‘If we’re going to ride out of here without having him about ten minutes behind us, we’re going to need some kind of distraction to delay him,’ Silk said, toying with a crystal goblet. He looked at his friend. ‘I don’t suppose you still have any of those lead coins you hid in that Murgo tent the last time we were here, do you?’
‘I’m afraid not, Silk. I had to go through customs at the Tolnedran border a few months ago. I didn’t think it would be wise to have the customs people find that kind of thing in my packs, so I buried them under a tree.’
‘Lead coins?’ Ce’Nedra said with a puzzled look. ‘What could you possibly buy with coins made of lead?’
‘They’re gilded, your Majesty,’ Delvor told her. ‘They look exactly like Tolnedran gold crowns.’
Ce’Nedra’s face suddenly went pale. ‘That’s horrible!’ she gasped.
Delvor’s face mirrored his puzzlement at the vehemence of her reaction.
‘Her Majesty is a Tolnedran, Delvor,’ Silk reminded him, ‘and counterfeit money strikes at the very core of a Tolnedran’s being. I think it has something to do with their religion.’
‘I don’t find that particularly amusing, Prince Kheldar,’ Ce’Nedra said tartly.
After supper they talked for a while longer, the comfortable talk of people who are warm and well-fed, and then Delvor led them into an adjoining tent that had been partitioned off into sleeping chambers. Garion fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow and he awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than he had in weeks. He dressed quietly to avoid waking Ce’Nedra and went out into the main pavilion.
Silk and Delvor sat at the table talking quietly. ‘There’s a great deal of ferment going on here in Arendia,’ Delvor was saying. ‘The news of the campaign against the Bear-cult in the Alorn kingdoms has stirred the blood of all the young hotheads—both Mimbrate and Asturian. The thought of a fight someplace that they weren’t invited to attend fills young Arends with anguish.’
‘There’s nothing new about that,’ Silk said. ‘Good morning, Garion.’
‘Gentlemen,’ Garion said politely, pulling up a chair.
‘Your Majesty,’ Delvor greeted him. Then he turned back to Silk. ‘The thing that concerns everybody more than the casual belligerence of the young nobles, though, is the unrest that’s arisen among the serfs.’
Garion remembered the miserable hovels in the villages they had passed in the last few days and the hopeless looks on the faces of their inhabitants. ‘They have reason enough for discontent, don’t you think?’ he said.
‘I’d be the first to agree, your Majesty,’ Delvor said, ‘and it’s not the first time it’s happened. This time, though, it’s a little more serious. The authorities have been finding caches of weapons—fairly sophisticated ones. A serf with a pitchfork isn’t much of a match for an armored Mimbrate knight. A serf with a crossbow, however, is an altogether different matter. There have been several incidents—and some reprisals.’
‘How could serfs get those kinds of weapons?’ Garion asked him. ‘Most of the time they don’t even have enough to eat. How could they possibly afford to buy crossbows?’
‘They’re coming in from outside the country,’ Delvor told him. ‘We haven’t been able to pinpoint the source yet, but it’s fairly obvious that somebody wants to make sure that the Arendish nobility is too busy at home to get involved in anything anyplace else.’
‘Kal Zakath, perhaps?’ Silk suggested.
‘It’s entirely possible,’ Delvor agreed. ‘There’s no question that the emperor of Mallorea has global ambitions, and turmoil in the Kingdoms of the West would be his best ally if he decides to turn his armies northward after he finally kills King Urgit.’
Garion groaned. ‘That’s all I need,’ he said, ‘one more thing to worry about.’
When the others joined them in the main pavilion, Delvor’s servants brought in a huge breakfast. There were whole platters of eggs, heaps of bacon and sausage, and plate after plate of fruit and rich pastries.
‘Now this is what I call a breakfast,’ Silk said enthusiastically.
Polgara gave him a cool look. ‘Go ahead and say it, Prince Kheldar,’ she said. ‘I’m sure that you have all sorts of interesting observations to make.’
‘Would I say anything about that excellent gruel you offer us every morning, dear lady?’ he asked with exaggerated innocence.
‘Not if you’re at all concerned about your health, you wouldn’t,’ Ce’Nedra said sweetly.
