The Seeress of Kell

by David Eddings

  ‘We were worried about you, your Majesty,’ Brador said. ‘Since we were in the vicinity anyway …’ The bald man spread his hands.

  ‘And just what were you two doing in this vicinity? Didn’t I leave you back on the banks of the Magan?’

  ‘Something came up, your Majesty,’ Atesca put in. ‘Urvon’s army fell all apart, and the Darshivans seemed to be distracted. Brador and I seized the opportunity to bring Peldane and Darshiva back into the empire, and we’ve been pursuing the remnants of the Darshivan army all over eastern Dalasia.’

  ‘Very good, gentlemen,’ Zakath approved. ‘Very, very good. I should take a vacation more often.’

  ‘This was his idea of a vacation?’ Sadi murmured.

  ‘Of course,’ Silk replied. ‘Fighting dragons can be very invigorating.’

  Zakath and Varana had been eyeing each other speculatively.

  ‘Your Imperial Majesties,’ Garion said politely, ‘I should probably introduce you. Emperor Varana, this is his Imperial Majesty, Kal Zakath of Mallorea. Emperor Zakath, this is his Imperial Majesty, Ran Borune XXIV of the Tolnedran Empire.’

  ‘Just Varana will do, Garion,’ the Tolnedran said. ‘We’ve all heard a lot about you, Kal Zakath,’ he said, extending his hand.

  ‘None of it good, I’m sure, Varana,’ Zakath smiled, shaking the other emperor’s hand warmly.

  ‘Rumors are seldom accurate, Zakath.’

  ‘We have much to discuss, your Imperial Majesty,’ Zakath said.

  ‘Indeed we do, your Imperial Majesty.’

  King Oldorin of Perivor appeared to be in a state verging on nervous prostration. His island kingdom, it seemed, was quite suddenly awash with royalty. Garion made the introductions as gently and, he hoped, as painlessly as possible. King Oldorin mumbled a few greetings, almost forgetting his thee’s and thou’s. Garion drew him to one side. ‘This is a momentous occasion, your Majesty,’ he said. ‘The presence in one place of Zakath of Mallorea, Varana of Tolnedra, and Anheg of Cherek doth presage the possibility of tremendous steps toward that universal peace for which the world hath longed for eons.’

  ‘Thine own presence doth not diminish the occasion, Belgarion of Riva.’

  Garion bowed his acknowledgement. ‘Though the courtesy and hospitality of thy court are the marvel of the known world, your Majesty,’ he said, ‘it were foolish of us not to seize this opportunity in so noble a cause. Thus I implore thee that my friends and I may closet separately for some time to explore the possibilities of this chance meeting, although it seemeth me that chance hath had but small part in its coming to pass. Surely the Gods themselves have had a hand in it.’

  ‘I am certain of it, your Majesty,’ Oldorin agreed. ‘There are council chambers on the top-most floor of my palace, King Belgarion. They are at the immediate disposal of thyself and thy royal friends. I have no doubt that momentous things may emerge from this meeting, and the honor I shall accrue that it is to take place beneath my roof doth overwhelm me quite.’

  It was an impromptu meeting that was held in the upper chambers of the palace. Belgarath, by common consent, presided. Garion agreed to look after the interests of Queen Porenn, and Durnik to those of King Fulrach. Relg spoke for Ulgo – and Maragor. Mandorallen represented Arendia, and Hettar spoke for his father. Silk stood in for his brother, Urgit. Sadi spoke for Salmissra, and Nathel spoke for the Thulls, although very seldom. No one was particularly interested in taking the part of Drosta lek Thun of Gar og Nadrak.

  Right at the outset there was, to Varana’s obvious disappointment, an agreement that matters of trade be excluded from the discussion, and then they got down to business.

  About midway through the second day, Garion leaned back in his chair, only half-listening as Silk and Zakath haggled incessantly over a peace treaty between Mallorea and Cthol Murgos. Garion sighed pensively. Only a few days ago, he and his friends had witnessed – and participated in – the most momentous Event in the history of the universe, and now they sat around a table deeply involved in the mundane matters of international politics. It seemed so anti-climactic somehow, and yet, Garion knew that most of the people in the world would be far more concerned about what happened around this table than what had happened at Korim – for a while, anyway.

