"Why, Belgarath," Silk said mildly, "what a thing to say."
"Has King Urgit always been like this?" Durnik asked Sadi. "He seems awfully—well—humorous, I guess the word is. I didn't think that Murgos even knew how to smile."
"He's a very complex fellow," Sadi replied.
"Have you known him long?"
"He frequently visited Sthiss Tor when he was younger— usually on missions for his father. I think he jumped at any excuse to get out of Rak Goska. He and Salmissra got on rather well together. Of course, that was before Lady Polgara changed her into a snake." The eunuch rubbed his hand absently over his scalp. "He's not a very strong king," he noted. "His childhood in the palace of Taur Urgas made him timid, and he backs away from any sort of confrontation. He's a survivor, though. He's spent his entire life just trying to stay alive, and that tends to make a man very alert."
"You'll be talking with him again tomorrow," Belgarath said. "See if you can get him to give you some definite information about this ship they plan to give us. I want to get to the Isle of Verkat before the onset of winter, and various people in our party have been doing things that might attract attention, if we have to stay here too long." He gave Eriond a reproving look.
"It wasn't really my fault, Belgarath," the young man protested mildly. "I didn't like the fires in the Sanctum, that's all."
"Try to keep a grip on your prejudices, Eriond," the old man said in a faintly sarcastic voice. "Let's not get sidetracked on these moral crusades just now."
"I'll try, Belgarath."
"I'd appreciate it."
The next morning, the seneschal, Oskatat, summoned them all to another audience with the Murgo King in a brightly candlelit chamber that was smaller and less garish than the vast throne room. Garion noticed that Silk remained carefully hooded until the gray-haired functionary had left the room. Urgit and Sadi spoke quietly together while the rest of them sat unobtrusively in the chairs lining the wall.
"It was probably the first hint that anyone really had that my father's brains were starting to come off their hinges," the Murgo King was saying. He was dressed again in his purple doublet and hose and was sprawled in a chair with his feet thrust out in front of him. "He was suddenly seized with the wild ambition to make himself Overking of Angarak. Personally, I think that Ctuchik planted the notion in his head as a means of irritating Urvon. Anyway," he continued, twisting the heavy gold ring on one of his fingers, "it took the combined efforts of all his generals to convince my manic father that Zakath's army was about five times the size of ours and that Zakath could squash him like a bug any time he chose. Once that notion had finally seeped into his head, he went absolutely wild."
"Oh?" Sadi said.
Urgit grinned. "Threw himself on the floor and started chewing on the carpet. After he calmed down, he decided to try subversion instead. He inundated Mallorea with Murgo agents—and Murgos are probably the clumsiest spies in the world. To keep it short—Zakath was about nineteen at the time and desperately in love with a Melcene girl. Her family was deeply in debt, so my father's agents bought up all their obligations and started putting pressure on them. The brilliant plan that emerged from my father's diseased wits was that the girl should encourage the love-struck young Zakath, marry him, and then slip a knife between the imperial ribs at her earliest opportunity. One of the Melcenes these highly intelligent Murgo spies had bought to help them in their scheme ran to Zakath with the whole sordid story, and the girl and her entire family were immediately put to death."
"What a tragic story," Sadi murmured.
"You haven't heard the best part yet. Several of the Murgo spies were persuaded to reveal the whole story— Malloreans tend to be very good persuaders—and Zakath discovered to his horror that the girl had known absolutely nothing about my father's plan. He locked himself in his room in the palace at Mal Zeth for an entire month. When he went in, he was a pleasant, open young man who showed much promise of becoming one of Mallorea's greatest emperors. When he came out, he was the cold-blooded monster we all know and love. He rounded up every Murgo in Mallorea—including a fair number of my father's relatives—and he used to amuse himself by sending bits and pieces of them in ornate containers to Rak Goska, accompanied by highly insulting notes."
"But didn't the two of them join forces at the battle of Thull Mardu?'
