Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  "Val Alorn, I think."

  "You're not serious!" Pol objected.

  "Val Alorn isn't so bad, Pol, and Chamdar can't hide his race from the Chereks the way he hid it from the Sendars. Chereks are usually blond, and with that black beard and those funny-shaped eyes, Chamdar'd definitely stick out on the streets of Val Alorn. King Eldrig's got a standing reward for the head of any Angarak found in his kingdom.

  It's a sizable amount of money, and that encourages the Chereks to keep their eyes open for foreigners. I'll have a talk with Eldrig, and we'll pick some village where no veterans of the war in Arendia live."

  Gelane looked puzzled.

  "Your grandfather and I were a little conspicuous at Vo Mimbre, Gelane," Pol explained.

  "Someone who'd been there might recognize me, and Chereks talk too much when they get drunk--which happens almost every night, I've noticed."

  "Let's go back a bit here," I said to Gelane.

  "Exactly how did Chamdar enlist you in the Bear-cult?"

  "He started out by warning me that I have to be very careful, because there are all sorts of people looking for me, and they don't all look like Angaraks. He said that the only people I can really trust are Alorns. Then he said that there was a religious order in the Alorn kingdoms that's sworn to protect me and to see to it that I can take my rightful place on the throne in the Hall of the Rivan King. My head was so swollen up by then that I even made it easy for him. I said that I wanted to meet these people who were so devoted to me, but he told me that Bear-cultists are forbidden to reveal their affiliation with the cult to anybody who wasn't a member. Would you believe that I actually volunteered to join at that point?"

  "He led you into it rather carefully, Gelane," I replied.

  "Every time you accepted something he told you, his hold on you grew stronger.

  Grolims are very good at that. By the time you volunteered to join the cult, he'd have been able to get you to do almost anything."

  "Were the other Alorns from Seline really cult members?"

  "They probably thought they were, but I doubt that any real cultists even knew that they existed. The cult doesn't have much of a following here in Sendaria. This little group in Seline was living in a vacuum, totally isolated from the rest of the cult, and I'd imagine that Chamdar added quite a few items that aren't a part of standard cult dogma. Just to be on the safe side, though, I think I'll have a talk with the Alorn kings. I think it might be time for the cult to be put down again." I looked around at the trees.

  "We've got things to do. Why don't we go back to town?"

  "In a moment, father," Pol said.

  "Chamdar had Gelane almost totally under his control for several months. I want to make sure that his hold's completely broken."

  "That's probably not a bad idea, Pol," I agreed.

  "This won't hurt, Gelane," she assured him. Then she reached out and took his right hand--the one with that characteristic mark on the palm--and touched it to the white lock in her hair. Her eyes grew momentarily distant, and Gelane's went very wide. I got the distinct impression that their minds had never overtly touched before. Then Polgara lightly kissed his cheek.

  "A few hints is about all, father," she told me, "and they're already fading. I doubt that Chamdar could compel him to raise even one finger right now."

  "Good. Let's head back to town and start getting you packed. We'll set out for the capital at Sendar first thing in the morning. I'll find some Cherek sea captain and arrange passage to Val Alorn."

  "Through the Bore?" Pol said with some distaste.

  "It's the shortest way to get there, Pol, and I want to get back as soon as I can. I'd like to run Chamdar to ground someplace and get him out of our hair once and for all."

  "Yes!" Gelane said fervently.

  It didn't work out that way, of course. Asharak the Murgo had something very important still left to do. His death was the thing that opened Garion's mind and set him on the course to where he is right now.

  This is not to say that I didn't spend a couple of years looking for the elusive Grolim. I finally gave up in disgust and went back to the Vale. Pol, Gelane, and their little family took up residence in a small farming village about ten miles outside Val Alorn, and they were fairly safe there--if anyplace in the world was truly safe for Iron-grip's heir.

