The Malloreon: Book 03 - Demon Lord Of Karanda

by David Eddings

  ‘Which question?’

  ‘What are you going to do about this?’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  ‘Good. I’ll help you.’

  Garion firmly reached out and pulled the drape shut.

  ‘Spoil-sport,’ Ce’Nedra pouted.

  ‘Never mind,’ he told her. ‘Now come away from the window.’ He drew her out of the room. ‘I can’t understand what she’s up to,’ he said.

  ‘I thought that was fairly obvious.’

  ‘Ce’Nedra!’

  ‘She’s seducing him, Garion. She’s been in love with him since she was a little girl, and she’s finally decided to take steps. I’m so happy for her that I could just burst.’

  He shook his head. ‘I will never understand women,’ he said. ‘Just when I think I’ve got everything worked out, you all get together and change the rules. You wouldn’t believe what Aunt Pol said to me just this morning.’

  ‘Oh? What was that?’

  ‘She said that I ought to—’ He stopped abruptly, his face suddenly going beet red. ‘Ah—never mind,’ he added lamely.

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘I’ll tell you some other time.’ He gave her a peculiar look then. It was a look she thought she recognized. ‘Have you taken your evening bath yet?’ he asked with exaggerated casualness.

  ‘Not yet. Why?’

  ‘I thought I might join you—if you don’t mind.’

  Ce’Nedra artfully lowered her lashes. ‘If you really want to,’ she said in a girlish voice.

  ‘I’ll light some candles in there,’ he said. ‘The lamp’s a bit bright, don’t you think?’

  ‘Whatever you prefer, dear.’

  ‘And I think I’ll bring in the wine, too. It might help us to relax.’

  Ce’Nedra felt an exultant little surge of triumph. For some reason her irritability had entirely disappeared. ‘I think that would be just lovely, dear.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, extending a slightly trembling hand to her, ‘shall we go in, then?’

  ‘Why don’t we?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  The following morning when they gathered for breakfast, Silk’s expression was faintly abstracted as if he had just realized that someone had somehow out-bargained him. The little man steadfastly refused to look at Velvet, who kept her eyes demurely on the bowl of strawberries and cream she was eating.

  ‘You seem a trifle out of sorts this morning, Prince Kheldar,’ Ce’Nedra said to him in an offhand manner, though her eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

  He threw her a quick, suspicious look.

  ‘There, there,’ she said, fondly patting his hand. ‘I’m sure that you’ll feel much better after breakfast.’

  ‘I’m not very hungry,’ he replied. His voice was just a little sullen. He stood up abruptly. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk,’ he said.

  ‘But my dear fellow,’ she protested, ‘you haven’t eaten your strawberries. They’re absolutely delicious, aren’t they, Liselle?’

  ‘Marvelous,’ the blond girl agreed with only the faintest hint of her dimples showing.

  Silk’s scowl deepened, and he marched resolutely toward the door.

  ‘May I have yours, Kheldar?’ Velvet called after him. ‘If you’re not going to eat them, that is?’

  He slammed the door as he went out, and Ce’Nedra and Velvet exploded into gales of silvery laughter.

  ‘What’s this?’ Polgara asked them.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Ce’Nedra said, still laughing. ‘Nothing at all, Lady Polgara. Our Prince Kheldar had a little adventure last night that didn’t turn out exactly the way he expected it to.’

  Velvet gave Ce’Nedra a quick look and flushed slightly. Then she laughed again.

  Polgara looked at the giggling pair, and then one of her eyebrows went up. ‘Oh. I see,’ she said.

  The flush on Velvet’s cheeks grew rosier, although she continued to laugh.

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Polgara sighed.

  ‘Is something wrong, Pol?’ Durnik asked her.

  She looked at the good, honest man, assessing his strict Sendarian principles. ‘Just a small complication, Durnik,’ she replied. ‘Nothing that can’t be managed.’

  ‘That’s good.’ He pushed back his bowl. ‘Do you need me for anything this morning?’

  ‘No, dear,’ she replied, kissing him.

  He returned her kiss and then stood up, looking across the table at Toth and Eriond, who sat waiting expectantly. ‘Shall we go then?’ he asked them.

  The three of them trooped out, their faces alight with anticipation.

  ‘I wonder how long it’s going to take them to empty all the fish out of that pond,’ Polgara mused.

