They paused at the border to consider their alternatives. The guardpost at the boundary was deserted, but black columns of smoke rose from burning villages, and they could clearly see large groups of men moving across the landscape, looking tiny in the distance.
“Things are a tittle more organized down here,” Beldin reported. “About all we saw in Voresebo were fairly small bands, and they were more interested in loot than fighting. The groups are bigger on up ahead, and there’s a certain semblance of discipline. I don’t think we’ll be able to bluff our way through Rengel the way we did Voresebo.”
Toth made a series of obscure gestures.
“What did he say?” Belgarath asked Durnik.
“He suggests that we travel at night,” Durnik replied.
“That’s an absurd notion, Toth,” Sadi protested. “If things are dangerous in the daytime, they’ll be ten times more dangerous at night.”
Toth’s hands began to move again. For some reason, Garion found that he could almost understand what the huge mute was trying to say.
“He says that you looked at the idea too fast, Sadi,” Durnik translated. “We’ve got certain advantages.” The smith frowned slightly, and he looked back at his friend. “How did you find out about that?” he asked.
Toth gestured again.
“Oh,” Durnik nodded. “I guess she would know, wouldn’t she?” He turned to the others. “He says that Belgarath, Pol, and Garion can lead the way in their other forms. The darkness wouldn’t be that big a problem for a pair of wolves and an owl.”
Belgarath tugged thoughtfully at one earlobe. “It’s got possibilities,” he said to Beldin. “We could avoid just about anybody out there that way. Soldiers don’t move around in the dark very much.”
“They post sentries, though,” the hunchback pointed out.
“Garion, Pol, and I wouldn’t have much trouble locating them and leading the rest of you around them.”
“It’s going to be slow going,” Velvet said. “We won’t be able to travel at a gallop, and we’ll have to detour around every sentry we come across.”
“You know,” Silk said, “now that I think about it, it’s not such a bad idea. I sort of like it.”
“You always enjoy sneaking around in the dark, Kheldar,” Velvet said to him.
“Don’t you?”
“Well—” Then she smiled at him. “I suppose I do, yes— but then, I’m a Drasnian, too.”
“It would take too long,” Ce’Nedra protested. “We’re only a little way behind Zandramas. If we try to sneak, she’ll get ahead again.”
“I don’t see that we’ve got much choice, Ce’Nedra,” Garion told her gently. “If we just try to plow our way across Rengel, sooner or later we’re going to run into more soldiers than we can handle.”
“You’re a sorcerer,” she said accusingly. “You could wave your hand and just knock them out of our way.”
“There are limits to that, Ce’Nedra,” Polgara said. “Both Zandramas and Urvon have Grolims in the region. If we tried to do it that way, everybody in Renget would know exactly where we were.”
Ce’Nedra’s eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip began to tremble. She turned and ran blindly away from the road, sobbing.
“Go after her, Garion,” Polgara said. “See if you can get her calmed down.”
They took shelter for the rest of the day in a grove of beech trees about a mile from the road. Garion tried to sleep, knowing that the night ahead of them would be very long; but after about an hour, he gave up and wandered restlessly about the camp. He shared Ce’Nedra’s impatience. They were so close to Zandramas now, and moving at night would slow their pace to a crawl. Try though he might, however, he could think of no alternative.
As the sun was going down, they struck camp and waited at the edge of the beech grove for it to get dark. “I think I’ve just hit a flaw in the plan,” Silk said.
“Oh?” Belgarath asked.
“We need the Orb to be able to follow Zandramas. If Garion turns into a wolf, the Orb won’t be able to tell him which way to go—or will it?”
Belgarath and Betdin exchanged a long look. “I don’t know,” Belgarath admitted. “Do you?”
“I haven’t got the slightest idea,” Beldin said.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Garion said. He handed Chretienne’s reins to Durnik and went some distance away from the horses. Carefully, he created the image of the wolf in his mind, then he began to focus his will upon the image. He seemed, as always, to go through a peculiar sensation of melting, and then it was done. He sat on his haunches for a moment, checking himself over to make sure everything was there.
His nose suddenly caught a familiar fragrance. He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. Ce’Nedra stood there, her eyes very wide and the fingertips of one hand to her lips. “I-is that still really you, Garion?” she stammered.
