The Malloreon: Book 04 - Sorceress of Darshiva

by David Eddings

  ‘What’s troubling you, Garion?’ she asked, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I could hear his voice, Aunt Pol—Torak’s voice. He hated me thousands of years before I was even born. He even knew my name.’

  ‘Garion,’ she said very calmly, ‘the universe knew your name before that moon up there was spun out of the emptiness. Whole constellations have been waiting for you since the beginning of time.’

  ‘I didn’t want them to, Aunt Pol.’

  ‘There are those of us who aren’t given that option, Garion. There are things that have to be done and certain people who have to do them. It’s as simple as that.’

  He smiled rather sadly at her flawless face and gently touched the snowy white lock at her brow. Then, for the last time in his life, he asked the question that had been on his lips since he was a tiny boy. ‘Why me, Aunt Pol? Why me?’

  ‘Can you possibly think of anyone else you’d trust to deal with these matters, Garion?’

  He had not really been prepared for that question. It came at him in stark simplicity. Now at last he fully understood. ‘No,’ he sighed, ‘I suppose not. Somehow it seems a little unfair, though. I wasn’t even consulted.’

  ‘Neither was I, Garion,’ she answered. ‘But we didn’t have to be consulted, did we? The knowledge of what we have to do is born in us.’ She put her arms around him and drew him close. ‘I’m so very proud of you, my Garion,’ she said.

  He laughed a bit wryly. ‘I suppose I didn’t turn out too badly after all,’ he conceded. ‘I can get my shoes on the right feet at least.’

  ‘And you have no idea how long that took to explain to you,’ she replied with a light laugh. ‘You were a good boy, Garion, but you’d never listen. Even Rundorig would listen. He didn’t usually understand, but at least he’d listen.’

  ‘I miss him sometimes. Him and Doroon and Zubrette.’ Garion paused. ‘Did they ever get married? Rundorig and Zubrette, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Years and years ago, and Zubrette is up to her waist in children—five or so. I used to get a message every autumn, and I’d have to go back to Faldor’s farm to deliver her newest baby.’

  ‘You did that?’ He was amazed.

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t have let anyone else do it. Zubrette and I disagreed about certain things, but I’m still very fond of her.’

  ‘Is she happy?’

  ‘I think she is, yes. Rundorig’s easy to manage, and she has all those children to keep her mind occupied.’ She looked at him critically. ‘Are you a little less moody now?’ she asked.

  ‘I feel better,’ he replied. ‘I always feel better when you’re around.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  He remembered something. ‘Did grandfather get a chance to tell you what the Oracles said about Ce’Nedra?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her. Why don’t we go below now? The next few weeks might be hectic, so let’s get all the sleep we can while we have the chance.’

  The coast of Peldane was engulfed in fog just as Captain Kadian had predicted, but the beacon fires burning on the walls of Selda provided reference points, and they were able to feel their way carefully along the coast until the ship’s captain estimated that they were near the beach shown on Kadian’s chart.

  ‘There’s a fishing village about a mile south of here, your Highness,’ the captain advised Silk. ‘It’s deserted now, because of all the troubles in the area, but there’s a dock there—or at least there was the last time I sailed past this coast. We should be able to unload your horses there.’

  ‘Excellent, Captain,’ Silk replied.

  They crept along through the fog until they reached the deserted village and its shaky-looking dock. As soon as Chretienne reached the shore, Garion saddled him, then mounted and rode slowly back along the beach with Irongrip’s sword resting on the pommel of his saddle. After he had gone perhaps a mile and a half, he felt the familiar pull. He turned and rode back.

  The others had also saddled their horses and led them to the edge of the fog-shrouded fishermen’s village. Their ship was moving slowly out to sea, a dim shape in the fog with red and green lanterns marking her port and starboard sides and with a lone sailor astride her bowsprit blowing a melancholy foghorn to warn other ships away.

  Garion dismounted and led his big gray stallion to where the others waited.

  ‘Did you find it?’ Ce’Nedra asked intently in a hushed little voice. Garion had noticed that for some reason, fog always made people speak quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. Then he looked at his grandfather. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Do we just ignore the trail and take the shortest route to Kell or what?’

