Part Two
RAK URGA
Chapter Nine
It was almost dawn when they crept quietly out of Droblek’s house. A thick gray fog shrouded the narrow, twisting streets of Sthiss Tor as they followed Issus through the shabby quarter near the docks. The smell of the river and the reek of the surrounding swamps lay heavy in the foggy darkness, filling Garion’s nostrils with the odors of decay and stagnant water.
They emerged from a narrow alleyway, and Issus motioned them to a halt as he peered into the mist. Then he nodded. ‘Let’s go,’ he whispered. ‘Try not to make any noise.’ They hurried across a glistening cobblestone street, ill-lit by torches, each surrounded by a nimbus of hazy red light, and entered the deeper shadows of another garbage-strewn alley. At the far end of that alley, Garion could see the slow-moving surface of the river sliding ponderously by, pale in the fog.
The one-eyed assassin led them along another cobblestone street to the foot of a rickety wharf jutting out into the fog. He stopped in the shadows beside a dilapidated shack that stood partially out over the water and fumbled briefly at the door. He opened it slowly, muffling the protesting creak of a rusty hinge with a tattered piece of rag. ‘In here,’ he muttered, and they followed him into the dank-smelling shack. ‘There’s a boat tied at the end of this wharf,’ he told them in a half whisper. ‘Wait here while I go get it.’ He went to the front of the shack, and Garion heard the creak of hinges as a trapdoor opened.
They waited, listening nervously to the skittering and squeaking of the rats that infested this part of town. The moments seemed to creep by as Garion stood watch beside the door, peering out through a crack between two rotting boards at the foggy street running along the edge of the river.
‘All right,’ he heard Issus say from below after what seemed like hours. ‘Be careful on the ladder. The rungs are slippery.’
One by one, they climbed down the ladder into the boat the one-eyed man had pulled into place under the wharf. ‘We have to be quiet,’ he cautioned them after they had seated themselves. ‘There’s another boat out there on the river somewhere.’
‘A boat?’ Sadi asked in alarm. ‘What are they doing?’
Issus shrugged. ‘Probably something illegal.’ Then he pushed his craft out into the shadows at the side of the wharf, settled himself on the center seat, and began to row, dipping his oars carefully into the oily surface of the river so that they made almost no sound.
The fog rose from the dark water in little tendrils, and the few lighted windows high in the towers of Sthiss Tor had a hazy unreality, like tiny golden candles seen in a dream. Issus rowed steadily, his oars making only the faintest of sounds.
Then from somewhere not far upstream, there was a sudden muffled outcry, followed by a splash and the gurgling sound of bubbles rising to the surface.
‘What was that?’ Sadi hissed nervously as Issus stopped rowing to listen.
‘Be still,’ the one-eyed man whispered.
From somewhere in the fog, there came the thumping sound of someone moving around in a boat, followed by the splash of an awkwardly pulled oar. A man swore, his voice harsh and loud.
‘Keep quiet,’ another voice said.
‘What for?’
‘Let’s not tell everybody in Sthiss Tor that we’re out here.’
‘You worry too much. That rock I tied to his ankles will keep him down for a long time.’ The creaking oarlocks faded off into the fog.
‘Amateurs,’ Issus muttered derisively.
‘An assassination, perhaps?’ Silk asked with a certain professional curiosity. ‘Or a private killing?’
‘What difference does it make?’ Issus started to row again, his oars dipping slowly into the water. Behind them Sthiss Tor had disappeared in the fog. Without the reference point of its dim lights, it seemed to Garion that they were not moving at all, but sat motionless on the surface of the dark river. Then, at last, a shadowy shore appeared ahead in the clinging fog; after a few more minutes, he was able to make out the hazy shape of individual tree tops outlined by the pale mist.
A low whistle came to them from the bank, and Issus angled their boat slightly, making for that signal. ‘Garion, is that you?’ Durnik’s whispered voice came out of the shadows.
‘Yes.’
Issus pulled their boat under the overhanging branches, and Durnik caught the bow. ‘The others are waiting on the far side of the road,’ he said quietly as he helped Polgara from the boat.