  ‘Forever, I’m afraid, Lady Polgara,’ Sadi told her, popping a strawberry into his mouth. ‘The grounds keepers restock it every night.’

  She sighed. ‘I was afraid of that,’ she said.

  About midmorning, Garion was pacing up and down one of the long, echoing halls. He felt irritable, and a sort of frustrated impatience seemed to weigh him down. The urgent need to get to Ashaba before Zandramas escaped him again was so constantly on his mind now that he could think of almost nothing else. Although they had come up with several possible schemes, Silk, Velvet, and Sadi were still searching for a suitable diversion—something startling enough to draw off Brador’s secret policemen so that they could all make good their escape. There was obviously little chance of changing Zakath’s mind, and it began to look increasingly as if Garion and his friends were going to have to ‘do it the other way’, as Belgarath sometimes put it. Despite his occasional threats to Zakath, Garion didn’t really want to do that. He was quite sure that to do so would permanently end his growing friendship with the strange man who ruled Mallorea. He was honest enough to admit that it was not only the friendship he would regret losing but the political possibilities implicit in the situation as well.

  He was about to return to his rooms when a scarlet-liveried servant came up to him. ‘Your Majesty,’ the servant said with a deep bow, ‘Prince Kheldar asked me to find you for him. He’d like to have a word with you.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Garion asked.

  ‘In the formal garden near the north wall of the complex, your Majesty. There’s a half-drunk Nadrak with him—and a woman with a remarkably foul mouth. You wouldn’t believe some of the things she said to me.’

  ‘I think I know her,’ Garion replied with a faint smile. ‘I’d believe it.’ He turned then and walked briskly through the hallways and out into the palace grounds.

  Yarblek had not changed. Though it was pleasantly warm in the neatly manicured formal garden, he nonetheless still wore his shabby felt overcoat and his shaggy fur hat. He was sprawled on a marble bench under a leafy arbor with a broached ale keg conveniently at hand. Vella, as lush as ever, wandered idly among the flower beds, dressed in her tight-fitting Nadrak vest and leather trousers. Her silver-hilted daggers protruded from the tops of her boots and from her belt, and her walk was still that same challenging, sensual strut, a mannerism she had practiced for so long that it was by now automatic and probably even unconscious. Silk sat on the grass near Yarblek’s bench, and he, too, held an ale cup.

  ‘I was just about to come looking for you,’ he said as Garion approached.

  The rangy Yarblek squinted at Garion. ‘Well, well,’ he said, blinking owlishly, ‘if it isn’t the boy-King of Riva. I see that you’re still wearing that big sword of yours.’

  ‘It’s a habit,’ Garion shrugged. ‘You’re looking well, Yarblek—aside from being a little drunk, that is.’

  ‘I’ve been cutting down,’ Yarblek said rather piously. ‘My stomach isn’t what it used to be.’

  ‘Did you happen to see Belgarath on your way here?’ Silk asked Garion.

  ‘No. Should I have?’

  ‘I sent for him, too. Yarblek’s got some information for us, and I want the old man to get it first hand.’


  Garion looked at Silk’s coarse-faced partner. ‘How long have you been in Mal Zeth?’ he asked.

  ‘We got in last night,’ Yarblek replied, dipping his cup into the ale keg again. ‘Dolmar told me that you were all here in the palace, so I came by this morning to look you up.’

  ‘How long are you going to stay in town?’ Silk asked him.

  Yarblek tugged at his scraggly beard and squinted up at the arbor. ‘That’s kind of hard to say,’ he said. ‘Dolmar picked up most of what I need, but I want to nose around the markets a bit. There’s a Tolnedran in Boktor who said that he’s interested in uncut gem stones. I could pick up a quick fortune on that transaction—particularly if I could sneak the stones past Drasnian customs.’

  ‘Don’t Queen Porenn’s customs agents search your packs pretty thoroughly?’ Garion asked him.

  ‘From top to bottom.’ Yarblek laughed, ‘And they pat me down as well. They don’t, however, lay one finger on Vella. They’ve all learned how quick she is with her daggers. I’ve made back what I paid for her a dozen times over by hiding little packages here and there in her clothes.’ He laughed coarsely. ‘And of course the hiding is sort of fun, too.’ He belched thunderously. ‘Par’me,’ he said.

