Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  It was about midafternoon when they crested a hill and saw the lead‑gray expanse of Lake Hagga stretching far in the north and east; on the near shore was a large, walled city.

  "Rak Hagga," Atesca said with a certain relief.

  They rode on down the hill toward the city. A brisk wind was blowing in off the lake, whipping their cloaks about them and tossing the manes of their horses.

  "All right, gentlemen," Atesca said over his shoulder to his troops, "let's form up and try to look like soldiers." The red‑cloaked Malloreans pulled their horses into a double file and straightened in their saddles.

  The walls of Rak Hagga had been breached in several places, and the tops of the battlements were chipped and pitted from the storms of steel‑tipped arrows that had swept over them. The heavy gates had been burst asunder during the final assault on the city and hung in splinters from their rusty iron hinges.

  The guards at the gate drew themselves up and saluted smartly as Atesca led the way into the city. The battered condition of the stone houses within the walls attested to the savagery of the fighting which had ensued when Rak Hagga had fallen. Many of them stood unroofed to the sky, their gaping, soot‑blackened windows staring out at the rubble‑choked streets. A work gang of sullen Murgos, dragging clanking chains behind them, labored to clear the fallen building stones out of the slushy streets under the watchful eyes of a detachment of Mallorean soldiers.

  "You know," Silk said, "that's the first time I've ever seen a Murgo actually work. I didn't think they even knew how."

  The headquarters of the Mallorean army in Cthol Murgos was in a large, imposing yellow‑brick house near the center of the city. It faced a broad, snowy square, and a marble staircase led up to the main door with a file of red‑cloaked Mallorean soldiers lining each side.

  "The former residence of the Murgo Military Governor of Hagga," Sadi noted as they drew near the house.

  "You've been here before, then?" Silk asked.

  "In my youth," Sadi replied. "Rak Hagga has always been the center of the slave trade."

  Atesca dismounted and turned to one of his officers.

  "Captain," he said, "have your men bring the Queen's litter. Tell them to be very careful."

  As the rest of them swung down from their mounts, the captain's men unfastened the litter from the saddles of the two horses that had carried it and started up the marble stairs in General Atesca's wake.

  Just inside the broad doors stood a polished table, and seated behind it was an arrogant‑looking man with angular eyes and an expensive‑looking scarlet uniform.

  Against the far wall stood a row of chairs occupied by bored‑looking officials.

  "State your business," the officer behind the table said brusquely.

  Atesca's face did not change expression as he silently stared at the officer.

  "I said to state your business."

  "Have the rules changed, Colonel?" Atesca asked in a deceptively mild voice. "Do we no longer rise in the presence of a superior?"

  "I'm too busy to jump to my feet for every petty Melcene official from the outlying districts," the colonel declared.

  "Captain," Atesca said flatly to his officer, "if the colonel is not on his feet in the space of two heartbeats, would you be so good as to cut his head off for me?"

  "Yes, sir," the captain replied, drawing his sword even as the startled colonel jumped to his feet.

  "Much better," Atesca told him. "Now, let's begin over again. Do you by chance remember how to salute?"

  The colonel saluted smartly, though his face was pale.

  "Splendid. We'll make a soldier of you yet. Now, one of the people I was escorting ‑a lady of high station- fell ill during our journey. I want a warm, comfortable room prepared for her immediately."

  "Sir," the colonel protested, "I'm not authorized to do that."

  "Don't put your sword away just yet, Captain."

  "But, General, the members of his Majesty's household staff make all those decisions. They'll be infuriated if I overstep my bounds."

  "I'll explain it to his Majesty, Colonel," Atesca told him. "The circumstances are a trifle unusual, but l'm sure he'll approve."

  The colonel faltered, his eyes filled with indecision.

  "Do it, Colonel! Now!"

  "I'll see to it at once, General," the colonel replied, snapping to attention. "You men," he said to the soldiers holding Ce'Nedra's litter, "follow me."

  Garion automatically started to follow the litter, but Polgara took his arm firmly. "No, Garion. I'll go with her. There's nothing you can do right now, and I think Zakath's going to want to talk to you. Just be careful of what you say." And she went off down the hallway behind the litter.