‘You’ve been most helpful, Issus,’ Sadi said to his hireling.
The one-eyed man shrugged. ‘Isn’t that what you paid me for?’
Silk looked at him. ‘If you decide to consider my offer, talk to Droblek.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Issus replied. He paused, then looked at Polgara. ‘Good luck on your journey, Lady,’ he said quietly. ‘I get the feeling that you’re going to need it.’
‘Thank you, Issus.’
Then he pushed his boat back out into the fog and disappeared.
‘What was that all about?’ Sadi asked Silk.
‘Oh, nothing much. Drasnian Intelligence is always looking for a few good men, is all.’
Durnik was looking curiously at the shaven-headed eunuch.
‘We’ll explain when we get back to the others, dear,’ Polgara assured him.
‘Yes, Pol,’ he agreed. ‘We go this way.’ He led them up the brushy bank to the broken stones of the road and then pushed his way into the tangled undergrowth on the far side, with the rest of them close behind him.
Ce’Nedra, Eriond, Toth, and Velvet sat in a little hollow behind the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree. A single, well-shielded lantern gave forth a dim glow, illuminating the hollow with faint light. ‘Garion,’ Ce’Nedra exclaimed with relief, coming quickly to her feet. ‘What took you so long?’
‘We had to make a side trip,’ he replied, taking her into his arms. As he nestled his face into her hair, he found that it still had that warm sweet fragrance that had always touched his heart.
‘All right,’ Belgarath said, looking out into the tag end of the foggy night, ‘I want to get moving, so I’ll keep this short.’ He sat down on the spongy moss beside the lantern. ‘This is Sadi.’ He pointed at the shaven-headed eunuch. ‘Most of you know him already. He’ll be going with us.’
‘Is that altogether wise, Belgarath?’ Durnik asked dubiously.
‘Probably not,’ the old man replied, ‘but it wasn’t my idea. He seems to feel that Zandramas has gone down into southern Cthol Murgos and plans to cross the continent to the Isle of Verkat off the southeast coast.’
‘That’s a very dangerous part of the world just now, Ancient One,’ Velvet murmured.
‘We’ll have no trouble, dear lady,’ Sadi assured her in his contralto voice. ‘If we pose as slavers, no one will interfere with us.’
‘So you say,’ Belgarath said somewhat sceptically. ‘That might have been true before the war started down there, but we still don’t know for sure how the Malloreans view the slave trade.’
‘There’s one other thing you should all know,’ Polgara added quietly. ‘Garion and I went to the palace to find out if Salmissra was involved in this in any way. She told us that Zandramas is a woman.’
‘A woman?’ Ce’Nedra exclaimed.
‘That’s what she said, and she had no reason to lie to us.’
Durnik scratched at his head. ‘That’s a bit of a surprise, isn’t it? Are you sure Salmissra knew what she was talking about?’
She nodded. ‘She was very certain—and quite smug about the fact that she knew something that I didn’t.’
‘It does sort of fit,’ Velvet said thoughtfully. ‘Most of the things Zandramas has done were done the way a woman would do them.’
‘I can’t quite follow that,’ Durnik admitted.
‘A man does things one way, Goodman. A woman does them differently. The fact that Zandramas is a woman explains a great deal.’
‘She’s also
going to great lengths to conceal the fact,’ Silk added. ‘She’s made sure that just about everybody who’s seen her isn’t alive to tell anybody about it.’
‘We can talk about all this some more later,’ Belgarath said, standing up and looking around at the gradually lightening fog. ‘I want to get away from this place before the people on the other side of the river start moving around. Let’s saddle the horses.’
It took a bit of readjustment of their equipment to free one of the pack horses for Sadi’s use, but a short time later they rode out from their sheltered place of concealment and on along the weedy track that followed the winding course of the River of the Serpent. They moved at first at a cautious walk, but once they had passed the outskirts of Sthiss Tor, lying hidden in the fog across the river, they picked up their pace to a canter, clattering along the abandoned road that stretched through the rank jungle and reeking swamps of the land of the snake-people.
