The Malloreon: Book 04 - Sorceress of Darshiva

by David Eddings

  ‘Thanks.’ He looked her up and down appraisingly. ‘I like the dress,’ he told her. ‘It makes you look more like a woman, for a change.’

  ‘Did you ever have any doubts, Yarblek?’ she asked him archly.

  Adiss, the Chief Eunuch in the palace of Eternal Salmissra, received the summons early that morning and he approached the throne room with fear and trembling. The queen had been in a peculiar mood of late, and Adiss painfully remembered the fate of his predecessor. He entered the dimly lit throne room and prostrated himself before the dais.

  ‘The Chief Eunuch approaches the throne,’ the adoring chorus intoned in unison. Even though he himself had been until recently a member of that chorus, Adiss found their mouthing of the obvious irritating.

  The queen dozed on her divan, her mottled coils moving restlessly with the dry hiss of scales rubbing against each other. She opened her soulless serpent’s eyes and looked at him, her forked tongue flickering. ‘Well?’ she said peevishly in the dusty whisper that always chilled his blood.

  ‘Y-you summoned me, Divine Salmissra,’ he faltered.

  ‘I’m aware of that, you idiot. Do not irritate me, Adiss. I’m on the verge of going into molt, and that always makes me short-tempered. I asked you to find out what the Alorns are up to. I am waiting for your report.’

  ‘I haven’t been able to find out very much, my Queen.’

  ‘That is not the answer I wanted to hear, Adiss,’ she told him dangerously. ‘Is it possible that the duties of your office are beyond your capabilities?’

  Adiss began to tremble violently. ‘I-I’ve sent for Droblek, your Majesty—the Drasnian Port Authority here in Sthiss Tor. I thought he might be able to shed some light on the situation.’

  ‘Perhaps so.’ Her tone was distant, and she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. ‘Summon the Tolnedran Ambassador as well. Whatever the Alorns are doing in Cthol Murgos also involves Varana.’

  ‘Forgive me, Divine Salmissra,’ Adiss said, feeling a trifle confused, ‘but why should the activities of the Alorns and Tolnedrans concern us?’

  She swung her head about slowly, her sinuous neck weaving in the air. ‘Are you a total incompetent, Adiss?’ she asked him. ‘We may not like it, but Nyissa is a part of the world, and we must always know what our neighbors are doing—and why.’ She paused, her tongue nervously tasting the air. ‘There is a game of some kind afoot, and I want to find out exactly what it is before I decide whether or not to become involved in it.’ She paused again. ‘Have you ever found out what happened to that one-eyed fellow, Issus?’

  ‘Yes, your Majesty. He was recruited by Drasnian intelligence. At last report, he was in Rak Urga with the Alorn negotiators.’

  ‘How very curious. I think this entire business is reaching the point where I must have detailed information—and very, very soon. Do not fail me, Adiss. Your position is not all that secure, you know. Now you may kiss me.’ She lowered her head, and he stumbled to the dais to touch his cringing lips to her cold forehead.

  ‘Very well, Adiss,’ she said. ‘Leave now.’ And she went back to gazing at her reflection in the mirror.

  King Nathel of Mishrak ac Thull was a slack-lipped, dull-eyed young man with lank, mud-colored hair and a profound lack of anything even remotely resembling intelligence. His royal robes were spotted and wrinkled, and his crown did not fit him. It rested atop his ears and quite often slid down over his eyes.

  Agachak, the cadaverous Hierarch of Rak Urga, could not stand the young King of the Thulls, but he forced himself to be civil to him during their current discussions. Civility was not one of Agachak’s strong points. He much preferred peremptory commands backed up by threats of dreadful retribution for failure to comply, but a careful assessment of Nathel’s personality had persuaded him that the young Thull would collapse on the spot if he were suddenly given any kind of threat or ultimatum. And so it was that Agachak was forced to rely on cajolery and wheedling instead.

  ‘The prophecy clearly states, your Majesty,’ he tried again, ‘that whichever king accompanies me to the place of the meeting will become Overking of all of Angarak.’

  ‘Does that mean I get Cthol Murgos and Gar og Nadrak, too?’ Nathel asked, a faint glimmer coming into his uncomprehending eyes.

  ‘Absolutely, your Majesty,’ Agachak assured him, ‘and Mallorea as well.’

  ‘Won’t that make Kal Zakath unhappy with me? I wouldn’t want him to feel that way. He had my father flogged once, did you know that? He was going to crucify him, but there weren’t any trees around.’

