Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  "His Majesty would be rather pleased if that happened, wouldn't he?"

  "He'd be overjoyed, Brador."

  "I still don't see how occupying Darshiva is going to get us any closer to locating his Majesty."

  "That's because you're not a military man. We have to keep track of the enemy. In this case, that means the Darshivan army. Standard military procedure in such situations is to send out patrols in force to make contact with the enemy to determine his strength and probable intentions. If those patrols should just happen to encounter the Emperor in the process, well—" He spread his hands eloquently.

  "You'd have to brief the officers in command of those patrols rather thoroughly," Brador pointed out cautiously. "A green lieutenant might get flustered and blurt out things we'd rather not have the Emperor aware of."

  "I said patrols m force, Brador." Atesca smiled. "I was thinking along the lines of full brigades. A brigade is commanded by a colonel, and I’ve got a number of fairly intelligent colonels."

  Brador grinned at his friend. "When do we start?” he asked.

  "Did you have anything planned for tomorrow morning?"

  "Nothing that I can't postpone," Brador said.

  “But why didn't you know it was coming?” Barak demanded of Drolag, his bosun. The two of them stood on the aft deck with the wind-driven rain sheeting almost horizontally across the rail to tear at their beards.

  Drolag mopped at his face with one hand. "I haven't got the faintest idea, Barak," he admitted. "That leg has never iailed me before.” Drolag was one of those unfortunates who at some time in the past had broken one of his legs—in Drolag's case it had happened in a tavern brawl. He had discovered not long after the bone had knit that the leg was extraordinarily sensitive to weather changes. He was able to predict the onset of bad weather with uncanny accuracy. His shipmates always watched him very closely. When Drolag winced with every step, they began searching the horizons for oncoming storms; when he limped, they shortened sail and began rigging safety lines; and when he fell down with a surprised cry of pain, they immediately battened down all hatches, rigged the sea anchor, and went below. Drolag had turned a temporary inconvenience into a lifetime career. He always commanded top pay, and nobody ever expected him to do any real work. All he had to do was pace the deck where everybody could watch him. The miraculous leg even made it possible for him to predict with some degree of certainty just exactly when a given storm would hit. But not this time. The storm that swept the Seabirtfs decks with wind and pelting rain had come unannounced, and Drolag was as surprised by its arrival as any man on board.

  "You didn't get drunk and fall down and break it again, did you?" Barak demanded suspiciously. Barak had very little knowledge of human anatomy-—except about where to hit someone with an axe or to run a sword through him that would have the desired, and usually fatal, results. The big red-bearded man reasoned somewhat foggily that if Drolag had achieved his weather sensitivity by breaking his leg, a second break might very well have taken it away again.

  "No, of course I didn't, Barak," Drolag said disgustedly. "I'm not going to risk my livelihood for a few tankards of bad ale."

  "How did the storm sneak up on you, then?"

  "I don't know, Barak. Maybe it's not a natural storm. Some wizard may have summoned it. I don't know if my leg would react to something like that."

  "That's always an easy excuse, Drolag," Barak scoffed. "Anytime an ignorant man can't explain something, he blames it on magic."

  "I don't have to take this, Barak," Drolag said hotly. "I earn my way, but I tanot responsible for supernatural forces."

  "Go below, Drolag," Barak told him. "Have a long talk with your leg and see if it can come up with a better excuse.”

  Drolag staggered down the pitching deck talking to himself.

  Barak was in a foul humor. Everything seemed to be conspiring to delay him. Not long after he and his friends had witnessed Agachak's unpleasant demise, Seabird had struck a submerged log and sprung a seam. It had only been by dint of herculean bailing that they had been able to limp downriver to Dal Zerba and to haul the leaky ship up onto a mud bar for repairs. That chore had cost them two weeks, and now this storm from nowhere added to the delay. Then Unrak came up from below, trailed by the dull-faced King of the Thulls. Unrak looked around with the wind clawing at his bright-red hair. "It doesn't seem to be letting up, does it, father?" he observed.

  "Not noticeably."

  "Hettar wants to talk with you."

