Sorceress of Darshiva

by David Eddings

  ‘Oh, one other thing,’ Silk added. ‘Your face is on every coin in Mallorea, isn’t it?’

  ‘You should know. You’ve got most of them, haven’t you?’

  ‘Well, I’ve picked up a few here and there,’ Silk said modestly. ‘Let’s cover up that famous face with whiskers. Stop shaving.’

  ‘Kheldar, I haven’t shaved my own face since my beard sprouted. I wouldn’t even know how to hold a razor.’

  ‘You let somebody else near your throat with a razor? Isn’t that a trifle imprudent?’

  ‘Does that more or less cover everything?’ Belgarath asked the little Drasnian.

  ‘That covers the basics,’ Silk replied. ‘I can coach him on the finer details as we go along.’

  ‘All right, then.’ The old man looked around at them. ‘We’re likely to encounter people out there. Some of them might be hostile, but most of them will probably just be trying to stay out of harm’s way, so they won’t bother a group of ordinary travelers.’ He looked directly at Zakath. ‘Silk should be able to talk us out of most situations, but if we get into any serious confrontations, I want you to fall back a bit and let the rest of us handle things. You’re out of practice with your weapons and I didn’t go to all the trouble of finding you to lose you in some meaningless skirmish.’

  ‘I can still carry my own weight, Belgarath.’

  ‘I’m sure you can, but let’s not risk it right at first. Cyradis might be very unhappy if we don’t have you with us in one piece when we get to Kell.’

  Zakath shrugged, walked over, and sat on the bench beside Garion. The Rivan King was dressed in his mail shirt and he was sliding the snug-fitting leather sleeve over the hilt of Iron-grip’s sword. Zakath was actually grinning, and the unaccustomed expression made him look ten years younger. Garion was uncomfortably reminded of Lelldorin. ‘I think you’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘For some reason, I feel almost like a young man again,’ Zakath replied. ‘Is it always like this—subterfuge and a little danger and this wild sense of exhilaration?’

  ‘More or less,’ Garion replied. ‘Sometimes there’s more than just a little danger, though.’

  ‘I can live with that. My life’s been tediously secure so far.’

  ‘Even when Naradas poisoned you back in Cthol Murgos?’

  ‘I was too sick to know what was going on,’ Zakath said. ‘I envy you, Garion. You’ve had a wildly exciting life.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Something rather peculiar is happening to me,’ he confessed. ‘Ever since I agreed to meet Cyradis at Kell, I’ve felt as if some vast weight had been lifted off me. The whole world looks fresh and new now. I have absolutely no control over my life, and yet I’m as happy as a fish in deep water. It’s irrational, but I can’t help it.’

  Garion looked rather closely at him. ‘Don’t misunderstand,’ he said. ‘I’m not deliberately trying to be mystical about this, but you’re probably happy because you’re doing what you’re supposed to do. It happens to all of us. It’s a part of that different way of looking at things Aunt Pol mentioned earlier, and it’s one of the rewards she talked about.’

  ‘That’s a little obscure for me,’ Zakath admitted.

  ‘Give it some time,’ Garion told him. ‘It comes to you gradually.’

  General Atesca entered the tent with Brador close behind him. ‘The horses are ready, your Majesty,’ he reported in a neutral tone. Garion could tell by Atesca’s expression that he still strongly disapproved of this whole business. The general turned to Durnik. ‘I’ve added a few more pack animals, Goodman,’ he said. ‘Yours were fairly well loaded down.’

  ‘Thank you, General,’ Durnik replied.

  ‘I’m going to be out of touch, Atesca,’ Zakath said, ‘so I’m leaving you in charge here. I’ll try to get word to you from time to time, but there may be long periods when you won’t hear from me.’

  ‘Yes, your Majesty,’ Atesca replied.

  ‘You know what to do, though. Let Brador handle civil matters, and you deal with the military situation. Get the troops back here to this enclave as soon as Urvon and the Darshivans are engaged. And keep in touch with Mal Zeth.’ He tugged a large signet ring off his finger. ‘Use this if you need to seal any official documents.’

  ‘Such documents require your Majesty’s signature,’ Atesca reminded him.

  ‘Brador can forge it. He writes my name better than I do myself.’

  ‘Your Majesty!’ Brador protested.

