The two of them moved on out of earshot.
Silk crouched, gnawing nervously at a fingernail. His eyes had narrowed to slits, and his sharp little face was intent. Then he began to swear under his breath.
"What's wrong, Silk?" Garion whispered to him.
"I've made a mistake," Silk answered irntably. "Let's go back to the others." He turned and crawled through the bushes toward the spring at the center of the thicket.
Mister Wolf was seated on a log, scratching absently at his splinted arm. "Well?" he asked, looking up.
"Fifteen Murgos," Silk replied shortly. "And an old friend."
"It was Brill," Garion reported. "He seemed to be in charge."
"Brill?" The old man's eyes widened with surprise.
"He was giving orders and the Murgos were following them," Silk said. "They didn't like it much, but they were doing what he told them to do. They seemed to be afraid of him. I think Brill's something more than an ordinary hireling."
"Where's Rak Hagga?" Ce'Nedra asked. Wolf looked at her sharply.
"We heard two of them talking," she explained. "They said they were from Rak Hagga. I thought I knew the names of all the cities in Cthol Murgos, but I've never heard of that one."
"You're sure they said Rak Hagga?" Wolf asked her, his eyes intent.
"I heard them too," Garion told him. "That was the name they used - Rak Hagga."
Mister Wolf stood up, his face suddenly grim. "We're going to have to hurry then. Taur Urgas is preparing for war."
"How do you know that?" Barak asked him.
"Rak Hagga's a thousand leagues south of Rak Goska, and the southern Murgos are never brought up into this part of the world unless the Murgo king is on the verge of going to war with someone."
"Let them come," Barak said with a bleak smile.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to get our business attended to first. I've got to go to Rak Cthol, and I'd prefer not to have to wade through whole armies of Murgos to get there." The old man shook his head angrily. "What is Taur Urgas thinking of?" he burst out. "It's not time yet."
Barak shrugged. "One time's as good as another."
"Not for this war. Too many things have to happen first. Can't Ctuchik keep a leash on that maniac?"
"Unpredictability is part of Taur Urgas' unique charm," Silk observed sardonically. "He doesn't know himself what he's going to do from one day to the next."
"Knowest thou the king of the Murgos?" Mandorallen inquired.
"We've met," Silk replied. "We're not fond of each other."
"Brill and his Murgos should be gone by now," Mister Wolf said. "Let's move on. We've got a long way to go, and time's starting to catch up with us." He moved quickly toward his horse.
Shortly before sundown they went through a high pass lying in a notch between two mountains and stopped for the night in a little glen a few miles down on the far side.
"Keep the fire down as much as you can, Durnik," Mister Wolf warned the smith. "Southern Murgos have sharp eyes and they can see the light from a fire from miles away. I'd rather not have company in the middle of the night."
Durnik nodded soberly and dug his firepit somewhat deeper than usual.
Mandorallen was attentive to the Princess Ce'Nedra as they set up for the night, and Garion watched sourly. Though he had violently objected each time Aunt Pol had insisted that he serve as Ce'Nedra's personal attendant, now that the tiny girl had her knight to fetch and carry for her, Garion felt somehow that his rightful position had in some way been usurped.
"We're going to have to pick up our pace," Wolf told them after they had finished a meal of bacon, bread, and cheese. "We've got to get through the mountains before the first storms hit, and we're going to have to try to stay ahead of Brill and his Murgos." He scraped a space clear on the ground in front of him with one foot, picked up a stick and began sketching a map in the dirt. "We're here." He pointed. "Maragor's directly ahead of us. We'll circle to the west, go through Tol Rane, and then strike northeast toward the Vale."
"Might it not be shorter to cross Maragor?" Mandorallen suggested, pointing at the crude map.
"Perhaps," the old man replied, "but we won't do that unless we have to. Maragor's haunted, and it's best to avoid it if possible."
"We are not children to be frightened of insubstantial shades," Mandorallen declared somewhat stiffly.
"No one's doubting your courage, Mandorallen," Aunt Pol told him, "but the spirit of Mara wails in Maragor. It's better not to offend him."
"How far is it to the Vale of Aldur?" Durnik asked.
"Two hundred and fifty leagues," Wolf answered. "We'll be a month or more in the mountains, even under the best conditions. Now we'd better all get some sleep. Tomorrow's likely to be a hard day."