  Belgarath came across the lawn. The old man had resisted all of Zakath’s tactful offers of less disreputable raiment, and still wore, defiantly, Garion thought, his stained tunic, patched hose, and mismatched boots. ‘Well, I see that you finally got here,’ he said to Yarblek without any preamble.

  ‘I got tied up in Mal Camat,’ the Nadrak replied. ‘Kal Zakath is commandeering ships all up and down the west coast to bring his army back from stinking Cthol Murgos. I had to hire boats and hide them in the marshes north of the ruins of Cthol Mishrak.’ He pointed at the ale keg. ‘You want some of this?’ he asked.

  ‘Naturally. Have you got another cup?’

  Yarblek patted here and there at his voluminous coat, reached into an inside pocket, and drew out a squat, dented tankard.

  ‘I like a man who comes prepared.’

  ‘A proper host is always ready. Help yourself. Just try not to spill too much.’ The Nadrak looked at Garion. ‘How about you?’ he asked. ‘I think I could find another cup.’

  ‘No. Thanks anyway, Yarblek. It’s a little early for me.’

  Then a short, gaudily dressed man came around the arbor. His clothes were a riot of frequently conflicting colors. One sleeve was green, the other red. One leg of his hose was striped in pink and yellow and the other covered with large blue polka dots. He wore a tall, pointed cap with a bell attached to the peak. It was not his outrageous clothing that was so surprising, however. What caught Garion’s eyes first was the fact that the man was quite casually walking on his hands with both feet extended into the air. ‘Did I hear somebody offer somebody a little drap of somethin’ to drink?’ he asked in a strange, lilting brogue that Garion did not quite recognize.

  Yarblek gave the colorful little fellow a sour look and reached inside his coat again.

  The acrobat flexed his shoulders, thrusting himself into the air, flipped over in midair, and landed on his feet. He briskly brushed off his hands and came toward Yarblek with an ingratiating smile. His face was nondescript, the kind of face that would be forgotten almost as soon as it was seen, but for some reason, it seemed to Garion to be naggingly familiar.

  ‘Ah, good master Yarblek,’ the man said to Silk’s partner, ‘I’m sure that yer the kindest man alive. I was near to perishin’ of thirst, don’t y’ know?’ He took the cup, dipped into the ale keg, and drank noisily. Then he let out his breath with a gusty sound of appreciation. ‘’Tis a good brew ye have there, Master Yarblek,’ he said, dipping again into the keg.

  Belgarath had a peculiar expression on his face, partly puzzled but at the same time partially amused.

  ‘He came tagging along when we left Mal Camat,’ Yarblek told them. ‘Vella finds him amusing, so I haven’t chased him off yet. She turns a little shrill when she doesn’t get her own way.’

  ‘The name is Feldegast, fine gentlemen,’ the gaudy little fellow introduced himself with an exaggerated bow. ‘Feldegast the juggler. I be also an acrobat—as ye’ve seen fer yerselves—a comedian of no mean ability, and an accomplished magician. I can baffle yer eyes with me unearthly skill at prestidigitation, don’t y’ know. I kin also play rousin’ tunes on a little wooden whistle—or, if yer mood be melancholy, I kin play ye sad songs on the lute to bring a lump to yer throat and fill yer eyes with sweet, gentle tears. Would ye be wantin’ to witness some of me unspeakable talent?’

  ‘Maybe a little later,’ Belgarath told him, his eyes still a little bemused. ‘Right now we have some business to discuss.’

  ‘Take another cup of ale and go entertain Vella, comedian,’ Yarblek said to him. ‘Tell her some more off-color stories.’

  ‘Twill be me eternal delight, good Master Yarblek,’ the outrageous fellow said grandly. ‘She’s a good strappin’ wench with a lusty sense of humor and a fine appreciation fer bawdy stories.’ He dipped out more ale and then capered across the lawn toward the dark-haired Nadrak girl.

  ‘Disgusting,’ Yarblek growled, looking after him. ‘Some of the stories he tells her make my ears burn, but the nastier they are, the harder she laughs.’ He shook his head moodily.

  ‘Let’s get down to business,’ Belgarath said. ‘We need to know what’s going on in Karanda right now.’

  ‘That’s simple,’ Yarblek told him. ‘Mengha, that’s what’s going on. Mengha and his cursed demons.’

  ‘Dolmar filled us in,’ Silk said. ‘We know about what happened at Calida and about the way that Karands are flocking in to join his army from all over the seven kingdoms. Is he making any moves toward the south yet?’