Urgit laughed. "That may be the popular perception, Sadi, but in point of fact, the Imperial Princess Ce'Nedra's army was just unlucky enough to get between two opposing Angarak monarchs. They didn't care a thing about her or about that dungheap people call Mishrak ac Thull. All they were trying to do was kill each other. Then my addled father made the mistake of challenging King Cho-Hag of Algaria to single combat, and Cho-Hag gave him a very pointed lesson in swordsmanship." He looked thoughtfully into the fire. "I still think I ought to send Cho-Hag some token of appreciation," he mused.
"Excuse me, your Majesty." Sadi frowned. "But I don't altogether understand. Kal Zakath's quarrel was with your father, and Taur Urgas is dead."
"Oh yes, quite dead," Urgit agreed. "I cut his throat before I buried him—just to make sure. I think that Zakath's problem stems from the fact that he didn't get the chance to kill my father personally. Failing that, I guess he's willing to settle for me." He rose and began to pace moodily up and down. "I've sent him a dozen peace overtures, but all he does is send me back the heads of my emissaries. I think he's as crazy as my father was." He stopped his restless pacing. "You know, maybe I was a bit hasty on my way to the throne. I had a dozen brothers—all of the blood of Taur Urgas. If I'd kept a few of them alive, I might have been able to give them to Zakath. Perhaps, if he had drunk enough Urgas blood, it might have made him lose his taste for it."
The door opened and a bulky Murgo with an ornate gold chain about his neck entered the room. "I need your signature on this," he said rudely to Urgit, thrusting a sheet of parchment at him.
"What is it, General Kradak?" Urgit asked meekly.
The officer's face darkened.
"All right," Urgit said in a mollifying tone, "don't get yourself excited." He took the parchment to a nearby table where a quill pen lay beside a silver ink-pot. He dipped the pen, scribbled his name on the bottom of the sheet, and handed it back.
"Thank you, your Majesty," General Kradak said in a flat voice. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.
"One of my father's generals," Urgit told Sadi sourly. "They all treat me like that." He began to pace up and down again, scuffing his feet at the carpet. "How much do you know about King Belgarion, Sadi?" he asked suddenly.
The eunuch shrugged. "Well, I've met him once or twice."
"Didn't you say that most of your servants are Alorns?"
"Alorn mercenaries, yes. They're dependable and very good to have around if a fight breaks out."
The Murgo King turned to Belgarath, who sat dozing in a chair. "You—old man," he said abruptly. "Have you ever met Belgarion of Riva?"
"Several times," Belgarath admitted calmly.
"What kind of man is he?"
"Sincere," Belgarath replied. "He tries very hard to be a good king."
"Just how powerful is he?"
"Well, he has the whole Alorn Alliance to back him up, and technically he's the Overlord of the West—although the Tolnedrans are likely to go their own way, and the Arends would rather fight each other."
"That's not what I meant. How good a sorcerer is he?"
"Why ask me, your Majesty? Do I look like the kind of man who'd know very much about that sort of thing? He managed to kill Torak, though, and I'd imagine that took a bit of doing."
"How about Belgarath? Is there really such a person, or is he just a myth?"
"No, Belgarath is a real person."
"And he's seven thousand years old?"
"Seven thousand or so." Belgarath shrugged. "Give or take a few centuries."
"And his daughter Polgara?"
"She's also a real person."
&nb
sp; "And she's thousands of years old?"
"Something like that. I could probably figure it out if I needed to, but a gentleman doesn't ask questions about a lady's age."
Urgit laughed—a short, ugly, barking sound. "The words 'gentleman' and 'Murgo' are mutually exclusive, my friend," he said. "Do you think Belgarion would receive my emissaries, if I sent them to Riva?"
"He's out of the country just now," Belgarath told him blandly.
"I hadn't heard that."
"He does it from time to time. Every so often he gets bored with all the ceremonies and goes away."
"How does he manage that? How can he just pick up and leave?"
"Who's going to argue with him?"
Urgit began to gnaw worriedly on one fingernail. "Even if the Dagashi Kabach succeeds in killing Zakath, I'm still going to have a Mallorean army on my doorstep. I'm going to need an ally if I'm ever going to get rid of them." He began to pace up and down again. "Besides," he added, "if I can reach an agreement with Belgarion, maybe I'll be able to get Agachak's fist off my throat. Do you think he'd listen to a proposal from me?"