As the sun rose, it gave the fog surrounding them a kind of mystical glow, and the droplets hanging along the edges of individual leaves drooping from the undergrowth at the side of the road took on a jewellike sparkle. Garion, sandy-eyed and tired from a night without sleep, looked bemused at the jeweled green leaves, marveling that such beauty could exist in this stinking swamp.
‘The whole world is beautiful, Belgarion,’ Eriond assured him in response to that unspoken thought. ‘You just have to know how to look at it.’
Once the fog had burned off, they were able to move at a much more rapid pace. They encountered no other travelers that day. By the time the sun began to sink into the heavy banks of purple cloud that seemed to hover perpetually over the western horizon, they were well upriver.
‘How far is it to the Murgo border?’ Garion asked Sadi as the two of them gathered firewood while Durnik and Toth set up the tents for their night’s encampment.
‘Several more days,’ the eunuch replied. ‘The highway fords the river up near the headwaters and then angles down toward Araga. There’s a village on the other side of the ford. I’ll need to stop there for a few things—suitable garments and the like.’
Velvet and Ce’Nedra were unpacking Polgara’s cooking utensils not far away, and the blond Drasnian girl looked over at Sadi. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘but I think I’ve discovered a flaw in your plan.’
‘Oh?’
‘How can we pose as slavers when some of us are obviously women?’
‘But there are always women in any party of slave traders, my dear lady,’ he answered, dropping an armload of firewood beside the stone-lined cooking pit. ‘I’m sure that if you think about it, you’ll understand why.’
‘I certainly don’t,’ Ce’Nedra declared.
Sadi coughed rather delicately. ‘We trade in female slaves as well as males, your Majesty,’ he explained, ‘and a female who’s been guarded by women brings a higher price.’
A slow flush crept up her face. ‘That’s revolting.’
Sadi shrugged. ‘I didn’t make the world, your Majesty,’ he replied. ‘I only try to live in it.’
After they had eaten, Sadi took an earthenware bowl, filled it with hot water and began to lather his stubbled scalp.
‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Sadi,’ Silk said from the other side of the fire. ‘Exactly what was it that you did to make Salmissra so discontented with you?’
Sadi gave him a wry look. ‘Those of us in the queen’s service are an extraordinarily corrupt lot, Kheldar,’ he replied. ‘We’re all knaves and scoundrels and worse. A number of years ago Salmissra laid down certain guidelines to keep our plotting and deceit within reasonable limits—just to keep the government from falling apart. I overstepped a few of those limits—most of them, actually. Sariss found out about it and ran to the queen to tattle.’ He sighed. ‘I do so wish that I’d been able to see his reaction when she kissed him.’ He picked up his razor.
‘Why do all Nyissan men shave their heads?’ Ce’Nedra asked him curiously.
‘There are all manner of nasty little insects in Nyissa, your Majesty, and hair provides them with a perfect nesting place.’
She gave him a startled look, her hand going unconsciously to her coppery curls.
‘I shouldn’t worry too much,’ he smiled. ‘Most of the time, they’re dormant in winter.’
About noon several days later, the road they were following began to climb up out of the jungles into the foothills. The damp chill that had lain over the normally steaming swamps of Nyissa moderated as they climbed, and it was pleasantly warm as they moved up into the hardwood forest lying along the eastern frontier. The river began to tumble over stones beside the road, and its murky waters grew clear as they rode deeper into the hills.
‘The ford is just up ahead,’ Sadi told them as he led them around a broad curve in the road. A stone bridge had once crossed the river there, but time and the turbulent water had eaten away its foundations and tumbled it into the riverbed. The green water rushed over the fallen stones, swift and foaming. Upstream from the fallen bridge, there was a wide stretch of gravel-bottomed shallows that rippled, sparkling in the sun. A well-traveled trail led down to the ford.
‘What about the leeches?’ Silk asked, eyeing the water with suspicion.
‘The water’s a little too fast for them, Prince Kheldar,’ Sadi replied. ‘Their bodies are too soft to take much bouncing around on rocks.’ He rode confidently down into the rippling stream and led them on across.
‘That village I mentioned is just up ahead,’ he told them as they emerged from the stream. ‘It should only take me an hour or so to pick up what we’ll need.’