  Belgarath scratched at his beard and looked first at Beldin, then at Polgara. ‘What do you think?’ he asked them.

  ‘The trail was going inland, wasn’t it?’ Beldin asked Garion.

  Garion nodded.

  ‘Then we don’t have to make the decision yet,’ the hunchback said. ‘As long as Zandramas is going in the same direction we want to go, we can keep on following her. If she changes direction later on, then we can decide.’

  ‘It makes sense, father,’ Polgara agreed.

  ‘All right, we’ll do it that way, then.’ The old man looked around. ‘This fog should hide us just as well as darkness would. Let’s go pick up the trail, and then Garion, Pol, and I can scout on ahead.’ He squinted up into the murky sky. ‘Can anybody make a guess about the time?’

  ‘It’s about midafternoon, Belgarath,’ Durnik told him after a momentary consultation with Toth.

  ‘Let’s go find out which way she’s going, then.’

  They rode along the beach, following Chretienne’s tracks until they reached the spot where Garion’s sword swung in his hand to point inland.

  ‘We should be able to gain some time on her,’ Sadi noted.

  ‘Why’s that?’ Silk asked him.

  She came ashore in a small boat,’ the eunuch replied, ‘so she didn’t have horses.’

  ‘That’s no real problem for her, Sadi,’ Polgara told him. ‘She’s a Grolim, and she can communicate with her underlings over long distances. I’m sure she was on horseback within an hour of the time her foot touched the sand.’

  The eunuch sighed. ‘I forget about that from time to time,’ he admitted. ‘It’s very convenient for us to have that advantage, but not nearly so convenient when the other side has it, too.’

  Belgarath swung down from his horse. ‘Come along, Garion. You, too, Pol. We might as well get started.’ He looked over at Durnik. ‘We’ll stay in close touch,’ he told the smith. ‘This fog could make things a little tricky.’

  ‘Right,’ Durnik agreed.

  Garion took Polgara’s arm to help her through the soft sand and followed his grandfather up the beach to the line of driftwood at the high-water mark.

  ‘This should do it,’ the old man decided. ‘Let’s make the change here, and then Garion and I can scout on ahead. Pol, try to keep the others more or less in sight. I don’t want them straying.’

  ‘Yes, father,’ she said even as she began to shimmer and change.

  Garion formed the image in his mind, pulled in his will, and once again felt that curious melting sensation. He looked himself over carefully as he always did. On one occasion he’d made the change in a hurry and had forgotten his tail. A tail does not mean very much to a two-legged animal, but it is distinctly necessary for a four-legged one.

  ‘Stop admiring yourself,’ he heard Belgarath’s voice in the silences of his mind. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

  ‘I was just making sure that I had everything, grandfather.’

  ‘Let’s go. You won’t be able to see very much in the fog, so use your nose.’

  Polgara was perched sedately on a bone-white limb jutting up from a driftwood log. She was meticulously preening her snowy feathers with her hooked beak.

  Belgarath and Garion effortlessly hurdled over the driftwood and loped off into
the fog. ‘It’s going to be a wet day,’ Garion noted soundlessly as he ran alongside the great silver wolf.

  ‘Your fur won’t melt.’

  ‘I know, but my paws get cold when they’re wet.’

  ‘I’ll have Durnik make you some little booties.’

  ‘That would be absolutely ridiculous, grandfather,’ Garion said indignantly. Even though he had only recently made the change, the wolf’s enormous sense of decorum and propriety had already begun to permeate his consciousness.

  ‘There are some people just ahead,’ Belgarath said, sniffing at the air. ‘Tell your aunt.’

  They separated and moved off into the tall, fog-wet marsh grass. ‘Aunt Pol,’ Garion cast the words into the foggy silence around him.

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘Tell Durnik and the others to rein in. There are some strangers up ahead.’

  ‘All right, Garion. Be careful.’

  Garion slunk low to the ground through the wet grass, setting each paw down carefully.

  ‘Will it never lift?’ he heard a voice somewhere off to his left demand irritably.

  ‘The local people say that it’s always foggy around here in the spring,’ another voice replied.

  ‘It’s not spring.’

  ‘It is here. We’re south of the line. The seasons are reversed.’

