Sorceress of Darshiva

by David Eddings

  Then he looked out at the ugly columns of smoke again, and the hope died. ‘I suppose we should go back and let the others know what’s happening out there,’ he said.

  It was about noon when Beldin returned. ‘There’s another detachment of troops about a mile ahead,’ he told Belgarath. ‘A dozen or so.’

  ‘Are they going toward that battle to the north?’

  ‘No, I’d say this particular group is running away from it. They look as if they were fairly well mauled recently.’

  ‘Could you tell which side they’re on?’

  ‘That doesn’t really matter, Belgarath. A man gives up his allegiances when he deserts.’

  ‘Sometimes you’re so clever you make me sick.’

  ‘Why don’t you have Pol mix you up something to cure it?’

  ‘How long has that been going on?’ Velvet asked Polgara.

  ‘What was that, dear?’

  ‘That constant wrangling between those two?’

  Polgara closed her eyes and sighed. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, Liselle. Sometimes I think it started at about the beginning of time.’

  The soldiers they encountered were wary, even frightened. They stood their ground, however, with their hands on their weapons. Silk made a quick motion to Garion, and the two of them rode forward at an unthreatening walk.

  ‘Good day, gentlemen,’ Silk greeted them conversationally. ‘What in the world is happening around here?’

  ‘You mean you haven’t heard?’ a wiry fellow with a bloody bandage around his head asked.

  ‘I haven’t found anybody to tell me,’ Silk replied. ‘What happened to all the people who used to live in this part of Peldane? We haven’t seen a soul in the last four days.’

  ‘They all fled,’ the bandaged man told him. ‘The ones who were still alive did, at any rate.’

  ‘What were they fleeing from?’

  ‘Zandramas,’ the fellow replied with a shudder. ‘Her army marched into Peldane about a month ago. We tried to stop them but they had Grolims with them, and ordinary troops can’t do much against Grolims.’

  ‘That’s the truth, certainly. What’s all that smoke up to the north?’

  ‘There’s a big battle going on.’ The soldier sat down on the ground and began to unwind the blood-stained bandage from around his head.

  ‘It’s not like any battle I’ve ever seen,’ another soldier supplied. His left arm was in a sling, and he looked as if he had just spent several days lying in the mud. ‘I’ve been in a few wars, but nothing like this. When you’re a soldier, you takes your chances—swords and arrows and spears and the like, y’know—but when they starts throwing horrors at me, I begins to feel it’s time to find another line of work.’

  ‘Horrors?’ Silk asked him.

  ‘They’s got demons with ’em, friend—both sides of ’em has—monstrous big demons with snaky arms and fangs and claws and suchlike.’

  ‘You’re not serious!’

  ‘I seen ’em with my own eyes. You ever seen a man get et alive? Makes your hair stand on end, it does.’

  ‘I don’t quite follow this,’ Silk confessed. ‘Who’s involved in this battle? I mean, ordinary armies don’t keep tame demons with them to help with the fighting.’

  ‘That’s the honest truth,’ the muddy man agreed. ‘An ordinary soldier’s likely to leave the service if they expect him to march alongside something that looks at him as if he was something to eat. I never did get the straight of it, though.’ He looked at the man with the wounded head. ‘Did you ever find out who was fighting, corporal?’

  The corporal was wrapping a clean bandage around his head. ‘The captain told us before he got killed,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe you’d better start at the beginning,’ Silk said. ‘I’m a little confused about this.’

  ‘Like I told you,’ the corporal said, ‘about a month ago the Darshivans and their Grolims invaded Peldane. Me and my men are in the Royal Army of Peldane, so we tried to hold them back. We slowed them some on the east bank of the Magan, but then the Grolims come at us, and we had to retreat. Then we heard that there was another army coming down out of the north—Karands and soldiers in armor and more Grolims. We figured that we was really in for it at that point, but as it turns out, this new army isn’t connected with the Darshivans. It seems that it’s working for some High Grolim from way off to the west. Well, this Grolim, he sets up along the coast and don’t come inland at all. It’s like he’s waiting for something. We had our hands full with the Darshivans, so we wasn’t too interested in what it was he was waiting for. We was doing a lot of what our officers called “maneuvering”—which is officer talk for running away.’