He rose to his feet and shook himself. There was no way he could answer her. Human words would not fit in the mouth of a wolf. Instead, he padded over to her and licked her hand. She sank to her knees, wrapped her arms about his head, and laid her cheek against his muzzle. “Oh, Garion,” she said in a tone of wonder.
On an impulse born out of sheer mischief, he deliberately licked her face from chin to hairline. His tongue was quite long—and quite wet.
“Stop that,” she said, giggling in spite of herself and trying to wipe her face. He momentarily touched his cold nose to the side of her neck. She flinched away. Then he turned and loped off toward the road where the trail was. He paused in the bushes beside the road and carefully peered out, his ears alert and his nose searching for the scent of anyone in the vicinity. Then, satisfied, he slipped out of the bushes with his belly low to the ground to stand in the middle of the road.
It was not the same, of course. There was a subtle difference to the pulling sensation, but it was still there. He felt a peculiar satisfaction and had to restrain an urge to lift his muzzle in a howl of triumph. He turned then and loped back toward where the others were hidden. His toe-nails dug into the turf, and he exulted in a wild sense of freedom. It was almost with regret that he changed back into his own shape.
“Well?” Belgarath asked as he walked toward them in the gathering dusk.
“No problem,” Garion replied, trying to sound casual about it. He suppressed the urge to grin, knowing that his offhand manner would irritate his grandfather enormously.
“Are you really sure we need him along on this trip?” Belgarath asked his daughter.
“Ah—yes, father,” she said. “He is sort of necessary.”
“I was afraid you might feel that way about it.” He looked at the others. “All right,” he said. “This is the way it works. Pol and Durnik can keep in touch with each other over quite some distance, so he’ll be able to warn you if we run across any soldiers—or if the trail moves off the road. Move at a walk to keep down the noise, and be ready to take cover on short notice. Garion, keep your mind in contact with Pol’s and don’t forget that you’ve got a nose and ears as well as eyes. Swing back to the road from time to time to make sure we’re still on the trail. Does anybody have any questions?”
They all shook their heads.
“All right then, let’s go.”
“Do you want me to go along?” Beldin offered.
“Thanks all the same, uncle,” Polgara declined, “but hawks don’t really see all that well in the dark. You wouldn’t be much help after you’d flown head-on into a few trees.”
It was surprisingly easy. The first impulse of any group of soldiers when setting up for the night is to build fires, and the second is to keep them going until the sun comes up. Guided by these cheery beacons, Garion and Belgarath were able to locate the night encampments of all the bands of troops in the area and to sniff out the sentries. As luck had it, in most cases the troops had set up some distance from the road, and the party was able to ride through undetected.
It was well into the night. Garion had crept to the top of a hill to survey the next valley. There were a fair number of campfires out there, winking at him in the darkness.
“Garion?” Ce’Nedra’s voice seemed right on top of him. With a startled yelp, he jumped high in the air.
It took him a moment to regain his composure. “Ce’Nedra,” he whined plaintively, “please don’t do that. You almost scared me out of my fur.”
“I just wanted to be sure you were all right,” she said defensively. “If I have to wear this amulet, I may as well get some use out of it.”
“I’m fine, Ce’Nedra,” he said in a patient tone. “Just don’t startle me like that. Wolves are edgy animals.”
“Children,” Polgara’s voice cut in firmly. “You can play some other time. I’m trying to hear Durnik, and you’re drowning him out with all this chatter.”
“Yes, Aunt Pol,” Garion replied automatically.
“I love you, Garion,” Ce’Nedra whispered by way of farewell.
They traveled by night and sought cover as dawn began to stain the eastern sky for the next several days. It all became so easy that finally Garion grew careless. He was padding through a thicket on the fourth night and accidentally stepped on a dry twig.
“Who’s there?” The voice was downwind of him, and the soldier’s scent had not reached his nostrils. The fellow came pushing into the thicket, making a great deal of noise. He was warily holding a spear out in front of him. Angry more at himself than at the clumsy sentry, Garion shouldered the spear aside, raised up on his hind legs, and put his forepaws on the terrified man’s shoulders. Then he swore at some length, his oaths coming out as a horrid growling and snarling.
The soldier’s eyes bulged as Garion’s awful fangs snapped within inches of his face. Then he screamed and fled. Garion slunk guiltily out of the thicket and loped away.
Polgara’s voice came to him. “What was that?”
“Nothing important,” he replied, more than a little ashamed of himself. “Tell Durnik and the others to swing out to the west for a while. This group of soldiers is camped fairly close to the road.”