One of the servants entered the tent with an offended expression on his face. ‘There’s an obnoxious, filthy hunchback outside, Delvor,’ he reported. ‘He has the foulest mouth I’ve ever run across and he’s demanding to be let in. Do you want us to chase him off?’
‘Oh, that would be Uncle Beldin,’ Polgara said.
‘You know him?’ Delvor seemed surprised.
‘I’ve known him since I was a baby,’ she replied. ‘He’s not really as bad as he seems—once you get used to him.’ She frowned slightly. ‘You probably ought to let him come in,’ she advised. ‘He can be terribly unpleasant when people irritate him.’
‘Belgarath,’ Beldin growled, roughly pushing his way past the protesting servant, ‘is this all the farther you’ve come? I thought you’d be in Tol Honeth by now.’
‘We had to stop at Prolgu to see the Gorim,’ Belgarath replied mildly.
‘This isn’t a grand tour, you blockhead,’ Beldin snapped irritably. The little hunchback was as filthy as ever. The wet rags he wore for clothes were tied to his body here and there with lengths of rotten twine. His hair was matted and had twigs and bits of straw clinging to it. His hideous face was as black as a thundercloud as he stumped to the table on his short, gnarled legs and helped himself to a bit of sausage.
‘Please try to be civil, uncle,’ Aunt Pol said.
‘Why?’ He pointed at a small pot standing on the table. ‘What’s in that?’
‘Jam,’ Delvor replied, looking slightly intimidated.
‘Interesting,’ Beldin said. He dipped one dirty hand into the pot and began feeding gobs of jam into his mouth. ‘Not bad,’ he said, licking his fingers.
‘There’s bread right there, uncle,’ Aunt Pol said pointedly.
‘I don’t like bread,’ he grunted, wiping his hand on his clothes.
‘Did you manage to catch up with Harakan?’ Belgarath asked him.
Beldin retorted with a number of expletives that made Ce’Nedra’s face blanch. ‘He gave me the slip again. I don’t have the time to waste chasing him, so I’ll have to forego the pleasure of splitting him up the middle.’ He dipped his hand into the jam pot again.
‘If we run across him, we’ll take care of it for you,’ Silk offered.
‘He’s a sorcerer, Kheldar. If you get in his way, he’ll hang your guts on a fence.’
‘I was going to let Garion do it.’
Beldin set down the empty jam pot and belched.
‘Can I offer you anything else?’ Delvor asked him.
‘No, thanks all the same, but I’m full now.’ He turned back to Belgarath. ‘Were you planning to get as far as Tol Honeth before summer?’
‘We’re not really that far behind, Beldin,’ Belgarath protested.
Beldin made an indelicate sound. ‘Keep your eyes open on the way south,’ he advised. ‘There’s a Mallorean who’s been asking questions about you and the others. He’s been hiring people all up and down the Great West Road.’
Belgarath looked at him sharply. ‘Could you get any kind of name?’
‘He uses several. The one that crops up most often is Naradas.’
‘Have you got any idea of what he looks like?’ Silk asked.
‘About all I’ve been able to pick up is the fact that he’s got funny eyes. From what I’ve been told, they’re all white.’
‘Well,’ Delvor said, ‘well, well, well.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Beldin asked him.
‘The man with white eyes is right here in the fair. He’s been asking questions here, too.’
‘That makes it fairly easy, then. Have somebody go run a knife into his back.’
Belgarath shook his head. ‘The legionnaires who police the fair get excited when unexplained bodies start showing up,’ he said.
Beldin shrugged. ‘Rap him on the head with something, then drag him a few miles out onto the plain. Cut his throat and dump him in a hole. He probably won’t sprout until spring.’ He looked over at Polgara with a sly grin creasing his ugly face. ‘If you keep nibbling on that pastry, girl, you’re going to spread. You’re chubby enough already.’
‘Chubby?’
‘That’s all right, Pol. Some men like girls with fat bottoms.’
‘Why don’t you wipe the jam out of your beard, uncle?’
‘I’m saving it for lunch.’ He scratched one armpit.
‘Lice again?’ she asked coolly.
‘It’s always possible. I don’t mind a few lice, though. They’re better company than most people I know.’
