across.”
“I’m getting instructions, father.”
I wandered around in the Western Kingdoms for the next couple years,
looking in on the assorted families I’d been nurturing for centuries.
The Angarak invasion of Algaria and the wholesale slaughter of the
Algarian cattle herds had brought the Kingdoms of the West to the verge
of an economic disaster. It was generations before there were any more
cattle drives to Muros. The Tolnedrans went into deep mourning, but
the always-practical Sendars came up with a partial solution. All of
Sendaria turned into one vast pig ranch. Pork has certain advantages
over beef. I suppose you could smoke and cure beef if you really
wanted to, but the Algars didn’t bother. It might have been because
there weren’t that many trees in Algaria, so the wood chips required to
smoke meat weren’t readily available. The Sendars didn’t have that
problem, and wagon loads of cured hams and bacon and sausages were soon
trundling along every Tolnedran highway in all the Western Kingdoms.
There was a tentative, nervous kind of peace in Arendia when I came
back through there on my way north after a visit to Tol Honeth where
I’d presented my apologies for Polgara’s bad manners to Ran Borune and
General Cerran. I reached Vo Mandor in the autumn of 4877, and I spent
a pleasant winter with my friend, the baron. I really liked Mandor. He
had a rudimentary sense of humor, a rarity in Arendia, and he set a
very nice table. I put on a few pounds during that visit.
In the spring of the following year, baron Wildantor came down from
Asturia to visit. The friendship that had sprung up between the two of
them during the Battle of Vo Mimbre had deepened, and they were now
almost like brothers. The addition of the boisterous, red-haired
Wildantor turned our little reunion into an extended party, and I was
enjoying myself immensely. Then one evening when we’d stayed up late
savoring our reminiscences, Beldin finally located me. It was a
glorious spring night, and I’d thrown open the windows of my
third-floor bedroom to let in the flower-scented spring breeze. The
familiar blue-banded hawk appeared out of the night, settled on my
windowsill, and shimmered back into my ugly little brother.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he rasped.
“I’ve been right here for six months. Is there something I ought to
know about?”
“I’ve found out where Zedar’s got Torak’s body hidden, is about all.”
“About all? That’s fairly momentous, Beldin. Where is it?”
“Southern Cthol Murgos–about fifty leagues south of Rak Cthol.
There’s a cave in the side of a mountain down there, and Zedar’s got
Torak tucked away inside of it.”
“He’s that close to Ctuchik? Is he insane?”
“Of course he’s insane. He always has been. Ctuchik doesn’t know he’s
there, though.”
“Ctuchik’s a Grolim, Beldin. He can sense Zedar’s presence.”
“No, actually he can’t. Zedar’s using some of the tricks you taught
him before he turned bad on us. That’s what makes Zedar so
dangerous.
He’s the only one of the lot of us who’s had instruction from two
Gods.”
“How did you find him, then?”
“Sheer luck. He came out of the cave for firewood and I just happened
to be flying over.”
“Are you sure Torak’s inside?”
“Well, of course I am, Belgarath! I went into the cave to make
sure.”
“You did what?”
“Don’t get excited. Zedar didn’t know I was there. He was even nice
enough to carry me inside.”
“How did you manage that?”
He shrugged.
“I used a bug–a flea, actually.” He laughed.
“That’s really challenging. You wouldn’t believe what that kind of
compression does to your innards. Anyway, Zedar’s none too clean these
days, so he’s pretty well flea-bitten, and he’s got lice, as well. I
hopped onto his head and burrowed into his hair while he was bent over
picking up some sticks for his fire. He took me inside, and there was
old Burnt-face all laid out on a flat rock with ice all around him.
Zedar’s put the mask back on him –probably because Torak’s face makes
him as sick as it makes the rest of humanity. I stayed where I was
until Zedar went to sleep. Then I bit him a few times and hopped out
of the cave.”
I suddenly burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it.
“What’s so funny?”
“You bit him?”