It was nearly dawn on the following night when the night breeze brought the smell of frying bacon to Garion’s nostrils. He crept forward through the tall grass, but before he could get near enough to see who was cooking, he encountered his grandfather.
“Who is it?” he asked in the manner of wolves.
“A couple hundred soldiers,” Belgarath replied, “and a whole herd of pack mules.”
“They’re right on the road, aren’t they?”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. I heard a couple of them talking. It seems that they work for Silk.”
“Silk’s got his own army?” Garion asked incredulously.
“So it would seem. I wish that little thief wouldn’t keep secrets from me.” Garion felt the old man’s thought reaching out. “Pol, tell Durnik to send Silk up here.” Then he looked at Garion. “Let’s go back to the road. I want to have a little talk with the pride of Drasnia.”
They loped back to the road, resumed their own shapes, and intercepted Silk. Belgarath, Garion thought, showed enormous restraint. “There’s a large group of soldiers wearing blue tunics just up ahead,” he said in a level tone. “Would you by any chance know who they are?”
“What are they doing here?” Silk asked with a puzzled frown. “They’ve been told to avoid any area where there’s trouble.”
“Maybe they didn’t hear you.” Belgarath’s tone was sarcastic.
“It’s a standing order, I’m definitely going to talk with the captain about this.”
“You’ve got a private army?” Garion asked the little man.
“I don’t know that I’d call it an army, exactly. Yarblek and I hired some mercenaries to guard our caravans, is all.”
“Isn’t that terribly expensive?”
“Not nearly as expensive as losing those caravans would be. Highway robbery is a cottage industry in Karanda, Let’s go talk with them.”
“Why don’t we?” Belgarath’s tone was flat—even unfriendly.
“You’re not taking this very well, old friend.”
“Don’t crowd it, Silk. I’ve been slinking through wet grass for five nights running. I’ve got burrs in my coat and a snarl in my tail that’s going to take me a week to chew out, and all this time you’ve had an armed escort within shouting distance.”
“I didn’t know they were here, Belgarath,” Silk protested. “They’re not supposed to be here.”
Belgarath stalked away muttering curses under his breath.
The muleteers in the camp had begun to load their animals when Silk, with Garion walking on one side of him and Belgarath on the other, rode in. A hard-bitten looking man with a pockmarked face and thick wrists approached them and saluted. “Your Highness,” he said to Silk, “we didn’t know that you were in this part of Mallorea.”
“I move around a lot,” Silk said. “Is it all right if we join you, Captain Rakos?”
“Of course, your Highness.”
“The rest of our party will be along shortly,” Silk told him. “What are we having for breakfast this morning?”
“Bacon, fried eggs, chops, hot bread, jam—the usual, your Highness.”
“No gruel?”
“I can have the cook mix some up for you, if you’d like, your Highness,” Rakos replied.
“No, thanks, Captain,” Silk said. “I think I can live without gruel, for today anyway.”
“Would your Highness care to inspect the troops?”
Silk made a face, then sighed. “They sort of expect it, don’t they?”
“It’s good for morale, your Highness,” Rakos assured him. “An uninspected trooper begins to feel unappreciated.”
“Right you are, Captain,” Silk said, dismounting. “Fall them in if you would please, and I’ll boost their morale.”
The captain turned and bellowed an order.
“Excuse me,” Silk said to Belgarath and Garion. “Certain formalities are the price of command.” He smoothed down his hair with the palm of his hand and carefully adjusted his clothing. Then he followed Captain Rakos toward die ranks of soldiers standing at attention beside the road. His manner was grand as he inspected his troops, and he rather meticulously pointed out missing buttons, unshaved faces, and boots not polished to perfection. Durnik, Polgara, and the others arrived while he was progressing down the last rank. Belgarath quickly explained the situation to them.
When Silk returned, he had a certain self-satisfied look on his face.
“Was all that really necessary?” Velvet asked him.
“It’s expected.” He shrugged. He looked rather proudly at his men. “They look good, don’t they? I may not have the biggest army in Mallorea, but I’ve got the sharpest. Why don’t we go have some breakfast?”
“I’ve eaten soldiers’ rations before,” Beldin told him. “I think I’ll go look for another pigeon.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Beldin,” the little man assured him. “Bad food is the greatest cause of dissatisfaction in the ranks in any army. Yarblek and I are very careful to hire only the best cooks and to provide them with the finest food available. Dry rations might be good enough for Kal Zakath’s army, but not for mine.”