  ‘Not that I’ve heard,’ Yarblek replied. ‘He seems to be consolidating things through the north right now. He’s whipping all of the Karands into hysteria, though. If Zakath doesn’t do something quickly, he’s going to have a full-scale revolution on his hands. I can tell you, though, that it’s not safe to travel in northern Karanda right now. Mengha’s shrieking Karands control everything to the coast of Zamad.’

  ‘We have to go to Ashaba,’ Garion told him.

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it,’ Yarblek said bluntly. ‘The Karands are picking up some very unsavory habits.’

  ‘Oh?’ Silk said.

  ‘I’m an Angarak,’ Yarblek said, ‘and I’ve been watching Grolims cut out human hearts to offer to Torak since I was a boy, but what’s happening in Karanda turns even my stomach. The Karands stake captives out on the ground and then call up their demons. The demons are all getting fat.’

  ‘Would you care to be a little more specific?’

  ‘Not really. Use your imagination, Silk. You’ve been in Morindland. You know what demons eat.’

  ‘You’re not serious!’

  ‘Oh, yes—and the Karands eat the scraps. As I said—some very unsavory habits. There are also some rumors about the demons breeding with human females.’

  ‘That’s abominable!’ Garion gasped.

  ‘It is indeed,’ Yarblek agreed with him. ‘The women usually don’t survive their pregnancies, but I’ve heard of a few live births.’

  ‘We have to put a stop to that,’ Belgarath said bleakly.

  ‘Good luck,’ Yarblek said. ‘Me, I’m going back to Gar og Nadrak just as soon as I can get my caravan put together. I’m not going anywhere near Mengha—or the tame demon he keeps on a leash.’

  ‘Nahaz?’ Garion asked.

  ‘You’ve heard the name then?’

  ‘Dolmar told us.’

  ‘We should probably start with him,’ Belgarath said. ‘If we can drive Nahaz back to where he came from it’s likely that the rest of the demons will follow their lord.’

  ‘Neat trick,’ Yarblek grunted.

  ‘I have certain resources,’ the old man told him. ‘Once the demons are gone, Mengha won’t have anything left but a ragtag army of Karandese fanatics.
We’ll be able to go on about our business and leave the mopping up to Zakath.’ He smiled briefly. ‘That might occupy his mind enough to keep him from breathing down our necks.’

  Vella was laughing raucously as she and Feldegast the juggler approached the arbor. The little comedian was walking on his hands again—erratically and with his feet waving ludicrously in the air.

  ‘He tells a good story,’ the lush-bodied Nadrak girl said, still laughing, ‘but he can’t hold his liquor.’

  ‘I didn’t think he drank all that much,’ Silk said.

  ‘It wasn’t the ale that fuddled him so bad,’ she replied. She drew a silver flask from under her belt. ‘I gave him a pull or two at this.’ Her eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. ‘Care to try some, Silk?’ she offered, holding out the flask.

  ‘What’s in it?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘Just a little drink we brew in Gar og Nadrak,’ she said innocently. ‘It’s as mild as mother’s milk.’ She demonstrated by taking a long drink from the flask.

  ‘Othlass?’

  She nodded.

  ‘No thanks.’ He shuddered. ‘The last time I drank that, I lost track of a whole week.’

  ‘Don’t be so chicken-livered, Silk,’ she told him scornfully. She took another drink. ‘See? It doesn’t hurt a bit.’ She looked at Garion. ‘My Lord,’ she said to him. ‘How’s your pretty little wife?’

  ‘She’s well, Vella.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. Have you got her pregnant again yet?’

  Garion flushed. ‘No,’ he replied.

  ‘You’re wasting time, my Lord. Why don’t you run back to the palace and chase her around the bedroom a time or two?’ Then she turned to Belgarath. ‘Well?’ she said to him.

  ‘Well what?’

  She smoothly drew one of her knives from her belt. ‘Would you like to try again?’ she asked, turning deliberately so that her well-rounded posterior was available to him.

  ‘Ah, thanks all the same, Vella,’ he said with a kind of massive dignity, ‘but it’s a bit early.’

  ‘That’s all right, old man,’ she said. ‘I’m ready for you this time. Any time you’re in a patting frame of mind, feel free. I sharpened all my knives before we came—especially for you.’