It was foggy in the harbor the next morning, one of those thick early autumn fogs that always hovers on the verge of rain. As they were loading the horses, Garion glanced up and found that he could see no more than a few feet up the masts of the ship they were boarding. Silk stood on the aft deck talking with the ship’s captain.
“It should clear off when we get a few leagues out to sea, your Highness,” the captain was saying as Garion approached. “There’s a fairly steady wind that always blows down the passage between the coast and Melcena.”
“Good,” Silk said. “I wouldn’t want to run into anything. How long is it likely to take us to get to Melcena?”
“Most of the day, your Highness,” the captain replied. “It’s a fair distance, but the prevailing wind works to our advantage. The return voyage takes several days, though.”
“We’ll be all loaded shortly,” Silk told him.
“We can leave any time you’re ready, your Highness.”
Silk nodded and joined Garion at the rail. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked.
“I don’t quite follow you.”
“You were just a bit grumpy when you got up this morning.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Spread it around,” Silk suggested. “Worries get lighter when you’ve got people to share them with you.”
“We’re getting closer,” Garion said. “Even if this meeting doesn’t happen out here in the islands, it’s still only a matter of a few more months.”
“Good. I ‘m getting a little tired of living out of a saddlebag.”
“But we don’t know what’s going to happen yet.”
“Of course we do. You’re going to meet Zandramas, divide her down the middle with that big knife of yours, and take your wife and son back to Riva where they belong.”
“But we don’t know that, Silk.”
“We didn’t know you were going to win the duel with Torak either, but you did. Anyone who goes around picking fights with Gods has very little to fear from a second-rate sorceress.”
“How do we know she’s second-rate?”
“She’s not a disciple, is she? Or would the word be disciple-ess?”
“How would I know?” Garion smiled faintly, then grew serious again. “I think Zandramas has stepped over discipleship. She’s the Child of Dark, and that makes her a bit more serious than an ordinary disciple.” He banged his fist down on the rail. “I wish I knew what I’m supposed to do. When I went after Torak, I knew. This time I’m not sure.”
“You’ll get instructions when the time comes, I’m sure.”
“But if I knew, I could sort of get ready.”
“I get the feeling that this is not the sort of thing you can get ready for, Garion.” The little man glanced over the rail at the garbage bobbing in the water beside the ship. “Did you follow the trail all the way to the harbor last night?” he asked.
Garion nodded. “Yes—both of them. Both Zandramas and the Sardion left from here. We’re fairly sure that Zandramas is going to Melcena. Only the Gods know where the Sardion went.”
“And probably not even they.”
A large drop of water fell from the rigging lost in the fog overhead and landed with a splat on Silk’s shoulder.
“Why is it always me?” the little man complained.
“What?”
“Anytime something wet falls out of the sky, it lands on me.”
“Maybe somebody’s trying to tell you something,” Garion grinned. Toth and Durnik led the last of the horses up the gangway and on down into the hold.
“That’s the lot, Captain,” Silk called. “We can leave any time now.”
“Yes, your Highness,” the captain agreed. He raised his voice and started shouting orders.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” Garion said to Silk. “Always before, you acted almost as if you were ashamed of your title. Here in Mallorea, though, you seem to want to wallow in it.”
“What a fascinating choice of words.”
“You know what I mean.”
Silk tugged at one earlobe. “In the West, my title’s an inconvenience. It attracts too much attention, and it gets in the way. Things are different here in Mallorea. Here, nobody takes you seriously unless you’ve got a title. I’ve got one, so I use it. It opens certain doors for me and permits me to have dealings with people who wouldn’t have time for Ambar of Kotu or Radek of Boktor. Nothing’s really changed, though.”
“Then all of that posturing and pomposity—pardon the terms—are just for show?”
“Of course they are, Garion. You don’t think I’ve turned to a complete ass, do you?”
A strange thought came to Garion. “Then Prince Kheldar is as much a fiction as Ambar and Radek, isn’t he?”
“Of course he is.”
“But where’s the real Silk?”
“It’s very hard to say, Garion.” Silk sighed. “Sometimes I think I lost him years ago.” He looked around at the fog. “Let’s go below,” he said. “Murky mornings always seem to start off these gloomy conversations.”