Chapter Four
WHEN THEY ROSE the next morning as the first pale hint of light was appearing on the eastern horizon, there was a touch of silvery frost on the ground and a thin scum of ice around the edges of the spring at the bottom of the glen. Ce'Nedra, who had gone to the spring to wash her face, lifted a leaf thin shard from the water and stared at it.
"It's much colder up in the mountains," Garion told her as he belted on his sword.
"I'm aware of that," she replied loftily.
"Forget it," he said shortly and stamped away, muttering.
They rode down out of the mountains in the bright morning sunlight, moving at a steady trot. As they rounded a shoulder of outcropping rock, they saw the broad basin that had once been Maragor, the District of the Marags, stretching out below them. The meadows were a dusty autumn green, and the streams and lakes sparkled in the sun. A tumbled ruin, looking tiny in the distance, gleamed far out on the plain.
Princess Ce'Nedra, Garion noticed, kept her eyes averted, refusing even to look.
Not far down the slope below them, a cluster of crude huts and lopsided tents lay in a steep gully where a frothy creek had cut down through the rocks and gravel. Dirt streets and paths wandered crookedly up and down the sides of the gully, and a dozen or so raggedlooking men were hacking somewhat dispiritedly at the creek bank with picks and mattocks, turning the water below the shabby settlement a muddy yellow brown.
"A town?" Durnik questioned. "Out here?"
"Not exactly a town," Wolf replied. "The men in those settlements sift gravel and dig up the streambanks, looking for gold."
"Is there gold here?" Silk asked quickly, his eyes bright.
"A little," Wolf said. "Probably not enough to make it worth anyone's time to look for it."
"Why do they bother, then?"
Wolf shrugged. "Who knows?"
Mandorallen and Barak took the lead, and they moved down the rocky trail toward the settlement. As they approached, two men came out of one of the huts with rusty swords in their hands. One, a thin, unshaven man with a high forehead, wore a greasy Tolnedran jerkin. The other, much taller and bulkier, was dressed in the ragged tunic of an Arendish serf.
"That's far enough," the Tolnedran shouted. "We don't let armed men come in here until we know what their business is."
"You're blocking the trail, friend," Barak advised him. "You might find that unhealthy."
"One shout from me will bring fifty armed men," the Tolnedran warned.
"Don't be an idiot, Reldo," the big Arend told him. "That one with all the steel on him is a Mimbrate knight. There aren't enough men on the whole mountain to stop him, if he decides to go through here." He looked warily at Mandorallen. "What're your intentions, Sir Knight?" he asked respectfully.
"We are but following the trail," Mandorallen replied. "We have no interest in thy community."
The Arend grunted. "That's good enough for me. Let them pass, Reldo." He slid his sword back under his rope belt.
"What if he's lying?" Reldo retorted. "What if they're here to steal our gold?"
"What gold, you jackass?" the Arend demanded with contempt. "There isn't enough gold in the whole camp to fill a thimble - and Mimbrate kn
ights don't lie. If you want to fight with him, go ahead. After it's over, we'll scoop up what's left of you and dump you in a hole someplace."
"You've got a bad mouth, Berig," Reldo observed darkly.
"And what do you plan to do about it?"
The Tolnedran glared at the larger man and then turned and walked away, muttering curses.
Berig laughed harshly, then turned back to Mandorallen. "Come ahead, Sir Knight," he invited. "Reldo's all mouth. You don't have to worry about him."
Mandorallen moved forward at a walk. "Thou art a long way from home, my friend."
Berig shrugged. "There wasn't anything in Arendia to keep me, and I had a misunderstanding with my lord over a pig. When he started talking about hanging, I thought I'd like to try my luck in a different country."
"Seems like a sensible decision." Barak laughed.
Berig winked at him. "The trail goes right on down to the creek," he told them, "then up the other side behind those shacks. The men over there are Nadraks, but the only one who might give you any trouble is Tarlek. He got drunk last night, though, so he's probably still sleeping it off."
A vacant-eyed man in Sendarian clothing shambled out of one of the tents. Suddenly he lifted his face and howled like a dog. Berig picked up a rock and shied it at him. The Sendar dodged the rock and ran yelping behind one of the shacks. "One of these days I'm going to do him a favor and stick a knife in him," Berig remarked sourly. "He bays at the moon all night long."