‘Where are you going now?’ Belgarath asked him.
‘Back to Mallorea. I want to root around in Darshiva for a while and see what I can dig up about Zandramas.’
Delvor had been looking at the grimy little man with a speculative squint. ‘Were you planning to leave immediately, Master Beldin?’ he asked.
‘Why?’
‘I’d like a word with you in private, if you’ve got a few moments.’
‘Secrets, Delvor?’ Silk asked.
‘Not really, old boy. I’ve got a sort of an idea, but I’d like to get it a bit more developed before I tell you about it.’ He turned back to the hunchback. ‘Why don’t we take a little stroll, Master Beldin? I have a notion that might appeal to you, and it really won’t take very long.’
Beldin’s look was curious. ‘All right,’ he agreed, and the two of them went outside into the drizzly morning.
‘What was that all about?’ Garion asked Silk.
‘It’s an irritating habit Delvor picked up at the Academy. He likes to pull off clever ploys without any advance warning. That way he can sit around afterward and bask in everyone’s stunned admiration.’ The little man looked at the table. ‘I believe I’ll have just a bit more of that sausage,’ he said, ‘and maybe a few more eggs. It’s a long way to Tol Honeth, and I’d like to put in a buffer against all that gruel.’
Polgara looked at Ce’Nedra. ‘Have you ever noticed that when some people find a notion they think is funny, they tend to keep playing with it long past the point where it bores everyone else to tears?’
Ce’Nedra looked at Silk with a sly little twinkle in her eyes. ‘I’ve noticed that, Aunt Pol. Do you suppose it might be the result of a limited imagination?’
‘I’m sure that has something to do with it, dear.’ Aunt Pol looked at Silk with a serene smile. ‘Now, did you want to play some more, Kheldar?’
‘Ah—no, Polgara. I don’t really think so.’
It was shortly before noon when Delvor and Beldin returned, each with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. ‘It was a truly masterful performance, Master Beldin,’ Delvor congratulated the little hunchback as they entered.
‘Child’s play.’ Beldin shrugged deprecatingly. ‘People inevitably believe that a deformed body houses a defective brain. I’ve used that to my advantage many times.’
‘I’m sure they’ll tell us what this is all about eventually,’ Silk said.
‘It wasn’t too complicated, Silk,’ Delvor told him. ‘You’ll be able to leave now without any worries about that curious Mallorean.’
‘Oh?’
‘He was trying to buy information,’ Delvor shrugged, ‘so we sold him some, and he left—at a full gallop.’
‘What sort of information did you sell him?’
‘It went sort of like this,’ Beldin said. He stooped a bit more, deliberately exaggerating his deformity, and his face took on an expression of vapid imbecility. ‘An’ it please yer honor,’ he said in a squeaky voice dripping with servile stupidity,’ I hears that you wants to find some people an’ that you says you’ll pay to know where they be. I seed the people yer lookin fer, an’ I kin tell you where they was—if you gimme enough money. How much was you willin’ to pay?’
Delvor laughed delightedly. ‘Naradas swallowed it whole. I took Master Beldin to him and told him that I’d found someone who knew about the people he was looking for. We agreed to a price, and then your friend here gulled him completely.’
‘Which way did you send him?’ Belgarath asked.
‘North.’ Beldin shrugged. ‘I told him that I’d seen you camped by the roadside up in the Arendish forest—that one of the members of your party had fallen sick and that you’d stopped to nurse him back to health.’
‘Wasn’t he at all suspicious?’ Silk asked.
Delvor shook his head. ‘The thing that makes people suspicious is help that comes for no particular reason. I gave Naradas every reason to believe that I was sincere. I cheated Master Beldin—outrageously. Naradas gave him a few silver coins for his information. My price, however, was much higher.’
‘Brilliant,’ Silk murmured admiringly.
‘There’s something you ought to know about White Eyes, though,’ Beldin told Belgarath. ‘He’s a Mallorean Grolim. I didn’t probe into him too hard, because I didn’t want him to catch what I was doing, but I was able to get that much. He’s got a great deal of power, so watch out for him.’
‘Did you find out whom he’s working for?’