  ‘Yes, I’d heard about that, but you don’t have to worry. Zakath would have to genuflect to you.’

  ‘Zakath genuflect—to me?’ Nathel laughed. It was a sound frighteningly devoid of thought.

  ‘He would have no choice, your Majesty. If he were to refuse, the New God would blast him to atoms on the spot.’

  ‘What’s an atom?’

  Agachak ground his teeth. ‘A very small piece, your Majesty,’ he explained.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind making Urgit and Drosta bow to me,’ Nathel confessed, ‘but I don’t know about Zakath. Urgit and Drosta think they’re so smart. I’d like to take them down a peg or two. Zakath, though—I don’t know about that.’ His eyes brightened again. ‘That means I’d get all the gold in Cthol Murgos and Gar og Nadrak, doesn’t it? And I could make them dig it out of the ground for me, too.’ His crown slipped down over his eyes again, and he tilted his head back so that he could peer out from under its rim.

  ‘And you’d get all the gold in Mallorea, too, and the jewels, and the silks and carpets—and they’d even give you your own elephant to ride.’

  ‘What’s an elephant?’

  ‘It’s a very large animal, your Majesty.’

  ‘Bigger than a horse, even?’

  ‘Much bigger. Besides, you’d also get Tolnedra and you know how much money they’ve got. You’d be the king of the world.’

  ‘Even bigger than an ox? I’ve seen some awful big oxes sometimes.’

  ‘Ten times as big.’

  Nathel smiled happily. ‘I bet that would make people sit up and take notice.’

  ‘Absolutely, your Majesty.’

  ‘What is it I have to do again?’

  ‘You must go with me to the Place Which Is No More.’

  ‘That’s the part I don’t understand. How can we go there if it’s not there any more?’

  ‘The prophecy will reveal that to us in time, your Majesty.’

  ‘Oh. I see. Have you got any idea about where it is?’

  ‘The clues I’ve been getting indicate that it’s somewhere in Mallorea.’

  Nathel’s face suddenly fell. ‘Now that’s a real shame,’ he said petulantly.

  ‘I don’t quite—’

  ‘I’d really like to go with you, Agachak. Truly I would—what with all the gold and carpets and silks and stuff—and making Urgit and Drosta and maybe even Zakath bow down to me and all, but I just can’t.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why not?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to leave home. My mother’d punish me something awful if I did. You know how that goes. I couldn’t even think of going as far away as Mallorea.’

  ‘But you’re the king.’

  ‘That doesn’t change a thing. I still do what mother says. She tells everybody that I’m the best boy ever when it comes to that.’

  Agachak resisted a powerful urge to change this halfwit into a toad or perhaps a jellyfish. ‘Why don’t I talk with your mother?’ he suggested. ‘I’m sure I can persuade her to give you her permission.’

  ‘Why, that’s a real, real good idea, Agachak. If mother says it’s all right, I’ll go with you quick as lightning.’

  ‘Good,’ Agachak said, turning.

  ‘Oh, Agachak?’ Nathel’s voice sounded puzzled.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What’s a prophecy?’

  They had gathered at Vo Mandor, far from the watchful eyes of their kings, to discus
s something that was very private and very urgent. It was also just a trifle on the disobedient side, and there is a very ugly word men use to describe those who disobey their kings.

  Barak was there, and also Hettar, Mandorallen, and Lelldorin. Relg had just arrived from Maragor, and Barak’s son Unrak sat on a high-backed bench by the window.

  The Earl of Trellheim cleared his throat by way of calling them to order. They had gathered in the tower of Mandorallen’s keep, and the golden autumn sunlight streamed in through the arched window. Barak was huge and resplendent in a green velvet doublet. His red beard was combed, and his hair was braided. ‘All right,’ he rumbled, ‘let’s get started. Mandorallen, are you sure the stairway leading up here is guarded? I wouldn’t want anybody to overhear us.’

  ‘Of a certainty, my Lord of Trellheim,’ the great knight replied earnestly. ‘I vouchsafe it upon my life to thee.’ Mandorallen wore mail and his silver-trimmed blue surcoat.

  ‘A simple yes would have been enough, Mandorallen.’ Barak sighed. ‘Now,’ he continued briskly, ‘we’ve been forbidden to ride along with Garion and the others, right?’