"What's his problem?" Barak asked.
Berig shrugged. "Crazy. He thought he could make a dash into Maragor and pick up some gold before the ghosts caught him. He was wrong."
"What did they do to him?" Durnik asked, his eyes wide.
"Nobody knows," Berig replied. "Every so often somebody gets drunk or greedy and thinks he can get away with it. It wouldn't do any good, even if the ghosts didn't catch you. Anybody coming out is stripped immediately by his friends. Nobody gets to keep any gold he brings out, so why bother?"
"You've got a charming society here," Silk observed wryly.
Berig laughed. "It suits me. It's better than decorating a tree in my lord's apple orchard back in Arendia." He scratched absently at one armpit. "I guess I'd better go do some digging," he sighed. "Good luck." He turned and started toward one of the tents.
"Let's move along," Wolf said quietly. "These places tend to get rowdy as the day wears on."
"You seem to know quite a bit about them, father," Aunt Pol noticed.
"They're good places to hide," he replied. "Nobody asks any questions. I've needed to hide a time or two in my life."
"I wonder why?"
They started along the dusty street between the slapped-together shacks and patched tents, moving down toward the roiling creek. "Wait!" someone called from behind. A scruffy-looking Drasnian was running after them, waving a small leather pouch. He caught up with them, puffing. "Why didn't you wait?" he demanded.
"What do you want?" Silk asked him.
"I'll give you fifty pennyweight of fine gold for the girl," the Drasnian panted, waving his leather sack again.
Mandorallen's face went bleak, and his hand moved toward his sword hilt.
"Why don't you let me deal with this, Mandorallen?" Silk suggested mildly, swinging down from his saddle.
Ce'Nedra's expression had first registered shock, then outrage. She appeared almost on the verge of explosion before Garion reached her and put his hand on her arm. "Watch," he told her softly.
"How dare-"
"Hush. Just watch. Silk's going to take care of it."
"That's a pretty paltry offer," Silk said, his fingers flicking idly.
"She's still young," the other Drasnian pointed out. "She obviously hasn't had much training yet. Which one of you owns her?"
"We'll get to that in a moment," Silk replied. "Surely you can make a better offer than that."
"It's all I've got," the scruffy man answered plaintively, waving his fingers, "and I don't want to go into partnership with any of the brigands in this place. I'd never get to see any of the profits."
Silk shook his head. "I'm sorry," he refused. "It's out of the question. I'm sure you can see our position."
Ce'Nedra was making strangled noises.
"Be quiet," Garion snapped. "This isn't what it seems to be."
"What about the older one?" the scruffy man suggested, sounding desperate. "Surely fifty pennyweight's a good price for her."
Without warning Silk's fist lashed out, and the scruffy Drasnian reeled back from the apparent blow. His hand flew to his mouth, and he began to spew curses.
"Run him off, Mandorallen," Silk said quite casually.
The grim-faced knight drew his broadsword and moved his warhorse deliberately at the swearing Drasnian. After one startled yelp, the man turned and fled.
"What did he say?" Wolf asked Silk. "You were standing in front of him, so I couldn't see."
"The whole region's alive with Murgos," Silk replied, climbing back on his horse. "Kheran says that a dozen parties of them have been through here in the last week."
"You knew that animal?" Ce'Nedra demanded.
"Kheran? Of course. We went to school together."
"Drasnians like to keep an eye on things, Princess," Wolf told her. "King Rhodar has agents everywhere."
"That awful man is an agent of King Rhodar?" Ce'Nedra asked incredulously.
Silk nodded. "Actually Kheran's a margrave," he said. "He has exquisite manners under normal circumstances. He asked me to convey his compliments."
Ce'Nedra looked baffled.
"Drasnians talk to each other with their fingers," Garion explained. "I thought everybody knew that."
Ce'Nedra's eyes narrowed at him.
"What Kheran actually said was, 'Tell the red-haired wench that I apologize for the insult,' " Garion informed her smugly. "He needed to talk to Silk, and he had to have an excuse."
"Wench?"
"His word, not mine," Garion replied quickly.
"You know this sign language?"
"Naturally."