  ‘I take it that the Grolim finally decided to come inland after all,’ Silk observed.

  ‘He surely did, friend. He surely did. It was just a few days ago when he struck inland just as straight as a tight string. Either he knew exactly where he was going or he was following something, I don’t know exactly which. Anyway, the Darshivans, they stopped chasing us and rushed in to try to block his way, and that’s when he called in the demons Vurk here was talking about. At first, the demons charged right through the Darshivans, but then their Grolims—or maybe it was Zandramas herself—they conjured up their demons, and that’s when the big fight commenced. The demons, they went at each other for all they was worth and they trampled over anybody unlucky enough to get in the way. There we was, caught right in the middle of it all and getting trampled on by first one set of demons and then the other. That’s when me and Vurk and these others put our heads together and decided to find out what the weather’s like in Gandahar.’

  ‘Hot this time of year,’ Silk told him.

  ‘Not near as hot as it is north of here, friend. You ever see a demon breathe fire? I seen one of them armored soldiers get roasted alive right inside his chain mail. Then the demon picked him out of his armor piece by piece and et him while he was still smoking.’ The corporal knotted the ends of his fresh bandage. ‘That ought to hold it,’ he said, rising to his feet again. He looked up into the noon sky, squinting slightly. ‘We can make some more miles before the sun goes down, Vurk,’ he said to his muddy friend. ‘Get the men ready to march. If that battle starts to spread out, we could get caught in the middle of it again, and none of us want that.’

  ‘I’ll do ‘er, corporal,’ Vurk replied.

  The corporal looked at Silk again, his eyes narrowed appraisingly. ‘You and your friends are welcome to come along,’ he offered. ‘A few men on horseback might be a help in case we run into trouble.’

  ‘Thanks all the same, corporal,’ Silk declined, ‘but I think we’ll ride over to the Magan and see if we can find a boat. We could be at the mouth of the river in a week or so.’

  ‘I’d advise riding hard, then, my friend. Demons can run awful fast when they’re hungry.’

  Silk nodded. ‘Good luck in Gandahar, corporal,’ he added.

  ‘I think I’ll stop being a corporal,’ the fellow said ruefully. ‘The pay wasn’t bad, but the work’s getting dangerouser and dangerouser, and all the pay in the world won’t do a man much good once he takes up residence inside a demon.’ He turned to his friend. ‘Let’s move out, Vurk,’ he ordered.

  Silk wheeled his horse and rode back to where the others were waiting, Garion close behind him.

  ‘It’s more or less what we thought,’ the little man reported, dismounting. ‘The battle up north is between Urvon and Zandramas, and both sides have demons now.’

  ‘She went that far?’ Polgara asked incredulously.

  ‘She didn’t really have that much choice, Polgara,’ Silk told her. ‘Nahaz was leading his hordes of demons into the ranks of her troops, and her army was being decimated. She had to do something to stop him. Being captured by a demon is no joke—not even for the Child of Dark.’

  ‘All right,’ Durnik said soberly, ‘what do we do now?’

  ‘The corporal in charge of those troops made an interesting sugge
stion,’ Silk told him.

  ‘Oh? What was that?’

  ‘He recommended that we get out of Peldane as fast as we possibly can.’

  ‘Corporals usually have good sense,’ Durnik noted. ‘Why don’t we follow his advice?’

  ‘I was hoping that someone would say that,’ Silk agreed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vella was feeling melancholy. It was an unusual emotion for her, but she found that she rather liked it. There was much to be said for sweet, languorous sadness. She went with quiet dignity through the stately, marble-clad corridors of the palace in Boktor, and everyone gave way to her pensive expression. She chose not to consider the fact that her daggers may have played a certain part in this universal respect. In point of fact, Vella had not drawn a dagger on anyone for almost a week now—the last having been a slightly overfamiliar servingman who had mistaken her bluff camaraderie for an offer of a more intimate friendship. But she had not hurt him very much, and he had forgiven her almost before the bleeding had stopped.