  ‘That’s a stupid sort of thing.’

  ‘It wasn’t my idea. Talk to the Gods if you want to register a complaint.’

  There was a long silence. ‘Have the Hounds found anything yet?’ the first voice asked.

  ‘It’s very hard to sniff out a trail after three days—even for the Hounds—and all the wet from this fog isn’t making it any easier.’

  Garion froze. ‘Grandfather!’ he hurled the thought into the fog.

  ‘Don’t shout.’

  ‘There are two men talking just up ahead. They have some of the Hounds with them. I think they’re trying to find the trail, too.’

  ‘Pol,’ the old man’s thought seemed to crackle. ‘Come up here.’

  ‘Yes, father.’

  It was no more than a few minutes, but it seemed like hours. Then in the murky fog overhead, Garion heard the single stroke of soft wings.

  ‘There are some men over there to the left,’ Belgarath’s voice reported. ‘I think they might be Grolims. Have a look, but be careful.’

  ‘All right,’ she replied. There was another soft wing beat in the fog. Again there was that interminable wait.

  Then her voice came back quite clearly. ‘You’re right father,’ she said. ‘They’re Chandim.’

  A muttered oath came out of the stillness. ‘Urvon,’ Belgarath’s voice said.

  ‘And probably Nahaz as well,’ Polgara added.

  ‘This complicates things,’ the old man said. ‘Let’s go back and talk with the others. We might have to make the decision sooner than Beldin thought.’

  Chapter Ten

  They gathered not far from the driftwood-littered beach. The fog had slipped imperceptibly from white to gray as evening settled slowly over this misty coast.

  ‘That’s it, then,’ Beldin said after Belgarath had told them what lay ahead. ‘If the Chandim and the Hounds are out there trying to sniff out Zandramas’ trail the same as we are, we’re bound to run into them sooner or later.’

  ‘We’ve dealt with them before,’ Silk objected.

  ‘I’ll grant that,’ Beldin replied, ‘but why risk that sort of thing if we don’t have to? The trail of Zandramas isn’t really important to us now. What we really need to do at this point is to get to Kell.’

  Belgarath was pacing up and down. ‘Beldin’s right,’ he said. ‘There’s no point in taking risks over something that doesn’t really matter any more.’

  ‘But we’re so close,’ Ce’Nedra protested.

  ‘If we start running into Chandim—and Hounds—we won’t stay very close,’ Beldin told her.

  Sadi had put on a western-style traveler’s cloak and had turned the hood up to ward off the dampness of the fog. The covering of his shaved scalp peculiarly altered his appearance. ‘What’s Zandramas likely to do when she finds out that the Chandim are trailing her?’ he asked.

  ‘She’ll put every Grolim and every soldier she can lay her hands on in their path,’ Polgara replied.

  ‘And they’ll just bring in more force to counter that, won’t they?’

  ‘That’s the logical assumption,’ Durnik agreed.

  ‘That sort of means that things are going to come to a head here fairly soon, wouldn’t you say—even if neither side would particularly have chosen this place for a major confrontation?’

  ‘What are you getting at, Sadi?’ Silk asked him.

  ‘If Urvon and Zandramas are concentrating on each other, they won’t really pay that much attention to us, will they? About all we have to do is get out of this general vicinity, and then we should be able to make straight for Kell without much in the way of interference.’

  ‘What lies to the south of us?’ Beldin asked Silk.

  ‘Nothing major.’ Silk shrugged. ‘At least not until you get to Gandahar.’

  Beldin nodded. ‘But we’ve got a city just to the north of here, haven’t we?’

  ‘Selda,’ Silk supplied.

  ‘Urvon’s probably there already, but if we go south, we should be able to avoid him—and Zandramas as well. Sadi’s right. They’ll be so busy with each other they won’t have time to look for us.’

  ‘Anybody want to add anything?’ Belgarath asked them.

  ‘A fire maybe?’ Durnik said.

  ‘I don’t quite follow you.’