"You could ask him and find out, I suppose."
The door opened again and the Queen Mother, assisted by the girl Praia, entered.
"Good morning, mother," Urgit greeted her. "Why are you out roaming the halls of this madhouse?"
"Urgit," she said firmly, "you'd be much more admirable if you stopped trying to make a joke out of everything."
"It keeps me from brooding about my circumstances," he told her flippantly. "I'm losing a war, half of my subjects want to depose me and send my head to Zakath on a plate, I'll be going mad soon, and I think I'm developing a boil on my neck. There are only a few things left for me to laugh about, mother, so please let me enjoy a joke or two while I still can."
"Why do you keep insisting that you're going to go mad?"
"Every male in the Urga family for the past five hundred years has gone mad before he reached fifty," he reminded her. "It's one of the reasons we make such good kings. Nobody in his right mind would want the throne of Cthol Murgos. Was there anything special you wanted, mother? Or did you just want to enjoy my fascinating companionship?"
She looked around the room. "Which of you gentlemen is married to that little red-haired girl?" she asked.
Garion looked up quickly. "Is she all right, my Lady?"
"Pol, the lady with the white lock at her brow, said that you should come at once. The young woman seems to be in some distress."
Garion stood up to follow as the Queen Mother started slowly back toward the door. Just before she reached it, she stopped and glanced at Silk, who had pulled up his hood as soon as she had entered. "Why don't you accompany your friend?" she suggested, "Just for the sake of appearances?"
They went out of the room and on down one of the garish halls of the Drojim to a dark-paneled door guarded by a pair of mail-shirted men-at-arms. One of them opened the door with a respectful bow to Lady Tamazin, and she led them inside. Her quarters were decorated much more tastefully than the rest of the Drojim. The walls were white, and the decor much more subdued. Aunt Pol sat on a low divan, holding the weeping Ce'Nedra in her arms with Velvet standing nearby.
—Is she all right?—Garion's fingers asked quickly.
—I don't think it's too serious—Polgara's hands replied. —A bout of nerves most likely, but I don't want any of these fits of depression to go on for too long. She still hasn't fully recovered from her melancholia. See if you can comfort her.—
Garion went to the divan and enclosed Ce'Nedra gently in his arms. She clung to him, still weeping.
"Is the young lady subject to these crying spells, Pol?" the Queen Mother asked as the two of them took chairs on opposite sides of the cheery fire that danced on the grate.
"Not all that frequently, Tamazin," Polgara answered. "There's been a recent tragedy in her family, though, and sometimes her nerves get the best of her."
"Ah," Urgit's mother said. "Could I offer you a cup of tea, Pol? I always find tea in the morning so comforting."
"Why, thank you, Tamazin. I think that would be very nice."
Gradually, Ce'Nedra's weeping subsided, though she still clung tightly to Garion. At last she raised her head and wiped at her eyes with her fingertips. "I'm so very sorry," she apologized. "I don't know what came over me."
"It's all right, dear," Garion murmured, his arms still about her shoulders.
She dabbed at her eyes again, using a wispy little handkerchief. "I must look absolutely terrible," she said with a teary little laugh.
"Moderately terrible, yes," he agreed, smiling.
"I told you once, dear, that you should never cry in public," Polgara said to her. "You just don't have the right coloring for it."
Ce'Nedra smiled tremulously and stood up. "Perhaps I should go wash my face," she said. "And then I think I'd like to lie down for a bit." She turned to Garion. "Thank you for coming," she said simply.
"Any time you need me," he replied.
"Why don't you go with the lady, Praia?" Lady Tamazin suggested.
"Of course," the slender Murgo Princess agreed, coming quickly to her feet.
Silk had been standing nervously near the door with the hood of his green robe pulled up and his head down to keep his face concealed.
"Oh, do stop that, Prince Kheldar," the Queen Mother told him after Ce'Nedra and Praia had left the room. "I recognized you last night, so it's no good your trying to hide your face."
He sighed and pushed his hood back. "I was afraid you might have," he said.
"That hood doesn't hide your most salient feature anyway," she told him.
"And which feature was that, my Lady?"
"Your nose, Kheldar, that long, sharp, pointed nose that precedes you wherever you go."
