Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

"If that'd been allowed to run its course, it probably would have changed the course of history. The girl was beautiful and brilliant. Her influence on Zakath would have been enormous."

  "What happened?"

  "I was just getting to that. It was at that point that Taur Urgas stepped in. His agents reported the connection between Zakath and the Melcene girl, and they also reported that the girl was a member of a high-ranking family that was in debt up to its eyebrows. Taur Urgas is crazy, but he's not stupid. He saw the possibilities of the situation immediately.

  He sent orders to his people in Melcena to quietly buy up those debts.

  Once he owned their obligations, he was in a position to put quite a bit of pressure on the girl's family."

  "What did he hope to gain from that?"

  "Zakath came to the throne when he was eighteen or so, and it was fairly common knowledge in Melcena that there was a marriage proposal in the wind. Taur Urgas is a Murgo, so he's abysmally ignorant of the nature of the Melcenes. Murgo women are kept penned up and ignorant, so they do what their families tell them to do. Obedience is beaten into them from the cradle. A Murgo girl would cut her own throat if her father told her to. Melcene girls are more spirited, but Taur Urgas didn't know that. He just assumed that the girl would do whatever her family ordered her to do. He sent word to his people in Melcene to give the girl's family some very specific instructions and to threaten to call in their debts if they didn't obey. The family had been scrambling round trying to raise enough money to pay off those debts, but they needed more time, so they seemed to go along with the plot."

  "This is starting to sound like a bad Arendish tragedy, Beldin," I observed.

  "Oh, it gets even worse. Taur Urgas had a very simple plan to delete a potential rival. He sent one of the more potent Nyissan poisons to a nephew of his in the city of Melcene--along with some very blunt instructions.

  The girl was supposed to encourage Zakath's attentions and then to poison him at the first opportunity. A nice obedient Murgo girl would have done exactly that, but a Melcene girl would have refused. Taur Urgas is so crazy that he couldn't tell the difference. The girl's family was still playing for time, so they pretended to agree. Unfortunately, there are always a few black sheep in any flock, and an unscrupulous fellow in one of the minor branches of the family saw a chance to make a killing."

  Beldin made a sour face.

  "Bad choice of words there, perhaps."

  "I think I see where this is going."

  "I thought you might. Anyway, this devious scoundrel sold the details of the plot to some government officials, and the word filtered up to Zakath himself. Despite his civilized manner, Zakath's still an Angarak, so he immediately went up in flames. Without even thinking, he ordered the extermination of every member of that Melcene family. His underlings--also Angaraks--followed his orders to the letter. The girl was among the first to fall. When the information came to light later that she'd been totally innocent, Zakath quite nearly went mad with grief and remorse. He locked himself in his room for about six months, and when he came out, he was an entirely different man. Before the incident, he seemed to be a civilized, enlightened sort of fellow who probably would have made a good emperor. Now he's an absolute monster who rules Mallorea with an iron fist, and he's obsessed with the idea of doing some very unpleasant things to Taur Urgas."

  "More power to him." I approved.

  "If I weren't so busy right now, I might offer to lend him a hand."

  "You can be nasty when you set your mind to it, Belgarath, but you're no match for Zakath. He sent Taur Urgas a letter after he came out of seclusion, and he ordered copies of the letter widely circulated--just to add to the insult, I'd imagine. I got my hands on a copy." He reached inside his ragged tunic and brought out a folded piece of paper.

  "Would you like to read the most insulting letter one reigning monarch has ever sent to another?"

  I took the paper, unfolded it, and read.

  "To His Majesty, Taur Urgas of Murgodom," it began.

  I was unamused by your recent attempt to influence Mallorean internal affairs, you Murgo dog. Were it not for current world conditions, I would bring the entire weight of my empire down upon your head for your offense.

  To insure that there will be no recurrence of this affair, I have taken all Murgos within my boundaries into custody to serve as hostages to your continued good behavior. I am advised that several of these internees are closely related to you. Should you instigate further adventures in my realm, I shall return your kinsmen to you--piece by piece.