Beldin shook his head. ‘I pulled back as soon as I found out what he was.’ The hunchback’s face grew bleak. ‘Be careful about this one, Belgarath. He’s very dangerous.’
Belgarath’s face grew grim. ‘So am I, Beldin,’ he said.
‘I know, but there are some things you won’t do. Naradas doesn’t feel that kind of restraint.’
Chapter Four
They rode south under clearing skies for the next six days. A cold wind bent the winter-browned grass at the sides of the road, and the rolling plain of southern Arendia lay dead and sere beneath a chill blue sky. They passed an occasional mud-and-wattle village where ragged serfs clenched themselves to endure yet another winter and more infrequently a rearing stone keep where a proud Mimbrate baron kept a watchful eye on his neighbors.
The Great West Road, like all roads that formed a part of the Tolnedran highway system, was patrolled by scarlet-cloaked Imperial Legionnaires. Garion and his friends also encountered an occasional merchant traveling northward with wary eyes and accompanied by burly hirelings whose hands never strayed far from their weapons.
They reached the River Arend on a frosty midmorning and looked across the sparkling ford at the Forest of Vordue in northern Tolnedra. ‘Did you want to stop at Vo Mimbre?’ Silk asked Belgarath.
The old man shook his head. ‘Mandorallen and Lelldorin have probably already advised Korodullin about what happened in Drasnia, and I’m not really in the mood for three or four days of speeches filled with thee’s and thou’s and forasmuches. Besides, I want to get to Tol Honeth as soon as possible.’
As they splashed through the shallow waters of the ford, Garion remembered something. ‘Will we have to stop at that customs station?’ he asked.
‘Naturally,’ Silk replied. ‘Everybody has to go through customs—except for licensed smugglers, of course.’ He looked over at Belgarath. ‘Do you want me to handle things when we get there?’
‘Just don’t get too creative.’
‘Nothing could have been further from my mind, Belgarath. All I want is a chance to try these out.’ He indicated the seedy clothing he wore.
‘I’ve been sort of wondering what you had in mind when you picked out your wardrobe,’ Durnik said.
Silk gave him a sly wink.
They rode up out of the ford and on into the Forest of Vordue with its neatly spaced trees and groomed undergrowth. They had gone no more than a league
when they came to the whitewashed building that housed the customs station. One corner of the long, shedlike structure showed signs of a recent fire, and the red-tile roof was badly soot-darkened at that end. A half-dozen slovenly soldiers of the customs service were huddled in the muddy yard about a small open fire, drinking cheap wine to ward off the chill. One of them, a stubble-faced man in a patched cloak and rusty breastplate, indolently rose, stepped into the middle of the road, and held up one beefy hand. ‘That’s as far as you go,’ he declared. ‘Take your horses over there beside the building and open your packs for inspection.’
Silk pushed forward. ‘Of course, sergeant,’ he replied in an obsequious, fawning tone. ‘We have nothing to hide.’
‘We’ll decide that,’ the unshaven soldier said, swaying slightly as he barred their path.
The customs agent emerged from the station with a blanket wrapped about his shoulders. It was the same stout man whom they had encountered years before when they had passed this way during their pursuit of Zedar and the stolen Orb. On their previous meeting, however, there had been a certain smug self-satisfaction about him. Now his florid face bore the discontented expression of a man who lives with the conviction that life has somehow cheated him. ‘What do you have to declare?’ he demanded brusquely.
‘Nothing on this trip, I’m afraid, your Excellency,’ Silk answered in a whining voice. ‘We’re just poor travelers on our way to Tol Honeth.’
The paunchy agent peered at the little man. ‘I think we’ve met before, haven’t we? Aren’t you Radek of Boktor?’
‘The same, your Excellency. You have an extremely good memory.’
‘In my business, you have to. How did you do with your Sendarian woolens that time?’
Silk’s face grew melancholy. ‘Not nearly as well as I’d hoped. The weather broke before I got to Tol Honeth, so the price was less than half of what it should have been.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ the agent said perfunctorily. ‘Would you mind opening your packs?’
‘All we have is food and spare clothing.’ The little Drasnian was actually sniveling.
‘It’s been my experience that people sometimes forget that they’re carrying things of value. Open the packs, Radek.’
King of the Murgos Page 7