Murgos in the West again, and where you’ve got Murgos, you’ve also got
Grolims, and Grolims have ways to pick random conversations out of the
air. I definitely didn’t want some Grolim locating Polgara and
tracking her back to Annath.
“I wish she’d let me know what she’s going to do before she just runs
off like this!” I fumed when I met with the twins.
“Where’s she gone to this time?”
“Gar og Nadrak,” Beltira replied.
“She’s gone where?”
“Gar og Nadrak. This time it was the Mrin that told her to go there.
You remember those Nadrak “friends” we told you about back in the
forty-ninth century? And you went there to have a look?”
“Yes.” Of course I remembered. That was the time I’d picked up all
that gold.
“These “friends” are out and about now, so Pol’s gone to Gar og Nadrak
to identify them.”
“I could have done that!” I shouted in a sudden fury.
“Not as well as Pol can,” Belkira disagreed.
“Don’t yell at us, Belgarath. We just passed on the instructions to
her, we didn’t make them up.”
I got control of myself.
“Where exactly is she?”
“She and her owner are in Yar Nadrak.”
“Her owner?”
“Didn’t you know? Women are considered property in Gar og Nadrak.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
It was in that same year, 5346, that a recurring pestilence broke out
once again in western Drasnia. The disease appears to be endemic in
that part of the world, and I rather think that the fens might have
something to do with it. It’s a virulent kind of disease that’s
usually fatal, and those who survive it are generally grotesquely
disfigured.
Since Pol was off in Yar Nadrak, I was obliged to spend a year or so
pinned down in Annath. I kept an eye on Geran, but we seldom had time
to do any fishing, since he had other things on his mind. He was in
the process of building his own house, and every time Ildera’s clan was
near the border, he spent just about every waking moment with her.
Ildera was a tall blonde girl and very lovely. Geran seemed quite
taken with her, not that he really had any choice in the matter. It
appeared that the Necessity could handle those arrangements all by
itself even when Pol wasn’t around to guide the young people into those
marriages. That made me feel rather smug, for some reason.
It was about midsummer in the year 5347 when a bone-thin Drasnian named
Khendon came to Annath with a message for me. Khendon was a margrave,
I think, but he had better things to do than sit around polishing his
title. Since spying seems to be Drasnia’s national industry, most
members of the Drasnian nobility routinely attend the academy of the
Intelligence Service, and Khendon had been no exception. It’s while
they’re at the academy that they pick up those distinctive nicknames,
and Khendon had been dubbed
“Javelin,” probably because he was so thin. Though he wasn’t really
very old, Javelin was already one of the best in the service.
I’ve always rather liked him. He’s one of the few men in the world who
can keep Silk off balance. That in itself makes him extremely
valuable.
He leaned back in his chair in Darral’s kitchen while Geran’s mother
was fixing supper. Darral and Geran were still hard at work in the
stone quarry.
“I chanced to be in Yar Nadrak, Ancient One,” Javelin told me, “and
your daughter looked me up. She gave me a message for you.” He
reached inside his doublet, drew out a folded and sealed sheet of
parchment, and held it out to me.
“She said that you’d understand why she chose to do it this way instead
of what she called “the other way.” What did she mean by that?”
“It’s one of those things you don’t need to know about. Javelin,” I
told him.
“I need to know about everything, Ancient One,” he disagreed.
“Curiosity can get you into a lot of trouble, Javelin. There are two
worlds out there that sort of coexist. You take care of yours, and
I’ll take care of mine. We’ll try not to step on each others’ toes too
often. Believe me, it’s smoother that way. I’ve been at this for a
long time, so I know what I’m doing.” I broke the wax seal–which I’m
sure Javelin had carefully replaced after he’d browsed through the
message–and read the note from my daughter.
“Father,” it began,
“I’m ready to come home now. Come to Yar Nadrak, and bring plenty of
money. My owner will probably expect a sizable price for me.”
“What’s the going price for a slave woman in Gar og Nadrak, Khendon?” I
asked the skinny Drasnian.
“That depends on the woman, Holy One,” he replied, “and upon how good a
bargainer the buyer is. Bear in mind the fact that there are three
parties involved in the bargaining.”
“Would you like to explain that?”
“The woman’s interested in the price, too, Belgarath–since she gets
half, and since the price is an indication of her value. As a matter
of pride, your daughter’s going to insist on a very high price.”
“Even from me?”
“It’s a quaint custom. Holy One. You do want her back, don’t you?”
“That depends on how much it’s going to cost me.”
“Belgarath!” He actually sounded shocked.
“I’m joking, Khendon. Just give me a round number. I’ve got some
ten-ounce gold bars knocking around in my tower somewhere. How many
should I take with me?”
“A dozen or so, at least. Anything less would be insulting.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“You’re the one who asked the question, Belgarath. I’m just trying to
give you my best guess.”
“Thanks,” I said in a flat tone of voice.
“What’s her owner’s name?”
“Gallak, Holy One. He’s a merchant who’s involved in the fur trade.
The fact that he owns your daughter gives him a certain amount of
prestige, so he probably won’t sell her cheaply. Take my advice and
bring plenty of money to the bargaining table.”
I stood up.
“Keep an eye on things here, Khendon. I’ll send the twins up to
relieve you as soon as I get back to the Vale.”
“It shall be as you say. Holy Belgarath.”
I walked on out of Annath, went falcon, and flew directly to the
Vale.
I spoke briefly with the twins, then I hunted through my tower and
finally located my stack of gold bars–behind a bookshelf, if you can
imagine that. I tucked about twenty of them–twelve and a half pounds
or so-into a saddlebag, and then I went north in search of an Algar
clan to provide me with a horse. I’ve imposed on the Algars that way
any number of times over the years.
I skirted the Sendarian border, and I reached Aldurford in a couple of
days. Then I followed the Great North Road up along the causeway that
crosses the fens to Boktor. I stopped there only long enough to
purchase a suit of Drasnian clothes. Then I crossed the moors to the
Nadrak border.
“What’s your business in Gar og Nadrak?” one of the border guards
demanded suspiciously after he’d stopped me.
“My business is just that, friend,” I told him bluntly.
“My business.
I’m going to Yar Nadrak to buy something. Then I’m going to take it
back to Boktor and sell it. I’ve got all the necessary documents, if
you want to see them.”
“A certain gratuity’s customary,” he suggested hopefully.
“I try not to be a slave to custom,” I told him.
“I should probably tell you that King Drosta’s a personal friend of
mine.” Actually I’d never even met Drosta, but dropping names can be
useful.
The guard’s face grew slightly apprehensive.
“I wonder how your king’s going to react when I tell him that his
border guards are accepting bribes,” I added.
“You wouldn’t actually tell him, would you?”
“Not if you let me go across the border without any more of this
nonsense.”
He sullenly raised the gate and let me pass. I suppose I could have
paid him, but Rablek and I had worked very hard digging up that gold,
so I didn’t feel like squandering any of it.
I followed the North Caravan Route eastward, and it took me about a
week to reach Yar Nadrak, the capital. Yar Nadrak’s a particularly
ugly town. It lies at the juncture of the east and west forks of the
River Cordu, and the land around it is marshy and dotted with charred
snags, since Nadraks habitually clear forests by setting fire to them.
I think the thing that makes the capital so unappealing is the fact
that just about everything inside the walls is smeared with tar. It
keeps wood from decaying, I guess, but it doesn’t add much in the way
of beauty–or fragrance.
I rode directly to the fur market and asked around for the fur