  Beldin had returned from Mallorea during the course of my search for Ctuchik's underling, and he stopped by my tower on the morning after I finally got back home. He said some very uncomplimentary things to me after I told him about how Chamdar'd tricked me, but I didn't really take offense--I'd already said things to myself that were far worse. I let him ramble on until he started repeating himself, and then I cut in.

  "What's happening in Mallorea?" I asked him.

  "Do you remember that young man in Mal Zeth that I told you about?" he replied.

  "The grandson of the old emperor Torak deposed when he left Ashaba?"

  "Vaguely. His name's Korzeth, isn't it?"

  "That's the name they gave him when he was born. There are a lot of people in Mallorea who are calling him other names right now, though.

  When he turned fourteen, he set his grandfather aside and took the crown for himself. In some ways, he's as cold-blooded as Torak himself. I don't know why he wanted the throne. He never sits on it. He's spending all his time in the saddle now, and he's reunifying Mallorea. The whole continent's running ankle-deep in blood. Korzeth doesn't even bother to ask people if they want to accept his rule. He just kills everybody in sight.

  He'll have an empire when he's done. There won't be very many people in it, but he'll own all the ground, at least."

  "I'd say that sort of diminishes the Mallorean threat," I noted approvingly.

  "Is Zedar still holed up in that cave with Torak's body?"

  "He was, the last time I looked. I flew over there on my way home."

  "Are the Murgos doing anything worth mentioning?"

  "Fortifying the walls of their cities is about all. I think they're expecting an invasion."

  "Why would we want to do that? We accomplished everything we needed to at Vo Mimbre."

  "The Murgos aren't so much worried about us as they are about Ran Borune. After those two disasters, there aren't really very many Murgos left, and they do have all those gold mines. I guess they expect Ran Borune to start biting large chunks out of the middle of Cthol Murgos."

  "Any idea of what Ctuchik's up to?"

  "Haven't got a clue. As far as I know, he's holed up at Rak Cthol.

  Urvon's made it back to Mal Yaska, and he's sitting tight, as well. I think that Vo Mimbre persuaded the Angaraks to give peace a chance."

  "Good. I need a rest anyway. Have you got any definite plans?"

  "I think I'll go back to southern Cthol Murgos and keep an eye on Zedar. If he decides to move old Burnt-face, I'd like to know about it."

  After Beldin left, I loafed around my tower, intermittently cleaning up several decades' worth of dust and debris. I didn't make a major project out of it, though. I usually can find something more interesting to do than housecleaning.

  I'd been home for about a month when the twins came over to my tower one fine morning in late spring.

  "We've found something rather puzzling in the Darine, Belgarath," Beltira told me.

  "Oh?"

  "It mentions a couple of "helpers." They won't be as significant as the Guide or the Horse-Lord or any of the others, but they will be making a contribution."

  "I'll take all the help I can get. What's so puzzling about them?"

  "As closely as we can make out, they're going to be Nadraks."

  "Nadraks?" I was a bit startled by that,

  "Why would any Angaraks want to help us?"

  "The Darine doesn't say, and we haven't found the corresponding passage in the Mrin yet."

  I thought about it for a few moments.

  "Nadraks have never really been all that fond of Murgos or Thulls," I mused.

 
; "Now that Torak's been put to sleep, they might decide to strike out on their own. I'm not doing anything right now, anyway. Maybe I ought to go have a look."

  "These "helpers" won't have emerged yet," Belkira pointed out.

  "And we don't know anything at all about the families they'll descend from."

  "You're probably right there," I admitted, "but if I nose around a bit, I might be able to get a sense of the general sentiments among the Nadraks."

  "It couldn't hurt, I suppose," Beltira agreed.

  "I'll check in with you from time to time," I promised.

  "Let me know if you find anything in the Mrin. A few more details might help me to locate those families."

  There wasn't anything particularly urgent about this project, as far as I could tell, so I stopped by the Stronghold as I went north and bought a horse. There's quite a bit of effort involved in traveling the other way, and I was feeling a little lazy.