A league or so beyond the breakwater, the sky turned a rusty color, and the fog began to thin. The sea lying to the east of the coast of Mallorea rolled in long, sullen swells that spoke of vast stretches of uninterrupted water. The ship ran before the prevailing wind, her prow knifing through the swells, and by late afternoon the coast of the largest of the Melcene Islands was clearly visible on the horizon.
The harbor of the city of Melcena was crowded with shipping from all over Mallorea. Small and large, the vessels jostled against each other in the choppy water as Silk’s captain carefully threaded his way toward the stone quays thrusting out from the shore. It was dusk by the time they had unloaded, and Silk led them through the broad streets toward the house he maintained there. Melcena appeared to be a sedate, even stuffy city. The streets were wide and scrupulously clean. The houses were imposing, and the inhabitants all wore robes in sober hues. There was none of the bustle here that was evident in other cities. The citizens of Melcena moved through the streets with decorum, and the street hawkers did not bawl their wares in those strident voices that helped so much to raise that continual shouted babble that filled the streets of less reserved cities. Although Melcena lay in tropic latitudes, the prevailing breeze coming in off the ocean moderated the temperature enough to make the climate pleasant.
Silk’s house here was what might more properly be called a palace. It was constructed of marble and was several stories high. It was fronted by a large formal garden and flanked by stately trees. A paved drive curved up through the garden to a porch lined with columns, and liveried servants stood attentively at the entryway.
“Opulent,” Sadi noted as they dismounted.
“It’s a nice little place,” Silk admitted in an offhand way. Then he laughed. “Actually, Sadi, it’s mostly for show. Personally, I prefer shabby little offices in back streets, but Melcena takes itself very seriously, and one has to try to fit in, if one plans to do business here. Let’s go inside.”
They went up the broad steps and through an imposing door. The foyer inside the door was very large, and the walls were clad with marble. Silk led them on through the foyer and up a grand staircase. “The rooms on the ground floor are given over to offices,” he explained. “The living quarters are up here.”
“What sort of business do you do here?” Durnik asked.”I didn’t see anything that looked like a warehouse.”
“There aren’t many warehouses in Melcena,” Silk said as he opened a door and led them into a very large, blue-carpeted sitting room. “The decisions are made here, of course, but the goods are normally stored on the mainland. There’s not much point in shipping things here and then turning around and shipping them back again.”
“That makes sense,” Durnik approved.
The furnishings of the room they had entered were ornate. Divans and comfortable chairs were clustered in little groupings here and there, and wax candles burned in sconces along the wood-paneled walls.
“It’s a little late to be wandering around the streets looking for Zandramas,” Silk observed. “I thought we might have something to eat, get a good night’s sleep, and then Garion and I can start out early in the morning.”
“That’s probably the best way to go at it,” Belgarath agreed, sinking down onto a well-upholstered divan.
“Could I offer you all something to drink while we’re waiting for dinner?” Silk asked.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Beldin growled, sprawling in a chair and scratching his beard.
Silk tugged at a bellpull, and a servant entered immediately. “I think we’ll have some wine,” Silk told him.
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Bring several varieties.”
“Have you got any ale?” Beldin asked. “Wine sours my stomach.”
“Bring ale for my messy friend as well,” Silk ordered, “and tell the kitchen that there’ll be eleven of us for dinner.”
“At once, your Highness.” The servant bowed and quietly left the room.
“You have bathing facilities, I assume?” Polgara asked, removing the light cloak she had worn on the voyage.
“You bathed just last night in Jarot, Pol,” Belgarath pointed out.
“Yes, father,” she said dreamily. “I know.”
“Each suite has its own bath,” Silk told her. “They’re not quite as large as the ones in Zakath’s palace, but they’ll get you wet.”
She smiled and sat on one of the divans.
“Please, everybody, sit down,” Silk said to the rest of them.
“Do you think any of your people here might know what’s going on in the world?” Belgarath asked the little man.
“Naturally.”
“Why naturally?”
“My boyhood occupation was spying, Belgarath, and old habits die hard. All of my people are instructed to gather information.”
“What do you do with it?” Velvet asked him.
He shrugged. “I sort through it. I get almost as much pleasure from handling information as I do from handling money. “
“Do you forward any of this information to Javelin in Boktor?”
“I send him a few crumbs now and then—just to remind him that I’m still alive.”
“I’m sure he knows that, Silk.”
“Why don’t you send for someone who can bring us up to date?” Belgarath suggested. “We’ve been out of touch for quite a while, and I’d sort of like to know what certain people are up to.”