  "I see that Mallorean society still has its little frictions, " Silk said blandly to General Atesca.

  "Angaraks," Atesca grunted. " Sometimes they have a little difficulty coping with the modern world. Excuse me, Prince Kheldar. I want to let his Majesty know that we're here." He went to a polished door at the other end of the room and spoke briefly with one of the guards. Then he came back. "The Emperor is being advised of our arrival," he said to them. "I expect that he'll see us in a few moments."

  A rather chubby, bald‑headed man in a plain, though obviously costly, brown robe and with a heavy gold chain about his neck approached them. "Atesca, my dear fellow," he greeted the general, "they told me that you were stationed at Rak Verkat."

  "I have some business with the Emperor, Brador. What are you doing in Cthol Murgos?"

  "Cooling my heels," the chubby man replied. "I've been waiting for two days to see Kal Zakath."

  "Who's minding the shop at home?"

  "I've arranged it so that it more or less runs itself," Brador replied. "The report I have for his Majesty is so vital that I decided to carry it myself."

  "What could be so earthshaking that it would drag the Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs away from the comforts of Mal Zeth?"

  "I believe that it's time for his Imperial Exaltedness

  to tear himself away from his amusements here in Cthol Murgos and come back to the capital."

  "Careful, Brador," Atesca said with a brief smile. "Your fine‑tuned Melcene prejudices are showing."

  "Things are getting grim at home, Atesca," Brador said seriously. "I've got to talk with the Emperor. Can you help me to get in to see him?"

  "I'll see what I can do."

  "Thank you, my friend," Brador said, clasping the general's arm. "The whole fate of the empire may depend on my persuading Kal Zakath to come back to Mal Zeth."

  "General Atesca," one of the spear‑armed guards at the polished door said in a loud voice, "his Imperial Majesty will see you and your prisoners now."

  "Very good," Atesca replied, ignoring the ominous word "prisoners." He looked at Garion. "The Emperor must be very eager to see you, your Majesty," he noted.

  "It often takes weeks to gain an audience with him. Shall we go inside?"

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kal Zakath, the Emperor of boundless Mallorea, lounged in a red‑cushioned chair at the far end of a large plain room. The Emperor wore a simple white linen robe, severe and unadorned. Though Garion knew that he was at least in his forties, his hair was untouched by gray and his face was unlined. His eyes, however, betrayed a kind of dead weariness, devoid of any joy or even any interest in life. Curled in his lap lay a common mackerel‑striped alley cat, her eyes closed and her forepaws alternately kneading his thigh. Although the Emperor himself wore the simplest of clothes, the guards lining the walls all wore steel breastplates deeply inlaid with gold.

  "My Emperor," General Atesca said with a deep bow,

  "I have the honor to present his Royal Majesty, King Belgarion of Riva."

  Garion nodded briefly, and Zakath inclined his head in response. "Our meeting is long overdue, Belgarion," he said in a voice as dead as his eyes. "Your exploits have shaken the world."

  "Yours have also made a certain impression, Zaka
th." Garion had decided even before he had left Rak Verkat -that he would not perpetuate the absurdity of the Mallorean's self‑bestowed "Kal."

  A faint smile touched Zakath's lips. "Ah," he said in a tone which indicated that he saw through Garion's attempt to be subtle. He nodded briefly to the others, and his attention finally fixed itself upon the rumpled untidy form of Garion's grandfather.

  "And of course you, sir, would be Belgarath," he noted. "I'm a bit surprised to find you so ordinary looking. The Grolims of Mallorea all agree that you're a hundred feet tall ‑possible two hundred‑ and that you have horns and a forked tail."

  "I'm in disguise," Belgarath replied with aplomb.

  Zakath chuckled, though there was little amusement in that almost mechanical sound. Then he looked around with a faint frown. "I seem to note some absences," he said.

  "Queen Ce'Nedra fell ill during our journey, your Majesty." Atesca advised him. "Lady Polgara is attending her."

  "Ill? Is it serious?"