  In the past, your madness has filled your world with imagined enemies. Rejoice, Taur Urgas, and put aside your insanity, for you now have a real foe, far more deadly than any of the phantoms of your lunacy. You may be assured that as soon as world conditions permit, I will descend upon you and that stinking wasteland you rule. It is my firm intention to destroy you and your entire vile race. It will be my pleasure to exterminate every last Murgo from the face of the world and to expunge every mention of your people from the record of human history.

  Keep a watchful eye over your shoulder, you madman, for as surely as the sun rises tomorrow, one day I will be there to administer the punishment you so richly deserve.

  Zakath.

  I whistled and handed the letter back.

  "That comes very close to being an open declaration of war," I said.

  "Impressive, wot?" Beldin agreed with a broad grin.

  "I may just frame it and hang it on the wall in my tower. I've heard that Taur Urgas was frothing at the mouth and chewing up the carpet before he even finished reading it. Zakath's been carrying out his threat, too. He's been sending bits and pieces of assorted Murgos to Rak Goska for the edification of the Murgo King. Urvon's been trying to make peace between the two of them, but he's not making much progress. Zakath's heart's been turned to stone, and Taur Urgas is getting crazier by the minute."

  "I'll pass this on to Rhodar," I said.

  "Drasnian intelligence might be able to keep the pot boiling. Is Ctuchik doing anything?"

  "Ctuchik's your responsibility, Belgarath. I did hear that he'd formed a Council of Hierarchs, though. I don't know that they'll ever be very significant, Grolim politics being what they are. I saw several Murgo caravans on the south trail as I came across. Are they up to something?"

  I nodded.

  "They're coming west in droves, pretending to be interested in trade. It's probably Chamdar's idea. He can read the signs as well as we can, so he knows we're getting close. Evidently he wants lots of help."

  "Where is he now?"

  "In Tolnedra, last I heard. Drasnian intelligence is keeping track of him for me."

  "You've got just about everybody in the West doing your work for you, haven't you, Belgarath?"

  "It's called "delegating responsibility," brother. There's a lot going on right now, so I have to stay flexible."

  "Somehow I knew you'd have some facile explanation for the fact that you're loafing. Don't get too comfortable, Belgarath. When the time comes, you might just have to be in six or eight places all at the same time.

  Let's go see the twins. This business between Zakath and Taur Urgas might have shaken a few more clues out of the Mrin."

  It hadn't, though. The Mrin Codex remained as intractable as always.

  I could only assume that the Necessity knew what it was doing and that it was deliberately keeping me in the dark.

  I don't think any of us have ever given full credit to the twins for their patient centuries of labor. That pair of gentle Alorn shepherds have been so vital to what the rest of us have done that in a rather special way, they've been our guides. We run around the world in response to what they discover. The Necessity usually doesn't bother to talk to us. It talks to the twins instead. They've worn out six or eight copies of the Mrin and the Darine over the years, and the Gods know that I wouldn't have had that kind of patience, and neither would Beldin. To this very day, if the twins told me to jum
p, I'd be about four feet up in the air before I even bothered to ask

  "Which way?" That's probably what Aldur had in mind when he first sent for them. The Master's at least as much a slave to the Necessity as the rest of us are. That's why we're all here, I guess.

  Beldin remained in the Vale for a week or so, and then he returned to southern Cthol Murgos to take up his lonely vigil over our Master's sleeping brother. Not long after he left, I went to Boktor to advise Rhodar of the contention between Zakath and Taur Urgas, King Rhodar wasn't getting any slimmer, but his mind seemed to be growing even faster than his waistline. He squinted at me shrewdly after I'd told him of the recent events in Mallorea.

  "This isn't natural, Belgarath. A Murgo king wouldn't be interested enough in what's happening in Mallorea to take all that much trouble. There's a whole ocean between the two countries.

  Some event's about to happen, isn't it? The reports I've been getting are raising a strong odor of something momentous in the wind."

  There wasn't really any point in trying to hide things from Rhodar.

  His spies were too good, and his mind was too quick.