  ‘That’s what Cyradis said at Rheon,’ Hettar replied softly. He wore his usual black horsehide, and his scalplock was caught in a silver ring. He lounged in a chair with his long legs thrust far out in front of him.

  ‘All right, then,’ Barak continued. ‘We can’t go with them, but there’s nothing to stop us from going to Mallorea on business of our own, is there?’

  ‘What kind of business?’ Lelldorin asked blankly.

  ‘We’ll think of something. I’ve got a ship. We’ll run on down to Tol Honeth and load her with a cargo of some kind. Then we’ll go to Mallorea and do some trading.’

  ‘How do you plan to get the Seabird across to the Sea of the East?’ Hettar asked. ‘That could be a long portage, don’t you think?’

  Barak winked broadly. ‘I’ve got a map,’ he said. ‘We can sail around the southern end of Cthol Murgos and right on into the eastern sea. From there to Mallorea is nothing at all.’

  ‘I thought the Murgos were very secretive about maps of their coastline,’ Lelldorin said, a frown creasing his open young face.

  ‘They are,’ Barak grinned, ‘but Javelin’s been in Rak Urga and he managed to steal one.’

  ‘How did you get it away from Javelin?’ Hettar asked. ‘He’s even more secretive than the Murgos.’

  ‘He sailed back to Boktor aboard Greldik’s ship. Javelin’s not a good sailor, so he wasn’t feeling very well. Greldik pinched the map and had his cartographer make a copy. Javelin never even knew he’d been robbed.’

  ‘Thy plan is excellent, my Lord,’ Mandorallen said gravely, ‘but methinks I detect a flaw.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘As all the world knows, Mallorea is a vast continent, thousands of leagues across and even more thousands from the south to the polar ice of the far north. It could well take us our lifetimes to locate our friends, for I perceive that to be the thrust of thy proposal.’

  Barak slyly laid one finger aside his nose. ‘I was just coming to that,’ he said. ‘When we were in Boktor, I got Yarblek drunk. He’s shrewd enough when he’s sober, but once you get a half keg of ale into him, he gets talkative. I asked him a few questions about the operation of the business he and Silk are running in Mallorea, and I got some very useful answers. It seems that the two of them have offices in every major city in Mallorea, and those offices keep in constant touch with each other. No matter what else he’s doing, Silk’s going to keep an eye on his business interests. Every time he gets near one of those offices, he’ll find some excuse to stop by to see how many millions he’s made in the past week.’

  ‘That’s Silk, all right,’ Hettar agreed.

  ‘All we have to do is drop anchor in some Mallorean seaport and look up the little thief’s office. His people will know approximately where he is, and where Silk is, you’re going to find the others.’

  ‘My Lord,’ Mandorallen apologized, ‘I have wronged thee. Canst thou forgive me for underestimating thy shrewdness?’

  ‘Perfectly all right, Mandorallen,’ Barak replied magnanimously.

  ‘But,’ Lelldorin protested, ‘we’re still forbidden to join Garion and the others.’

  ‘Truly,’ Mandorallen agreed. ‘We may not approach them lest we doom their quest to failure.’

  ‘I think I’ve worked that part out, too,’ the big man said. ‘We can’t ride along with them, but Cyradis didn’t say anything about how far we have to stay away from them, did she? All we’re going to be doing is minding our own business—a league or so away—or maybe a mile. We’ll be close enough so that if they get into any kind of trouble, we’ll be able to lend a hand and then be on our way again. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  Mandorallen’s face came suddenly alight. ‘’Tis a duty, my Lord,’ he exclaimed, ‘a moral obligation. The Gods look with great disfavor upon those who fail to come to the aid of travelers in peril.’

  ‘Somehow I knew you’d see it that way,’ Barak said, slapping his friend on the shoulder with one huge hand.

  ‘Sophistry,’ Relg said with a note of finality in his harsh voice. The Ulgo zealot now wore a tunic that looked very much like the one Durnik customarily wore. His once-pale skin was now sun-browned, and he no longer wore a cloth across his eyes. The years of working out of doors near the house he had built for Taiba and their horde of children had gradually accustomed his skin and eyes to sunlight.

  ‘What do you mean, sophistry?’ Barak protested.

  ‘Just what I said, Barak. The Gods look at our intent, not our clever excuses. You want to go to Mallorea to aid Belgarion—we all do—but don’t try to fool the Gods with these trumped-up stories.’

  They all stared at the zealot helplessly.