  ‘Don’t play innocent with me, Brador. I’ve known about your experiments in penmanship. Take care of my cat while I’m gone, and see if you can find homes for the rest of those kittens.’

  ‘Yes, your Majesty.’

  ‘Anything else that needs my attention before I leave?’

  ‘Ah—one thing, your Majesty,’ Atesca said. ‘A disciplinary matter.’

  ‘Can’t you take care of it?’ Zakath asked a bit irritably. He was obviously impatient to be off.

  ‘I can, your Majesty,’ Atesca said, ‘but you’ve sort of placed the man under your personal protection, so I thought I’d consult with you before I took action.’

  ‘Whom am I protecting?’ Zakath looked puzzled.

  ‘It’s a corporal from the Mal Zeth garrison, your Majesty—a man named Actas. He was drunk on duty.’

  ‘Actas? I don’t recall—’

  ‘It was that corporal who’d been demoted just before we arrived in Mal Zeth,’ Ce’Nedra reminded him. ‘The one whose wife was making such a scene in that side street.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Zakath said. ‘Now I remember. Drunk, you say? He’s not supposed to drink any more.’

  ‘I doubt if he could drink any more, your Majesty,’ Atesca said with a faint smile, ‘at least not right now. He’s as drunk as a lord.’

  ‘Is he nearby?’

  ‘Just outside, your Majesty.’

  Zakath sighed. ‘I guess you’d better bring him in,’ he said. He looked at Belgarath. ‘This should only take a moment or two,’ he apologized.

  Garion remembered the scrawny corporal as soon as the fellow staggered into the tent. The corporal tried to come to attention, without much success. Then he attempted to bang his breastplate in a salute, but hit himself in the nose with his fist instead. ‘Yer Imperrl Majeshy,’ he slurred.

  ‘What am I going to do with you, Actas,’ Zakath said wearily.

  ‘I’ve made a beash of myshelf, yer Majeshy,’ Actas confessed, ‘an absholute beash.’

  ‘Yes,’ Zakath agreed, ‘you have.’ He turned his head away. ‘Please don’t breathe on me, Actas. Your mouth smells like a reopened grave. Take him out and sober him up, Atesca.’

  ‘I’ll personally throw him in the river, your Majesty.’ Atesca was trying to suppress a grin.

  ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  ‘Me, your Majesty?’

  Zakath’s eyes narrowed slyly. ‘Well, Ce’Nedra?’ he said. ‘He’s your responsibility, too. What do we do with him?’

  She waved one little hand negligently. ‘Hang him,’ she said in an indifferent tone. She looked more closely at her hand. ‘Great Nedra!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve broken another fingernail!’

  Corporal Actas’ eyes were bulging and his mouth was suddenly agape. Trembling violently, he fell to his knees. ‘Please, your Majesty,’ he begged, suddenly cold sober. ‘Please!’

  Zakath squinted at the Rivan Queen, who sat mourning the broken nail. ‘Take him outside, Atesca,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you orders for his final disposition in a moment.’

  Atesca saluted and hauled the blubbering Actas to his feet.

  ‘You weren’t really serious, were you, Ce’Nedra?’ Zakath asked after the two men had left.

  ‘Oh, of course not,’ she said. ‘I’m not a monster, Zakath. Clean him up and send him back to his wife.’ She tapped one finger thoughtfully on her chin. ‘But erect a gibbet in the street in front of his house. Give him something to think about the next time he gets
thirsty.’

  ‘You actually married this woman?’ Zakath exclaimed to Garion.

  ‘It was sort of arranged by our families,’ Garion replied with aplomb. ‘We didn’t have much to say about it.’

  ‘Now, be nice, Garion,’ Ce’Nedra said with unruffled calm.

  They mounted their horses outside the pavilion and rode through the camp to the drawbridge spanning the deep, stake-studded ditch that formed a part of the outer fortifications. When they reached the far side of the ditch, Zakath let out an explosive breath of relief.

  ‘What is it?’ Garion asked him.

  ‘I was half afraid that somebody might have found a way to keep me there.’ He glanced a bit apprehensively back over his shoulder. ‘Do you think we could possibly gallop for a ways?’ he asked. ‘I’d hate to have them catch up with me.’

  Garion began to have misgivings at that point. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘I’ve never felt better—or more free—in my entire life,’ Zakath declared.