  It took me several weeks to reach Boktor, which the Drasnians were busy rebuilding. In a certain sense, Kal Torak had done the Drasnians a favor when he destroyed all their cities. Alorn cities have always tended to sprawl out, and the streets follow whichever cow path happens to be handy. Now the Drasnians had the chance to start fresh and actually plan their cities. I found Rhodar conferring with a number of architects. They were having a fairly heated discussion about boulevards, as I recall. One school favored wide, straight streets. The other preferred narrow, crooked ones, justifying the inconvenience with the word "coziness."

  "What do you think, Belgarath?" Rhodar asked me.

  "It all depends on whether you want to build another Tol Honeth or another Val Alorn, I guess," I replied.

  "Tol Honeth, I think," Rhodar said.

  "Tolnedrans have always looked down their noses at us because of the way our cities look. I get very tired of being referred to as "quaint."

  "Have you had any contacts with the Nadraks since the war?" I asked him.

  "Nothing official. There's a little bit of trade along the border, and there are always gold hunters in the Nadrak Mountains. The gold deposits aren't as extensive as the ones in southern Cthol Murgos, but there's enough gold up there to attract people from other countries."

  That gave me an idea.

  "I think you've just solved a problem for me, Rhodar."

  "Oh?"

  "I need to have a look around over there in Gar og Nadrak, and I'd like to be sort of inconspicuous. The Nadraks are probably used to seeing foreigners up in those mountains, so I think I'll get a pick and shovel and go looking for gold."

  "That's very tedious work, Belgarath."

  "Not the way I'm going to do it."

  "I didn't quite follow that."

  "I'm not really all that interested in gold. All I'm going to do is wander around asking questions. The tools will explain why I'm there."

  "Have fun," he said.

  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a city to build."

  I bought some tools and a pack mule and set out across the moors toward the Nadrak border. It was early summer by now, and the usually dreary Drasnian moors were all abloom, so travel was actually pleasant.

  The Angaraks had been so soundly defeated at Vo Mimbre that their societies had virtually disintegrated, so there weren't any guards at the border crossing. I was fairly sure that I was being watched, but my pack mule with all those tools on its back explained my presence, so the Nadraks let me pass without any interference.

  I followed the North Caravan Route, and the first town I came to was Yar Gurak, which isn't really a town but more in the nature of a mining camp. It squats on either side of a muddy creek, and most of the buildings are slapdash affairs, half log and half canvas tenting. I've passed through it several times in the past five centuries, and it hasn't really changed very much. Silk goes there quite often, and he and Garion and I passed through on our way to Cthol Mishrak for Garion's meeting with Torak.

  Nobody really lives in Yar Gurak for any extended period of time, so they aren't civic-minded enough to bother with building more permanent structures. I set up my tent at the far end of a muddy street, and without very much effort I blended into the population. The mining camps in the mountains of Gar og Nadrak are very cosmopolitan, and it's considered bad manners to ask personal questions.

  There were certain frictions, of course. We had just come through a war, after all, but aside from a few tavern brawls, things were relatively peaceful. The people living in Yar Gurak were looking for gold, not for fights. After I'd been there for a few days and my face had become fairly well known, I began to frequent the large tavern that was the center of what passed for social life in Yar Gurak. I passed myself off as a Sendar, since Sendars are so racially mixed that my peculiar background and slightly alien features didn't attract much attention.

  While there were a fair number of solitary gold hunters operating out of Yar Gurak, it was far more common for the adventurers living there to set out for the mountains in twos and threes. There weren't any laws in that part of the world, and it was safer to have friends around--just in case you happened to be lucky enough actually to find gold. There are always people around who feel that stealing is easier than digging.

