Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  Then he heard a faint sound far down the corridor ahead. He shrank back against the wall, hoping that no light from behind him would filter dimly through to allow him to be seen. Far ahead, a figure passed stealthily through the pale light from a single tiny window. Garion caught a momentary flicker of green and knew finally whom he was following. He kept close to the wall and moved with catlike silence in his soft leather shoes, the rusty sword gripped tightly in his hand. If it had not been for the startling nearness of the voice of the Earl of Seline, however, he would probably have walked directly into the man he had been following.

  "Is it at all possible, noble Belgarath, that our enemy can be awakened before all the conditions of the ancient prophecy are met?" the earl was asking.

  Garion stopped. Directly ahead of him in a narrow embrasure in the wall of the corridor, he caught sight of a slight movement. The green cloaked man lurked there, listening in the dimness to the words that seemed to come from somewhere beneath. Garion shrank back against the wall, scarcely daring to breathe. Carefully he stepped backward until he found another embrasure and drew himself into the concealing darkness.

  "A most appropriate question, Belgarath," the quiet voice of ChoHag of the Algars said. "Can this Apostate use the power now in his hands to revive the Accursed One?"

  "The power is there," the familiar voice of Mister Wolf said, "but he might be afraid to use it. If it isn't done properly, the power will destroy him. He won't rush into such an act, but will think very carefully before he tries it. It's that hesitation that gives us the little bit of time we have."

  Then Silk spoke. "Didn't you say that he might want the thing for himself? Maybe he plans to leave his Master in undisturbed slumber and use the power he's stolen to raise himself as king in the lands of the Angaraks."

  King Rhodar of Drasnia chuckled. "Somehow I don't see the Grolim Priesthood so easily relinquishing their power in the lands of Angarak and bowing down to an outsider. The High Priest of the Grolims is no mean sorcerer himself, I'm told."

  "Forgive me, Rhodar," King Anheg said, "but if the power is in the thief's hands, the Grolims won't have any choice but to accept his dominion. I've studied the power of this thing, and if even half of what I've read is true, he can use it to rip down Rak Cthol as easily as you'd kick apart an anthill. Then, if they still resist, he could depopulate all of Cthol Murgos from Rak Goska to the Tolnedran border. No matter what, however, whether it's the Apostate or the Accursed One who eventually raises that power, the Angaraks will follow and they will come west."

  "Shouldn't we inform the Arends and Tolnedrans-and the Ulgos as well-what has happened then?" Brand, the Rivan Warder, asked. "Let's not be taken by surprise again."

  "I wouldn't be in too much hurry to rouse our southern neighbors," Mister Wolf said. "When Pol and I leave here, we'll be moving south. If Arendia and Tolnedra are mobilizing for war, the general turmoil would only hinder us. The Emperor's legions are soldiers. They can respond quickly when the need arises, and the Arends are always ready for war. The whole kingdom hovers on the brink of general warfare all the time."

  "It's premature," Aunt Pol's familiar voice agreed. "Armies would just get in the way of what we're trying to do. If we can apprehend my father's old pupil and return the thing he pilfered to Riva, the crisis will be past. Let's not stir up the southerners for nothing."

  "She's right," Wolf said. "There's always a risk in a mobilization. A king with an army on his hands often begins to think of mischief. I'll advise the King of the Arends at Vo Mimbre and the Emperor at Tol Honeth of as much as they need to know as I pass through. But we should get word through to the Gorim of Ulgo. Cho-Hag, do you think you could get a messenger through to Prolgu at this time of the year?"

  "It's hard to say, Ancient One," Cho-Hag said. "The passes into those mountains are difficult in the winter. I'll try, though."

  "Good," Wolf said. "Beyond that, there's not much more we can do. For the time being it might not be a bad idea to keep this matter in the family-so to speak. If worse comes to worst and the Angaraks invade again, Aloria at least will be armed and ready. There'll be time for Arendia and the Empire to make their preparations."