  ‘We’ve got all this fog,’ Durnik explained, ‘and night’s coming on. The Chandim are out there ahead of us, and we need something to distract their attention while we slip around them. There’s all that driftwood along the upper edge of the beach. A bonfire on a foggy night lights up the whole sky. You can see it for miles. If we build a few fires, the Chandim are going to think that something serious is going on behind them and they’ll all rush back to investigate. That ought to clear the way for us.’

  Beldin grinned and clapped a gnarled hand on the smith’s shoulder. ‘You made a good choice, Pol,’ he chortled. ‘This is a rare fellow here.’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I saw that almost immediately.’

  They rode back along the beach to the abandoned fishing village. ‘Do you want me to do it, grandfather?’ Garion offered. ‘Set fire to the driftwood, I mean?’

  ‘No,’ the old man replied, ‘I’ll take care of it. You and Pol take the others on down along the shoreline. I’ll catch up in a bit.’

  ‘Do you want these?’ Durnik asked, offering the old man his flint and steel.

  Belgarath shook his head. ‘I’ll do it the other way,’ he said. ‘I want to give the Chandim some noise to listen to, as well as the fire to watch. That should get their undivided attention.’ He strode off into the fog, heading back up the beach.

  ‘Come along, Garion,’ Polgara said, pushing back the hood of her cloak. ‘We’ll scout ahead again. I think we’ll want to move fairly fast.’

  The two of them walked a short distance down the beach and made the change once more. ‘Keep your mind awake as well as your ears and nose,’ Polgara’s voice silently instructed. ‘With this fog, the Chandim will probably be watching with their thoughts rather than their eyes.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Pol,’ he replied, loping toward the upper end of the beach. Sand was different underfoot than grass or turf. It gave slightly under his paws and it slowed him a bit. He decided that he he did not really like running in sand. He ran along for a couple of miles without any encounters, then he heard and felt a shockingly loud surge coming from somewhere behind him. He flinched and glanced back over his shoulder. The fog was illuminated by a sooty orange glow. There was another surge that sounded almost like a detonation, then another, and another.

  ‘Tacky, father,’ he heard Polgara say disapprovingly. ‘Why are you bei
ng so ostentatious?’

  ‘I just wanted to be sure they heard me, is all,’ the old man replied.

  ‘They probably heard you in Mal Zeth. Are you coming back now?’

  ‘Let me start a few more fires first. The Chandim have a limited attention span. Besides, the smoke should confuse the Hounds’ sense of smell.’

  There were several more detonations.

  ‘That should do it.’ Belgarath’s thought had a note of self-satisfaction in it.

  About twenty minutes later, the great silver wolf came out of the fog like a ghost. ‘Oh, there you are,’ Belgarath said to Garion in the way of wolves. ‘Let’s spread out a bit and move right along. Durnik and the others are right behind us.’

  ‘Did the Chandim go back to the beach to see what was happening?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Belgarath’s tongue lolled out in the wolf’s version of a grin. ‘They were definitely curious. There were quite a few of them. Shall we go?’

  They ran along for about another hour before Garion’s nostrils caught the scent of a horse and rider coming from somewhere ahead. He loped on through the fog, ranging back and forth until he pinpointed the man’s location. Then he ran forward.

  It was a solitary Temple Guardsman who was galloping northward toward the towering fires Belgarath had ignited. Garion rushed him, snarling terribly. The Guardsman’s horse squealed in panic, rearing up onto his hind legs and dumping his startled rider into a bleached pile of driftwood. The horse fled, and the Guardsman groaned as he lay tangled up in the white logs and branches half-buried in the sand.

  ‘Trouble?’ Belgarath’s thought came out of the fog.

  ‘A Guardsman,’ Garion replied. ‘He fell off his horse. I think he may have broken some things.’

  ‘Was he alone?’

  ‘Yes, grandfather. Where are you?’

  ‘Just a ways ahead of you. There are some woods up here. This looks like as good a place as any to turn west. I don’t think we need to go all the way down to Gandahar.’

  ‘I’ll tell Aunt Pol to pass the word to Durnik.’

  The woods were quite extensive, and there was very little undergrowth. At one point, Garion passed the embers of a campfire still glowing in the foggy dark. The campsite, however, was deserted, and there were signs that whoever had been there had departed in some haste. The track of churned loam on the forest floor indicated that the people had galloped off toward the fires on the beach.