Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  Murgos are not an attractive race to begin with, and the fact that they gash their faces during the ceremony that marks their entry into adulthood doesn't add very much to their appearance. The pair I was watching were fairly typical representatives of their race. They had broad shoulders, of course; you don't spend most of your life practicing swordsmanship without developing a few muscles. Aside from those bulky shoulders though, they were fairly lean. They had swarthy skin, prominent cheekbones, and narrow, angular eyes.

  I saw immediately why Murgos risked coming down the steep ravines that cut the escarpment. The horses they were riding weren't very good.

  "I saw a large herd from the top of the cliff," the one called Rashag told his companion.

  "Horses or cows?" Agga asked him.

  "It's hard to say for sure. The cliffs very high and the animals were in deep grass."

  "I didn't come down that ravine to steal cows, Rashag. If I want a cow, I'll take one from the Thulls. They don't get excited the way the Horse People do. What did that Grolim you were talking with want?"

  "What else? He was looking for somebody to butcher. His altar's drying out, and it needs fresh blood."

  "He didn't look all that much like a Thullish Grolim."

  "He wasn't. He's a southern Grolim from Rak Cthol. Ctuchik's got them spread out along the top of the cliff. He doesn't want any surprises, and the Horse People do know about the ravines."

  "Alorns," Agga spat.

  "I hate Alorns."

  "I don't imagine they're very fond of us, either. The Grolim told me to pass the word that we're all supposed to stay out of the Wasteland of Murgos."

  "Who'd want to go there anyway? All that's there is black sand and that stinking lake."

  "I'm sure Ctuchik has his reasons. He doesn't confide in me though.

  Actually, I've never even seen the man."

  "I have," Agga said, shuddering.

  "I had to take a message to Rak Cthol from my general, and Ctuchik questioned me about it. He looks like a man who's been dead for a week."

  "What's Rak Cthol like?"

  "It's not the sort of place you'd want to visit."

  They were almost out of earshot by now, and I decided not to follow them. They were obviously of fairly low rank, so it wasn't likely that their conversation would provide any useful information. I lowered my chin onto my paws and went back to sleep.

  I did see them one more time, though. It was starting to get dark, and I rose, arched my back, stretched, and yawned.

  Then I heard horses galloping toward me. I sank back down in the grass to watch. Rashag and Agga were coming back, and they didn't have any Algar horses. The only Algar horses I saw had Algars on their backs, and they were in hot pursuit of the two fleeing Murgos. Algar horses were --still are--much better than Murgo horses, so the outcome was fairly predictable. Rashag and Agga didn't make it back to Cthol Murgos.

  I waited until the Algars returned to their herd, then loped back to the mouth of the ravine and started up. The going would have been difficult for a horse, but wolves have toenails, so I made it to the top before daylight. I sniffed at the air to make sure that no one was in the vicinity, and then I went off toward the southeast and Ctuchik's fortress in the middle of the Wasteland of Murgos.

  The mountains of southern Mishrak ac Thull and northern Cthol Murgos are arid and rocky with hardly any vegetation to provide much in the way of concealment, so I traveled mostly at night. Wolves see well in the dark, but I relied primarily on my nose and my ears to warn me whenever I came near people. Those desiccated wastes held very little in the way of game, so a wolf might have seemed out of place there, and would probably have attracted attention. But I wasn't particularly worried about the Thulls. They were an inattentive people, in the first place, and they built large fires at night--not because it was particularly cold at that time of year. Mainly they built fires because Thulls are afraid of the dark.

  When you get right down to it, there's not really very much in the world that a Thull isn't afraid of.

  Once I crossed the border into Cthol Murgos, though, I began to be more careful. Murgos are just the opposite of Thulls. They make some show of not being afraid of anything--even the things they should be afraid of.

  There were very few people in those mountains, however--either Thulls or Murgos. Every so often I'd see a Murgo outpost, but I didn't have any trouble skirting those places.