Captain Rakos joined them for breakfast. Rakos was obviously a field soldier and he had certain difficulties with his utensils.
“Where’s the caravan bound?” Silk asked him.
“Jarot, your Highness.”
“What are we carrying?”
“Beans.”
“Beans?” Silk sounded a little startled.
“It was your order, your Highness,” Rakos said. “Word came from your factor in Mal Zeth before the plague broke out that you wanted to corner the market in beans. Your warehouses in Maga Renn are overflowing with them, so lately we’ve been transferring them to Jarot.”
“Why would I do that?” Silk said, scratching his head in bafflement.
“Zakath was bringing his army back from Cthol Murgos,” Garion reminded him. “He was going to mount a campaign in Karanda. You wanted to buy up all the beans in Mallorea so that you could gouge the Bureau of Military Procurement.”
“Gouge is such an ugly word, Garion,” Silk protested with a pained look. He frowned. “I thought I’d rescinded that order.”
“Not that I’ve heard, your Highness,” Rakos said. “You’ve got tons of beans pouring into Maga Renn from all over Delchin and southern Ganesia.”
Silk groaned. “How much longer is it going to take us to reach Jarot?” he asked. “I’ve got to put a stop to this.”
“Several days, your Highness,” Rakos replied.
“And the beans will just keep piling up the whole time.”
“Probably, your Highness.”
Silk groaned again.
They rode on down through the remainder of Rengel with no further incidents. Silk’s professional soldiers apparently had a wide reputation in the region, and the poorly trained troops of the varying factions there gave them a wide berth. Silk rode at the head of the column like a field marshal, looking about with a lordly manner.
“Are you going to let him get away with that?” Ce’Nedra asked Velvet after a day or so.
“Of course not,” Velvet replied, “but let him enjoy it for now. Time enough to teach him the realities of the situation later on.”
“You’re terrible,” Ce’Nedra giggled.
“Naturally. But didn’t you do the same thing to our hero here?” Velvet looked pointedly at Garion.
“Liselle,” Polgara said firmly, “you’re giving away secrets again.”
“Sorry, Lady Polgara,” Velvet replied contritely.
The trail of Zandramas was soon joined by the sullen scarlet trail of the Sardion, and both proceeded down across Rengel to the River Kallahar and the border of Celanta. The trails also seemed to be going toward Jarot.
“Why is she going toward the sea?” Garion worriedly asked Belgarath.
“Who knows?” the old man replied shortly. “She’s read the Ashabine Oracles, and I haven’t. It could be that she knows where she’s going, and I’m just floundering along in the rear.”
“But what if—”
“Please don’t ‘what if’ me, Garion,” Belgarath said. “I’ve got enough problems already.”
They crossed the River Kallahar aboard a cluster of ferries that seemed to belong to Silk and arrived in the port city of Jarot on the Celanta side. As they rode through the cobbled streets, crowds came out to cheer. Silk rode at the head of the column graciously waving his acknowledgment of the cheers.
“Have I missed something?” Durnik asked.
“His people love him very much,” Eriond explained.
“His people?”
“Who owns a man, Durnik?” the blond young man asked sadly. “The one who rules him, or the one who pays him?”
Silk’s offices in Jarot were opulent—even ostentatious. Mallorean carpets lay thick upon the floors, the walls were paneled in rare, polished woods, and officials in costly livery were everywhere.
“One sort of has to keep up appearances,” the little man explained apologetically as they entered. “The natives are so impressed by show.”
“Of course,” Belgarath said dryly.
“Surely you don’t think—”
“Just let it pass, Silk.”
“But it’s all so much fun, Belgarath.” Silk grinned.
Belgarath then did something Garion had never thought he would see him do. He raised his hands imploringly, assumed a tragic expression, and said, “Why me?”
Beldin chortled.
“Well?” Belgarath said crossly to him.
“Nothing,” Beldin replied.
Silk’s factor in Jarot was a baggy-eyed Melcene named Kasvor. Kasvor walked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and he sighed often. He came wearily into the office where Silk sat as if enthroned behind a very large writing desk and the rest of them lounged in comfortable chairs along the walls. “Prince Kheldar,” Kasvor said, bowing.
“Ah, Kasvor,” Silk said.
