Garion and Silk stood at the rail with their cloaks pulled tightly around them, staring somberly out through the filmy snowfall.
‘Miserable morning,’ the rat-faced little Drasnian noted, distastefully brushing snow from his shoulders.
Garion grunted sourly.
‘You’re in a cheerful humor today.’
‘I don’t really have all that much to smile about, Silk.’ Garion went back to glowering out at the gloomy black-and-white morning.
Belgarath the Sorcerer came out of the aft cabin, squinted up into the thickly settling snow, and raised the hood of his stout old cloak. Then he came forward along the slippery deck to join them at the rail.
Silk glanced at the red-cloaked Mallorean soldier who had unobtrusively come up on deck behind the old man and who now stood leaning with some show of idleness on the rail several yards aft. ‘I see that General Atesca is still concerned about your well-being,’ he said, pointing at the man who had dogged Belgarath’s steps since they had sailed out of the harbor at Rak Verkat.
Belgarath threw a quick, disgusted glance in the soldier’s direction. ‘Stupidity,’ he said shortly. ‘Where does he think I’m going?’
A sudden thought came to Garion. He leaned forward and spoke very quietly. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘we could go someplace, at that. We’ve got a ship here, and a ship goes wherever you point it—Mallorea just as easily as the coast of Hagga.’
‘It’s an interesting notion, Belgarath,’ Silk agreed.
‘There are four of us, Grandfather,’ Garion pointed out. ‘You, me, Aunt Pol, and Durnik. I’m sure we wouldn’t have much difficulty in taking over this ship. Then we could change course and be halfway to Mallorea before Kal Zakath realized that we weren’t coming to Rak Hagga after all.’ The more he thought about it, the more the idea excited him. ‘Then we could sail north along the Mallorean coast and anchor in a cove or inlet someplace on the shore of Camat. We’d only be a week or so from Ashaba. We might even be able to get there before Zandramas does.’ A bleak smile touched his lips. ‘I’d sort of like to be waiting for her when she gets there.’
‘It’s got some definite possibilities, Belgarath,’ Silk said. ‘Could you do it?’
Belgarath scratched thoughtfully at his beard, squinting out into the sifting snow. ‘It’s possible,’ he admitted. He looked at Garion. ‘But what do you think we ought to do with all these Mallorean soldiers and the ship’s crew, once we get to the coast of Camat? You weren’t planning to sink the ship and drown them all, were you, the way Zandramas does when she’s finished using people?’
‘Of course not!’
‘I’m glad to hear that—but then how did you plan to keep them from running to the nearest garrison just as soon as we leave them behind? I don’t know about you, but the idea of having a regiment or so of Mallorean troops hot on our heels doesn’t excite me all that much.’
Garion frowned. ‘I guess I hadn’t thought about that,’ he admitted.
‘I didn’t think you had. It’s usually best to work your way completely through an idea before you put it into action. It avoids a great deal of spur-of-the-moment patching later on.’
‘All right,’ Garion said, feeling slightly embarrassed.
‘I know you’re impatient, Garion, but impatience is a poor substitute for a well-considered plan.’
‘Do you mind, Grandfather?’ Garion said acidly.
‘Besides, it might just be that we’re supposed to go to Rak Hagga and meet with Kal Zakath. Why would Cyradis turn us over to the Malloreans, after she went to all the trouble of putting The Book of Ages into my hands? There’s something else going on here, and I’m not sure we want to disrupt things until we find out a little more about them.’
The cabin door opened, and General Atesca, the commander of the Mallorean forces occupying the Isle of Verkat, emerged. From the moment they had been turned over to him, Atesca had been polite and strictly correct in all his dealings with them. He had also been very firm about his intention to deliver them personally to Kal Zakath in Rak Hagga. He was a tall, lean man, and his uniform was bright scarlet, adorned with numerous medals and decorations. He carried himself with erect dignity, though the fact that his nose had been broken at some time in the past made him look more like a street brawler than a general in an imperial army. He came up the slush-covered deck, heedless of his highly polished boots. ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he greeted them with a stiff, military bow. ‘I trust you slept well?’