  Finally, the Accords of Dal Perivor were reached. They were tentative, to be sure, and couched in broad generalities. They were subject, of course, to ratification by those monarchs not actually present. They were tenuous and based more on goodwill than on the rough give and take of true political negotiation. They were nonetheless, Garion felt, the last, best hope of mankind. Scribes were summoned to copy from Beldin’s copious notes, and it was decided that the document should be issued over the seal of King Oldorin of Perivor as host monarch.

  The ceremony of the signing was stupendous. Mimbrates are very good at stupendous ceremonies.

  Then, on the following day came the goodbyes. Zakath, Cyradis, Eriond, Atesca, and Brador were to depart for Mal Zeth while the rest of them were to board the Seabird for the long voyage home. Garion spoke at some length with Zakath. They both promised to correspond and, when affairs of state permitted it, to visit. The correspondence would be easy, they both knew. The visits, however, were far more problematical.

  Then Garion joined his family while they took their leave of Eriond. Garion then walked the young and as yet unknown God of Angarak down to the quay where Atesca’s ship waited. ‘We’ve come a long way together, Eriond,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Eriond agreed.

  ‘You’ve got a lot ahead of You, You know.’

  ‘Probably more than you can even imagine, Garion.’

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes, Garion, I am.’

  ‘Good. If You ever need me, call on me. I’ll come to wherever You are as quickly as I can.’

  ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘And don’t get so busy that You let Horse get fat.’

  Eriond smiled. ‘No danger of that,’ He said. ‘Horse and I still have a long way to go.’

  ‘Be well, Eriond.’

  ‘You, too, Garion.’

  They clasped hands and then Eriond went up the gangway to his waiting ship. Garion sighed and made his way to where Seabird was moored. He went up the gangway to join the others as they watched Atesca’s ship sail slowly out of the harbor, veering slightly around Greldik’s ship, which waited with the impatience of a leashed hound.

  Then Barak’s sailors cast off all lines and rowed out into the harbor. The sails were raised, and Seabird turned her prow toward home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE WEATHER HELD clear and sunny, and a steady breeze filled Seabird’s sails to drive her northwesterly in the wake of Greldik’s patched and weatherbeaten warboat. At Unrak’s insistance, the two vessels were making a side-trip to Mishrak ac Thull to deposit Nathel in his own kingdom.

  The days were long and filled with sunshine and the sharp smell of brine. Garion and all his friends spent most of those days in the sunny main cabin. The story of the quest to Korim was long and involved, but those who had not been with Garion and the others wanted as much in the way of detail as they could possibly get. Their frequent interruptions and questions led to extended digressions, and the story jumped back and forth in time, but it proceeded, albeit at a frequently limping pace. There was much in the story that an average listener might have found incredible. Barak and the others, however, accepted it. They had spent enough time with Belgarath, Polgara, and Garion to know that almost nothing was impossible. The only exception to this rule was Emperor Varana, who remained adamantly sceptical – more on philosophical grounds, Garion suspected, than from any real disbelief.

  Unrak gave Nathel some very extended advice before the King of the Thulls was deposited in a seaport town in his own kingdom. The advice had to do with the need for Nathel to assert himself and to break free of the domination of his mother. Unrak didn’t look all that optimistic after the young Thull departed.
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  The Seabird turned her course southward then, still following Greldik’s wake as they ran along the baren, rocky coast of Goska in northeastern Cthol Murgos. ‘That’s disgraceful, you know that?’ Barak said to Garion one day, pointing at Greldik’s vessel. ‘It looks like a floating shipwreck.’

  ‘Greldik uses his ship rather hard,’ Garion agreed. ‘I’ve sailed with him a few times.’

  ‘The man has no respect for the sea,’ Barak grumbled, ‘and he drinks too much.’

  Garion blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be the first to admit that I take a tankard of ale now and then, but Greldik drinks at sea. That’s revolting, Garion. I think it might even be irreligious.’

  ‘You know more about the sea than I do,’ Garion admitted.

  Greldik’s ship and Seabird sailed through the narrow strait between the Isle of Verkat and the southern coasts of Hagga and Gorut. Since it was summer in the southern latitudes, the weather continued fair and they made good time. After they had passed through the dangerous cluster of rocky islets strung down from the tip of the Urga peninsula, Silk came up on deck. ‘You two have taken to living up here,’ he observed to Garion and Barak.