“I’ve seen to the rooms your Highness wanted.” Kasvor sighed. “The inn is called the Lion. It’s two streets over. I’ve taken the entire top floor for you.”
Durnik leaned over and whispered to Garion. “Wasn’t that inn we stayed at in Camaar also called the Lion?” he asked. “The place where Brendig arrested us that time?”
“I’d imagine that you could find a Lion Inn in just about every city in the world,” Garion replied.
“Capital, Kasvor. Capital,” Silk was saying.
Kasvor smiled faintly.
“How’s business?” Silk asked.
“We’re showing a fair profit, your Highness.”
“How fair?”
“About forty-five percent.”
“Not bad. I need to talk to you about something else, though. Let’s stop buying beans.”
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for that, your Highness. We own just about every bean in Mallorea already.”
Silk groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“The market’s up ten points, though, your Highness.”
“It is?” Silk sounded startled, and his eyes brightened. “How did that happen?”
“There have been all manner of rumors going about and some tentative inquiries from the Bureau of Military Procurement. Everyone’s been scrambling around trying to buy up beans, but we’ve got them all.”
“Ten points, you say?”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Sell,” Silk said.
Kasvor looked startled.
“We bought up the bean crop in the expectation of an imperial military campaign in Karanda. There won’t be one now.”
“Can your Highness be sure?”
“I have access to certain sources of information. When the word gets out, the market in beans is going to sink like a rock, and we don’t really want several million tons of beans on our hands, do we? Have there been any offers?”
“The Melcene consortium has expressed some interest, your Highness. They’re willing to go two points above the market.”
“Negotiate with them, Kasvor. When they get to three points above the market price, sell. I don’t want to have to eat all those beans myself.”
“Yes, your Highness.”
Belgarath cleared his throat meaningfully.
Silk glanced at the old man and nodded. “We just came down through Voresebo and Rengel,” he said. “Things are a bit chaotic up there.”
“So I’ve heard, your Highness,” Kasvor replied.
“Is there unrest anywhere else in the region? We have some things to do in this part of the world and we don’t want to have to do them in a war zone if we don’t have to.”
Kasvor shrugged. “Darshiva’s in an uproar, but there’s nothing new about that. Darshiva’s been in an uproar for the past dozen years. I took the liberty of pulling all our people out of that principality. There’s nothing left there that’s worth our while.” He looked toward the ceiling in mock piety. “May Zandramas grow a boil on her nose,” he prayed.
“Amen,” Silk agreed fervently. “Is there any place else we ought to avoid?”
“I’ve heard that northern Gandahar is a bit nervous,” Kasvor answered, “but that doesn’t affect us, since we don’t deal in elephants.”
“Smartest decision we ever made,” Silk said to Belgarath. “Do you have any idea how much an elephant can eat?”
“Peldane is also reported to be in turmoil just now, your Highness,” Kasvor reported. “Zandramas is spreading her infection in all directions.”
“Have you ever seen her?” Silk asked him.
Kasvor shook his head. “She hasn’t come this far east yet. I think she’s trying to consolidate her position before she comes this way. The Emperor won’t mourn the loss of Darshiva, Rengel, and Voresebo very much, and Peldane and Gandahar are more trouble than they’re worth. Celanta—and certainly Melcena—are altogether different matters, though.”
“Truly,” Silk agreed.
Kasvor frowned. “I did hear something, though, your Highness,” he said. “There’s a rumor going around the waterfront that Zandramas’ cohort, Naradas, hired a ship for Melcena a few days ago.”
“Naradas?”
“Your Highness may never have seen him, but he’s fairly easy to pick out of a crowd. He has absolutely white eyes.” Kasvor shuddered. “Gruesome-looking fellow. Anyway, he’s reputed to have been with Zandramas since the beginning and, as I understand it, he’s her right arm. There are some other rumors as well, but I don’t think I should repeat them in the presence of the ladies.” He looked apologetically at Polgara, Ce’Nedra, and Velvet.
Silk tapped his forefinger thoughtfully on his chin. “So Naradas went to Melcena,” he said. “I think I’d like to get a few more details about that.”
“I’ll circulate some people around the waterfront, your Highness,” Kasvor said. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find someone who can give us more information.”
“Good,” Silk said, rising to his feet. “If you find someone, send him to me at the Lion Inn. Tell him that I’ll be very generous.”
“Of course, your Highness.”
Silk hefted the leather pouch at his belt. “I’ll need some money,” he noted.