  "It's difficult to say at this point, your Imperial Majesty, " Sadi replied unctuously, "but we have given her certain medications, and I have every confidence in Lady Polgara's skill."

  Zakath looked at Garion. "You should have sent word on ahead, Belgarion. I have a healer on my personal staff ‑a Dalasian woman with remarkable gifts. I'll send her to the Queen's chambers at once. Our first concern must be your wife's health."

  "Thank you," Garion replied with genuine gratitude.

  Zakath touched a bellpull and spoke briefly with the servant who responded immediately to his summons.

  "Please," the Emperor said then, "seat yourselves. I have no particular interest in ceremony."

  As the guards hastily brought chairs for them, the cat sleeping in Zakath's lap half opened her golden eyes and looked around at them. She rose to her paws, arched her back, and yawned. Then she jumped heavily to the floor with an audible grunt and waddled over to sniff at Eriond's fingers. With a faintly amused look, Zakath watched his obviously pregnant cat make her matronly way across the carpet. "You'll note that my cat has been unfaithful to me ‑again." He sighed in mock resignation. "It happens fairly frequently, I'm afraid, and she never seems to feel the slightest guilt about it."

  The cat jumped up into Eriond's lap, nestled down, and began to purr contentedly.

  "You've grown, boy," Zakath said to the young man.

  "Have they taught you how to talk as yet?" .

  "I've picked up a few words, Zakath," Eriond said in his clear voice.

  "I know the rest of you ‑by reputation at least," Zakath said then. "Goodman Durnik and I met on the plains of Mishrak ac Thull, and of course I've heard of the Margravine Liselle of Drasnian Intelligence and of Prince Kheldar, who strives to become the richest man in the world."

  Velvet's graceful curtsy of acknowledgment was not quite so florid as Silk's grandiose bow. .

  "And here, of course," the Emperor continued, "is Sadi, Chief Eunuch in the palace of Queen Salmissra."

  Sadi bowed with fluid grace. "I must say that your Majesty is remarkably well informed," he said in his contralto voice. "You have read us all like an open book."

  "My chief of intelligence tries to keep me informed, Sadi. He may not be as gifted as the inestimable Javelin of Boktor, but he knows about most of what's going on in this part of the world. He's mentioned that huge fellow over in the corner, but so far he hasn't been able to discover his name."

  "He's called Toth," Eriond supplied. "He's a mute, so we have to do his talking for him."

  "And a Dalasian besides," Zakath noted. "A very curious circumstance."

  Garion had been closely watching this man. Beneath the polished, urbane exterior, he sensed a kind of subtle probing. The idle greetings, which seemed to be no more than a polite means of putting them at their ease, had a deeper motive behind them. In some obscure way he sensed that Zakath was somehow testing each of them.

  The emperor straightened then. "You have an oddly assorted company with you, Belgarion," he said, "and you're a long way from home. I'm curious about your reasons for being here in Cthol Murgos."

  "I'm afraid that's a private matter, Zakath."

  One of the Emperor's eyebrows rose slightly. " Under the circumstances, that's hardly a satisfactory answer, Belgarion. I can't really take the chance that you're allied with Urgit."

  "Would you accept my word that I'm not?"

  "Not until I know a bit more about your visit to Rak Urga. Urgit left there quite suddenly ‑apparently in your company‑ and reappeared just as suddenly on the plains of Morcth, where he and a young woman led his troops out of an ambush I'd gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange. You'll have to admit that's a peculiar set of circumstances."

  "Not when you look at it from a practical standpoint, " Belgarath said. "The decision to take Urgit with us was mine. He'd found out who we are, and I didn't want an army of Murgos on our heels. Murgos aren't too bright, but they can be an inconvenience at times.

  Zakath looked surprised. "He was your prisoner?"

  Belgarath shrugged. "In a manner of speaking."

  The Emperor laughed rather wryly. "You could have wrung almost any concession from me if you had just delivered him into my hands, you know. Why did you let

  him go?"

  "We didn't need him anymore," Garion replied. "We'd reached the shores of Lake Cthaka, so he really wasn't any kind of threat to us."