  I struck up an acquaintanceship with a bluff, good-natured Nadrak named Rablek. Rablek had returned to Yar Gurak for supplies, then he lingered awhile for beer and companionship. He'd been in partnership with a Tolnedran the previous year, but he and his friend had strayed up into Morindland and a passing band of Morinds had rather casually removed his partner's head. After we'd gotten to know each other, he finally made the offer I'd been waiting for. We were sitting in the tavern drinking that rather fruity-tasting Nadrak beer, and he looked across the table at me. He was a rangy fellow with coarse black hair and a scruffy-looking beard.

  "You seem like a sensible sort of fellow, Garath," he said.

  "What would you say to the notion that we team up and go out looking for gold together?"

  Notice that I'd reverted to my original name. I've done that from time to time. Assumed names can be awkward, particularly if you forget which one you're using. I squinted at him.

  "Do you snore?" I asked him.

  "Can't say for sure. I'm usually asleep when that's supposed to happen.

  I've never had any complaints, though."

  "We could give it a try, I suppose," I said.

  "If it turns out that we can't get along, we can always break off the partnership and go our separate ways."

  "Are you any good in a fight? I'm not trying to pry, understand, but sometimes we might need to defend whatever we find out there."

  "I can usually handle my own end of a fight."

  "That's good enough for me. Equal shares?"

  "Naturally."

  "That's it, then. I'm willing to give it a try if you are. I'll come by your tent tomorrow morning, and we can get out of this place. I've just about satisfied my hunger for civilization."

  I'd picked up a few hints about Rablek during the course of our conversations. He'd been pressed into military service during the recent war, and he'd been one of the few Nadraks to escape the carnage at Vo Mimbre. He'd opinions, and he wasn't the sort to keep them to himself.

  After we'd been in the mountains for a few days, he started to open up, and I picked up a great deal of information about him--and about other Nadraks, as well. He assured me that all Nadraks despised Murgos, for one thing, and that they felt much the same way about Malloreans.

  Rablek habitually spat every time he mentioned the name of Kal Torak.

  Though my partner didn't come right out and say it in so many words, I got the impression that he'd had some disagreements with Grolims in the past, and Rablek was quick with his knife when somebody irritated him.

  Ctuchik might have thoroughly cowed the Murgos and Thulls, but his Grolims had at best an only tenuous hold on the Nadraks. From what Rablek told me, I could see that it really wouldn't pay a Grolim to go anywhere in Gar og Nadrak by him
self. Rablek suggested that all sorts of accidents had a way of happening to lone Grolims in the forests and mountains of that northernmost Angarak kingdom.

  The more I talked with Rablek, the more I came to understand that curious passage in the Darine Codex. Angarak society was not nearly as monolithic as it appeared to be, and if anybody was going to break away, it was almost certain to be the Nadraks.

  And then, if you can believe it, we found gold! We were up at the northern end of the mountains, not far from that indeterminate boundary of Morindland, and we were following a turbulent mountain stream that boiled and tumbled over large boulders and formed deep swirling pools of frothy green water. It was at that point that I discovered a hitherto unrealized aspect of what my brothers and I routinely refer to as "talent."

  I could feel the presence of gold!

  I looked around. It was there; I knew it was there.

  "It looks to be coming on toward evening," I said to my partner.

  "Why don't we set up camp here and rinse out a few shovelfuls of gravel before it gets dark?"

  Rablek looked around.

  "It doesn't look all that promising to me," he said.

  "We'll never know for sure until we try it."

  He shrugged.

  "Why not?"

  I let him find the first few nuggets. I didn't want to give away too much, after all. What we'd found were some fairly extensive deposits of free gold the stream had carried down from farther up in the mountains and deposited in those pools of relatively calm water.

  We made a fortune there. It's one of the few times in my life I've ever actually been rich. We settled in and built a crude shack, and we worked that merry little creek from one end to the other. Winter came, but we didn't move. We couldn't do much work during that season, but we weren't about to go off and leave our diggings. We got snowed in, naturally, and Rablek opened up more and more during those long months. I picked up a great deal of information from him during that winter, and the gold was in the nature of a bonus.