“I’ll see to it at once, Prince Kheldar.”
As they left the building and walked down the polished stone steps toward their horses, Beldin made a disgusted sound. “It’s unwholesome,” he muttered.
“What is?” Belgarath asked him.
“How lucky you are.”
“I don’t quite follow you.”
“Isn’t it remarkable that Kasvor just happened to remember the one thing you really had to know? He threw it out almost as an afterthought.”
“The Gods have always been fond of me,” Belgarath replied complacently.
“You think of luck as a God? Our Master would put you on bread and water for several centuries if he heard you talking like that.”
“It may not have been entirely luck,” Durnik said thoughtfully. “This prophecy of ours has nudged people a bit now and then. I remember one time in Arendia when Ce’Nedra was supposed to give a speech. She was so terrified she was almost sick until a drunken young nobleman insulted her. Then she got angry, and her speech set fire to the whole crowd. Pol said that maybe the prophecy had made him get drunk so that he’d insult Ce’Nedra in order to make her angry enough to give the speech. Couldn’t this have been sort of like that? Fate instead of luck?”
Beldin looked at the smith, his eyes suddenly alight. “This man is a jewel, Belgarath,” he said. “I’ve been looking for someone to talk philosophy with for centuries now, and here he is, right under my nose.” He put his large, gnarled hand on Durnik’s shoulder. “When we get to that inn, my friend,” he said, “you and I are going to begin a very long conversation. It might just go on for several centuries.”
Polgara sighed.
The Lion Inn was a large building with walls of yellow brick and a red tile roof. A broad stairway led up to an imposing main door attended by a liveried footman.
“Where are the stables?” Durnik asked, looking about.
“Probably around back,” Silk replied. “Melcene architecture is a bit different from the style in the West.”
As they dismounted, two grooms came trotting around the building to take their horses. Silk mounted the stairs, and the footman at the door bowed deeply to him. “This house is honored by your presence, Prince Kheldar,” he said. “My master’s waiting inside to greet you.”
“Why, thank you, my good man,” Silk replied, giving him a coin. “There may be someone along later to see me. It’s possible that he’ll be a sailor or a longshoreman. When he arrives, would you be so good as to send him to me immediately?”
“Of course, your Highness.”
The top floor of the inn was palatial. The rooms were large and deeply carpeted. The walls were covered with white mortar, and the windows were draped with blue velvet. The furnishings were massive and comfortable-looking. The doorways were arched.
Durnik wiped his feet carefully before entering. He looked around.
“They seem to be awfully fond of arches,” he noted. “I’ve always preferred post-and-lintel construction myself. For some reason, I just don’t quite trust an arch.”
“It’s perfectly sound, Durnik,” Silk assured him.
“I know the theory,” Durnik said. “The trouble is that I don’t know the man who built the arch, so I don’t know if he can be trusted.”
“Do you still want to talk philosophy with him?” Belgarath said to Beldin.
“Why not? Solid practicality has a place in the world, too, and sometimes my speculations get a little airy.”
“I think the word is windy, Beldin. Windy.”
“You didn’t really have to say that, did you?”
Belgarath looked at him critically. “Yes,” he replied. “I think I did.”
Polgara, Ce’Nedra, and Velvet retired to an elaborate bath that was even larger than those in their quarters in the imperial palace at Mal Zeth.
While the ladies were bathing, Silk excused himself. “There are a few other things I need to attend to,” he explained. “I won’t be very long.”
It was after bath time, but before suppertime, when a wiry little fellow in a tar-smeared canvas smock was escorted into the main sitting room. “I was told that there was a Prince Kheldar as was wantin’ words with me,” he said, looking around. He spoke in a brogue almost identical to Feldegast’s.
“Ah—” Garion floundered, “the prince has stepped out for a moment.”
“I surely don’t have all day to sit around coolin’ me heels, me boy,” the little fellow objected. “I’ve things to do an’ people to see, don’t y’ know.”
“I’ll handle this, Garion,” Durnik said mildly.
“But-”
“It’s no problem at all,” Durnik said just a bit more firmly. He turned to the little deckhand. “The prince just had a few questions, is all,” he said in an almost lazy tone. “It’s nothing that you and I can’t take care of without bothering his Highness.” He laughed. “You know how these highborn people are—excitable.”
“Now dial’s the truth, surely. There’s nothin’ like a title t’ rob a man of his good sense.”