“Under the circumstances, it was the best I could do. I wasn’t big
enough to bash out his brains. He’s going to have a very itchy scalp
for the next week or so, though. I’ll stop by that mountain of his
from time to time to make sure he stays put. Mallorea’s gone all to
pieces, you know.”
“Oh?”
“When word got back that Torak wasn’t functioning any more,
independence movements started springing up all over the continent. The
old emperor–the one Torak deposed–is back on the throne at Mal Zeth
now, but he’s not really very effective. He’s got a grandson–Korzeth,
I think his name is. The old emperor’s grooming him for the task of
reuniting Mallorea. I was going to slip into the palace and slit the
little monster’s throat, but the Master told me not to–very firmly.
Evidently Korzeth’s line’s going to produce somebody we’re going to
need eventually.
That’s about it, Belgarath, so pass all this on to the twins and to
Pol.
I’m going back to Cthol Murgos. I think I’ll graze on Zedar’s head for
a while longer.” Then he blurred back into feathers and went out the
window.
I made my apologies to Mandor and Wildantor the next morning and rode
north, intending to go to Seline to advise Pol of these developments,
but I hadn’t gone five miles when I heard the sound of a galloping
horse behind me. I was more than a little startled when I saw that it
was General Cerran.
“Belgarath!” he shouted before he’d even caught up with me.
“Thank Nedra I caught up with you before you vanished into the Asturian
Forest! Ran Borune wants you to come back to Tol Honeth!”
“Have you run out of couriers, Cerran?” I asked, a little amused to
see a middle-age Tolnedran general reduced to a messenger boy.
“It’s a sensitive matter, old friend. Something’s going on in Tol
Honeth that might involve you. The emperor doesn’t even want you to
come to the palace. I’m supposed to take you to a certain place and
then leave you to your own devices. His Majesty thinks it might be one
of those things a Tolnedran wouldn’t understand, but you would.”
“You’ve managed to arouse my curiosity, Cerran. Can you give me any
details?”
“There’s a member of the Honethite family who’s a thoroughgoing
scoundrel.”
“I thought they all were.”
“This one’s so bad that his family’s disowned him. There are some
things so rancid that even the Honeths can’t stomach them, but this
fellow, Olgon, will do anything for a price. He does business out of a
low tavern that’s frequented by pickpockets and hired killers. We like
to keep an eye on him, so a couple of our agents have wormed their way
in among the regular patrons. We’re fairly sure that the Drasnian
ambassador’s got some people in there, as well.”
“You probably could make a safe bet on that,” I agreed.
“Truly. To cut this short, a couple of weeks ago, this Honethite Olgon
was approached by a Nyissan who said that his employer would pay a
great deal of money to find out where you are–and much more to find
out where Lady Polgara is.”
“Pol’s not in Tolnedra.”
“We were fairly sure she wasn’t, but Olgon’s got people scattered all
over the Western Kingdoms, and he has contacts with just about every
thief and outlaw on this side of the escarpment.”
“Why would a Nyissan be trying to find us?”
“His employer isn’t Nyissan. One of our agents was close enough to
eavesdrop when the Nyissan told Olgon his employer’s name. The man
who’s looking for you is called Asharak the Murgo.”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of him.”
“It’s an assumed name. Our intelligence service has quite an extensive
file on this particular Murgo. He uses about a half-dozen names, but
there’s one report about twenty years old that identifies him as
somebody named Chamdar. Does that name mean anything to you?”
I gaped at him for a moment, and then I wheeled my horse and spurred
him toward the south and Tol Honeth.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
General Cerran and I very nearly killed our horses getting to Tol
Honeth. I’m sure Cerran thought I’d gone crazy until I told him of
some of my previous encounters with Ctuchik’s ambitious underling. When
we finally reached Tol Honeth, we went immediately to the Drasnian
embassy. Ran Borune’s Intelligence Service was good, I suppose, but it
was no match for Rhodar’s. The Drasnian ambassador was a stout fellow