  It took me a little longer to reach the Wasteland of Murgos than it might have if I'd been traveling through friendly territory, since I spent quite a bit of time hiding or slinking around to stay out of sight. I was certain that no ordinary Murgo would pay very much attention to me, because Murgos are interested in people, not animals. But since wolves weren't common in the region, a Murgo who happened to see me might mention it to the next Grolim he came across. Sometimes the most casual remark will alert a Grolim. I didn't want anybody to spoil the surprise I had planned for Ctuchik.

  I finally came down out of the mountains into the area colorfully known as the Wasteland of Murgos. There was some evidence that it'd been a large lake or even an inland sea at some time in the past. I seem to remember that there'd been a sizable body of water lying to the west of the Angarak city of Karnath before Torak cracked the world, and this black-sand--floored desert had obviously been drained all at one time.

  The skeletons of large aquatic creatures dotted the sand, but the only remnant of that ancient sea was the rancid Tarn of Cthok, some distance to the north of Rak Cthol. I was a little concerned about the fact that I was leaving tracks in that black sand, but the wind out there blew most of the time, so I quit worrying about it.

  I finally got within sight of the steep mountain peak that Ctuchik had topped with his city, and I dropped to my haunches to think things over a little bit. Wolves were not unheard of in the mountains of Cthol Murgos and the wasteland, but a wolf padding through the streets of Rak Cthol definitely would attract attention. I was going to need some other disguise, and since the narrow path angling up around the peak was certain to be patrolled and since the city gates would be guarded, I couldn't see any alternative but feathers.

  It was late afternoon, and the heated air rising up off that black sand would help. I went behind a pile of rocks and slipped back into my own form. Then, after giving some consideration to the surrounding terrain, I formed the image of a vulture in my mind and flowed into that particular shape. I'll grant you that there are nicer birds in the world than vultures, but there were whole flocks of the ugly brutes circling in the air over Ctuchik's mountain, so at least I wouldn't be conspicuous.

  I caught an updraft and spiraled aloft on the west side of Ctuchik's mountain. The sun was just going down, and its ruddy light stained that basalt peak, making it look peculiarly as if it had been dipped in blood.

  Considering what was going on at the top of it, that was fairly appropriate, I suppose.

  I've made quite an issue of the fact that I don't fly very well, but I'm not a complete incompetent, and riding an updraft is a fairly simple process.

  All you really have to do is lock your wings and let it carry you.

  Hawks and eagles and vultures do it all the time.

  I circled up and up until I was above the city, and then I swooped down and perched on the wall to look things over. At that particular time Rak Cthol was still under construction, and it was not nearly as cluttered as it came to be later on. It was already ugly, though. I think that was a reflection of Ctuchik's mind. Although it really wasn't necessary, he appeared to be consciously trying to duplicate the layout of Cthol Mishrak.

  The actual work of construction was being performed by slaves, of course, since Murgos and Grolims feel they're above that sort of thing. I watched from my perch atop the wall as the slaves were herded into their cells in those tunnels beneath the city and locked in for the night. Then I patiently waited for it to get dark.

  Quite obviously, I was going to need a disguise, but I was fa
irly sure I could find something that'd get me by. As it turned out, it was even easier than I'd expected. There were Murgo sentries patrolling the top of the wall. There was no need for that, really, since there was a sheer drop of almost a mile to the desert floor, but Murgos tend to be traditionalists.

  They'd patrolled the top of the wall at Cthol Mishrak, so they patrolled the top of the wall here. I slipped very slowly back into my own form to avoid alerting Ctuchik to the fact that I'd come to pay him a visit, and then I concealed myself in a narrow embrasure to wait for a Murgo.

  There were a number of ways I could have done it, I suppose, but I chose the simplest. I waited until the sentry had passed, and then I bashed him on the head with a rock. It was quieter than any of the more exotic things I might have done, and it sufficed. I dragged the Murgo back into the embrasure and peeled off his black robe. I didn't bother with his mail shirt. Chain mail is uncomfortable, and it tends to rattle when you're moving around. I considered dropping my Murgo over the wall but decided against it. I didn't have anything against him personally, and I wasn't entirely sure how much noise he'd make when he hit the ground a mile below.