Durnik spread his hands. “What can I say?” he said. “Why don’t we sit down and talk a bit? Would you take a spot of ale?”
“I’ve been known t’ take a sup from time t’ time.” The little fellow grinned. “Yer a man after me own heart, me friend. What trade is it ye follow?”
Durnik held out his callused and burn-scarred hands. “I’m a blacksmith,” he admitted.
“Whoosh!” the dockhand exclaimed. “ ‘Tis a hot an’ heavy line o’ work ye’ve chose fer yerself. I labor on the docks, meself. ‘Tis heavy enough, but at least it’s out in the open air.”
“It is indeed,” Durnik agreed in that same easygoing fashion. Then he turned and snapped his fingers at Belgarath. “Why don’t you see if you can find some ale for my friend and me?” he suggested. “Get some for yourself, too—if you’re of a mind.”
Belgarath made a number of strangling noises and went to the door to talk to the servant waiting outside.
“A relative of my wife’s,” Durnik confided to the tar-smeared man. “He’s not quite bright, but she insists that I keep him on. You know how that goes.”
“Oh, by the Gods, yes. Me own dear wife’s got cousins by the score who can’t tell one end of a shovel from another. They kin surely find the ale barrel an’ supper table, though.”
Durnik laughed. “How’s the work?” he asked. “On the docks, I mean?”
“Tis cruel hard. The masters keep all the gold fer theirselves, and we git the brass.”
Durnik laughed ironically. “Isn’t that always the way of it?”
“It is indeed, me friend. It is indeed.”
“There’s no justice in the world,” Durnik sighed, “and a man can only bow to the ill winds of fortune.”
“How truly ye speak. I see that ye've suffered under unkind masters yerself.”
“A time or two,” Durnik admitted. He sighed. “Well,” he said, “on to the business at hand, then. The prince has got a certain interest in a fellow with white eyes. Have you ever seen him?”
“Ah,” the dockhand said, “that one. May he sink in a cesspool up to the eyebrows.”
“You've met him, I take it.”
“An’ the meetin’ gave me no pleasure, I kin tell ye.”
“Well, then,” Durnik said smoothly, “I can see that we’re of the same opinion about this fellow.”
“If it’s in yer mind t’ kill him, I’ll lend ye me cargo hook.”
“It’s a thought.” Durnik laughed.
Garion stared in amazement at his honest old friend. This was a side of Durnik he had never seen before. He glanced quickly to one side and saw Polgara’s eyes wide with astonishment.
At mat moment, Silk came in, but stopped as Velvet motioned him to silence.
“However,” Durnik went on slyly, “what better way to upset somebody that we both dislike than to overturn a scheme he’s been hatching for a year or more?”
The dockhand’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a feral grin. “I’m listenin’, me friend,” he said fervently. “Tell me how to spoke the white-eyed man’s wheel, an’ I’m with ye to the end.” He spat in his hand and held it out.
Durnik also spat on his palm, and the two of them smacked their hands together in a gesture as old as time. Then the smith lowered his voice confidentially. “Now,” he said, “we’ve heard that this white-eyed one—may all of his teeth fall out—hired a ship for Melcena. What we need to know is when he left, on what ship, who went with him, and where he was to land.”
“Simplicity in itself,” the dockhand said expansively, leaning back in his chair.
“You, there,” Durnik said to Belgarath, “is that ale on the way?”
Belgarath made a few more strangling noises.
“It’s so hard to get good help these days.” Durnik sighed.
Polgara tried very hard to stifle a laugh.
“Well, now,” the dockhand said, leaning forward in that same confidential manner, “this is what I seen with me own two eyes, so I’m not handin' along secondhand information. I seen this white-eyed one come to the docks on a mornin’ about five days ago. ‘Twas about daybreak, it was, an’ one of them cloudy mornin’s when ye can’t tell the difference between fog an’ smoke, an’ ye don’t want to breathe too deep of either. Anyway, the white-eyed one, he had a woman with him in a black satin robe with a hood coverin’ her head, an’ she had a little boy with her.”
“How do you know it was a woman?” Durnik interrupted.