  King Fulrach spoke then in a troubled voice. "It's easy for the Alorn Kings to talk of war," he said. "Alorns are warriors; but my Sendaria is a peaceful kingdom. We don't have castles or fortified keeps, and my people are farmers and tradesmen. Kal Torak made a mistake when he chose the battlefield at Vo Mimbre; and it's not likely that the Angaraks will make the same mistake again. I think they'll strike directly across the grasslands of northern Algaria and fall upon Sendaria. We have a lot of food and very few soldiers. Our country would provide an ideal base for a campaign in the west, and I'm afraid that we'd fall quite easily."

  Then, to Garion's amazement, Durnik spoke. "Don't cheapen the men of Sendaria so, Lord King," he said in a firm voice. "I know my neighbors, and they'll fight. We don't know very much about swords and lances, but we'll fight. If Angaraks come to Sendaria, they won't find the taking as easy as some might imagine, and if we put torches to the fields and storehouses there won't be all that much food for them to eat."

  There was a long silence, and then Fulrach spoke again in a voice strangely humble. "Your words shame me, Goodman Durnik," he said. "Maybe I've been king for so long that I've forgotten what it means to be a Sendar."

  "One remembers that there are only a few passes leading through the western escarpment into Sendaria," Hettar, the son of King Cho-Hag, said quietly. "A few avalanches in the right places could make Sendaria as inaccessible as the moon. If the avalanches took place at the right times, whole armies of Angaraks might find themselves trapped in those narrow corridors."

  "Now that's an entertaining thought." Silk chuckled. "Then we could let Durnik put his incendiary impulses to a better use than burning turnip patches. Since Torak One-eye seems to enjoy the smell of burning sacrifices so much, we might be able to accommodate him."

  Far down the dusty passageway in which he was hiding, Garion caught the sudden flicker of a torch and heard the faint jingling of several mail shirts. He almost failed to recognize the danger until the last instant. The man in the green cloak also heard the sounds and saw the light of the torch. He stepped from his hiding place and fled back the way he had come-directly past the embrasure where Garion had concealed himself. Garion shrank back, clutching his rusty sword; but as luck had it, the man was looking back over his shoulder at the twinkling torch as he ran by on soft feet.

  As soon as he had passed, Garion also slipped out of his hiding place and fled. The Cherek warriors were looking for intruders, and it might be difficult to explain what he was doing in the dark hallway. He briefly considered following the spy again, but decided that he'd had enough of that for one day. It was time to tell someone about the things he'd seen. Someone had to be told-someone to whom the kings would listen. Once he reached the more frequented corridors of the palace, he firmly began to make his way toward the chamber where Barak brooded in silent melancholy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "BARAK," GARION CALLED through the door after he had knocked for several minutes without any answer.

  "Go away," Barak's voice came thickly through the door.

  "Barak, it's me, Garion. I have to talk with you."

  There was a long silence inside the room, and finally a slow movement. Then the door opened.

  Barak's appearance was shocking. His tunic was rumpled and stained. His red beard was matted, the long braids he usually wore were undone, and his hair was tangled. The haunted look in his eyes, however, was the worst. The look was a mixture of horror and self loathing so naked that Garion was forced to avert his eyes.

  "You saw it, didn't you, boy?" Barak demanded "You saw what happened to me out there."

  "I didn't really see anything," Garion said carefully. "I hit my head on that tree, and all I really saw were stars."

  "You must have seen it," Barak insisted. "You must have seen my Do
om."

  "Doom?" Garion said. "What are you talking about? You're still alive."

  "A Doom doesn't always mean death," Barak said morosely, flinging himself into a large chair. "I wish mine did. A Doom is some terrible thing that's fated to happen to a man, and death's not the worst thing there is."

  "You've just let the words of that crazy old blind woman take over your imagination," Garion said.

  "It's not only Martje," Barak said. "She's just repeating what everybody in Cherek knows. An augurer was called in when I was born - it is the custom here. Most of the time the auguries don't show anything at all, and nothing special is going to happen during the child's life. But sometimes the future lies so heavily on one of us that almost anyone can see the Doom."

