give it a try himself. You know what she’s doing, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“UL keeps me advised.”
“I rather thought he might.” I frowned.
“Why are we suddenly getting all this help from the Dals? They’ve
maintained a position of strict neutrality since the beginning of
time.”
“We must assume that it’s in furtherance of their task. In some way,
they’re going to be involved in the final EVENT.”
I nodded glumly.
“That’s all I need–somebody else to muddy the waters. They’re muddy
enough as it is.”
I stayed in Prolgu for about a month, and then I went on over to
Arendia to look in on several families I’d been watching for
centuries.
Prophecy being what it is, I probably didn’t need to bother, but I
always like to keep an eye on things. Even the best machine breaks
down once in a while, and I’m the only mechanic around who knows how to
fix this one.
Following the destruction of Vo Astur, the Mimbrate Duke had proclaimed
himself king of all Arendia, but proclamations have very little to do
with reality. The Mimbrate “royalty” were little more than puppet
kings, their foreign policy dictated from Tol Honeth and their highways
patrolled by Tolnedran legionnaires. They had very little time to
brood about that, however. Although the Asturian cities and towns had
been destroyed, the Asturian nobility and yeomanry remained
intact–although greatly diminished. They simply retreated into their
forests and took up archery for fun and profit. They shot at trees;
they shot at deer; mostly they shot at Mimbrate tax collectors. They
ate the deer, but they just let the Mimbrates lie where they fell. As
you might expect, the Wildantor family participated enthusiastically.
I looked around a bit, and after I’d assured myself that Leildorin’s
family was in the right place and doing more or less what it was
supposed to be doing, I bought a horse and rode south toward Vo
Mandor.
It was early summer, and once I got beyond the gloomy stretches of that
forest that blankets northern Arendia, traveling was pleasant. The
Great West Road simplified matters enormously. The helpful Tolnedrans
had even bridged the River Mallei-in, so I was able to cross without
getting my feet wet.
The Arendish Fair stood at the juncture of the Great West Road and the
high road that skirted the western edges of Ulgoland. The fair had
been there since the time of the First Horbite Dynasty, and its
position astride the Great West Road meant that it was policed by
Tolnedran legionnaires, which sort of kept down the bloodshed.
Tolnedrans won’t let anything interfere with commerce, not even an
ongoing civil war. I decided that it might not be a bad idea to stop
over for a few days to rest my horse and pick up some information.
The Arendish Fair looked like a temporary collection of brightly
colored tents, but it’d been there for something like a thousand years
and was a commercial center rivaling the cattle fair at Muros in
Sendaria.
Since I wanted information, I went looking for Drasnians.
Yes, even back then. The Drasnian intelligence service had been
established not long after the Alorn expedition into Nyissa, and, even
as today, it relied heavily on merchants. Anytime you see a Drasnian
merchant outside the borders of Drasnia itself, you can safely wager
that he has some contacts with the intelligence service. He’s
interested in making money, of course, but he’s also interested in
information. The kings of Drasnia shrewdly have stressed the fact that
gathering information is a Drasnian’s patriotic duty, so in most cases
the spy-masters in Boktor don’t even have to pay for it. That’s very
helpful when it comes time to balance the budget.
In many ways the Arendish Fair is like a city. It has its shops, its
taverns, and even inns for those merchants who don’t want to bother
bringing their own tents. It’s laid out like a city, too, with muddy
streets and, in much the same fashion as in Muros, various districts.
The Tolnedrans who police the fair are wise enough to segregate the
races. Doing business with someone you hate is one thing; camping
right next to him is something else.
The Drasnian enclave lay in the northeast quadrant of the fair, so I
went there. I didn’t look like a merchant, so the Drasnians seemed to
ignore me, but nothing really escapes a Drasnian. Of course, the fact
that I was scattering recognition signals like a bridesmaid scattering
rose petals at a wedding might have helped a little, too.
Eventually a small, sharp-faced merchant with a long, pointed nose
emerged from his tent with a feigned expression of surprise on his
face.