“Right,” Silk agreed. He tugged the bellpull again, and another liveried servant responded. “Would you ask Vetter to step in here for a moment?” Silk asked.
The servant bowed and left.
“My factor here,” Silk said, taking a seat, “We lured him away from Brador’s secret police. He’s got a good head for business and he’s had all that training in the intelligence service.”
Vetter proved to be a narrow-faced man with a nervous tic in his left eyelid. “Your Highness wanted to see me?” he asked respectfully as he entered the room.
“Ah, there you are, Vetter,” Silk said. “I’ve been back in the hinterlands and I was wondering if you could fill me in on what’s been happening lately.”
“Here in Melcena, your Highness?”
“Perhaps a bit more general than that.”
“All right,” Vetter paused, gathering his thoughts. “There was a plague in Mal Zeth,” he began. “The Emperor sealed the city to prevent the spread of the disease, so, for a time, we couldn’t get any information out of the capital. The plague has subsided, however, so the gates have been opened again. The Emperor’s agents are moving freely around Mallorea now.
“There was an upheaval in central Karanda. It appeared to have been fomented by a former Grolim named Mengha. The Karands all believed that there were demons involved, but Karands think that there’s a demon behind any unusual occurrence. It does appear, though, that there were at least a few supernatural events in the region. Mengha hasn’t been seen for quite some time, and order is being gradually restored. The Emperor took the business seriously enough to summon the army back from Cthol Murgos to put down the uprising.”
“Has he rescinded that order yet?” Silk asked. “If things are quieting down in Karanda, he’s not going to need all those troops, is he?”
Vetter shook his head in disagreement. “The troops are still landing at Mal Gemila,” he reported. “The word we’ve been getting out of Mal Zeth is that the Emperor has lost his enthusiasm for the conquest of Cthol Murgos. He had personal reasons for the campaign in the first place, and those reasons don’t seem to be as pressing any more. His major concern at the moment seems to be the impending confrontation between the Disciple Urvon and Zandramas the Sorceress. That situation is about to come to a head. Urvon seems to be suffering from some form of mental instability, but his subordinates are moving large numbers of people into the region in preparation for something fairly major. Zandramas is also marshaling her forces. Our best assessment of the situation is that it’s only going to be a matter of time before the Emperor moves his forces out of Zeth to restore order. There have been reports of supplies being stockpiled at Maga Renn. It’s apparent that Kal Zakath intends to use it as a staging area.”
“Were we able to capitalize on that in any way?” Silk asked intently.
“To some degree, your Highness, we sold a part of our bean holdings to the Bureau of Military Procurement just today.”
“What was the price?”
“About fifteen points above what we paid.”
“You’d better get word to Kasvor in Jarot,” Silk said with a sour expression. “I told him to sell at thirteen. The Melcene consortium has been making offers. Is the price likely to go higher?”
Vetter spread one hand and rocked it back and forth uncertainly.
“Let the word get out that we sold at fifteen and tell Kasvor to hold out for that figure. Even if the price goes to sixteen, we’ll have still taken most of the profit out of the transaction.”
“I’ll see to it, your Highness.” Vetter frowned a bit. “There’s something going on in Dalasia,” he continued his report. “We haven’t been able to get the straight of it yet, but the Dalasians all seem to be very exited about it. Kell has been sealed off, so we can’t get anybody there to investigate, and Kell is the source of just about everything that goes on in Dalasia.”
“Any news from the West?” Garion asked.
“Things are still stalemated in Cthol Murgos,” Vetter replied. “Kal Zakath is reducing his forces there and he’s called all his generals home. He’s still holding the cities in eastern Cthol Murgos, but the countryside is reverting. It’s not certain whether King Urgit is going to take advantage of the situation. He has other things on his mind.”
“Oh?” Silk asked curiously.
“He’s getting married. A princess from the House of Cthan, as I understand it.” Silk sighed.
“King Gethel of Mishrak ac Thull died,” Vetter went on, “and he was succeeded by his son, Nathel. Nathel’s a hopeless incompetent, so we can’t be sure how long he’ll last.” Vetter paused, scratching at his chin. “We’ve had reports that there was a meeting of the Alorn Council at Boktor. The Alorns get together once a year, but it’s usually at Riva. About the only other thing unusual about it was the fact that a fair number of non-Alorn monarchs attended.”
“Oh?” Belgarath said. “Who?”