  Yes, I know all about my reputation, but I don't really like to kill people unless it's necessary. I've always felt that random murders tend to coarsen one's nature. You might want to think about that when you consider murder as a solution to a problem.

  I pulled up the hood of the Murgo robe and went looking for Ctuchik.

  The simplest way would have been to ask, but I might have had trouble imitating the rasping Murgo dialect, so I listened to a number of random conversations and quite gently probed the thoughts of various sentries and passersby instead. Polgara's much better at that than I am, but I know how it's done. I was fairly careful about it, since everybody in Rak Cthol, Grolim and Murgo, wore those black robes, and that made it hard to tell them apart. It's entirely possible, I suppose, that Murgos think of themselves as a form of minor clergy--or it might just be that Grolims are descendants of the original Murgo tribe. I didn't want to probe the thoughts of a Grolim, since some of them at least are talented enough to recognize that when it happens.

  My eavesdropping--both with my ears and with my mind--eventually gave me enough clues to narrow down the search. Ctuchik was somewhere in the Temple of Torak. I'd more or less expected that, but a little verification never hurts.

  The Temple was deserted. Even Grolims have to sleep sometime, and it was getting fairly close to midnight. Ctuchik, however, was not asleep. I could sense his mind at work as soon as I entered the Temple. That made finding him much easier. I went along the back wall on that balcony that seems to be a standard feature in every major Grolim temple and eventually located the right door. And, naturally, it was locked. A single thought would have unlocked it, but it would probably have also alerted Ctuchik to my presence. Murgo locks aren't very sophisticated, though, so I did it the other way. I might not be as good a burglar as Silk is, but I have had some experience in that line of work.

  There was a flight of stairs leading downward behind that door, and I followed them, being very careful not to make any noise. A black painted door stood at the bottom of the stairs, and, oddly, no guards. I think this particular visit of mine persuaded Ctuchik that leaving that door unguarded was a bad idea. I picked the lock and went inside.

  The sense of Ctuchik's mind was coming from above me, so I didn't bother to investigate the lower level of his turret. There's a peculiar similarity to the way our minds work. We all feel more comfortable in towers. Ctuchik's tower was hanging off the side of the mountain, though.

  I went up the stairs. I ignored the second level and climbed to the top. The door there wasn't locked, and I could sense the presence of the owner of the turret behind it. He seemed to be reading something, and he wasn't particularly alert.

  I set myself and opened the door.

  An emaciated-looking Grolim with a white beard was sitting at a table near one of the round windows poring over a scroll by the light of a single oil lamp. That Murgo I'd seen at the escarpment--Agga, I think his name was--had described Ctuchik as a man who looked as if he had been dead for a week. I think Agga'd understated it. I've never known anybody who looked more cadaverous than Ctuchik.

  "What?" he exclaimed, dropping his scroll and leaping to his feet.

  "Who gave you permission to come here?"

  "It's late, Ctuchik," I told him.

  "I didn't want to bother anybody, so I let myself in."

  "You!" His sunken eyes blazed.

  "Don't do anything foolish," I cautioned him.

  "This is just a social call. If I'd had anything else in mind, you'd already be dead." I looked around. His tower wasn't nearly as cluttered as mine, but he hadn't been here very long. It takes centuries to accumulate really good clutter.

  "What on earth possessed you to set up shop in this hideous place?" I asked him.

  "It suits me," he replied shortly, struggling to get control of himself.

  He sat back down and retrieved his scroll.

  "You always manage to show up where you're least expected, don't you, Belgarath?"

  "It's a gift. Are you busy right now? I can come back some other time if you're doing something important."

  "I think I can spare you a few moments."

  "Good." I closed the door, went over to his table, and sat down in the chair directly across from him.

  "I think we should have a little chat, Ctuchik--as long as we're living so close to each other."

