David and Leigh Eddings – Belgarath the Sorcerer

named Kheral, and he didn’t seem very surprised to see us when we were

escorted into his red-draped office.

“I rather thought you might be stopping by. Ancient One,” he said to

me.

“Let’s get down to business, Kheral,” I said, cutting across the

pleasantries.

“How much can you tell me about this fellow who calls himself Asharak

the Murgo?”

Kheral leaned back, clasping his pudgy hands on his paunch.

“He was fairly active here in Tolnedra back before the war,

Belgarath–all the usual things, spies, corrupting government

officials, and the like. There were dozens of Murgos doing that sort

of thing back in those days. We routinely kept an eye on all of them,

but Asharak wasn’t doing anything so radically different from the

others that he stood out.”

“Didn’t your home office in Boktor make the connection?”

“Evidently not. Asharak’s name was in our reports, but it was mixed in

with the names of all the other Murgo agents, so it didn’t ring any

bells.

Then Kal Torak invaded Drasnia, and the Intelligence Service had to

move out of Boktor in a hurry. They set up shop in Riva, but the files

were an absolute shambles. That might explain why later reports on

Asharak didn’t attract attention until just recently. Murgo operatives

were still functioning here in Tolnedra even after the South Caravan

Route was closed, but when the war started getting serious, they all

left the country.”

“Good riddance,” Cerran noted.

“No, General, not really,” Kheral disagreed.

“Murgos sort of stand out in the Western Kingdoms, so they’re easy to

identify. Ctuchik’s using Dagashi now instead, and it’s much more

challenging to try to identify them. We did manage to locate one a few

months back, though, so I put some people to watching him. Then, about

two weeks ago, this Dagashi was speaking with a fellow who looked like

a Sendar, but probably wasn’t, and one of my agents was close enough to

them to hear them talking about some orders they’d received from

Asharak the Murgo. I sent a report to our temporary headquarters in

Riva, and a clerk who was a little more alert than the one who’s been

mishandling my correspondence made the connection. He checked the

dossier we’ve kept on Asharak for years now, and he found some

documents that were cross-referenced to the file we keep on Chamdar.

The Chief of Service alerted me, and I arranged to leak information to

Ran Borune’s spies. I knew that you’d recently visited the palace,

Belgarath, and there was a good chance that the emperor would know

where you’d gone. I felt that it’d be easier–and cheaper–to let his

people find you rather than sending out my own.”

Cerran was looking speculatively at Kheral.

“I’m getting the distinct impression that you wear two hats, your

Excellency,” he observed.

“Didn’t you know that, Cerran?” I asked him.

“Every Drasnian ambassador in the world’s a member of the Intelligence

Service.”

Kheral made a slight face.

“It’s a budgetary consideration, General,”

he explained.

“King Rhodar’s a very thrifty fellow, and this way he only has to pay

one salary rather than two. The savings do mount up after a while.”

Cerran smiled.

“How typically Drasnian,” he murmured.

“How does this renegade Honethite, Olgon, fit into all of this,

Kheral?” I asked.

“I was just getting to that, Ancient One. The Dagashi we’ve been

watching is currently posing as a Nyissan–shaved head, silk robe, and

all of that. He’s been spending a lot of time in that tavern Olgon

frequents.

I’ve got a couple of agents close to Olgon, and we’re fairly sure

Tolnedran intelligence does, as well. This so-called Nyissan was the

one who enlisted Olgon to aid in the search for you and Lady

Polgara.”

I stood up.

“I think maybe I’d better go to this tavern and have a look at Olgon

for myself. Exactly where is the place?”

“On the southern end of the island,” Cerran told me, “but would that be

wise? You are fairly well known, and I’m sure that Asharak’s Dagashi

would recognize you.”

“I can disguise myself, Cerran,” I assured him.

“Nobody’s going to recognize me.” I looked him straight in the face.

“You don’t really want to know how I do that, do you?”

He looked uncomfortable.

“No, I guess not, Belgarath,” he said.