  ‘I was afraid of that,’ Garion muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just keep moving at a canter, Zakath. There’s something I need to discuss with Belgarath. I’ll be right back.’ He reined Chretienne in and rode back to where his grandfather and his aunt rode side by side, deep in conversation. ‘He’s absolutely out of control,’ he told them. ‘What’s happened to him?’

  ‘It’s the first time in his entire life that he hasn’t had the weight of half the world on his shoulders, Garion,’ Polgara replied calmly. ‘He’ll settle down. Just give him a day or so.’

  ‘Do we have a day or so? He’s acting exactly the way Lelldorin would—or maybe even Mandorallen. Can we afford that?’

  ‘Talk to him,’ Belgarath suggested. ‘Just keep talking. Recite the Book of Alorn to him if you have to.’

  ‘But I don’t know the Book of Alorn, grandfather,’ Garion objected.

  ‘Yes, you do. It’s in your blood. You could have recited it letter-perfect in your cradle. Now get back up there before he gets completely out of hand.’

  Garion swore and rode back to rejoin Zakath.

  ‘Trouble?’ Silk asked him.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  Beldin was waiting for them around the next bend in the road. ‘Well,’ the grotesque little hunchback said. ‘It seems to have worked, but why did you bring him along?’

  ‘Cyradis persuaded him to come with us,’ Belgarath replied. ‘What gave you the idea of going to her?’

  ‘It was worth a try. Pol told me about a few of the things she said to him back in Cthol Murgos. She seems to have some sort of interest in him. I didn’t really think he was supposed to join us, though. What did she say to him?’

  ‘She told him that he’d die if he didn’t come with us.’

  ‘I imagine that got his attention. Hello, Zakath.’

  ‘Do we know each other?’

  ‘I know you—by sight, anyway. I’ve seen you parading through the streets of Mal Zeth a few times.’

  ‘This is my brother Beldin,’ Belgarath introduced the misshapen dwarf.

  ‘I didn’t know you had any brothers.’

  ‘The relationship’s a bit obscure, but we serve the same Master, so that makes us brothers in a peculiar sort of way. There used to be seven of us, but there are only four of us left now.’

  Zakath frowned slightly. ‘Your name rings a bell, Master Beldin,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you the one whose picture is posted on every tree for six leagues in any direction from Mal Yaska?’

  ‘I believe that’s me, all right. I make Urvon a little nervous. He seems to think that I want to split him up the middle.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I’ve thought about it a time or two. I think what I’d really like to do, though, is yank out his guts, hang them on a thornbush, and invite in some vultures. I’m sure he’d find watching them eat very entertaining.’

  Zakath blanched slightly.

  ‘Vultures have to eat, too.’ The hunchback shrugged. ‘Oh, speaking of eating, Pol, do you have anything decent around? All I’ve had in the last few days was a very scrawny rat and a nest full of crow’s eggs. I don’t think there’s a rabbit or a pigeon left in the whole of Darshiva.’

  ‘This is a very unusual fellow,’ Zakath said to Garion.

  ‘He gets more unusual the more you get to know him.’ Garion smiled slightly. ‘He frightened Urvon almost into sanity at Ashaba.’

  ‘He was exaggerating, wasn’t he—about the vultures, I mean?’

  ‘Probably not. He fully intends to gut Torak’s last Disciple like a butchered hog.’

  Zakath’s eyes grew bright. ‘You think he might want some help?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘Were any of your ancestors possibly Arendish?’ Garion asked suspiciously.

  ‘I don’t understand the question.’

  ‘Never mind.’ Garion sighed.

  Beldin squatted in the dirt at the roadside, tearing at the carcass of a cold roast chicken. ‘You burnt it, Pol,’ he accused.

  ‘I didn’t cook it, uncle,’ she replied primly.

  ‘Why not? Did you forget how?’

  ‘I have a wonderful recipe for boiled dwarf,’ she told him. ‘I’m almost sure I could find someone willing to eat that sort of thing.’

  ‘You’re losing your edge again, Pol,’ he said, wiping his greasy fingers on the front of his ragged tunic. ‘Your mind’s getting as flabby as your bottom.’

  Garion restrained Zakath with one hand when the Mallorean Emperor’s face grew outraged. ‘It’s a personal thing,’ he cautioned. ‘I wouldn’t interfere. They’ve been insulting each other for thousands of years. It’s a peculiar kind of love, I think.’

