‘How lucky you are.’
‘I don’t quite follow you.’
‘Isn’t it remarkable that Kasvor just happened to remember the one thing you really had to know? He threw it out almost as an afterthought.’
‘The Gods have always been fond of me,’ Belgarath replied complacently.
‘You think of luck as a God? Our Master would put you on bread and water for several centuries if he heard you talking like that.’
‘It may not have been entirely luck,’ Durnik said thoughtfully. ‘This prophecy of ours has nudged people a bit now and then. I remember one time in Arendia when Ce’Nedra was supposed to give a speech. She was so terrified she was almost sick until a drunken young nobleman insulted her. Then she got angry, and her speech set fire to the whole crowd. Pol said that maybe the prophecy had made him get drunk so that he’d insult Ce’Nedra in order to make her angry enough to give the speech. Couldn’t this have been sort of like that? Fate instead of luck?’
Beldin looked at the smith, his eyes suddenly alight. ‘This man is a jewel, Belgarath,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking for someone to talk philosophy with for centuries now, and here he is, right under my nose.’ He put his large, gnarled hand on Durnik’s shoulder. ‘When we get to that inn, my friend,’ he said, ‘you and I are going to begin a very long conversation. It might just go on for several centuries.’
Polgara sighed.
The Lion Inn was a large building with walls of yellow brick and a red tile roof. A broad stairway led up to an imposing main door attended by a liveried footman.
‘Where are the stables?’ Durnik asked, looking about.
‘Probably around back,’ Silk replied. ‘Melcene architecture is a bit different from the style in the West.’
As they dismounted, two grooms came trotting around the building to take their horses. Silk mounted the stairs, and the footman at the door bowed deeply to him. ‘This house is honored by your presence, Prince Kheldar,’ he said. ‘My master’s waiting inside to greet you.’
‘Why, thank you, my good man,’ Silk replied, giving him a coin. ‘There may be someone along later to see me. It’s possible that he’ll be a sailor or a longshoreman. When he arrives, would you be so good as to send him to me immediately?’
‘Of course, your Highness.’
The top floor of the inn was palatial. The rooms were large and deeply carpeted. The walls were covered with white mortar, and the windows were draped with blue velvet. The furnishings were massive and comfortable-looking. The doorways were arched.
Durnik wiped his feet carefully before entering. He looked around.
‘They seem to be awfully fond of arches,’ he noted. ‘I’ve always preferred post-and-lintel construction myself. For some reason, I just don’t quite trust an arch.’
‘It’s perfectly sound, Durnik,’ Silk assured him.
‘I know the theory,’ Durnik said. ‘The trouble is that I don’t know the man who built the arch, so I don’t know if he can be trusted.’
‘Do you still want to talk philosophy with him?’ Belgarath said to Beldin.
‘Why not? Solid practicality has a place in the world, too, and sometimes my speculations get a little airy.’
‘I think the word is windy, Beldin. Windy.’
‘You didn’t really have to say that, did you?’
Belgarath looked at him critically. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I think I did.’
Polgara, Ce’Nedra, and Velvet retired to an elaborate bath that was even larger than those in their quarters in the imperial palace at Mal Zeth.
While the ladies were bathing, Silk excused himself. ‘There are a few other things I need to attend to,’ he explained. ‘I won’t be very long.’
It was after bath time, but before supper time, when a wiry little fellow in a tar-smeared canvas smock was escorted into the main sitting room. ‘I was told that there was a Prince Kheldar as was wantin’ words with me,’ he said, looking around. He spoke in a brogue almost identical to Feldegast’s.
‘Ah—’ Garion floundered, ‘the prince has stepped out for a moment.’
‘I surely don’t have all day to sit around coolin’ me heels, me boy,’ the little fellow objected. ‘I’ve things to do an’ people to see, don’t y’ know.’
‘I’ll handle this, Garion,’ Durnik said mildly.
‘But—’
‘It’s no problem at all,’ Durnik said just a bit more firmly. He turned to the little dock hand. ‘The prince just had a few questions, is all,’ he said in an almost lazy tone. ‘It’s nothing that you and I can’t take care of without bothering his Highness.’ He laughed. ‘You know how these highborn people are—excitable.’