"That'll do, Garion," Aunt Pol said firmly.
"Kheran recommends that we get out of here immediately," Silk told Mister Wolf. "He says that the Murgos are looking for somebody - us, probably."
From the far side of the camp there were sudden angry voices. Several dozen Nadraks boiled out of their shanties to confront a group of Murgo horsemen who had just ridden up out of a deep gully. At the forefront of the Nadraks hulked a huge, fat man who looked more animal than human. In his right hand he carried a brutal-looking steel mace. "Kordoch!" he bellowed. "I told you I'd kill you next time you came here."
The man who stepped out from among the Murgo horses to face the hulking Nadrak was Brill. "You've told me a lot of things, Tarlek," he shouted back.
"This time you get what's coming to you, Kordoch," Tarlek roared, striding forward and swinging his mace.
"Stay back," Brill warned, stepping away from the horses. "I don't have time for this right now."
"You don't have any time left at all, Kordoch - for anything." Tarlek was grinning broadly. "Would anyone like to take this opportunity to say good - bye to our friend over there?" he said. "I think he's about to leave on a very long journey."
But Bril1's right hand had dipped suddenly inside his tunic. With a flickering movement, he whipped out a peculiar-looking triangular steel object about six inches across. Then, in the same movement, he flipped it, spinning and whistling, directly at Tarlek. The flat steel triangle sailed, flashing in the sun as it spun, and disappeared with a sickening sound of shearing bone into the hulking Nadrak's chest. Silk hissed with amazement.
Tarlek stared stupidly at Brill, his mouth agape and his left hand going to the spurting hole in his chest. Then his mace slid out of his right hand, his knees buckled, and he fell heavily forward.
"Let's get out of here!" Mister Wolf barked. "Down the creek! Go!"
They plowed into the rocky streambed a
t a plunging gallop, and the muddy water sprayed out from under their horses' hooves. After several hundred yards they turned sharply to scramble up a steep gravel bank.
"That way!" Barak shouted, pointing toward more level ground. Garion did not have time to think, only to cling to his horse and try to keep up with the others. Faintly, far behind, he could hear shouts.
They rode behind a low hill and reined in for a moment at Wolf's signal. "Hettar," the old man said, "see if they're coming."
Hettar wheeled his horse and loped up to a stand of trees on the brow of the hill.
Silk was muttering curses, his face livid.
"What's your problem now?" Barak demanded.
Silk kept on swearing.
"What's got him so worked up?" Barak asked Mister Wolf.
"Our friend's just had a nasty shock," the old man answered. "He misjudged somebody - so did I, as a matter of fact. That weapon Brill used on the big Nadrak is called an adder-sting."
Barak shrugged. "It looked like just an odd-shaped throwing knife to me.
"There's a bit more to it than that," Wolf told him. "It's as sharp as a razor on all three sides, and the points are usually dipped in poison. It's the special weapon of the Dagashi. That's what has got Silk so upset."
"I should have known," Silk berated himself. "Brill's been a little too good all along to be just an ordinary Sendarian footpad."
"Do you know what they're talking about, Polgara?" Barak asked.
"The Dagashi are a secret society in Cthol Murgos," she told him. "Trained killers-assassins. They answer only to Ctuchik and their own elders. Ctuchik's been using them for centuries to eliminate people who get in his way. They're very efficient."
"I've never been that curious about the peculiarities of Murgo culture," Barak replied. "If they want to creep around and kill each other, so much the better." He glanced up the hill quickly to find out if Hettar had seen anything behind them. "That thing Brill used might be an interesting toy, but it's no match for armor and a good sword."
"Don't be so provincial, Barak," Silk said, beginning to regain his composure. "A well-thrown adder-sting can cut right through a mail shirt; if you know how, you can even sail it around corners. Not only that, a Dagashi could kill you with his hands and feet, whether you're wearing armor or not." He frowned. "You know, Belgarath," he mused, "we might have been making a mistake all along. We assumed that Asharak was using Brill, but it might have been the other way around. Brill has to be good, or Ctuchik wouldn't have sent him into the West to keep an eye on us." He smiled then, a chillingly bleak little smile. "I wonder just how good he is." He flexed his fingers. "I've met a few Dagashi, but never one of their best. That might be very interesting."
Rivan Codex Series Page 146