  ‘Love?’

  ‘Listen,’ Garion suggested. ‘You might learn something. Alorns aren’t like Angaraks. We don’t bow very often and we sometimes hide our feelings with jokes.’

  ‘Polgara is an Alorn?’ Zakath sounded surprised.

  ‘Use your eyes, man. Her hair’s dark, I’ll grant you, but her twin sister was as blond as a wheat field. Look at her cheekbones and her jaw. I rule a kingdom of Alorns and I know what they look like. She and Liselle could be sisters.’

  ‘Now that you mention it, they do look a bit alike, don’t they? How is it I never saw that before?’

  ‘You hired Brador to be your eyes,’ Garion replied, shifting his mail shirt. ‘I don’t trust other people’s eyes all that much.’

  ‘Is Beldin an Alorn, too?’

  ‘Nobody knows what Beldin is. He’s so deformed that you can’t put a name to him.’

  ‘Poor fellow.’

  ‘Don’t waste your pity on Beldin,’ Garion replied. ‘He’s six thousand years old and he could turn you into a frog if he felt like it. He can make it snow or rain, and he’s far, far smarter than Belgarath.’

  ‘But he’s so grubby,’ Zakath said, eyeing the filthy dwarf.

  ‘He’s grubby because he doesn’t care,’ Garion said. ‘This is the form he uses to go among us. It’s ugly, so he doesn’t waste time on it. His other form is so magnificent it would blind you.’

  ‘Other form?’

  ‘It’s a peculiarity of ours. Sometimes a human form isn’t practical for some of the things we have to do. Beldin likes to fly, so he spends most of his time as a blue-banded hawk.’

  ‘I’m a falconer, Garion. I don’t believe there is such a bird.’

  ‘Tell him that.’ Garion pointed at the ugly dwarf ripping the chicken apart with his teeth by the roadside.

  ‘You could have cut it up first, uncle,’ Polgara said.

  ‘Why?’ He took another huge bite.

  ‘It’s more polite.’

  ‘Pol, I taught you how to fly and how to hunt. Don’t you try to teach me how to eat.’

  ‘I don’t think “eat” is the right word, uncle. You’re not an eater; you’re a ravener.’

  ‘We all do it our own way, Pol.’ He
belched. ‘You do it with a silver fork off a porcelain plate, and I do it with my talons and beak in a ditch beside the road. It all gets to the same place no matter how you do it.’ He raked a patch of burned skin off the chicken leg he was holding in one hand. ‘This isn’t too bad,’ he conceded, ‘at least not after you get down to the real meat.’

  ‘Anything up ahead?’ Belgarath asked him.

  ‘A few troops, some terrified civilians, and a Grolim now and then. That’s about it.’

  ‘Any demons?’

  ‘I didn’t see any. Of course that doesn’t mean they’re not lurking around somewhere. You know how it is with demons. Are you going to travel at night again?’

  Belgarath thought about it. ‘I don’t think so,’ he decided. ‘It takes too long to do it that way, and time’s running out on us. Let’s just make a run for it.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Beldin discarded the remains of the chicken and stood up. ‘I’ll keep an eye out up ahead and let you know when you’re about to run into trouble.’ The hunchback bent, spread his arms, and soared up into the murky sky.

  ‘Torak’s teeth!’ Zakath exclaimed. ‘He is a blue-banded hawk!’

  ‘He invented it himself,’ Belgarath said. ‘He didn’t like the regular colors. Let’s move along.’

  Although it was nearly summer, there was a dreary chill hanging over Darshiva. Garion could not be certain if it was the result of the prevailing overcast or if it derived from some other, more ominous, source. The white snags of dead trees lined the road, and the air was thick with the reek of fungus, decay, and stagnant water. They passed long-deserted villages tumbled now into ruins. A roadside temple seemed to huddle mournfully with fungus creeping up its walls like some loathsome disease. Its doors gaped open, and the polished steel mask of the face of Torak, which should have surmounted them, was gone. Belgarath reined in his horse and dismounted. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he said. He went up the steps of the temple and looked inside. Then he turned and came back. ‘I thought they might have done that,’ he said.

  ‘Done what, father?’ Aunt Pol asked him.

  ‘They’ve taken Torak’s face down from the wall behind the altar. There’s a blank mask there now. They’re waiting to see what the New God looks like.’