  Zakath's expression narrowed slightly. " A few other things happened as well, I think," he observed. "Urgit has always been a notorious coward, wholly under the domination of the Grolim Agachak and of his father's generals. But he didn't seem very timid while he was extricating his troops from the trap I'd laid for them, and all the reports filtering out of Rak Urga seem to suggest that he's actually behaving like a king. Did you by any chance have anything to do with that?"

  "It's possible, I suppose," Garion answered. "Urgit and I talked a few times, and I told him what he was doing wrong."

  Zakath tapped one forefinger against his chin, and his eyes were shrewd. "You may not have made a lion of him, Belgarion," he said, "but at least he's no longer a rabbit." A chill smile touched the Mallorean's lips. "In a way, I'm rather glad about that. I've never taken much satisfaction in hunting rabbits." He shaded his eyes with one hand, although the light in the room was not particularly bright. "But what I can't understand is how you managed to spirit him out of the Drojim Palace and away from the city. He has whole regiments of bodyguards."

  "You're overlooking something, Zakath," Belgarath said to him. "We have certain advantages that aren't available to others."

  "Sorcery, you mean? Is it really all that reliable?"

  "I've had some luck with it from time to time."

  Zakath's eyes had become suddenly intent. " They tell me that you're five thousand years old, Belgarath. Is that true?"

  "Seven, actually ‑or a little more. Why do you ask?"

  "In all those years, hasn't it ever occurred to you simply to seize power? You could have made yourself king of the world, you know."

  Belgarath looked amused. "Why would I want to?" he asked.

  "All men want power. It's human nature."

  "Has all your power really made you happy?"

  "It has certain satisfactions."

  "Enough to make up for all the petty distractions that go with it?"

  "I can endure those. At least I'm in a position where no one tells me what to do."

  "No one tells me what to do either, and I'm not saddled with all those tedious responsibilities." Belgarath straightened. "All right, Zakath, shall we get to the point? What are your intentions concerning us?"

  "I haven't really decided that yet." The Emperor looked around at them. "I presume that we can all be civilized about the present situation?"

  "How do you mean, civilized?" Garion asked him.

  "I'll accept your word that none of you will try to escape or do anything rash. I'm aware that you and a number of your friends h
ave certain specialized talents. I don't want to be forced to take steps to counteract them."

  "We have some rather pressing business," Garion replied carefully, "so we can only delay for just so long.

  For the time being, however, I think we can agree to be reasonable about things."

  "Good. We'll have to talk later, you and I, and come to know one another. I've had comfortable quarters prepared for you and your friends, and I know that you're anxious about your wife. Now, I hope you'll excuse me, but I have some of those tedious responsibilities Belgarath mentioned to attend to."

  Although the house was very large, it was not, strictly speaking, a palace. It appeared that the Murgo governors‑general of Hagga who had ordered it built had not shared the grandiose delusions which afflicted the rulers of Urga, and so the building was more functional than ornate.

  "I hope you'll excuse me," General Atesca said to them when they had emerged from the audience chamber. "I'm obliged to deliver a full report to his Majesty ‑about various matters‑ and then I must return immediately to Rak Verkat." He looked at Garion. "The circumstances under which we met were not the happiest, your Majesty." he said, "but I hope you won't think too unkindly of me." He bowed rather stiffly and then left them in the care of a member of the Emperor's staff The man who led them down a long, dark‑paneled hallway toward the center of the house was obviously not an Angarak. He had not the angular eyes nor the stiff, bleak‑faced arrogance that marked the men of that race.

  His cheerful, round face seemed to hint at a Melcene heritage, and Garion remembered that the bureaucracy which controlled most aspects of Mallorean life was made up almost exclusively of Melcenes. "His Majesty asked me to assure you that your quarters are not intended to be a prison," the official told them as they approached a heavily barred iron door blocking off one portion of the hallway. "This was a Murgo house before we took the city, and it has certain structural peculiarities. Your rooms are in what once were the women's quarters, and Murgos are fanatically protective of their women. It has to do with their concept of racial purity, I think."