  Her destination that early morning was the sitting room of the Queen of Drasnia. In many ways Queen Porenn baffled Vella. She was petite and imperturbable. She carried no daggers and seldom raised her voice, but all of Drasnia and the other Alorn kingdoms held her in universal regard. Vella herself, not knowing exactly why, had acceded to the tiny queen’s suggestion that she should customarily garb herself in gowns of lavender satin. A gown is a cumbersome thing that tangles up one’s legs and confines one’s bosom. Always before, Vella had preferred black leather trousers, boots, and a leather vest. The garb was comfortable and utilitarian. It was sturdy, and yet it provided opportunities for Vella to display her attributes to those whom she wished to impress. Then, on special occasions, she had customarily donned an easily discardable wool dress and a fine diaphanous undergown of rose-colored Mallorean silk that clung to her as she danced. Satin, on the other hand, rustled disturbingly, but felt good against her skin, and it made Vella uncomfortably aware of the fact that there was more to being a woman than a couple of pairs of daggers and a willingness to use them.

  She tapped lightly on Porenn’s door.

  ‘Yes?’ Porenn’s voice came to her.

  Did the woman never sleep?

  ‘It’s me, Porenn—Vella.’

  ‘Come in, child.’

  Vella set her teeth. She was not, after all, a child. She had been abroad in the world since her twelfth birthday. She had been sold—and bought—a half-dozen times, and she had been married for a brief, deliriously happy year to a lean Nadrak trapper named Tekk, whom she had loved to distraction. Porenn, however, seemed to prefer to look upon her as some half-gentled colt in sore need of training. In spite of herself, that thought softened Vella’s resentment. The little blond Queen of Drasnia had in some strange way become the mother she had never known, and thoughts of daggers and of being bought and sold slid away under the influence of that wise, gentle voice.

  ‘Good morning, Vella,’ Porenn said as the Nadrak girl entered her room. ‘Would you like some tea?’ Although the queen always wore black in public, her dressing gown that morning was of the palest rose, and she looked somehow very vulnerable in that soft color.

  ‘Hullo, Porenn,’ Vella said. ‘No tea, thanks.’ She flung herself into a chair beside the blond queen’s divan.

  ‘Don’t flop, Vella,’ Porenn told her. ‘Ladies don’t flop.’

  ‘I’m not a lady.’

  ‘Not yet, perhaps, but I’m working on it.’

  ‘Why are you wasting your time on me, Porenn?’

  ‘Nothing worthwhile is ever a waste of time.’

  ‘Me? Worthwhile?’

  ‘More than you could possibly know. You’re early this morning. Is something troubling you?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve been having the strangest dreams lately.’

  ‘Don’t let dreams bother you, child. Dreams are sometimes the past, sometimes the future, but mostly they’re only that—dreams.’

  ‘Please don’t call me “child”, Porenn,’ Vella objected. ‘I think if we got right down to it, I’m almost as old as you are.’

  ‘In years, perhaps, but years aren’t the only way to measure time.’

  There was a discreet rap at the door.

  ‘Yes?’ Porenn replied.

  ‘It’s me, your Majesty,’ a familiar voice said.

  ‘Come in, Margrave Khendon,’ the queen said.

  Javelin had not changed since Vella had last seen him. He was still bone-thin and aristocratic and had a sardonically amused twist to his lips. He wore, as was his custom, a pearl-gray doublet and tight-fitting black hose. His skinny shanks were not shown to any particular advantage by the latter. He bowed rather extravagantly. ‘Your Majesty,’ he greeted the queen, ‘and my Lady Vella.’

  ‘Don’t be insulting, Javelin,’ Vella retorted. ‘I don’t have a title, so don’t “my Lady” me.’

  ‘Haven’t you told her yet?’ Javelin mildly asked the queen.

  ‘I’m saving it for her birthday.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Vella demanded.

  ‘Be patient, dear,’ Porenn told her. ‘You’ll find out about your title all in due time.’

  ‘I don’t need a Drasnian title.’

  ‘Everybody needs a title, dear—even if it’s only “ma’am”.’