  "That's just superstition," Garion scoffed. "I've never seen any fortune-teller who could even tell for sure if it's going to rain tomorrow. One of them came to Faldor's farm once and told Durnik that he was going to die twice. Isn't that silly?"

  "The augurers and soothsayers of Cherek have more skill," Barak said, his face still sunk in melancholy. "The Doom they saw for me was always the same - I'm going to turn into a beast. I've had dozens of them tell me the same thing. And now it's happened. I've been sitting here for two days now, watching. The hair on my body's getting longer, and my teeth are starting to get pointed."

  "You're imagining things," Garion said. "You look exactly the same to me as you always have."

  "You're a kind boy, Garion," Barak said. "I know you're just trying to make me feel better, but I've got eyes of my own. I know that my teeth are getting pointed and my body's starting to grow fur. It won't be long until Anheg has to chain me up in his dungeon so I won't be able to hurt anyone, or I'll have to run off into the mountains and live with the trolls."

  "Nonsense," Garion insisted.

  "Tell me what you saw the other day," Barak pleaded. "What did I look like when I changed into a beast?"

  "All I saw were stars from banging my head on that tree," Garion said again, trying to make it sound true.

  "I just want to know what kind of beast I'm turning into," Barak said, his voice thick with self pity. "Am I going to be a wolf or a bear or some kind of monster no one even has a name for?"

  "Don't you remember anything at all about what happened?" Garion asked carefully, trying to blot the strange double image of Barak and the bear out of his memory.

  "Nothing," Barak said. "I heard you shouting, and the next thing I remember was the boar lying dead at my feet and you lying under that tree with his blood all over you. I could feel the beast in me, though. I could even smell him."

  "All you smelled was the boar," Garion said, "and all that happened was that you lost your head in all the excitement."

  "Berserk, you mean?" Barak said, looking up hopefully. Then he shook his head. "No, Garion. I've been berserk before. It doesn't feel at all the same. This was completely different." He sighed.

  "You're not turning into a beast," Garion insisted.

  "I know what I know," Barak said stubbornly.

  And then Lady Merel, Barak's wife, stepped into the room through the still-open door. "I see that my Lord is recovering his wits," she said.

  "Leave me alone, Merel," Barak said. "I'm not in the mood for these games of yours."

  "Games, my Lord?" she said innocently. "I'm simply concerned about my duties. If my Lord is unwell, I'm obliged to care for him. That's a wife's right, isn't it?"

  "Quit worrying so much about rights and duties, Merel," Barak said. "Just go away and leave me alone."

  "My Lord was quite insistent about certain rights and duties on the night of his return to Val Alorn," she said. "Not even the locked door of my bedchamber was enough to curb his insistence."

  "All right," Barak said, Hushing slightly. "I'm sorry about that. I hoped that things might have changed between us. I was wrong. I won't bother you again."

  "Bother, my Lord?" she said. "A duty is not a bother. A good wife is obliged to submit whenever her husband requires it of her - no matter how drunk or brutal he may be when he comes to her bed. No one will ever be able to accuse me of laxity in that regard."

  "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Barak accused.

  "Enjoying what, my Lord?" Her voice was light, but there was a cutting edge to it.

  "What do you want, Merel?" Barak demanded bluntly.

  "I want to serve my Lord in his illness," she said. "I want to care for him and watch the progress of his disease-each symptom as it appears."

  "Do you hate me that much?" Barak asked with heavy contempt. "Be careful, Merel. I might take it into my head to insist that you stay with me. How would you like that? How would you like to be locked in this room with a raging beast?"

  "If you grow unmanageable, my Lord, I can always have you chained to the wall," she suggested, meeting his enraged glare with cool unconcern.

  "Barak," Garion said uncomfortably, "I have to talk to you."

  "Not now, Garion," Barak snapped.

  "It's important. There's a spy in the palace."

  "A spy-",

  "A man in a green cloak," Garion said. "I've seen him several times."

  "Many men wear green cloaks," Lady Merel said.

  "Stay out of this, Merel," Barak said. He turned to Garion. "What makes you think he's a spy?"