"But it's such a noble nose, my Lady," Velvet said with a dimpled smile. "He wouldn't be nearly the man he is without it."
"Do you mind?" Silk asked her.
"You do get around, don't you, Prince Kheldar?" Lady Tamazin said to him. "How long has it been since you left Rak Goska with half of the Murgo army hot on your heels?"
"Fifteen or twenty years, my Lady," he replied, coming closer to the fire.
"I was sorry to hear that you'd left," she said. "You're not a very prepossessing-looking fellow, but your conversation was most entertaining, and there was very little in the way of entertainment in the house of Taur Urgas."
"You don't plan to make a general announcement about my identity then, I take it?" he said carefully.
"It's not my concern, Kheldar." She shrugged. "Murgo women do not involve themselves in the affairs of men. Over the centuries, we've found that it's safer that way."
"You're not upset, then, my Lady?" Garion asked her. "What I mean is I'd heard that Prince Kheldar here accidentally killed the eldest son of Taur Urgas. Didn't that offend you just a little?"
"It had nothing to do with me," she replied. "The one Kheldar killed was the child of Taur Urgas' first wife—an insufferable, toothless hag of the House of Gorut who used to gloat over the fact that she had given birth to the heir apparent and that, as soon as he ascended the throne, she was going to have the rest of us strangled."
"I'm relieved to hear that you had no particular fondness for the young man," Silk told her.
"Fondness? He was a monster—just like his father. When he was just a little boy, he used to amuse himself by dropping live puppies into boiling water. The world's a better place without him."
Silk assumed a lofty expression. "I always like to perform these little public services," he declared. "I feel that it's a gentleman's civic duty."
"I thought you said that his death was accidental," Garion said.
"Well, sort of. Actually, I was trying to stab him in the belly—painful perhaps, but seldom fatal—but he bumped my arm as I made the thrust, and somehow my knife went straight into his heart."
"What a shame," Tamazin murmured. "I'd be sort of careful her
e in the Drojim though, Kheldar. I have no intention of revealing your identity, but the seneschal, Oskatat, also knows you by sight and he would probably feel obliged to denounce you."
"I'd already guessed as much, my Lady. I'll try to avoid him."
"Now tell me, Prince Kheldar, how is your father?"
Silk sighed. "He died, I'm afraid," he replied sadly, "quite a few years ago. It was rather sudden."
As chance had it, Garion was looking directly at the Queen Mother's face as Silk spoke and he saw the momentary flicker of anguish touch her beautiful features. She recovered quickly, though her eyes still brimmed with sorrow. "Ah," she said very quietly. "I'm sorry, Kheldar—more sorry than you could possibly know. I liked your father very much. The memories of the months he was in Rak Goska are among the happiest of my life."
To avoid being caught staring, Garion turned his head, and his eyes fell on Velvet, whose expression was faintly speculative. She returned his look, and her eyes conveyed a world of meaning and several unanswered questions.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The following morning dawned clear and cold. Garion stood at the window of his room, looking out over the slate roof tops of Rak Urga. The low, squat houses seemed to huddle together fearfully under the twin presence of the garish Drojim Palace at one end of town and the black Temple of Torak at the other. The smoke from hundreds of chimneys rose in straight blue columns toward the windless sky.
"Depressing sort of place, isn't it?" Silk said as he came into the room with his green robe carelessly slung over one shoulder.
Garion nodded. "It looks almost as if they deliberately went out of their way to make it ugly."
"It's a reflection of the Murgo mind. Oh, Urgit wants to see us again." The little man caught Garion's inquiring look. "I don't think it's anything particularly important," he added. "He's probably just starved for conversation. I imagine that talking with Murgos can get tedious after a while."
They all trooped through the garish halls on the heels of the mail-shirted guard who had brought the king's summons, returning to the room where they had met with Urgit the previous day. They found him lounging in a chair by the fire with one leg cocked up over the arm and a half-eaten chicken leg in his hand. "Good morning, gentlemen," he greeted them. "Please sit down." He waved his breakfast at the chairs lined against one wall. "I'm not much of a one for formality." He looked at Sadi. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.
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