  ‘I like to be on deck when we’re in sight of land,’ Garion said. ‘When you can see the shoreline slipping by, it gives you the sense that you’re getting somewhere. What’s Aunt Pol doing?’

  ‘Knitting,’ Silk shrugged. ‘She’s teaching Ce’Nedra and Liselle how it’s done. They’re creating whole heaps of little garments.’

  ‘I wonder why,’ Garion said with a perfectly straight face.

  ‘I’ve got a favor to ask, Barak,’ Silk said.

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘I’d like to stop at Rak Urga. I want to give Urgit a copy of those accords, and Zakath made a couple of proposals at Dal Perivor that my brother really ought to know about.’

  ‘Will you help chain Hettar to the mast while we’re in port?’ Barak asked him.

  Silk frowned slightly, then he seemed to suddenly understand. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I’d sort of forgotten that. It wouldn’t be a very good idea to take Hettar into a city full of Murgos, would it?’

  ‘A bad idea, Silk. Disastrous might come even closer.’

  ‘Let me talk with him,’ Garion suggested. ‘Possibly I can calm him down a bit.’

  ‘If you can manage that, I’ll have you come up on deck and talk to the next gale we run into,’ Barak said. ‘Hettar’s almost as reasonable as the weather where Murgos are concerned.’

  The tall Algar, however, did not, in fact go stony-faced and reach for his saber at the mention of the word ‘Murgo.’ They had told him about Urgit’s real background during the voyage, and his hawklike face became alive with curiosity when Garion rather hesitantly told him of the plan to stop at Rak Urga. ‘I’ll control my instincts, Garion,’ he promised. ‘I think I’d really like to meet this Drasnian who’s managed to become the King of the Murgos.’

  Because of the hereditary and by now almost instinctive animosity between Murgos and Alorns, Belgarath advised caution in Rak Urga. ‘Things are quiet now,’ he said. ‘Let’s not stir them up. Barak, run up a flag of truce, and when we get to within hailing distance of the wharves, I’ll send for Oskatat, Urgit’s Seneschal.’

  ‘Can he be trusted?’ Barak asked dubiously.

  ‘I think so, yes. We won’t all trek up to the Drojim, though. Have Seabird and Greldik’s ship pull back out into the harbor after we go ashore. Not even the most rabid Murgo sea-captain would attack a pair of Cherek warboats in open water. I’ll keep in touch with Pol, and we’ll send for help if the occasion arises.’

  It took some fairly extensive shouting between ship and shore to persuade a Murgo colonel to send to the Drojim Palace for Oskatat. The colonel’s decision may have been tipped in that direction when Barak ordered his catapults loaded. Rak Urga was not a very attractive town, but the colonel quite obviously didn’t want it burned to the ground.

  ‘Are you back already?’ Oskatat bellowed across the intervening water when at last he arrived on the wharf.

  ‘We were in the vicinity and we thought we’d pay a call,’ Silk said lightly. ‘We’d like to speak with his Majesty if possible. We’ll control these Alorns if you can keep your Murgos leashed.’

  Oskatat gave a number of very abrupt commands that were accompanied by some fairly grisly threats, and Garion, Belgarath, and Silk took to Seabird’s long-boat. They were accompanied by Barak, who had left Unrak in charge, and by Hettar and Mandorallen.

  ‘How did it go?’ Oskatat asked Silk as the party, accompanied by a contingent of King Urgit’s black-robed household guard, rode up from the harbor to the Drojim.

  ‘Things turned out rather well,’ Silk smirked.

  ‘His Majesty should be pleased to hear that.’

  They entered the garish Drojim Palace, and Oskatat led them down a smoky, torch-lit hall toward the throne room. ‘His Majesty has been expecting these people,’ Oskatat said harshly to the guards. ‘He will see them now. Open the door.’

  One of the guards seemed to be new. ‘But they’re Alorns, Lord Oskatat,’ he objected.

  ‘So? Open the door.’

  ‘But—’

  Oskatat coolly drew his heavy sword. ‘Yes?’ he said in a deceptively mild tone.

  ‘Ah – nothing, my Lord Oskatat,’ the guard repeated. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Why is the door still closed then?’

  The door was quickly snatched open.

  ‘Kheldar!’ It was a ringing shout, and it came from the far end of the throne room. King Urgit bolted down the steps of the dais, flinging his crown over one shoulder as he ran. He caught Silk in a rough embrace, laughing uncontrollably. ‘I thought you were dead,’ he crowed.