“Have ye no eyes, man?” the dockhand laughed. “They don’t walk the same as we do. There’s a certain swayin’ of the hips that no man alive could imitate. ‘Twas a woman, right enough, an’ ye have me word on that. An’ the little boy was as fair as a mornin' sunrise, but he seemed a little sad. Sturdy little lad he was, an’ looked fer all the world as if he wished he could put his hands on a sword to rid hisself of them as he didn’t like too much. Anyway, they went aboard ship, an’ the ship, she slipped her hawsers an’ rowed off into the fog. Word was that they was bound fer the city of Melcena—or some well-hid cove nearby, smugglin’ not bein' unknown in these parts, don’t y’ know.”
“And this was five days ago?” Durnik asked.
“Five or four. Sometimes I lose track of the days.”
Durnik seized the man’s tar-smeared hand warmly. “My friend,” he said, “between us, we’ll kick all the spokes out of the white-eyed man’s wheel yet.”
“I’d surely like to help with the kickin’,” the deckhand said a bit wistfully.
“You have, friend,” Durnik said. “You definitely have. I’ll kick a time or two for you myself. Silk,” the smith said very seriously, “I think our friend here should have something to pay him for his trouble.”
Silk, looking a bit awed, shook a few coins out of his purse.
“Is that the best you can do?” Durnik asked critically.
Silk doubled the amount. Then, after a glance at Durnik’s disapproving expression, doubled that in gold.
The deckhand left, his fist clutched protectively around his coins.
Velvet rose wordlessly to her feet and curtsied to Durnik with profound respect.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” Silk demanded.
Durnik looked at him with some surprise. “Haven’t you ever traded horses at a country fair before, Silk?” he asked.
“As I told ye, me old friend,” Beldin said gaily, “the old speech has not died out yet altogether, an' 'tis music to me ears t’ hear it again.”
“Must you?” Belgarath said in a highly offended tone. He turned to Durnik. “What was all that folksy business?”
Durnik shrugged. “I've met that sort of man many times,” he explained. “They can be very helpful, if you give them a reason to be—but they’re very touchy, so you have to approach them just right.” He smiled. “Given a little time, I could have sold that fellow a three-legged horse—and convinced him that he’d got the best of the bargain.”
“Oh, my Durnik,” Polgara said, throwing her arms about the smith’s neck. “What would we ever do without you?”
“I hope we never have to find out,” he said.
“All right,” Belgarath said, “now we know that Zandramas went to Melcena. The question is why.”
“To get away from us?” Silk suggested.
“I don’t think so, Kheldar,” Sadi disagreed. “Her center of power is in Darshiva. Why should she run off in the other direction?”
“I’ll work on that.”
“What’s in Melcena?” Velvet asked.
“Not too much,” Silk replied, “unless you count all the money in Melcena itself—most of the world’s supply, last time I heard.”
“Would Zandramas be interested in money?” the blond girl asked.
“No,” Polgara said very firmly. “Money would have no meaning to her—not at this point. It’s something else.”
“The only thing that means anything to Zandramas right now is the Sardion, isn’t it?” Garion said. “Could the Sardion be out there in the islands someplace?”
Beldin and Belgarath exchanged a look. “What does that phrase mean?” Beldin demanded in exasperation. “Think, Belgarath. What does it mean when they say the ‘Place Which Is No More’?”
“You’re smarter than I am,” Belgarath retorted. “You answer the riddle.”
“I hate riddles!”
“I think about all we can do at this point is trail along behind and find out,” Silk said. “Zandramas seems to know where she’s going, and we don’t. That doesn’t leave us much choice, does it?”
“The Sardion came to Jarot as well,” Garion mused. “It was a long time ago, but the Orb picked up its trail just outside of town. I’ll go down to the docks and see if both trails are still running together. It’s possible that Zandramas has some way of following the Sardion, the same as we do. She might not really know where it’s going. Maybe she’s just following it.”
“He’s got a point there,” Beldin said.
“If the Sardion is hidden somewhere out there in Melcena, this could all end before the week is out,” Garion added.
“It’s too early,” Polgara said flatly.
“Too early?” Ce’Nedra exclaimed. “Lady Polgara, my baby’s been gone for over a year now. How can you say it’s too early?”
“It has nothing to do with that, Ce’Nedra,” the sorceress replied. “You’ve waited a year for the return of your baby. I waited a thousand years and more for Garion. Fate and time and the Gods pay no attention to our years, but Cyradis said at Ashaba that we still had nine months until the final meeting, and it hasn’t been that long yet.”
“She might have been wrong,” Ce’Nedra objected.
“Perhaps—but only by a second or so either way.”