“The king of the Sendars, the Emperor of Tolnedra, and King Drosta of Gar og Nadrak. The king of Arendia was ill, but he sent representatives.”
“Now what are they up to?” Belgarath muttered.
“We weren’t able to get our hands on the agenda,” Vetter told him, “but not long afterward, a delegation of diplomats from their kingdoms went to Rak Urga. There are rumors that some fairly serious negotiations are going on.”
“What are they doing?” Belgarath demanded in an exasperated voice.
“I’ve told you over and over not to go off and leave the Alorns untended,” Beldin said. “If there’s any way at all for them to do something wrong, they’ll do it.”
“The price of gold is up,” Vetter continued, “and the price of Mallorean crowns is down. Melcene imperials are holding steady, but the diamond market is fluctuating so wildly that we’ve withdrawn our investments in that commodity. That’s more or less what’s current, your Highness. I’ll have a more detailed report on your desk first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you, Vetter,” Silk replied. “That’s all for right now.”
Vetter bowed and quietly left.
Belgarath began to pace up and down, swearing to himself.
“There’s nothing you can do about it, father,” Polgara told him, “so why upset yourself?”
“Perhaps they have some reason for what they’re doing,” Silk suggested.
“What possible reason could they have to be negotiating with the Murgos?”
“I don’t know.” Silk spread his hands. “I wasn’t there when they made the decision. Maybe Urgit offered them something they wanted.”
Belgarath continued to swear.
About a half-hour later, they adjourned to the dining room and took seats near one end of a table that could easily have accommodated a half a hundred. The linen was snowy white, the knives and forks were solid silver, and the porcelain plates were edged in gold. The service was exquisite, and the meal was of banquet proportions.
“I must talk with your cook,” Polgara said as they lingered over dessert. “He appears to be a man of talent.”
“I should hope so,” Silk replied. “He’s costing me enough.”
“I’d say you can afford it,” Durnik noted, looking around at the luxurious furnishings.
Silk leaned back in his chair, toying with the stem of a silver goblet. “It doesn’t really make much sense to maintain a place like this when I only come here about twice a year,” he admitted, “but it’s expected, I guess.”
“Doesn’t Yarblek use it, too?” Garion asked him.
Silk shook his head. “No. Yarblek and I have an agreement. I give him free rein in the rest of the world as long as he stays out of Melcena. He doesn’t really fit in here, and he insists on taking Vella with him everyplace he goes. Vella really shocks the Melcenes.”
“She’s a good wench, though,” Beldin said, grinning. “When this is all over, I might just buy her.”
“That’s disgusting!” Ce’Nedra flared.
“What did I say?” Beldin looked contused.
“She’s not a cow, you know.”
“No. If I wanted a cow, I’d buy a cow.”
“You can’t just buy people.”
“Of course you can,” he said. “She’s a Nadrak woman. She’d be insulted if I didn’t try to buy her.”
“Just be careful of her knives, uncle,” Polgara cautioned. “She’s very quick with them.”
He shrugged. “Everybody has a few bad habits.”
Garion did not sleep well mat night, although the bed he shared with Ce’Nedra was deep and soft. At first he thought that might be part of the problem. He had been sleeping on the ground for weeks now, and it seemed reasonable that he was just not used to a soft bed. About midnight, however, he realized that the bed had nothing to do with his sleeplessness. Time was moving on inexorably, and his meeting with Zandramas marched toward him with a measured, unstoppable pace. He still knew little more than he had at the beginning. He was, to be sure, closer to her than he had been at the start—no more than a week at most behind, if the reports were correct—but he was still trailing after her and he still did not know where she was leading him. Darkly, he muttered a few choice oaths at the madman who had written the Mrin Codex. Why did it all have to be so cryptic? Why couldn’t it have been written in plain language?
“Because if it had been, half the world would be waiting for you when you got to the place of the meeting,” the dry voice in his mind told him. “You’re not the only one who wants to find the Sardion, you know, “
“I thought you ‘d left for good.”
“Oh, no, I’m still around.”
“How far behind Zandramas are we?”
“About three days.”
Garion felt a wild surge of hope.
“Don’t get too excited,” the voice said, “and don’t just dash off as soon as you find the trail again. There’s something else that has to be done here.”
“What?”