  ‘Has she always been like this?’ Vella bluntly asked the Chief of Drasnian Intelligence.

  ‘She was a little more ingenuous when she still had her baby teeth,’ Javelin replied urbanely, ‘but she got to be more fun when she developed her fangs.’

  ‘Be nice, Khendon,’ Porenn told him. ‘How was Rak Urga?’

  ‘Ugly—but then, most Murgo cities are.’

  ‘And how is King Urgit?’

  ‘Newly married, your Majesty, and a little distracted by the novelty of it.’

  Porenn made a face. ‘I didn’t send a gift,’ she fretted.

  ‘I took the liberty of attending to that, your Majesty,’ Javelin said. ‘A rather nice silver service I picked up in Tol Honeth—at a bargain price, of course. I have this limited budget, you understand.’

  She gave him a long, unfriendly look.

  ‘I left the bill with your chamberlain,’ he added with not even the faintest trace of embarrassment.

  ‘How are the negotiations going?’

  ‘Surprisingly well, my Queen. The King of the Murgos seems not to have yet succumbed to the hereditary disorder of the House of Urga. He’s very shrewd, actually.’

  ‘I somehow thought he might be,’ Porenn replied just a bit smugly.

  ‘You’re keeping secrets, Porenn,’ Javelin accused.

  ‘Yes. Women do that from time to time. Are the Mallorean agents in the Drojim keeping abreast of things?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Javelin smiled. ‘Sometimes we have to be a little obvious in order to make sure that they’re getting the point, but they’re more or less fully aware of the progress of the negotiations. We seem to be making them a bit apprehensive.’

  ‘You made good time on your return voyage.’

  Javelin shuddered slightly. ‘King Anheg put a ship at our disposal. Her captain is that pirate Greldik. I made the mistake of telling him I was in a hurry. The passage through the Bore was ghastly.’

  There was another polite knock on the door.

  ‘Yes?’ Porenn answered.

  A servant opened the door. ‘The Nadrak Yarblek is here again, your Majesty,’ he reported.

  ‘Show him in, please.’

  Yarblek had a tight look on his face that Vella recognized all too well. Her owner was in many respects a transparent man. He pulled off his shabby fur cap. ‘Good morning, Porenn,’ he said without ceremony, tossing the cap into a corner. ‘Have you got anything to drink? I’ve been in the saddle for five days and I’m perishing of thirst.’

  ‘Over there.’ Porenn pointed at a sideboard near the window.

  Yarblek grunted, crossed the room, and filled a large goblet
from a crystal decanter. He took a long drink. ‘Javelin,’ he said then, ‘have you got any people in Yar Nadrak?’

  ‘A few,’ Javelin admitted cautiously.

  ‘You’d better have them keep an eye on Drosta. He’s up to something.’

  ‘He’s always up to something.’

  ‘That’s no lie, but this might be a little more serious. He’s reopened lines of communication with Mal Zeth. He and Zakath haven’t been on speaking terms since he changed sides at Thull Mardu, but now they’re talking again. I don’t like the smell of it.’

  ‘Are you sure? None of my people have reported it.’

  ‘They’re probably in the palace, then. Drosta doesn’t conduct serious business there. Have them go to a riverside tavern in the thieves’ quarter. It’s called the One-Eyed Dog. Drosta goes there to amuse himself. The emissary from Mal Zeth’s been meeting with him in an upstairs room there—that’s when Drosta can drag himself away from the girls.’

  ‘I’ll put some people on it right away. Could you get any idea at all of what they’re discussing?’

  Yarblek shook his head and dropped wearily into a chair. ‘Drosta’s ordered his guards to keep me out of the place.’ He looked at Vella. ‘You’re looking a little peaky this morning,’ he observed. ‘Did you drink too much last night?’

  ‘I almost never get drunk any more,’ she told him.

  ‘I knew it was a mistake to leave you here in Boktor,’ he said glumly. ‘Porenn’s a corrupting influence. Did you get over your irritation with me yet?’

  ‘I suppose so. It’s not really your fault that you’re stupid.’

  ‘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.