‘Now that’s the truth, surely. There’s nothin’ like a title t’ rob a man of his good sense.’
Durnik spread his hands. ‘What can I say?’ he said. ‘Why don’t we sit down and talk a bit? Would you take a spot of ale?’
‘I’ve been known t’ take a sup from time t’ time.’ The little fellow grinned. ‘Yer a man after me own heart, me friend. What trade is it ye follow?’
Durnik held out his callused and burn-scarred hands. ‘I’m a blacksmith,’ he admitted.
‘Whoosh!’ the dockhand exclaimed. ‘’Tis a hot an’ heavy line o’ work ye’ve chose fer yerself. I labor on the docks, meself. ’Tis heavy enough, but at least it’s out in the open air.’
‘It is indeed,’ Durnik agreed in that same easygoing fashion. Then he turned and snapped his fingers at Belgarath. ‘Why don’t you see if you can find some ale for my friend and me?’ he suggested. ‘Get some for yourself, too—if you’re of a mind.’
Belgarath made a number of strangling noises and went to the door to talk to the servant waiting outside.
‘A relative of my wife’s,’ Durnik confided to the tarsmeared man. ‘He’s not quite bright, but she insists that I keep him on. You know how that goes.’
‘Oh, by the Gods, yes. Me own dear wife’s got cousins by the score who can’t tell one end of a shovel from another. They kin surely find the ale barrel an’ supper table, though.’
Durnik laughed. ‘How’s the work?’ he asked, ‘on the docks, I mean?’
‘’Tis cruel hard. The masters keep all the gold fer theirselves, and we git the brass.’
Durnik laughed ironically. ‘Isn’t that always the way of it?’
‘It is indeed, me friend. It is indeed.’
‘There’s no justice in the world,’ Durnik sighed, ‘and a man can only bow to the ill winds of fortune.’
‘How truly ye speak. I see that ye’ve suffered under unkind masters yerself.’
‘A time or two,’ Durnik admitted. He sighed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘on to the business at hand, then. The prince has got a certain interest in a fellow with white eyes. Have you ever seen him?’
‘Ah,’ the dock hand said, ‘that one. May he sink in a cesspool up to the eyebrows.’
‘You’ve met him, I take it.’
‘An’ the meetin’ gave me no pleasure, I kin tell ye.’
‘Well, then,’ Durnik said smoothly, ‘I can see that we’re of the same opinion about this fellow.’
‘If it’s in yer mind t’ kill him, I’ll lend ye me cargo hook.’
‘It’s a thought.’ Durnik laughed.
Garion stared in amazement at his honest old friend. This was a side of Durnik he had never seen before. He glanced quickly to one side and saw Polgara’s eyes wide with astonishment.
At that moment, Silk came in, but stopped as Velvet motioned him to silence.
‘However,’ Durnik went on slyly, ‘what better way to upset somebody that we both dislike than to overturn a scheme he’s been hatching for a year or more?’
The dock hand’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a feral grin. ‘I’m listenin’, me friend,’ he said fervently. ‘Tell me how to spoke the white-eyed man’s wheel, an’ I’m with ye to the end.’ He spat on his hand and held it out.
Durnik also spat on
his palm, and the two of them smacked their hands together in a gesture as old as time. Then the smith lowered his voice confidentially. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘We’ve heard that this white-eyed one—may all of his teeth fall out—hired a ship for Melcena. What we need to know is when he left, on what ship, who went with him, and where he was to land.’
‘Simplicity in itself,’ the dock hand said expansively, leaning back in his chair.
‘You, there,’ Durnik said to Belgarath, ‘is that ale on the way?’
Belgarath made a few more strangling noises.
‘It’s so hard to get good help these days.’ Durnik sighed.
Polgara tried very hard to stifle a laugh.
‘Well, now,’ the dock hand said, leaning forward in that same confidential manner, ‘this is what I seen with me own two eyes, so I’m not handin’ along secondhand information. I seen this white-eyed one come to the docks on a mornin’ about five days ago. ’Twas about daybreak, it was an’ one of them cloudy mornin’s when ye can’t tell the difference between fog an’ smoke, an’ ye don’t want to breathe too deep of either. Anyway, the white-eyed one, he had a woman with him in a black satin robe with a hood coverin’ her head, an’ she had a little boy with her.’