  "I've got to steer this big brute."

  "The mate can do it, father. All he has to do is keep her bow into the wind. Hettar's been studying that map, and he thinks we're in danger."

  "From this little storm? Don't be silly."

  "Is Seabirtfs bottom strong enough to take on rocks?"

  "We're in deep water."

  "Not for long, I don't think. Just come below, father. Hettar can show you."

  Grumbling, Barak turned the tiller over to the first mate and followed his son to the companionway leading below. Nathel, the King of the Thulls, trailed along behind them, his face incurious. Nathel was a bit older than Unrak, but he had taken to following Barak's red-haired son about like a stray puppy. Unrak was none too gracious to his unwanted companion.

  "What's this all about, Hettar?" Barak demanded of his friend as he entered the cramped cabin.

  "Come over here and have a look," the tall Algar said.

  Barak strode to the bolted-down table and looked down at the map.

  "We left Dal Zerba yesterday morning, right?"

  "Yes. We'd have gotten away sooner if somebody'd been paying attention to what was lying under the surface of that river. I think I'll find out who was on bow watch that day and have him keel-hauled."

  "What's keel-hauled?" Nathel asked Unrak.

  "Something very unpleasant," the red-haired boy replied.

  "I'd rather you didn't tell me, then. 1 don't like unpleasant stuff."

  "Whatever you want, your Majesty." Unrak did have a few manners.

  "Couldn't you just call me Nathel?" the Thull asked plaintively. "I'm not really a king anyway. Mother's the one who makes all the decisions."

  "Anything you want, Nathel." Unrak said it with a certain pity.

  "How far would you estimate we've come since yesterday?'

  Hettar asked Barak.

  "Oh, maybe twenty leagues. We had to heave to last night because we're in strange waters."

  "That puts us almost right here, doesn't it?" Hettar pointed at an ominous symbol on the map.

  "We aren't anywhere near that reef, Hettar. We came about to southeast as soon as we came out of that estuary at the mouth of the river."

  "But we haven't been going southeast, Barak. There seems to be a current that comes down along the west coast of Mal-lorea, and it's a fairiy strong one. I've checked a few times. Your bow is pointed southeast, but the Seabird has been drifting sideways almost due south because of that current."

  “When did you suddenly become such an expert on sailing?”

  “I don't have to be, Barak. Take a stick of wood and throw it off your starboard side. Your ship will catch up with the stick in just a few minutes. We're definitely drifting south in spite of whichever direction your bow is pointed. I'd guess that within an hour we' 11 be able to hear the surf breaking on that reef.”

  "I do confirm that our friend speaketh truth, my Lord of Trellheim," Mandorallen assured him. "I myself have witnessed his experiment with the stick. Truly, we are tending southward."

  "What can we do?" Lelldorin asked a bit apprehensively.

  Barak stared gloomily at the map. "We don't have any choice," he said. "We can't get back out into open sea in this storm. We'll have to drop both anchors and hope that we can find a bottom that'll hold us. Then we sit tight and ride it out. What's the name of that reef, Hettar?"

  "Korim," the Algar replied.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Like almost every other ship's cabin in all th
e world, the one on Captain Kresca's vessel was low and had dark-stained beams overhead. The furniture was bolted to the floor, and oil lamps swung from the beams as the ship, swinging at anchor, rolled heavily in the combers coming in off the Sea of the East. Garion rather liked being at sea. There was a calmness, a kind of suspension of care out on deep water. When he was ashore it seemed that he was always scurrying from place to place through crowds of people, all filling his ears with distractions. At sea, however, there was time to be alone with his thoughts, and the even, patient roll of waves and the slow movement of the sky made those thoughts long and deep.

  Their evening meal had been simple, a hearty bean soup and thick slices of dark, rich bread, and they sat on the benches around the plain table after they had eaten, talking idly and awaiting the arrival of the captain, who had promised to join them as soon as he had secured his ship.

  The half-grown wolf lay under the table near where Ce'Nedra sat, and his eyes had a studied, pleading look in them. Ce'Nedra slipped him tidbits when she thought no one was watching her. Wolves are not stupid, after all.