  "Why don't we just say that we're living in interesting times and let it go at that, Rhodar?" I suggested.

  "You deal with the ordinary world and let me take care of the other one."

  "Is there going to be a war involved? If so, I'd better start recruiting more men for my army."

  "That'd be premature, and don't be too obvious about going to a war footing. Concentrate on this enmity between the Murgos and the Malloreans instead. If it does get down to a war, I don't want the Angaraks to be all cozy with each other." Then I changed the subject.

  "When are you going to get married?"

  "Not for a while yet." His tone was evasive and his expression slightly embarrassed. Now that I think back on it, I'm almost certain that he already had his eye on Porenn, who was only about thirteen at the time, as I recall.

  I went on to Val Alorn and from there to the Isle of the Winds. I didn't really have any specific reasons for those trips, but I always like to keep an eye on the Alorns. They have a tendency to get into trouble if you don't watch them rather closely.

  Then, in 5349, my grandson Darral was killed by a rock slide in the quarry where he worked, and I rushed back to Annath. There wasn't anything I could do about it, of course, but I went all the same. A death in the family's not the sort of thing you just let slide, and Polgara's always taken these things very hard. You'd think Pol and I would have grown philosophical about the notion of human mortality by now, but we hadn't.

  I'd loved Darral, naturally. He was my grandson, after all, but I'd steeled myself to the idea that one day he'd grow old and die. It happens, and there's nothing you can do about it. Polgara, however, isn't temperamentally equipped to take this sort of thing philosophically. She always seems to take the death of a loved one as a personal insult of some kind. Maybe her medical studies have had something to do with that. For a physician, death is the ultimate enemy.

  I tried to console her with the usual platitudes, but she wanted no part of that.

  "Just go away and leave me alone, father," she told me flatly.

  "I'll deal with this in my own way."

  So I went on down the street to talk with Geran.

  "What really happened?"

  I asked him.

  "There must have been some hidden flaw in that rock-face, grandfather,"

  he replied somberly.

  "Father and I had both checked it from top to bottom. It seemed completely sound, and there hadn't been any hints of weakness. The workmen were cutting blocks off the top of the face, and the whole thing just gave way and collapsed. Father was down in the quarry at the bottom of the face, and there was no way he could get out from under it when it came down." His face grew angry, and he slammed his fist down on the table.

  "There was no reason for it, grandfather! That face should not have broken away! I'm going to tear that mountain apart until I find out why it happened!"

  I know now why it happened--and who was responsible. That's one of the reasons that I take an enormous satisfaction in what Garion did to Chamdar down in the Wood of the Dryads.

  Polgara remained inconsolable. There was nothing I could do or say to comfort her. She locked herself in her room and refused to talk to any of us. For a time I was about half afraid that she would go mad with grief.

  Darral's wife did.

  It wasn't too obvious at first. After her initial outburst of grief, she seemed to grow abnormally calm. Two weeks after the funeral, she went back to her normal routine of cleaning house, sweeping off her doorstep, and preparing meals as if nothing had happened. Quite frequently, she even sang while she was cooking.

  I'm sure that there are people out there who'll say that this is a healthy way to deal with grief, but they're wrong. The death of a wife or husband is a wound that takes years to heal. Believe me, I know. If my own grief hadn't been so profound, I'd have recognized the fact that something wasn't right.

  Alara cooked the usual meals, and she always set a place for Darral at her table. Then, as evening descended, she'd keep going to the door to look out anxiously into Annath's single street as if she were waiting for someone to come home to supper. The signs of her madness were all there. I can't believe that Pol and I missed them.

  If I'd been just a bit more alert, I'd have realized who'd been responsible for Darral's death and Alara's madness. At that point, I'd have torn the world apart looking for Asharak the Murgo, and when I caught him I'd have cut his throat all the way back to the neck bone--with a dull saw. It might have taken me awhile, but I'd have enjoyed every minute of it.

  Of course I'm a savage. Haven't you realized that yet?