‘How do you know it was a woman?’ Durnik interrupted.
‘Have ye no eyes, man?’ the dock hand laughed. ‘They don’t walk the same as we do. There’s a certain swayin’ of the hips that no man alive could imitate. ’Twas a woman, right enough, an’ ye have me word on that. An’ the little boy was as fair as a mornin’ sunrise, but he seemed a little sad. Sturdy little lad he was, an’ looked fer all the world as if he wished he could put his hands on a sword to rid hisself of them as he didn’t like too much. Anyway, they went aboard ship, an’ the ship, she slipped her hawsers an’ rowed off into the fog. Word was that they was bound fer the city of Melcene—or some well-hid cove nearby, smugglin’ not bein’ unknown in these parts, don’t y’ know.’
‘And this was five days ago?’ Durnik asked.
‘Five or four. Sometimes I lose track of the days.’
Durnik seized the man’s tar-smeared hand warmly. ‘My friend,’ he said, ‘between us, we’ll kick all the spokes out of the white-eyed man’s wheel yet.’
‘I’d surely like to help with the kickin’,’ the dock hand said a bit wistfully.
‘You have, friend,’ Durnik said. ‘You definitely have. I’ll kick a time or two for you myself. Silk,’ the smith said very seriously, ‘I think our friend here should have something to pay him for his trouble.’
Silk, looking a bit awed, shook a few coins out of his purse.
‘Is that the best you can do?’ Durnik asked critically.
Silk doubled the amount. Then, after a glance at Durnik’s disapproving expression, doubled that in gold.
The dock hand left, his fist clutched protectively around his coins.
Velvet rose wordlessly to her feet and curtsied to Durnik with profound respect.
‘Where did you learn how to do that?’ Silk demanded.
Durnik looked at him with some surprise. ‘Haven’t you ever traded horses at a country fair before, Silk?’ he asked.
‘As I told ye, me old friend,’ Beldin said gaily, ‘the old speech has not died out yet altogether, an’ ’tis music to me ears t’ hear it again.’
‘Must you?’ Belgarath said in a highly offended tone. He turned to Durnik. ‘What was all that folksy business?’
Durnik shrugged. ‘I’ve met that sort of man many times,’ he explained. ‘They can be very helpful, if you give them a reason to be—but they’re very touchy, so you have to approach them just right.’ He smiled. ‘Given a little time, I could have sold that fellow a three-legged horse—and convinced him that he’d got the best of the bargain.’
‘Oh, my Durnik,’ Polgara said, throwing her arms about the smith’s neck. ‘What would we ever do without you?’
‘I hope we never have to find out,’ he said.
‘All right,’ Belgarath said, ‘now we know that Zandramas went to Melcena. The question is why.’
‘To get away from us?’ Silk suggested.
‘I don’t think so, Kheldar,’ Sadi disagreed. ‘Her center of power is in Darshiva. Why should she run off in the other direction?’
‘I’ll work on that.’
‘What’s in Melcena?’ Velvet asked.
‘Not too much,’ Silk replied, ‘unless you count all the money in Melcene itself—most of the world’s supply, last time I heard.’
‘Would Zandramas be interested in money?’ the blond girl asked.
‘No,’ Polgara said very firmly. ‘Money would have no meaning to her—not at this point. It’s something else.’
‘The only thing that means anything to Zandramas right now is the Sardion, isn’t it?’ Garion said. ‘Could the Sardion be out there in the islands someplace?’
Beldin and Belgarath exchanged a look. ‘What does that phrase mean?’ Beldin demanded in exasperation. ‘Think, Belgarath. What does it mean when they say the “Place Which Is No More”?’
‘You’re smarter than I am,’ Belgarath retorted. ‘You answer the riddle.’
‘I hate riddles!’
‘I think about all we can do at this point is trail along behind and find out,’ Silk said. ‘Zandramas seems to know where she’s going, and we don’t. That doesn’t leave us much choice, does it?’