  "You've come to welcome me to the neighborhood?" He looked faintly amused.

  "Not exactly. I thought we should establish a few ground rules, is all.

  I wouldn't want you to blunder into anything by mistake."

  "I don't make mistakes, Belgarath."

  "Oh, really? I can think of a dozen or so you've made already. You didn't exactly cover yourself with glory at Cthol Mishrak, as I recall."

  "You know that what happened at Cthol Mishrak had been decided before you even got there," he retorted.

  "If Zedar had done what he was supposed to, you wouldn't have made it that far."

  "Sometimes Zedar's a little undependable--but that's beside the point. I'm not here to talk about the good old days. I'm here to give you a bit of advice. Keep a tight leash on your Murgos. The time isn't right for anything major, and we both know it. A lot of things have to happen yet before we can get down to business. Keep the Murgos out of the Western Kingdoms. They're starting to irritate the Alorns."

  He sneered.

  "My, my, isn't that a shame."

  "Don't try to be funny. You're not ready for a war, Ctuchik--particularly not with the Alorns. Iron-grip's got the Orb, and you saw what he can do with it when we had that little get-together at Cthol Mishrak. If you don't get your Murgos under control, he might take it into his head to pay you a call. If you irritate him too much, he'll turn this mountain of yours into a very large pile of gravel."

  "He's not the one who's supposed to raise the Orb," Ctuchik objected.

  "My point exactly. Let's not push our luck here. We haven't received all our instructions as yet, so we don't even know what we're supposed to do. If you push the Alorns too far, Iron-grip's very likely to lose his temper and do something precipitous. If that happens, it could throw this whole business into the lap of pure, random chance. We could end up with a third possibility, and I don't think the other two would like that very much. So let's not complicate things any more than they already are."

  He pulled speculatively at his beard.

  "You might be right," he conceded grudgingly.

  "We've all got lots of time, I suppose, so there's no great hurry."

  "I'm glad you agree." I squinted at him.

  "Have you managed to get any of your people into the house at Ashaba as yet?"

  His eyes suddenly looked startled.

  "It's the logical thing for you to do, Ctuchik. Zedar's there taking down Torak's every word. If you and that pinto-
spotted Urvon don't get some of your people inside, Zedar's going to have the upper hand."

  "I'm working on it," he replied shortly.

  "I hope so. One of you'd better get your hands on a copy of the Ashabine Oracles before Torak corrupts them into in comprehensibility

  "Urvon's got a copy. I can always take his away from him."

  "Torak burned Urvon's copy. Don't you people even talk to each other?"

  "I don't have anything to say to Urvon."

  "Or to Zedar, either, I gather. This bickering between the three of you is going to make my job much, much easier."

  "You aren't the important one, Belgarath. You've had your turn as the Child of Light, and I think you blundered it away. You should have killed Zedar when you had the chance."

  "You definitely need instructions, Ctuchik. Zedar's part in all of this isn't over yet. He's still got things to do, and if he doesn't do them, we come right back to that third possibility again. Some of your Grolims have been seized by the spirit of your Necessity. Get good copies of what they're saying, and don't tamper with them. Torak's erasing whole pages of the Ashabine Oracles, so the Prophecies of your western Grolims might very well end up being all you'll have to work with. This isn't a good area for experimentation. Certain things have to happen, and we both have to know about them. I don't have time to come down here every few centuries to educate you."

  "I know my responsibilities, Belgarath. You do your work, and I'll do mine."

  "I can hold up my end of it," I told him. Then I stood up and smiled benignly at him.

  "It's been absolutely wonderful talking with you, old boy, and we'll have to do it again one of these days."

  "My pleasure, old chap," he replied with a thin little smile.

  "Stop by any time."

  "Oh, I will, Ctuchik, I will. Incidentally, don't try to follow me, and don't send anybody to get in my way--not anybody you care anything about, anyway."

  "I don't really care for anybody, old man."

  "You ought to try it sometime, Ctuchik. It might sweeten your disposition."

  Then I went out and closed the door behind me.