, is it?’

  ‘It amounts to the same thing, Liselle.’

  ‘Of course, but it doesn’t seem quite so unpleasant that way, now does it?’

  ‘Very clever.’

  ‘I thought so myself. Try not to get lost out there.’

  He went off into the darkness muttering to himself.

  ‘How long do you think the soldiers will keep searching, Grandfather?’ Garion asked.

  The old man scratched absently at his bearded chin. ‘It’s hard to say,’ he replied. ‘Malloreans don’t have the same kind of brainless tenacity that Murgos do; but if the orders came from someone with enough authority, they probably won’t give up until they’ve at least gone through the motions of making a thorough search.’

  ‘Several days, then?’

  ‘At least.’

  ‘And all the time Zandramas is getting farther and farther ahead of us with my son.’

  ‘I’m afraid that can’t be helped.’

  ‘Don’t you think the slavers’ robes would deceive them, Belgarath?’ Sadi asked.

  ‘I don’t believe I want to take the chance. Murgos have seen Nyissan slavers moving around down here for so many years that they don’t give them a second glance. Malloreans are probably more alert—besides, we don’t know exactly what they’re looking for. For all we know, they could be specifically looking for a group of slavers.’

  Silk quietly came back to the fire. ‘We’ve got company,’ he said. ‘I saw several campfires out there.’ He gestured off to the northeast.

  ‘How close?’ Garion asked quickly.

  ‘Probably several leagues or so. I was up on top of that ridge, and you can see for quite a distance. The fires are pretty well spread out.’

  ‘Malloreans?’ Durnik asked him.

  ‘Probably. I’d say that they’re making a sweep through the woods.’

  ‘Well, father?’ Polgara asked.

  ‘I don’t think we can make any decisions until daylight,’ the old man replied. ‘If they’re just making a cursory pass, we can probably sit tight. If they’re serious about it, we might have to think of something else. We’d all better get some sleep. Tomorrow might be hectic.’

  Silk was up the next morning before daylight. As the rest of them rose to gather about the fire in the growing light of the dawn, he came back down the ridge. ‘They’re coming,’ he announced, ‘and they’re combing the woods inch by inch. I think we can be fairly sure that some of them will come up this ravine.’

  Belgarath stood up. ‘One of you put that fire out,’ he said. ‘We don’t want the smoke to lead them right to us.’

  As Durnik quickly shoveled dirt over their cook fire, Toth stood up and peered off across the basin. Then he tapped Belgarath on the shoulder and pointed.

  ‘What did he say, Durnik?’ the old man asked.

  The smith and his huge friend exchanged a series of somewhat obscure gestures.

  ‘He says that there’s a bramble thicket on the other side of the pond,’ Durnik interpreted. ‘He thinks that if we go around to the back side where the cliff comes down behind it, we might be able to find a good place to hide.’

  ‘Go look,’ Belgarath said shortly, ‘while the rest of us brush out any traces to show we’ve been here.’

  It took about a quarter of an hour to break down their tents and to obliterate any footprints that might alert the soldiers to the fact that someone had spent the night in this secluded place. As Silk was giving the campsite a critical last scrutiny, Durnik and Toth returned. ‘It’s adequate,’ the smith reported. ‘There’s an open place in the center of the thicket. We won’t leave any tracks, if we’re careful getting in there with the horses.’

  ‘What about from up there?’ Garion asked him, pointing at the top of the cliff.

  ‘We can cover the open place over with brambles,’ Durnik replied. ‘It shouldn’t take too long.’ He looked at Silk. ‘How much time do you think we have? How close are the soldiers?’

  ‘Probably about an hour away.’

  ‘That’s more than enough time.’

  ‘All right,’ Belgarath said, ‘let’s do it. I’d rather hide than run, anyway.’

  It was necessary to push the brambles aside to lead the horses into the center of the thicket. As Garion and Silk carefully rearranged them to conceal the game trail that had given them access to the hiding place, Durnik and Toth cut enough of the long, thorny tendrils to roof over the opening in the center. In the very midst of the task, Toth stopped suddenly, and his eyes grew distant, as if he were listening to something. His expression became oddly reluctant, and then he sighed.

  ‘What’s the matter, Toth?’ Durnik asked him.

  The giant shrugged and went back to his work.

  ‘Grandfather,’ Garion said, ‘if there are Grolims with the soldiers, won’t they look for us with their minds?’

  ‘It’s not very likely that any Grolims would
be along, Garion,’ Silk told him. ‘This is a fairly small expedition, and the church and the army don’t get along very well in Mallorea.’

  ‘They’re coming, father,’ Polgara said.

  ‘How far are they?’

  ‘A mile or so.’

  ‘Let’s work our way out to the edge of the thicket,’ Silk suggested to Garion. ‘I’d sort of like to keep an eye on things.’ He dropped to the ground and began to worm his way among the roots of the prickly brambles.

  After a few yards, Garion began to mutter a few choice curses. No matter which way he twisted, the sharp thorns managed to find any number of sensitive spots.

  ‘I don’t want to interrupt your devotions,’ Silk whispered, ‘but it might be a good time for a fair amount of silence.’

  ‘Can you see anything?’ Garion whispered back.

  ‘Not yet, but you can hear them crashing around at the mouth of the ravine. Stealth is not a Mallorean’s strong point.’

  Faintly from far down the ravine, Garion could hear several men talking. The sound, distorted by echoes bouncing off the twisting rock walls, came in odd bursts. Then there was a clatter of hooves on the rocks beside the tumbling brook as the Malloreans began their search of the narrow course.

  There were a dozen or so soldiers in the party. They wore the usual red tunics and they rode their horses stiffly, like men who were not at all comfortable in the saddle.

  ‘Did anybody ever say why we’re looking for these people?’ one of them asked, sounding a bit surly about it.

  ‘You’ve been in the army long enough to know better than that, Brek,’ one of his companions replied. ‘They never tell you why. When an officer tells you to jump, you don’t ask why. You just say, “How far?”’

  ‘Officers.’ Brek spat. ‘They get all the best of everything and they never do any work. Someday the ordinary soldiers like you and me are going to get sick of it, and then all those fine generals and captains had better look out.’

  ‘You’re talking mutiny, Brek,’ his companion said, looking around nervously. ‘If the captain hears you, he’ll have you crucified on the spot.’