“You know better than to ask that, Garion. I can’t tell you, so quit trying to trick me into answering. “
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
“Because if I tell you certain things, the other spirit will be free to tell other things to Zandramas—like the location of the Place Which Is No More, for instance. “
“You mean she doesn’t know?” Garion asked incredulously.
“Of course she doesn‘t know. If she knew, she ‘d be there by now.”
“Then the location isn’t written down in the Ashabine Oracles?”
“Obviously. Pay attention tomorrow. Somebody’s going to say something in passing that’s very important. Don’t miss it.”
“Who’s going to say it?”
But the voice was gone.
It was breezy the following morning when Silk and Gar-ion set out, wearing long robes of a sober blue color. At Silk’s suggestion, Garion had detached the Orb from the hilt of his sword and carried it concealed beneath his robe. “Melcenes rarely wear arms inside the city,” the little man had explained, “and your sword is very conspicuous.” They did not take their horses, but rather walked out into the street to mingle with the citizens of Melcena.
“We might as well start along the waterfront,” Silk suggested. “Each wharf is owned by a different group of businessmen, and if we can find out which wharf Zandramas landed on, we’ll know whom to question for more information.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Garion said shortly, striding off toward the harbor.
“Don’t run,” Silk told him.
“I’m not.”
“You’re moving too fast,” the little man said. “People in Melcena go at a more stately pace.”
“You know, Silk, I really don’t care what the people here think of me. I’m not here to waste time.”
Silk took hold of his friend’s arm with a firm grip. “Garion,” he said seriously, “we know that Zandramas and her underling have come here. She knows that we’re after her, and there are people in Melcena who can be hired for various kinds of mischief. Let’s not make it easy for them by standing out in the crowd.”
Garion looked at him. “All right,” he said. “We’ll do it your way.”
They walked at an infuriatingly slow pace down a broad avenue. At one point, Silk stopped with a muttered oath.
“What’s wrong?” Garion asked him.
“That fellow just ahead—the one with the big nose—he’s a member of Brador’s secret police.”
“Are you sure?”
Silk nodded. “I've known him for quite some time.” The little man squared his shoulders. “Well, there’s no help for it, I guess. He’s already seen us. Let’s move along.”
But the man with the large, bulbous nose moved forward to stand in their path. “Good morning, Prince Kheldar,” he said, bowing slightly.
“Rolla,” Silk replied distantly.
“And your Majesty,” Rolla added, bowing more deeply to Garion. “We weren’t expecting you to appear here in Melcena. Brador will be very surprised.”
“Surprises are good for him.” Silk shrugged. “An unsurprised man gets complacent.”
“The Emperor was most put out with you, your Majesty,” Rolla said reproachfully to Garion.
“I’m sure he’ll survive it.”
“In Mallorea, your Majesty, it’s the ones who offend Kal Zakath who need to be concerned about survival.”
“Don’t make threats, Rolla,” Silk warned. “If his Majesty here decides that your report to the Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs would be embarrassing, he might decide to take steps to keep you from ever writing it. His Majesty is an Alorn, after all, and you know how short-tempered they can be.”
Rolla stepped back apprehensively.
“Always nice talking with you, Rolla,” Silk said in a tone of dismissal. Then he and Garion walked on. Garion noticed that the big-nosed man had a slightly worried look on his face as they passed him.
“I love to do that to people,” Silk smirked.
“You’re easily amused,” Garion said. “You do know that when his report gets to Mal Zeth, Zakath's going to flood this whole region with people trying to find us.”
“Do you want me to go back and kill him for you?” Silk offered.
“Of course not!”
“I didn’t think so. If you can’t do something about a situation, there’s no point in worrying about it.”
When they reached the harbor, Garion tightened his grip on the Orb. The pulling of Iron-grip’s sword had sometimes been quite strong, and Garion had no desire to have the stone jump out of his hand. They walked northward along the wharves with the salt tang of the sea in their nostrils. The harbor of Melcena, unlike that of most of the port cities in the world, was surprisingly clear of floating garbage. “How do they keep it so clean?” Garion asked curiously. “The water, I mean?”
“There’s a heavy fine for throwing things in the harbor,” Silk replied. “Melcenes are compulsively tidy. They also have workmen with nets in small boats patrolling the waterfront to scoop up any floating debris. It helps to maintain full employment.” He grinned. “It’s a nasty job and it’s always assigned to people who aren’t interested in finding regular work. A few days in a small boat full of garbage and dead fish increases their ambition enormously.”