  "I saw him again this morning," Garion said, "and I followed him. He was sneaking along a corridor that nobody seems to use. It passes above the hall where the kings are meeting with Mister Wolf and Aunt Pol. He could hear every word they said."

  "How do you know what he could hear?" Merel asked, her eyes narrowing.

  "I was up there too," Garion said. "I hid not far from him, and I could hear them myself - almost as if I were in the same room with them."

  "What does he look like?" Barak asked.

  "He has sandy-colored hair," Garion said, "and a beard and, as I said, he wears a green cloak. I saw him the day we went down to look at your ship. He was going into a tavern with a Murgo."

  "There aren't any Murgos in Val Alorn," Merel said.

  "There's one," Garion said. "I've seen him before. I know who he is." He had to move around the subject carefully. The compulsion not to speak about his dark-robed enemy was as strong as always. Even the hint he had given made his tongue seem stiff and his lips numb.

  "Who is he?" Barak demanded.

  Garion ignored the question. "And then on the day of the boar hunt I saw him in the forest."

  "The Murgo?" Barak asked.

  "No. The man in the green cloak. He met some other men there. They talked for a while not far from where I was waiting for the boar to come. They didn't see me."

  "`There's nothing suspicious about that," Barak said. "A man can meet with his friends anywhere he likes."

  "I don't think they were friends exactly," Garion said. "The one in the green cloak called one of the other men `my Lord,' and that one was giving him orders to get close enough so that he could hear what Mister Wolf and the kings were saying."

  "That's more serious," Barak said, seeming to forget his melancholy. "Did they say anything else?"

  "The flaxen-haired man wanted to know about us," Garion said. "You, me, Durnik, Silk - all of us."

  "Flaxen-colored hair?" Merel asked quickly.

  "The one he called `my Lord,' " Garion explained. "He seemed to know about us. He even knew about me."

  "Long, pale-colored hair?" Merel demanded. "No beard? A little older than Barak?"

  "It couldn't be him," Barak said. "Anheg banished him on pain of death."

  "You're a child, Barak," she said. "He'd ignore that if it suited him. I think we'd better tell Anheg about this."

  "Do you know him?" Garion asked. "Some of the things he said about Barak weren't very polite."

  "I can imagine," Merel said ironically. "Barak was one of those who said that he ought to have his head removed."

  Barak was already pulling on his mail shirt.

  "Fix your hair," M
erel told him in a tone that oddly had no hint of her former rancor in it. "You look like a haystack."

  "I can't stop to fool with it now," Barak said impatiently. "Come along, both of you. We'll go to Anheg at once."

  There was no time for any further questions, since Garion and Merel almost had to run to keep up with Barak. They swept through the great hall, and startled warriors scrambled out of their way after one look at Barak's face.

  "My Lord Barak," one of the guards at the door of the council hall greeted the huge man.

  "One side," Barak commanded and flung open the door with a crash. King Anheg looked up, startled at the sudden interruption.

  "Welcome, cousin," he began.

  "Treason, Anheg!" Barak roared. "The Earl of Jarvik has broken his banishment and set spies on you in your own palace."

  "Jarvik?" Anheg said. "He wouldn't dare."

  "He dared, all right," Barak said. "He's been seen not far from Val Alorn, and some of his plotting has been overheard."

  "Who is this Jarvik?" the Rivan Warder asked.

  "An earl I banished last year," Anheg said. "One of his men was stopped, and we found a message on him. The message was to a Murgo in Sendaria, and it gave the details of one of our most secret councils. Jarvik tried to deny that the message was his, even though it had his own seal on it and his strongroom bulged with red gold from the mines of Cthol Murgos. I'd have had his head on a pole, but his wife's a kinswoman of mine and she begged for his life. I banished him to one of his estates on the west coast instead." He looked at Barak. "How did you find out about this?" he asked. "Last I heard, you'd locked yourself in your room and wouldn't talk to anybody."

  "My husband's words are true, Anheg," Lady Merel said in a voice that rang with challenge.