“Garath!” he exclaimed.
“Can that really be you? I haven’t seen you in ten years! What are
you doing in Arendia?” His fingers were very busy telling me that he
was a professional spy rather than an amateur and that his name was
Khaldan.
I reined in my horse.
“Why, strike me blind if it isn’t my old friend Khaldan!” I said with
a certain enthusiasm. I’d never met him in person, but I definitely
knew his father, since I had some plans for his family.
Ultimately, a marriage between Khaldan’s family and the royal house of
Drasnia was going to produce a sharp-nosed little fellow with some
rather remarkable talents. Now that I think about it, that sharp-nosed
fellow very closely resembled Khaldan–which probably isn’t much of a
coincidence.
“Come inside,” Khaldan invited me.
“We’ll have a few tankards, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to
for all these years.”
I dismounted and followed him into his tent.
“Garath?” I asked him incredulously.
“Where did you learn about that name?”
He touched one finger slyly to his nose–evidently a family trait.
“State secret,” he replied.
“The Service knows a great deal about you, Ancient One. How can I help
you?”
“It’s nothing very specific, Khaldan,” I replied.
“I’m going south is all, and I just stopped by to see if there was
anything I ought to know about.”
He shrugged.
“Nothing unusual for Arendia, Ancient One.”
I looked meaningfully at his half-open tent flap.
“Not to worry, Garath,” he assured me.
“Nobody’s going to get near my tent who isn’t supposed to. We can talk
safely.”
“Maybe, but let’s not bandy that
“Ancient One” around too much. Is anything major happening between
here and the Tolnedran border?”
“You might want to go around the barony of Vo Mandor,” he suggested.
“The Baron’s having an argument with one of his neighbors just now.”
I swore.
“What’s the matter?”
“He’s the very man I have to see.”
“Stay here for a few weeks, then. It won’t take him very long to
finish up. The Mandor family has quite a reputation here in Mimbre.
They’re incapable of anything resembling caution, but they’ve been
lucky enough so far that they haven’t come up against anything they
can’t handle.”
“I know,” I agreed, “and that’s not going to change very much in the
foreseeable future. Are there very many Murgos here at the fair?”
“Funny you should ask. I was just going to bring it up myself. A
Murgo nobleman of some sort rode into the fair a couple days ago. His
rank must be fairly exalted, because the other Murgos are falling all
over themselves to do what he asks.”
“Have you picked up his name, by any chance?”
“I have, and it wasn’t by chance, I’m a professional, old friend. He
calls himself Achak, but I’ve been getting a faint smell of deception
there.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Tall, thinner than most Murgos, and he’s got white hair and a long
beard that’s kind of yellowish. I don’t think he’s very clean. From
what I hear, he smells bad.”
“Well, well, well,” I said.
“How very convenient. Now I won’t have to go looking for him.”
“You know him?”
“I’ve known him for centuries. The Gorim of Ulgo told me that he’d
come down from Rak Cthol. I’ve been curious about what he’s doing.”
“Rak Cthol? You’re not saying that this Achak fellow is Ctuchik, are
you?”
“Well, I hadn’t yet, but I’d have gotten to it eventually, I guess.”
“Now that’s a name to reckon with.” His eyes brightened.
“Would you like to have him killed?”
“Forget it, Khaldan. You wouldn’t be able to get an assassin near him.
Besides, I might need him later on. Is he doing anything here–aside
from terrorizing all the Murgos?”
“He’s been holding some extended conferences is about all–Murgos,
Nadraks, even a few Thulls. What’s he doing here?”
“He’s looking for something.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
I slyly touched my nose.
“State secret,” I replied, throwing his own clever remark back in his
teeth.
“Where’s the Murgo enclave? I think maybe I’d better go have another
little talk with the disciple of Torak.”
“I’ll send some men along to guard you.”
“That won’t be necessary. Ctuchik’s not here for a confrontation-not