‘The Sardion came to Jarot as well,’ Garion mused. ‘It was a long time ago, but the Orb picked up its trail just outside of town. I’ll go down to the docks and see if both trails are still running together. It’s possible that Zandramas has some way of following the Sardion, the same as we do. She might not really know where it’s going. Maybe she’s just following it.’
‘He’s got a point there,’ Beldin said.
‘If the Sardion is hidden somewhere out there in Melcena, this could all end before the week is out,’ Garion added.
‘It’s too early,’ Polgara said flatly.
‘Too early?’ Ce’Nedra exclaimed. ‘Lady Polgara, my baby’s been gone for over a year now. How can you say it’s too early.’
‘It has nothing to do with that, Ce’Nedra,’ the sorceress replied. ‘You’ve waited a year for the return of your baby. I waited a thousand years and more for Garion. Fate and time and the Gods pay no attention to our years, but Cyradis said at Ashaba that we still had nine months until the final meeting, and it hasn’t been that long yet.’
‘She might have been wrong,’ Ce’Nedra objected.
‘Perhaps—but only by a second or so either way.’
Chapter Four
It was foggy in the harbor the next morning, one of those thick early autumn fogs that always hovers on the verge of rain. As they were loading the horses, Garion glanced up and found that he could see no more than a few feet up the masts of the ship they were boarding. Silk stood on the aft deck talking with the ship’s captain.
‘It should clear off when we get a few leagues out to sea, your Highness,’ the captain was saying as Garion approached. ‘There’s a fairly steady wind that always blows down the passage between the coast and Melcena.’
‘Good,’ Silk said. ‘I wouldn’t want to run into anything. How long is it likely to take us to get to Melcene?’
‘Most of the day, your Highness,’ the captain replied. ‘It’s a fair distance, but the prevailing wind works to our advantage. The return voyage takes several days, though.’
‘We’ll be all loaded shortly,’ Silk told him.
‘We can leave any time you’re ready, your Highness.’
Silk nodded and joined Garion at the rail. ‘Are you feeling any better?’ he asked.
‘I don’t quite follow you.’
‘You were just a bit grumpy when you got up this morning.’
‘Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
‘Spread it around,’ Silk suggested. ‘Worries get lighter when you’ve got people to share them with you.’
&n
bsp; ‘We’re getting closer,’ Garion said. ‘Even if this meeting doesn’t happen out here in the islands, it’s still only a matter of a few more months.’
‘Good. I’m getting a little tired of living out of a saddlebag.’
‘But we don’t know what’s going to happen yet.’
‘Of course we do. You’re going to meet Zandramas, divide her down the middle with that big knife of yours, and take your wife and son back to Riva where they belong.’
‘But we don’t know that, Silk.’
‘We didn’t know you were going to win the duel with Torak either, but you did. Anyone who goes around picking fights with Gods has very little to fear from a second-rate sorceress.’
‘How do we know she’s second-rate?’
‘She’s not a Disciple, is she? Or would the word be Disciple-ess?’
‘How would I know?’ Garion smiled faintly, then grew serious again. ‘I think Zandramas has stepped over discipleship. She’s the Child of Dark, and that makes her a bit more serious than an ordinary Disciple.’ He banged his fist down on the rail. ‘I wish I knew what I’m supposed to do. When I went after Torak, I knew. This time I’m not sure.’
‘You’ll get instructions when the time comes, I’m sure.’
‘But if I knew, I could sort of get ready.’
‘I get the feeling that this is not the sort of thing you can get ready for, Garion.’ The little man glanced over the rail at the garbage bobbing in the water beside the ship. ‘Did you follow the trail all the way to the harbor last night?’ he asked.
Garion nodded. ‘Yes—both of them. Both Zandramas and the Sardion left from here. We’re fairly sure that Zandramas is going to Melcena. Only the Gods know where the Sardion went.’
‘And probably not even they.’
A large drop of water fell from the rigging lost in the fog overhead and landed with a splat on Silk’s shoulder.
‘Why is it always me?’ the little man complained.
‘What?’
‘Anytime something wet falls out of the sky, it lands on me.’
‘Maybe somebody’s trying to tell you something.’ Garion grinned.
Toth and Durnik led the last of the horses up the gangway and on down into the hold.
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