easier than I’d expected. There were Murgo sentries patrolling the top
of the wall. There was no need for that, really, since there was a
sheer drop of almost a mile to the desert floor, but Murgos tend to be
traditionalists.
They’d patrolled the top of the wall at Cthol Mishrak, so they
patrolled the top of the wall here. I slipped very slowly back into my
own form to avoid alerting Ctuchik to the fact that I’d come to pay him
a visit, and then I concealed myself in a narrow embrasure to wait for
a Murgo.
There were a number of ways I could have done it, I suppose, but I
chose the simplest. I waited until the sentry had passed, and then I
bashed him on the head with a rock. It was quieter than any of the
more exotic things I might have done, and it sufficed. I dragged the
Murgo back into the embrasure and peeled off his black robe. I didn’t
bother with his mail shirt. Chain mail is uncomfortable, and it tends
to rattle when you’re moving around. I considered dropping my Murgo
over the wall but decided against it. I didn’t have anything against
him personally, and I wasn’t entirely sure how much noise he’d make
when he hit the ground a mile below.
Yes, I know all about my reputation, but I don’t really like to kill
people unless it’s necessary. I’ve always felt that random murders
tend to coarsen one’s nature. You might want to think about that when
you consider murder as a solution to a problem.
I pulled up the hood of the Murgo robe and went looking for Ctuchik.
The simplest way would have been to ask, but I might have had trouble
imitating the rasping Murgo dialect, so I listened to a number of
random conversations and quite gently probed the thoughts of various
sentries and passersby instead. Polgara’s much better at that than I
am, but I know how it’s done. I was fairly careful about it, since
everybody in Rak Cthol, Grolim and Murgo, wore those black robes, and
that made it hard to tell them apart. It’s entirely possible, I
suppose, that Murgos think of themselves as a form of minor clergy–or
it might just be that Grolims are descendants of the original Murgo
tribe. I didn’t want to probe the thoughts of a Grolim, since some of
them at least are talented enough to recognize that when it happens.
My eavesdropping–both with my ears and with my mind–eventually gave
me enough clues to narrow down the search. Ctuchik was somewhere in
the Temple of Torak. I’d more or less expected that, but a little
verification never hurts.
The Temple was deserted. Even Grolims have to sleep sometime, and it
was getting fairly close to midnight. Ctuchik, however, was not
asleep. I could sense his mind at work as soon as I entered the
Temple. That made finding him much easier. I went along the back wall
on that balcony that seems to be a standard feature in every major
Grolim temple and eventually located the right door. And, naturally,
it was locked. A single thought would have unlocked it, but it would
probably have also alerted Ctuchik to my presence. Murgo locks aren’t
very sophisticated, though, so I did it the other way. I might not be
as good a burglar as Silk is, but I have had some experience in that
line of work.
There was a flight of stairs leading downward behind that door, and I
followed them, being very careful not to make any noise. A black
painted door stood at the bottom of the stairs, and, oddly, no guards.
I think this particular visit of mine persuaded Ctuchik that leaving
that door unguarded was a bad idea. I picked the lock and went
inside.
The sense of Ctuchik’s mind was coming from above me, so I didn’t
bother to investigate the lower level of his turret. There’s a
peculiar similarity to the way our minds work. We all feel more
comfortable in towers. Ctuchik’s tower was hanging off the side of the
mountain, though.
I went up the stairs. I ignored the second level and climbed to the
top. The door there wasn’t locked, and I could sense the presence of
the owner of the turret behind it. He seemed to be reading something,
and he wasn’t particularly alert.
I set myself and opened the door.
An emaciated-looking Grolim with a white beard was sitting at a table
near one of the round windows poring over a scroll by the light of a
single oil lamp. That Murgo I’d seen at the escarpment–Agga, I think
his name was–had described Ctuchik as a man who looked as if he had
been dead for a week. I think Agga’d understated it. I’ve never known
anybody who looked more cadaverous than Ctuchik.
“What?” he exclaimed, dropping his scroll and leaping to his feet.
“Who gave you permission to come here?”
“It’s late, Ctuchik,” I told him.
“I didn’t want to bother anybody, so I let myself in.”
“You!” His sunken eyes blazed.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” I cautioned him.
“This is just a social call. If I’d had anything else in mind, you’d
already be dead.” I looked around. His tower wasn’t nearly as
cluttered as mine, but he hadn’t been here very long. It takes
centuries to accumulate really good clutter.
“What on earth possessed you to set up shop in this hideous place?” I
asked him.
“It suits me,” he replied shortly, struggling to get control of
himself.
He sat back down and retrieved his scroll.
“You always manage to show up where you’re least expected, don’t you,
Belgarath?”
“It’s a gift. Are you busy right now? I can come back some other time
if you’re doing something important.”
“I think I can spare you a few moments.”
“Good.” I closed the door, went over to his table, and sat down in the
chair directly across from him.
“I think we should have a little chat, Ctuchik–as long as we’re living
so close to each other.”
“You’ve come to welcome me to the neighborhood?” He looked faintly
amused.
“Not exactly. I thought we should establish a few ground rules, is
all.
I wouldn’t want you to blunder into anything by mistake.”
“I don’t make mistakes, Belgarath.”
“Oh, really? I can think of a dozen or so you’ve made already. You
didn’t exactly cover yourself with glory at Cthol Mishrak, as I
recall.”
“You know that what happened at Cthol Mishrak had been decided before
you even got there,” he retorted.
“If Zedar had done what he was supposed to, you wouldn’t have made it
that far.”
“Sometimes Zedar’s a little undependable–but that’s beside the point.
I’m not here to talk about the good old days. I’m here to give you a
bit of advice. Keep a tight leash on your Murgos. The time isn’t
right for anything major, and we both know it. A lot of things have to
happen yet before we can get down to business. Keep the Murgos out of
the Western Kingdoms. They’re starting to irritate the Alorns.”
He sneered.
“My, my, isn’t that a shame.”
“Don’t try to be funny. You’re not ready for a war,
Ctuchik–particularly not with the Alorns. Iron-grip’s got the Orb,
and you saw what he can do with it when we had that little get-together
at Cthol Mishrak. If you don’t get your Murgos under control, he might
take it into his head to pay you a call. If you irritate him too much,
he’ll turn this mountain of yours into a very large pile of gravel.”
“He’s not the one who’s supposed to raise the Orb,” Ctuchik objected.
“My point exactly. Let’s not push our luck here. We haven’t received
all our instructions as yet, so we don’t even know what we’re supposed
to do. If you push the Alorns too far, Iron-grip’s very likely to lose
his temper and do something precipitous. If that happens, it could
throw this whole business into the lap of pure, random chance. We
could end up with a third possibility, and I don’t think the other two
would like that very much. So let’s not complicate things any more
than they already are.”
He pulled speculatively at his beard.
“You might be right,” he conceded grudgingly.
“We’ve all got lots of time, I suppose, so there’s no great hurry.”
“I’m glad you agree.” I squinted at him.
“Have you managed to get any of your people into the house at Ashaba as
yet?”
His eyes suddenly looked startled.
“It’s the logical thing for you to do, Ctuchik. Zedar’s there taking
down Torak’s every word. If you and that pinto-spotted Urvon don’t get
some of your people inside, Zedar’s going to have the upper hand.”
“I’m working on it,” he replied shortly.
“I hope so. One of you’d better get your hands on a copy of the