  ‘But it was such a good plan,’ Barak said plaintively.

  ‘Very good,’ Relg agreed, ‘but it’s disobedient, and disobedience of the Gods—and of prophecy—is sin.’

  ‘Sin again, Relg?’ Barak said in disgust. ‘I thought you’d gotten over that.’

  ‘Not entirely, no.’

  Barak’s son Unrak, who at fourteen was already as big as a grown man, rose to his feet. He wore a mail shirt and had a sword belted at his side. His hair was flaming red, and his downy beard had already begun to cover his cheeks. ‘Let’s see if I’ve got this right,’ he said. Unrak’s voice no longer cracked and warbled, but had settled into a resonant baritone. ‘We have to obey the prophecy, is that it?’

  ‘To the letter,’ Relg said firmly.

  ‘Then I have to go to Mallorea,’ Unrak said.

  ‘That went by a little fast,’ his father said to him.

  ‘It’s not really all that complicated, father. I’m the hereditary protector of the heir to the Rivan Throne, aren’t I?’

  ‘He’s got a point there,’ Hettar said. ‘Go ahead, Unrak. Tell us what you’ve got in mind.’

  ‘Well,’ the young man said, blushing slightly under the scrutiny of his elders, ‘if Prince Geran’s in Mallorea and in danger, I have to go there. The prophecy says so. Now, I don’t know where he is, so I’m going to have to follow King Belgarion until he finds his son so that I can protect him.’

  Barak grinned broadly at his son.

  ‘But,’ Unrak added, ‘I’m a little inexperienced at this protection business, so I might need a little guidance. Do you suppose, father, that I might be able to persuade you and your friends to come with me? Just to keep me from making any mistakes, you understand.’

  Hettar rose and shook Barak’s hand. ‘Congratulations,’ he said simply.

  ‘Well, Relg,’ Barak said, ‘does that satisfy your sense of propriety?’

  Relg considered it. ‘Why yes,’ he said, ‘as a matter of fact, I think it does.’ Then he grinned the first grin Barak had ever seen on his harsh face. ‘When do we leave?’ he asked.

  His Imperial Majesty, Kal Zakath of Mallorea, stood at a window in a hi
gh tower in Maga Renn, looking out at the broad expanse of the great River Magan. A huge armada of river craft of all sizes dotted the surface of the river upstream of the city and moved down in orderly progression to the wharves where the imperial regiments waited to embark.

  ‘Have you had any further news?’ the emperor asked.

  ‘Things are a bit chaotic down there, your Imperial Majesty,’ Brador, the brown-robed Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs reported, ‘but it appears that the major confrontation between Urvon and Zandramas is going to take place in Peldane. Urvon has been moving down from the north, and Zandramas annexed Peldane last month to put a buffer between him and Darshiva. She’s been rushing her forces into Peldane to meet him.’

  ‘What’s your assessment, Atesca?’ Zakath asked.

  General Atesca rose and went to the map hanging on the wall. He studied it for a moment, then stabbed one blunt finger at it. ‘Here, your Majesty,’ he said, ‘the town of Ferra. We move down in force and occupy that place. It’s a logical forward base of operations. The River Magan is about fifteen miles wide at that point, and it shouldn’t be too difficult to interdict any further movement across it from Darshiva. That will eliminate Zandramas’ reinforcements. Urvon will have numerical superiority when they meet, and he’ll crush her army. He’ll take casualties, though. Both sides are fanatics, and they’ll fight to the death. After he wipes out Zandramas’ army, he’ll stop to lick his wounds. That’s when we should hit him. He’ll be weakened, and his troops will be exhausted. Ours will be fresh. The outcome ought to be fairly predictable. Then we can cross the Magan and mop up in Darshiva.’

  ‘Excellent, Atesca,’ Zakath said, a faint smile touching his cold lips. ‘There’s a certain ironic charm to your plan. First we have Urvon eliminate Zandramas for us, then we eliminate him. I like the idea of having the Disciple of Torak do my dirty work for me.’

  ‘With your Majesty’s permission, I’d like to lead the forward elements and oversee the occupation of Ferra,’ the general said. ‘Zandramas will almost have to counterattack, since we’ll have cut her army in two. We’ll need to fortify the town. I’ll also need to put out patrols on the river to keep her from trying to slip her troops into Peldane around our flanks. It’s a fairly crucial part of the operation, and I’d like to supervise it myself.’