‘Tolerably,’ Silk replied.
‘It seems to be snowing,’ the general said, looking about and speaking in the tone of one making small talk for the sake of courtesy.
‘I noticed that,’ Silk said. ‘How long is it likely to take us to reach Rak Hagga?’
‘A few more hours to reach the coast, your Highness, and then a two-day ride to the city.’
Silk nodded. ‘Have you any idea why your Emperor wants to see us?’ he asked.
‘He didn’t say,’ Atesca answered shortly, ‘and I didn’t think it appropriate to ask. He merely told me to apprehend you and to bring you to him at Rak Hagga. You are all to be treated with utmost courtesy as long as you don’t try to escape. If you do that, his Imperial Majesty instructed me to be more firm.’ His tone as he spoke was neutral, and his face remained expressionless. ‘I hope you gentlemen will excuse me now,’ he said. ‘I have some matters that need my attention.’ He bowed curtly, turned, and left them.
‘He’s a gold mine of information, isn’t he?’ Silk noted dryly. ‘Most Melcenes love to gossip, but you’ve got to pry every word out of this one.’
‘Melcene?’ Garion said. ‘I didn’t know that.’
Silk nodded. ‘Atesca’s a Melcene name. Kal Zakath has some peculiar ideas about the aristocracy of talent. Angarak officers don’t like the idea, but there’s not too much they can do about it—if they want to keep their heads.’
Garion was not really that curious about the intricacies of Mallorean politics, so he let the matter drop, to return to the subject they had been discussing previously. ‘I’m not quite clear about what you were saying, Grandfather,’ he said, ‘about our going to Rak Hagga, I mean.’
‘Cyradis believes that she has a choice to make,’ the old man replied, ‘and there are certain conditions that have to be met before she can make it. I’ve got a suspicion that your meeting with Zakath might be one of those conditions.’
‘You don’t actually believe her, do you?’
‘I’ve seen stranger things happen and I always walk very softly around the Seers of Kell.’
‘I haven’t seen anything about a meeting of that kind in the Mrin Codex.’
‘Neither have I, but there are more things in the world than the Mrin Codex. You’ve got to keep in mind the fact that Cyradis is drawing on the prophecies of both sides, and if the prophecies are equal, they have equal truth. Not only that, Cyradis is probably drawing on some prophecies that only the Seers know about. Wherever this list of preconditions came from, though, I’m fairly certain that she won’t let us get to this “place which is no more” until every item’s been crossed off her list.’
‘Won’t let us?’ Silk said.
‘Don’t underestimate Cyradis, Silk,’ Belgarath cautioned. ‘She’s the receptacle of all the power the Dals possess. That means that she can probably do things that the rest of us couldn’t even begin to dream of. Let’s look at things from a practical point of view, though. When we started out, we were a half a year behind Zandramas and we were planning a very tedious and time-consuming trek across Cthol Murgos—but we kept getting interrupted.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Silk said sardonically.
‘Isn’t it curious that after all these interruptions, we’ve reached the eastern side of the continent ahead of schedule and cut Zandramas’ lead down to a few weeks?’
Silk blinked, and then his eyes narrowed.
‘Gives you something to think about, doesn’t it?’ The old man pulled his clo
ak more tightly about him and looked around at the settling snow. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he suggested. ‘It’s really unpleasant out here.’
The coast of Hagga was backed by low hills, filmy-looking and white in the thick snowfall. There were extensive salt marshes at the water’s edge, and the brown reeds bent under their burden of wet, clinging snow. A black-looking wooden pier extended out across the marshes to deeper water, and they disembarked from the Mallorean ship without incident. At the landward end of the pier a wagon track ran up into the hills, its twin ruts buried in snow.
Sadi the eunuch looked upward with a slightly bemused expression as they rode off the pier and onto the road. He lightly brushed one long-fingered hand across his shaved scalp. ‘They feel like fairy wings,’ he smiled.
‘What’s that?’ Silk asked him.