  "The surf seems to be heavy," Zakath said, cocking his head to one side to listen to the booming of the waves against the rocks of the reef. “That's likely to cause some problems when we try to land, isn't it?"

  “I rather doubt it," Belgarath said. “This storm has probably been brewing since the day the earth was made. It's not going to interfere with us in any way,"

  "Aren't you being just a little fatalistic, Belgarath?" Beldin suggested. "And perhaps slightly overconfident?"

  "I don't think so. The two prophecies must have this meeting. They've been coming toward this place since the beginning of time. They're not going to let anything interfere with the arrival of anyone who's supposed to be here."

  "Why raise a storm like this, then?"

  "The storm wasn't designed to hinder us—or Zandramas."

  "What is its purpose?"

  "It's probably out there to keep others away. There are only certain people who are supposed to be on that reef tomorrow. The prophecies are going to see to it that no one else can set foot on it until after our business has been completed."

  Garion looked at Cyradis. The blindfolded girl's face was calm, even serene. The half concealment of the strip of cloth across her eyes had always at least partially concealed her features from him. In this light, however, he suddenly realized just how extraordinarily beautiful she really was.”That raises something rather interesting, Grandfather," he said. "Cyradis, didn't you tell us that the Child of Dark has always been solitary? Doesn't that mean that she'll have to face us alone tomorrow?"

  "Thou hast misread my meaning, Belgarion of Riva. Thou and each of thy companions have had your names writ large in the stars since the beginning of days. Those who will accompany the Child of Dark, however, are of no moment. Their names do not stand in the book of the heavens. Zandramas is the only emissary of the dark prophecy of any significance. The others she will bring with her were doubtless chosen at random, and their numbers are limited to match your force."

  "A fair fight, then," Velvet murmured approvingly. "I think we can probably cope."

  "That doesn't bode too well for me, though," Beldin said. "Back at Rheon, you rather carefully listed the people who were supposed to come here with Garion. As I recall, my name wasn't on the list. Do you suppose they forgot to send me an invitation?"

  "Nay, gentle Beldin. Thy presence here is necessary now. Zandramas hath included in her forces one who is beyond the prophecies. Thou art here to offset that one, though in numbers only."

  "Zandramas can't ever play a game without cheating, can she?" Silk said.

  "Can you?" Velvet asked him.

  "That's different. I'm only playing for worthless counters-bits and pieces of unimportant metal. The stakes in this game are a lot higher."

  The cabin door opened, and Captain Kresca entered with several rolls of parchment under his arm. He had changed out of his doublet and now wore a tar-stained canvas sea coat and no hat. Garion saw that his short-cropped hair was as silvery as Belgarath's, a startling contrast to his deeply tanned and weathered face. "The storm seems to be abating," he announced. "At least around the reef it is. I don't think I've ever seen a storm like this."

  "I'd be surprised if you had, Captain," Beldin told him. "As closely as we can determine, this is the first one—and probably the last—of its kind."

  "I think you're wrong, friend," Captain Kresca disagreed. "There's nothing new in the way of weather in the world. It's all happened before."

  "Just let it lie," Belgarath said quietly to Beldin. "He's a Melcene. He's not really prepared for this sort of thing."

  "All right," the captain said, pushing their soup bowls out of the way and laying his charts on the table. "We're here." He pointed. "Now, which part of the reef was it you propose to land on?"

  "The highest pinnacle," Belgarath told him.

  Kresca sighed. "I might have known," he said. "That's the one part of the reef where my charts aren't too accurate. About the time I got to taking soundings around that one, a squall came out of nowhere, and I had to back off." He thought about it. "No matter," he decided. "We'll stand a half mile or so offshore and go in with the longboat. There's something you ought to know about that part of the reef, though."

  "Oh?"Belgarathsaid.

  "I think there are some people there."

  "I sort of doubt it."