“You know,” Garion said, “that’s really a very good idea. I wonder if—” The Orb suddenly grew very warm in his hand. He pulled his robe open slightly and looked at it. It was glowing a sullen red.
“Zandramas?” Silk asked.
Garion shook his head. “The Sardion,” he replied.
Silk nervously tugged at his nose. “That’s a sort of dilemma, isn’t it? Do we follow the Sardion or Zandramas?”
“Zandramas,” Garion said, “She’s the one who’s got my son.”
“It’s up to you.” Silk shrugged. “That’s the last wharf just up ahead. If we don’t pick up the trail there, we’ll go on and check the north gate.”
They passed the last wharf. The Orb gave no indication of interest.
“Could they have landed on one of the other islands?” Garion asked with a worried frown.
“Not unless they changed course once they were at sea,” Silk replied. “There are plenty of other places to land a ship along this coast. Let’s go have a look at the north gate.”
Once again they moved through the streets at that frustratingly leisurely pace. After they had crossed several streets, Silk stopped. “Oh, no,” he groaned.
“What is it?”
“That fat man coming this way is Viscount Esca. He’s one of the senior members of the Melcene Consortium. He’s bound to want to talk business.”
“Tell him we have an appointment.”
“It wouldn’t do any good. Time doesn’t mean that much to Melcenes.”
“Why, there you are, Prince Kheldar,” the fat man in a gray robe said, waddling up to them. “I’ve been looking all over the city for you.”
“Viscount Esca,” Silk said, bowing.
“My colleagues and I have stood in awe of your recent venture into the commodities market,” Esca said admiringly.
Silk’s eyes grew sly, and his long nose twitched. Then he assumed a pained expression. “A blunder, actually, my dear Viscount,” he said mournfully. “There’s little profit to be made in something as bulky as farm produce.”
“Have you been keeping abreast of the market?” Esca asked, his face taking on a transparent cast of neutrality, but his eyes filled with undisguised greed.
“No,” Silk lied, “not really. I’ve been upcountry, and I haven’t had the chance to talk with my factor as yet. I left instructions for him to take the first offer that comes along, though—even if we have to take a loss. I need my warehouses, and they’re all filled to the rafters with beans.”
“Well, now,” Esca said, rubbing his hands together, “I'll speak with my colleagues. Perhaps we can make you a modest offer.” He had begun to sweat.
“I couldn’t let you do that, Esca. My holdings are virtually worthless. Why don’t we let some stranger take the loss? I couldn’t really do that to a friend.”
“But, my dear Prince Kheldar,” Esca protested in a tone verging on anguish, “we wouldn’t really expect to make a vast profit. Our purchase would be more in the nature of long-term speculation.”
“Well,” Silk said dubiously, “as long as you’re fully aware of the risks involved—”
“Oh, we are, we are,” Esca said eagerly.
Silk sighed. “All right, then,” he said. “Why don’t you make your offer to Vetter? I’ll trust you not to take advantage of my situation.”
“Oh, of course, Kheldar, of course.” Esca bowed hastily. “I really must be off now. Pressing business, you understand.”
“Oh,” Silk said, “quite.”
Esca waddled off at an unseemly rate of speed.
“Hooked him!” Silk chortled. “Now I’ll let Vetter land him.”
“Don’t you ever think about anything else?” Garion asked.
“Of course I do, but we’re busy right now and we didn’t have all morning to listen to him babble. Let’s move along, shall we?”
A thought occurred to Garion. “What if Zandramas avoided the city?” he asked.
“Then we’ll get our horses and check the coastline. She had to have landed somewhere.”
As they approached the north gate of Melcena, the press in the street grew noticeably heavier. Carriages and people on horseback began to become more frequent, and the normally sedate citizens began to move more rapidly. Garion and Silk found it necessary to push their way through the throng.
“Anything?” Silk asked.
“Not yet,” Garion replied, taking a firmer grip on the Orb. Then, as they passed a side street, he felt the now-familiar pulling. “She’s been here,” he reported. “She came out of that street—or went into it. I can’t quite tell which yet.” He went a few steps up the side street. The Orb tried to push him back. He turned around and rejoined his rat-faced friend. The steady pull of the Orb drew him toward the gate. “She went out this way,” he reported as they reached the arched opening.
“Good,” Silk said. “Let’s go back and get the others. And then maybe we can find out why Zandramas came to Melcena.”