‘The snowflakes. I’ve almost never seen snow before—only when I was visiting a northern kingdom—and I actually believe that this is the first time I’ve ever been out of doors when it was snowing. It’s not too bad, is it?’
Silk gave him a sour look. ‘The first chance I get, I’ll buy you a sled,’ he said.
Sadi looked puzzled. ‘Excuse me, Kheldar, but what’s a sled?’ he asked.
Silk sighed. ‘Never mind, Sadi. I was only trying to be funny.’
At the top of the first hill a dozen or so crosses leaned at various angles beside the road. Hanging from each cross was a skeleton with a few tattered rags clinging to its bleached bones and a clump of snow crowning its vacant-eyed skull.
‘One is curious to know the reason for that, General Atesca,’ Sadi said mildly, pointing at the grim display at the roadside.
‘Policy, your Excellency,’ Atesca replied curtly. ‘His Imperia! Majesty seeks to alienate the Murgos from their king. He hopes to make them realize that Urgit is the cause of their misfortunes.’
Sadi shook his head dubiously. ‘I’d question the reasoning behind that particular policy,’ he disagreed. ‘Atrocities seldom endear one to the victims. I’ve always preferred bribery myself.’
‘Murgos are accustomed to being treated atrociously.’ Atesca shrugged. ‘It’s all they understand.’
‘Why haven’t you taken them down and buried them?’ Durnik demanded, his face pale and his voice thick with outrage.
Atesca gave him a long, steady look. ‘Economy, Goodman,’ he replied. ‘An empty cross really doesn’t prove very much. If we took them down, we’d just have to replace them with fresh Murgos. That gets to be tedious after a while, and sooner or later one starts to run out of people to crucify. Leaving the skeletons there proves our point—and it saves time.’
Garion did his best to keep his body between Ce’Nedra and the gruesome object lesson at the side of the road, trying to shield her from that hideous sight. She rode on obliviously, however, her face strangely numb and her eyes blank and unseeing. He threw a quick, questioning glance at Polgara and saw a slight frown on her face. He dropped back and pulled his horse in beside hers. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ he asked in a tense whisper.
‘I’m not entirely sure, Garion,’ she whispered back.
‘Is it the melancholia again?’ There was a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
‘I don’t think so.’ Her eyes were narrowed in thought, and she absently pulled the hood of her blue robe forward to cover the white lock in the midnight of her hair. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Stay with her. Try to get her to talk. She might say something to give us some clues.’
Ce’Nedra, however, made few responses to Garion’s efforts to engage her in conversation, and her answers for the remainder of that snowy day quite frequently had little relevance to either his questions or his observations.
As evening began to settle over the war-ravaged countryside of Hagga, General Atesca called a halt, and his soldiers began to erect several scarlet pavilions in the lee of a fire-blackened stone wall, all that remained of a burned-out village. ‘We should reach Rak Hagga by late tomorrow afternoon,’ he advised them. ‘That large pavilion in the center of the encampment will be yours for the night. My men will bring you your evening meal in a little while. Now, if you’ll all excuse me—’ He inclined his head briefly, then turned his horse around to supervise his men.
When the soldiers had completed the erection of the pavilions, Garion and his friends dismounted in front of the one Atesca had indicated. Silk looked around at the guard detachment moving into position around the large red tent. ‘I wish he’d make up his mind,’ he said irritably.
‘I don’t quite follow you, Prince Kheldar,’ Velvet said to him. ‘Just who should make up his mind?’
‘Atesca. He’s the very soul of courtesy, but he surrounds us with armed guards.’
‘The troops might just be there to protect us, Kheldar,’ she pointed out. ‘This is a war zone, after all.’
‘Of course,’ he said dryly, ‘and cows might fly, too —if they had wings.’
‘What a fascinating observation,’ she marvelled.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that all the time.’
‘Do what?’ her brown eyes were wide and innocent.
‘Forget it.’