  "I don't really know of any other creature that builds fires, do you? There's a cave on the north side of that pinnacle, and sailors have been seeing the light of fires coming out of the mouth of it for years now. It's my guess that there's a band of pirates living in there. It wouldn't be all that hard for them to come out in small boats on dark nights and waylay merchantmen in the straits on the landward side of the reef."

  “Can you see the fire from where we are right now?” Garion asked him.

  “I 'd guess so. Let's go topside and have a look.”

  The ladies, Sadi, and Toth remained in the cabin, and Garion and his other friends followed Captain Kresca up the compan-ionway to the deck. The wind, which had been howling through the rigging when the sailors had dropped anchor, had fallen off, and the surf along the reef was no longer frothy.

  "There," Kresca said, pointing. "It's not quite as visible from this angle, but you can make it out. When you're standing out to sea from the cave mouth, it's really bright."

  Dimly, Garion could see a sooty red glow a short way up the side of a bulky-looking peak jutting up out of the sea. The other rocks that formed the reef appeared to be little more than slender spires, but the central peak had a different shape. For some reason, it reminded Garion of the truncated mountain that was the site of far-off Prolgu in Ulgoland.

  "Nobody's ever explained to my satisfaction how the top of mat mountain got sliced off like that," Kresca said.

  "It's probably a very long story," Silk told him. The litde man shivered. "It's still a little chilly out here," he noted. "Why don't we go below again?"

  Garion fell back to walk beside Belgarath. "What's making that light, Grandfather?" he asked quietly.

  "I'm not entirely sure," Belgarath replied, "but I think it might be the Sardion. We know it's in that cave."

  "We do?"

  "Of course we do. At the time of the meeting, the Orb and the Sardion have to come into each other's presence in the same way you and Zandramas do. That Melcene scholar who stole the Sardion—the one Senji told us about—sailed around the southern tip of Gandahar and disappeared into these waters. That was all too convenient to be mere coincidence. The Sardion was controlling the scholar, and the scholar delivered the stone to the precise place it wanted to go. It's probably been waiting for us in that cave for about five hundred years."

  Garion looked back over his shoulder. The hilt of his sword was covered by the leather sleeve, but he was still fairly certain that he'd be able to see the muted glow of the Orb. "Doesn't the Orb usually reac
t to the presense of the Sardion?" he asked.

  "We may not be close enough yet, and we're still at sea. Open water confuses the Orb. Then, too, maybe it's trying to conceal itself from the Sardion.”

  “Could it actually think its way through that complex an idea? It's usually fairly childish, I've noticed."

  "Don't underestimate it, Garion."

  "Everything's fitting together, then, isn't it?"

  "It all has to, Garion. Otherwise what's going to happen tomorrow couldn't happen."

  "Well, father?" Polgara asked as they reentered the cabin.

  "There's a fire of some kind in that cave, all right," he told her. His fingers, however, were telling her something else.—We'll talk about it in more detail after the captain leaves.—He turned toward Kresca. "When's the next low tide?" he asked the seaman.

  Kresca squinted, calculating. "We just missed one," he said. "The tide's coming in now. The next low tide will come about daybreak and, if my observations are correct, it should be a neap tide. Well, I'll leave you to get some rest now. I sort of gather that you've got a full day ahead of you tomorrow."

  "Thank you, Captain Kresca," Garion said, shaking the seaman's hand.

  "Don't mention it, Garion." Kresca grinned. "The King of Peldane paid me very handsomely for this voyage, so being helpful doesn't really cost me anything."

  "Good." Garion grinned back. "I like to see friends get ahead in the world."

  The captain laughed and went back out with a hearty wave.

  "What was he talking about?" Sadi asked. "What's a neap tide?"

  "It only happens a few times a year," Beldin explained. "It's an extreme low tide. It has to do with the positions of the sun and moon."

  "Everything seems to be going out of its way to make tomorrow a very special day," Silk observed.

  "All right, fother," Polgara said crisply. "What's the story on the fire in that cave?"

  "I can't be positive, Pol, but I rather strongly suspect that it's not a group of pirates—not after all the trouble the prophecies have gone to to keep people away from the cave."

  "What do you think it is, then?"