  ‘You’re looking well, Urgit,’ Silk said to him.

  Urgit made a slight face. ‘I’m married now, you know,’ he said.

  ‘I was afraid Prala might get you eventually. I’m getting married myself shortly.’

  ‘The blond girl? Prala told me about how she felt about you. Imagine that, the invincible Prince Kheldar, married at last.’

  ‘Don’t make any large wagers on it just yet, Urgit,’ Silk told his brother. ‘I may still decide to fall on my sword instead. Are we sort of alone here? We’ve got some things to tell you, and our time’s a bit short.’

  ‘Mother and Prala are here,’ Urgit told him, ‘and my stepfather here, of course.’

  ‘Stepfather?’ Silk exclaimed, looking at Oskatat in surprise.

  ‘Mother was getting lonely. She missed all the playful abuse Taur Urgas used to bestow on her. I used my influence to marry her off to Oskatat. I’m afraid he’s been a terrible disappointment to her, though. So far as I know, he hasn’t knocked her down a single flight of stairs or kicked her in the head even once.’

  ‘He’s impossible when he’s like this,’ Oskatat apologized for his king.

  ‘Just brimming over with good spirits, Oskatat,’ Urgit laughed. ‘By Torak’s boiling eye, I’ve missed you, Kheldar.’ Then he greeted Garion and Belgarath and looked inquiringly at Barak, Mandorallen, and Hettar.

  ‘Barak, Earl of Trellheim,’ Silk introduced the red-bearded giant.

  ‘He’s even bigger than they say he is,’ Urgit noted.

  ‘Sir Mandorallen, Baron of Vo Mandor,’ Silk went on.

  ‘The Gods’ own definition of the word gentleman,’ Urgit said.

  ‘And Hettar, son of King Cho Hag of Algaria.’

  Urgit shrank away, his eyes suddenly fearful. Even Oskatat took a step backward.

  ‘Not to worry, Urgit,’ Silk said grandly. ‘Hettar came all the way through the streets of your capital, and he didn’t kill even one of your subjects.’

  ‘Remarkable,’ Urgit murmured nervously. ‘You’ve changed, Lord Hettar,’ he said. ‘You’re reputed to be a thousand feet tall and to wear a necklace of Murgo skulls.’

  ‘I’m on vacation,’ Hettar said d
rily.

  Urgit grinned. ‘We aren’t going to be unpleasant to each other, are we?’ he asked, still slightly apprehensive.

  ‘No, your Majesty,’ Hettar told him, ‘I don’t think we are. For some reason, you intrigue me.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ Urgit said. ‘If you find yourself getting edgy, though, be sure to let me know. There are still a dozen of so of my father’s generals lurking about the Drojim. Oskatat hasn’t found a reason to have them beheaded yet. I’ll send for them, and you can settle your nerves. They’re just a bother to me anyway.’ He frowned. ‘I wish I’d known you were coming,’ he said. ‘I’ve wanted to send your father a present for years now.’

  Hettar looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘He did me the greatest service any man can ever do for another. He ran his saber through Taur Urgas’ guts. You might tell him that I tidied up for him afterward.’

  ‘Oh? My father doesn’t usually need to be tidied up after.’

  ‘Oh, Taur Urgas was dead enough all right,’ Urgit assured him, ‘but I didn’t want some Grolim to come along and accidentally resurrect him, so I cut his throat before we buried him.’

  ‘Cut his throat?’ Even Hettar seemed startled by that.

  ‘From ear to ear,’ Urgit said happily. ‘I stole a little knife when I was about ten, and I spent the next several years sharpening it. After I slit his weasand, I drove a stake through his heart and buried him seventeen feet deep – head down. He looked better than he had in years with just his feet sticking up out of the dirt. I paused to enjoy that sight while I was resting from all the shoveling.’

  ‘You buried him yourself?’ Barak asked.

  ‘I certainly wasn’t going to let anybody else do it. I wanted to be sure of him. After I had him well planted, I stampeded horses across his grave several times to conceal the spot. As you may have guessed, my father and I were not on the best of terms. I take some pleasure in knowing that not a single living Murgo knows exactly where he’s buried. Why don’t we go join my queen and my mother? Then you can tell me your splendid news – whatever it is. Dare I hope that Kal Zakath rests in the arms of Torak?’