The supper Atesca’s cooks prepared for them was plain, consisting of soldiers’ rations and served on tin plates, but it was hot and filling. The interior of the pavilion was heated by charcoal braziers and filled with the golden glow of hanging oil lamps. The furnishings were of a military nature, the kinds of tables and beds and chairs that could be assembled and disassembled rapidly, and the floors and walls were covered with Mallorean carpets dyed a solid red color.
Eriond looked around curiously after he had pushed his plate back. ‘They seem awfully partial to red, don’t they?’ he noted.
‘I think it reminds them of blood,’ Durnik declared bleakly. ‘They like blood.’ He turned to look coldly at the mute Toth. ‘If you’ve finished eating, I think we’d prefer it if you left the table,’ he said in a flat tone.
‘That’s hardly polite, Durnik,’ Polgara said reprovingly.
‘I wasn’t trying to be polite, Pol. I don’t see why he has to be with us in the first place. He’s a traitor. Why doesn’t he go stay with his friends?’
The giant mute rose from the table, his face melancholy. He lifted one hand as if he were about to make one of those obscure gestures with which he and the smith communicated, but Durnik deliberately turned his back on him. Toth sighed and went over to sit unobtrusively in one corner.
‘Garion,’ Ce’Nedra said suddenly, looking around with a worried little frown, ‘where’s my baby?’
He stared at her.
‘Where’s Geran?’ she demanded, her voice shrill.
‘Ce’Nedra—’ he started.
‘I hear him crying. What have you done with him?’ She suddenly sprang to her feet and began to dash about the tent, flinging back the curtains that partitioned off the sleeping quarters and yanking back the blankets on each bed. ‘Help me!’ she cried to them. ‘Help me find my baby!’
Garion crossed the tent quickly to take her by the arm. ‘Ce’Nedra—’
‘No!’ she shouted at him. ‘You’ve hidden him somewhere! Let me go!’ She wrenched herself free of his grasp and began overturning the furniture in her desperate search, sobbing and moaning unintelligibly.
Again Garion tried to restrain her, but she suddenly hissed at him and extended her fingers like talons to claw at his eyes.
‘Ce’Nedra! Stop that!’
But she darted around him and bolted out of the pavilion into the snowy night.
As Garion burst through the tent flap in pursuit, he found his way barred by a red-cloaked Mallorean soldier. ‘You! Get back inside!’ the man barked, blocking Garion with the shaft of his spear. Over the guard’s shoulder, Garion saw Ce’Nedra struggling with another soldier; without even thinking, he smashed his fist into the face in front of him. The guard reeled backward and fell. Garion lea
ped over him, but found himself suddenly seized from behind by a half-dozen more men. ‘Leave her alone!’ he shouted at the guard who was cruelly twisting one of the little Queen’s arms behind her.
‘Get back inside the tent!’ a rough voice barked, and Garion found himself being dragged backward step by step toward the tent flap. The soldier holding Ce’Nedra was half-lifting, half-pushing her back toward the same place. With a tremendous effort, Garion got control of himself and coldly began to draw in his will.
‘That will be enough!’ Polgara’s voice cracked from the doorway to the tent.
The soldiers stopped, looking uncertainly at each other and somewhat fearfully at the commanding presence in the doorway.
‘Durnik!’ she said then. ‘Help Garion bring Ce’Nedra back inside.’
Garion shook himself free of the restraining hands and he and Durnik took the violently struggling little Queen from the soldier and pulled her back toward the pavilion.
‘Sadi,’ Polgara said as Durnik and Garion entered the tent with Ce’Nedra between them, ‘do you have any oret in that case of yours?’
‘Certainly, Lady Polgara,’ the eunuch replied, ‘but are you sure that oret is appropriate here? I’d be more inclined toward naladium, personally.’
‘I think we’ve got more than a case of simple hysteria on our hands, Sadi. I want something strong enough to insure that she doesn’t wake up the minute my back’s turned.’
‘Whatever you think best, Lady Polgara.’ He crossed the carpeted floor, opened his red leather case, and took out a vial of dark blue liquid. Then he went to the table and picked up a cup of water. He looked at her inquiringly.
Demon Lord Of Karanda Page 2