“He has a slight tendency to get sidetracked, though. Honesty’s not
one of his strong points. He’s got the soul of a thief, and he can’t
seem to be able to pass up the opportunity to steal things.”
“Javelin!” Silk protested. Prince Kheldar was wearing the typical
Drasnian black doublet and hose. He was a wiry little fellow with a
sharp face and a long, pointed nose. He was only about twenty at the
time, but his eyes were already cynical and intelligent far beyond his
years.
“All right then, gentlemen,” I said, “let’s get down to business.
There’s a Grolim named Chamdar who usually goes by the name of Asharak
the Murgo. He was in Sendaria recently, and he did some things there
that seriously irritated me. As closely as I can determine, he
recently passed through Arendia, and he was coming this way. I want
him.
Find him for me.”
“He gets right to the point, doesn’t he?” Silk said to his friend.
Then he gave me that impudent little grin that’s always irritated me
for some reason.
“Just out of curiosity, Ancient One, why have I been selected for the
great honor of assisting you in this quest of yours? I’m a relative
novice, after all.”
“Because Chamdar knows me, and he probably can also recognize most of
Javelin’s more experienced agents on sight. You’re new enough in this
business that your face isn’t widely known. That’s why I’ve looked you
up specifically. I’m hoping that your anonymity’s going to make it
possible for you to search him out for me.”
“Do you want me to kill him?” Silk’s eyes grew bright.
“No. I just want you to find him. I’ll take it from there.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Is he always like this?” I asked Javelin.
“Usually, yes. Sometimes it’s worse.”
“What would the location of this Asharak be worth to you, Ancient One?”
Silk asked in a sly tone of voice.
“Silk!” Javelin snapped.
“I was only joking.” The little fellow grinned.
“I’ve known Holy Belgarath since I was a boy. He knows that I like to
tweak his beard now and then.” He looked at me.
“In point of fact, Asharak the Murgo’s in Tol Rane right now. I can
give you the name of the inn where he’s staying, if you’d like. Now,
is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Are you sure he’s in Tol Rane?” I demanded.
“As sure as we can be about anything in our peculiar business.
Tolnedran intelligence isn’t really very good, but they do have a lot
of people out in the streets, and they’ve always kept an eye on this
Asharak fellow.”
“How did you find out about it?” Javelin asked him.
“I have some contacts inside Tolnedran intelligence,” Silk replied with
a lofty expression as he buffed his fingernails on the front of his
doublet.
“Anyway, Ran Borune’s involved in trade negotiations with the Murgos
right now, and the Murgo trade delegation reports directly to Asharak.
They’ve had messengers burning up the road between here and Tol Rane
for the past two weeks.”
“How did you find out about that?” Javelin demanded.
Silk smirked at him.
“I have my sources,” he replied.
“More to the point, why didn’t you report it to me?”
“I’d have gotten around to it–eventually. I wanted a few more details
before I laid it on your desk. You always ask so many questions,
Javelin. I’ve got it under control, and you’ve got other things on
your mind.”
“You’re an absolute gold mine of information. Prince Kheldar,”
Javelin said sarcastically.
“At least you are once I manage to pry your jaws open.” Then he moved
on rather quickly.
“What’s Ran Borune trying to sell to the Murgos?”
Silk shrugged.
“A bit of this, a bit of that,” he replied evasively.
“Describe the “this” and the “that,” Silk.”
Silk winced.
“All right, if you’re going to be that way about it. Ran Borune’s got
a nephew who’s in business in the commercial enclave at Riva. The
nephew’s come very close to cornering the market in the spring shearing
on the Isle of the Winds, and he’ll be able to make a very tidy profit
if he can find a way to sell all that wool to the Murgos. I’ve got a
friend on the Isle who’s trying to outbid the nephew, though. If Ran
Borune does manage to strike a deal with the Murgos, he may very well
make my friend rich instead of his own nephew.”
“And you’re getting a commission from your friend, aren’t you?”
Javelin demanded.
“Naturally. I am supplying him with information on the trade
negotiations, after all. Fair’s fair, Javelin.”
“If your uncle finds out that you’re using the resources of the
intelligence service for your personal enrichment, he’ll have apoplexy.
You do know that, don’t you?”
“Then we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t find out, won’t we?”
Silk replied blandly.
“My uncle’s the king of Drasnia, Javelin. He’s got enough on his mind
already without concerning himself with something like this.” The
little swindler looked at me.
“Did you want me to go with you to Tol Rane?” he asked.
“I think so, yes. You have contacts there, I assume?”
“Old friend, I have contacts everywhere. Did you want to know what
Salmissra had for breakfast this morning?”
“Not particularly. Why don’t you go throw a few things together?
We’ll be leaving for Tol Rane tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t have to throw things together, Belgarath. My bags are always
packed.”
The next morning Silk came down into the courtyard of the embassy
wearing a maroon velvet doublet and a bag-like black velvet hat cocked
over one ear.
“Isn’t that a little fancy for a long trip on horseback?” I asked
him.
“One must look the part, Ancient One,” he replied.
“I’m known in Tol Rane as Radek of Boktor. I do business there on
occasion, and I’ve found it useful not to use my real name. That
“prince” my family tacked onto me has a tendency to make various
merchants think that I’m an easy mark. Believe me, nobody tries to
swindle Radek of Boktor. I’ve cut some very sharp deals in this
particular guise.”
“I’m sure you have. Let’s get started.”
We took the high road to Tol Rane and arrived in that snow-clogged city
about a week later. Since Tol Rane’s right up against the border of
what used to be Maragor, it’s high up in the mountains, and it gets
almost as much snow as Val Alorn or Boktor do each winter. We went to
the inn where Silk usually stayed when he was in town and took a fairly
opulent suite of rooms on the top floor, “for the sake of appearances,”
as he put it.
Not long after we arrived, one of the local Drasnian agents stopped by
to pay a visit, and he and Silk held an extended conversation in the
secret language. It wasn’t really necessary to do it that way, of
course, but I think Silk was showing off.
After the other Drasnian had left, my little companion filled me in on
some of the details of their discussion. There were a number of large
gaps, but I didn’t bother to correct him. He didn’t really need to
know that I understood all that finger-waving.
“Asharak’s been here, right enough,” the little man concluded, “but no
one’s seen him in the past several days. I’ll nose around a bit and
see if I can turn up anything more specific.”
“Do that,” I told him.
“I’ll stay here. There’s no point in announcing the fact that I’m in
Tol Rane, and Chamdar knows me on sight. If he catches so much as a
glimpse of me, he’ll be across the border into Cthol Murgos before the
sun goes down.”
Silk nodded, and then he left.
No sooner had the door closed behind him, though, than I altered my
appearance enough to be unrecognizable and followed him. I didn’t do
it because I didn’t trust him, although Silk’s not the most trustworthy
man in the world, but I wanted to see him in action. He didn’t know it
yet, but the Guide was going to be very important as time went on, and
I wanted to be sure that he would be able to handle the things he’d
come up against.
He didn’t disappoint me. Prince Kheldar was already as smooth as his
nickname implied. He hadn’t shaved in the week or so that we’d been on
the road from Tol Honeth, and that hint of a beard gave him the
appearance of being older than he really was, and he was able to assume
mannerisms that reinforced that perception in the eyes of others. I’m
convinced that if Silk had really wanted to–and if the business of
being a spy hadn’t been so exciting for him–he might very well have
been able to make a fortune as an actor. I’ve assumed various