‘The rest of us can wait here, then,’ Belgarath said, swinging down from his saddle. ‘You go with him, Silk.’
‘I can manage,’ Sadi protested.
‘I’m sure you can. Let’s just call it a precaution.’
‘How am I going to explain to the shopkeeper what a Drasnian is doing with me?’
‘Lie to him. I’m sure you’ll be very convincing.’
Garion dismounted and walked up the slope of the river bank. These were the people he loved most in the world, but sometimes their idle banter set his teeth on edge. Even though he knew that they really meant nothing by it, it seemed somehow to reflect an indifferent frivolity, a callous lack of concern for his personal tragedy—and more importantly, for Ce’Nedra’s. He stood atop the river bank, looking with unseeing eyes down the descending gorge of the River of the Serpent and out over the dense green canopy of the jungles of the snake-people. He would be glad to get out of Nyissa. It was not so much the clinging mud, the stink of the swamps, nor even the clouds of insects that hovered perpetually in the air. The real problem with Nyissa was the fact that one could seldom see for more than a few feet in any direction. For some reason, Garion felt an overpowering need to see for long distances, and the obscuring trees and undergrowth that had blocked his vision since they had been in Nyissa had increasingly irritated him. A number of times he had caught himself just on the verge of clenching his will and blasting out long, clear avenues through the jungle.
When Silk and Sadi returned, the little Drasnian’s face was angry.
‘They’re only for show, Prince Kheldar,’ Sadi protested mildly. ‘We’re not actually going to have any slaves with us anyway, so there won’t really be anyone to wear them, will there?’
‘It’s the idea of them that offends me.’
‘What’s this?’ Belgarath asked.
Sadi shrugged. ‘I purchased a few shackles and slave bells. Kheldar doesn’t approve.’
‘I didn’t like the whips either,’ Silk added.
‘I explained that to you, Kheldar.’
‘I know. It’s still disgusting.’
‘Of course it is. Nyissans are a disgusting people. I thought you knew that.’
‘We can sort out comparative moralities later on,’ Belgarath said. ‘Let’s move along.’
The road they followed rose steeply up fro
m the river, taking them deeper and deeper into the foothills. The hardwoods gave way to gnarled evergreens and low-lying heather. Great, rounded white boulders lay in scattered profusion among the dark green trees, and the sky overhead was an intense blue. They camped that night in a grove of low, twisted junipers, building their fire against a boulder so that its white surface could reflect back both light and heat. Above them rose a steep ridge that stood jaggedly outlined against the starry eastern sky.
‘Once we cross that ridge, we’ll be in Cthol Murgos,’ Sadi told them as they sat around the fire after supper. ‘The Murgos watch their borders very carefully, so its probably time to start wearing our disguises.’ He opened the large bundle he had brought from the village near the ford and took out a number of dark green silk robes. He looked speculatively at Ce’Nedra and the gigantic Toth. ‘There may be a slight problem here,’ he murmured. ‘The shopkeeper didn’t have a wide variety of sizes.’
‘I’ll fix it, Sadi,’ Polgara said, taking the rolled-up robes from him and opening one of the packs in search of her sewing kit.
Belgarath had been staring thoughtfully at a large map. ‘There’s something that’s been bothering me,’ he said. He turned to Sadi. ‘Is there any way Zandramas might have taken a ship from one of these ports on the west coast and sailed around the southern end of the continent to Verkat?’
Sadi shook his head, his shaven scalp gleaming in the orange firelight. ‘Impossible, Ancient One. A Mallorean fleet slipped up behind the Murgos a few years back, and King Urgit still has nightmares about it. He’s closed all the west coast ports and has ships patrolling the sea lanes all the way around the tip of the Urga peninsula. No one sails along that coast without his specific permission.’
‘How far is it to Verkat?’ Durnik asked.
Sadi squinted up at the stars. ‘Three or four months at this time of the year, Goodman.’
Polgara had been humming quietly to herself as her needle flashed in the firelight. ‘Come here, Ce’Nedra,’ she said.
The little queen rose and went over to where she sat. Polgara held up the green silk robe, measuring it against her tiny frame, then nodded in satisfaction.