“I didn’t think so. Kheral, why don’t you have one of your people show

me where this tavern is? I’ll take it from there. You two wait

here.

I’ll be back in a little bit.”

When you enter the city of Tol Honeth, you get the impression that it’s

all stately houses and marble-sheathed public buildings, but, like

every other city in the world, it has its share of slums. The tavern

to which Kheral’s spy took me was decidedly shabby, and it was

identified by a crude sign that supposedly represented a cluster of

grapes. I think that every tavern in the West has the same sign out

front. The sun was just going down when the Drasnian spy pointed out

the tavern and then went off down the street. I stepped back into a

reeking alleyway, formed the image of a tall, lean fellow dressed in

rags in my mind, and then fitted myself into that image. Then I half

staggered out of the alley, crossed the street, and went into the dimly

lighted, stale-smelling tavern. I plopped myself down on a bench at

one of the wobbly tables and loudly announced, “I’ll have beer!”

“I’ll see your money first,” the tavern keeper replied in a bored tone

of voice.

I fumbled around in the pocket of my shabby smock and produced a

Tolnedran halfpenny. The tavern keeper took my coin and brought me a

tankard of definitely inferior beer.

Then I looked around. Olgon wasn’t too hard to pick out. He was far

and away the best-dressed man in the tavern, and his face was locked in

that arrogant expression that all Honeths are born with. He was

holding court at a large table near the back wall, and he was

surrounded by thieves and cutthroats. His face had that pouchy look

that comes only after years of serious dissipation.

“All you have to do is say that you saw her in the street, Strag,” he

was patiently explaining to an evil-looking fellow with a purple scar

on the side of his face.

“What good will that do?” Strag retorted.

“If he doesn’t get some kind of information that she’s still in Tol

Honeth, he might take his money to Tol Borune–or even up into Arendia.

We could lose him altogether.”

“I don’t know about you, Olgon,” Strag replied, “but I value my own

skin. I’m not going to lie to a Dagashi and then take his money for

it.”

“You’re a coward, Strag,” Olgon accused.

“Maybe so, but I’m a live one. I’ve seen what the Dagashi do to people

who cross them. Get somebody else to do your lying for you–or do it

yourself.”

Olgon sneered.

“All right,” he said to the other scoundrels at the table, “who wants

to earn a silver half-mark?”

He didn’t find any takers. Evidently the reputation of the Dagashi was

well known in this shabby society.

Olgon glowered around at his hirelings, and then he let the matter

drop. That little snatch of conversation revealed worlds about his

character.

I couldn’t for the life of me understand how a Dagashi could possibly

put any faith in anything Olgon told him.

It was about ten minutes later, and I’d been nursing that tankard of

lukewarm, watered-down beer for about as long as I cared to, when the

tavern door opened and a shaved-headed man wearing a Nyissan silk robe

came in. He went directly to Olgon’s table.

“Have you anything for me?” he asked abruptly.

“I’ve got everybody out looking,” Olgon replied a bit evasively.

“This is costing me a great deal of money, Saress. Can you see your

way clear to give me a little bit of an advance?”

“Asharak doesn’t pay in advance, Olgon,” the man in the silk robe said

with a sneer.

“He pays only on delivery.”

Olgon muttered something, and the other man leaned over the table.

“What was that?” he asked ominously. Since he was bent over, I could

clearly see the outline of the triangular object he had nestled against

the small of his back under that robe.

“I said that this Asharak of yours is a cheapskate,” Olgon retorted.

“I’ll pass that on to him,” Saress replied.

“I’m sure he’ll be charmed.”

“I’m not asking for the whole sum, Saress,” Olgon said plaintively.

“Just enough to cover my expenses.”

“Look upon those expenses as an investment, Olgon. If you can produce

the woman Asharak’s looking for, he’ll make you rich. If you can’t,

you’ll just have to stay poor.” Then he turned on his heel and left

the tavern.

Something wasn’t right here. They were all just a little too obvious.