  I'm not saying here that Alara went stark-staring mad. She just got vague --which is probably even worse, when you get right down to it. As Polgara recovered from her own sorrow, she was obliged to keep a more or less continual watch over Alara, and that turned out to be fairly significant as time went on, I took my own sorrow out on the road. Walking thirty miles a day or so will numb almost any emotion, and I definitely didn't think that a return to the waterfront dives of Camaar would have been a good idea right then. I drifted back to the Vale in the last spring of 5351, and Javelin was there, waiting for me.

  "We lost him, Ancient One," he confessed with a certain degree of shame.

  "I've had people watching him from every possible angle, and one day he simply wasn't there any more. Chamdar's a Murgo, and they're not supposed to be that clever."

  "He's deceptive, Khendon." I sighed.

  "It looks as if I'm going to have to put on my walking shoes again. I'd better go find him."

  "Aren't you getting a little old for this kind of thing, Holy One?" he asked me with surprising directness.

  "Keeping track of Chamdar was my job. Why don't you let me locate him?"

  "I may be old. Javelin, but I can still run you into the ground any day in the week. Just don't get in my way. If you do, I'll run right up your back." I hate having people make an issue of my age. Don't they realize by now that it doesn't mean anything?

  "It shall be as you say, Ancient One," he replied with a curt bow. At least he had sense enough to know when to back away.

  I went directly to Tol Honeth to take up the search. As closely as the twins were able to determine, we were within a couple of years of the birth of the Godslayer, and I vividly remembered Chamdar's audible ruminations back when Gelane had fallen in with the Bear-cult. Ctuchik had ordered his Grolim underling to kill Iron-grip's heir, but Chamdar had come up with an alternative to that. He was looking for the chance to be elevated to disciple status and thus to step over Ctuchik to deliver the Godslayer and the Orb directly to Torak. He was ambitious, I'll give him that. I quite literally tore Tolnedra apart, but I couldn't put my hands on him. He'd stolen a page out of my own book and had laid down various hints and false clues that kept me running from one end of Tolnedra to the
other. I didn't find out exactly how he'd done it until after the tragedy in Annath.

  Leildorin, the Archer mentioned in the Mrin, was born in 5352, but I didn't have time to look in on the Wildantor family, since I was too busy ripping up the paving stones in Tol Honeth looking for my elusive Grolim adversary. After a while I started to get irritable.

  Javelin returned to Tol Honeth to help me, and he shrewdly prevailed on the Drasnian Ambassador to try to enlist the aid of Ce'Nedra's father in the search. Tolnedran intelligence isn't really a match for what the Drasnians can come up with, but it would have put more eyes out there on the streets. Ran Borune XXIII wasn't having any of that, though. He was involved in some rather delicate trade negotiations with the representatives of Taur Urgas, and he wasn't inclined to do anything at all to disrupt those negotiations, so he withheld the services of his assorted spies and informers. I liked Ran Borune, and I adore his daughter, but he was greedy, and the prospect of getting his hands on all that red Murgo gold turned his head, so Javelin and I got no help whatsoever from Tolnedran intelligence.

  Finally, in the late summer of 5354, I was ready to give up entirely. It was obvious by then that the various clues I'd been frantically chasing up and down the length and breadth of Tolnedra were no more than false trails. For once Chamdar had outsmarted me. I was absolutely certain that he wasn't in Tolnedra any more, so I gave Javelin the thankless task of chasing down all the fictitious

  "Chamdars" that the Grolims were inventing for our entertainment and took myself off to Arendia.

  And the Grolims there were as busy as the ones in Tolnedra had been. I'll give Chamdar credit here. He'd learned all the lessons I'd given him over the centuries very well. I heard stories about Asharak the Murgo every time I turned around, and the stories got wilder and wilder every day. Grolims are schemers, to be sure, but there's no sense of art in their schemes. They always go to extremes. I think it's a racial flaw.

  Then, when I was riding north out of Vo Mimbre, I encountered a handsome young fellow in full armor sitting astride a prancing warhorse.

  I recognized the crest of the Mandor family on his shield.