“Yes,” Polgara replied, “it is ‑but so was what happened back at that temple we burned.”
CHAPTER TWENTY‑THREE
The street, if it could be called that, was narrow and crooked. An attempt had been made at some time in the past to surface it with logs, but they had long since rotted and been trodden into the mud. Decaying garbage lay in heaps against the walls of crudely constructed log houses, and herds of scrawny pigs rooted dispiritedly through those heaps in search of food.
As Silk and Garion, once again wearing their Karandese vests and caps and their cross‑tied sackcloth leggings, approached the docks jutting out into the lake, they were nearly overcome by the overpowering odor of long‑dead fish.
“Fragrant sort of place, isn’t it?” Silk noted, holding a handkerchief to his face.
“How can they stand it?” Garion asked, trying to keep from gagging.
“Their sense of smell has probably atrophied over the centuries,” Silk replied. “The city of Karand is the ancestral home of all the Karands in all the seven kingdoms. It’s been here for eons, so the debris ‑and the smell‑ has had a long time to build up.”
A huge sow, trailed by a litter of squealing piglets, waddled out into the very center of the street and flopped over on her side with a loud grunt. The piglets immediately attacked, pushing and scrambling to nurse.
“Any hints at all?” Silk asked.
Garion shook his head. The sword strapped across his back had neither twitched nor tugged since the two of them had entered the city early that morning on foot by way of the north gate. “Zandramas might not have even entered the city at all,” he said. “She’s avoided populated places before, you know.”
“That’s true, I suppose,” Silk admitted, “but I don’t think we should go any farther until we locate the place where she landed. She could have gone in any direction once she got to this side of the lake ‑Darshiva, Zamad, Voresebo‑ even down into Delchin and then on down the Magan into Rengel or Peldane.”
“I know,” Garion said, “but all this delay is very frustrating. We’re getting closer to her. I can feel it, and every minute we waste gives her that much more time to escape again with Geran.”
“It can’t be helped.” Silk shrugged. “About all we can do here is follow the inside of the wall and walk along the waterfront. If she came through the city at all, we’re certain to cross her path.”
They turned a corner and looked down another muddy street toward the lake-shore where fishnets hung over long poles. They slogged through the mud until they reached the street that ran along the shoreline where floating docks reached out into the lake and then followed it along the waterfront.
There was a certain amount of activity here. A number of sailors dressed in faded blue tunics were hauling a boat half‑full of water up onto the shore with a large deal of shouting and contradictory orders. Here and there on the docks, groups of fishermen in rusty brown sat mending nets, and farther on along the street several loiterers in fur vests and leggings sat on the log stoop in front of a sour‑smelling tavern, drinking from cheap tin cups. A blowzy young woman with frizzy orange hair and a pockmarked face leaned out of a second‑story window, calling to passersby in a voice she tried to make seductive, but which Garion found to be merely coarse.
“Busy place,” Silk murmured.
Garion grunted, and they moved on along the littered street.
Coming from the other direction, they saw a group of armed men. Though they all wore helmets of one kind or another, the rest of their clothing was of mismatched colors and could by no stretch of the imagination be called uniforms. Their self‑important swagger, however, clearly indicated that they were either soldiers or some kind of police.
“You two! Halt!” one of them barked as they came abreast of Garion and Silk.
“Is there some problem, sir?” Silk asked ingratiatingly.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” the man said, his hand on his sword hilt. He was a tall fellow with lank red hair poking out from under his helmet. “Identify yourselves.”
“My name is Saldas,” Silk lied. “This is Kvasta.” He pointed at Garion. “We’re strangers here in Karand.”
“What’s your business here ‑and where do you come from?”
“We’re from Dorikan in Jenno,” Silk told him, “and we’re here looking for my older brother. He sailed out from the village of Dashun on the other side of the lake awhile back and hasn’t returned.”
The redheaded man looked suspicious.
“We talked with a fellow near the north gate,” Silk continued, “and he told us that there was a boat that sank in a storm just off the docks here.” His face took on a melancholy expression. “The time would have been just about right, I think, and the description he gave us of the boat matched the one my brother was sailing. Have you by any chance heard about it, sir?” The little man sounded very sincere.
Some of the suspicion faded from the red‑haired man’s face. “It seems to me that I heard some mention of it,” he conceded.
“The fellow we talked with said that he thought there might have been some survivors,” Silk added, “one that he knew of, anyway. He said that a woman in a dark cloak and carrying a baby managed to get away in a small boat. Do you by chance happen to know anything about that?”
The Karand’s face hardened. “Oh, yes,” he said. “We know about her, all right.”
“Could you by any chance tell me where she went?” Silk asked him. “I’d really like to talk with her and find out if she knows anything about my brother.” He leaned toward the other man confidentially. “To be perfectly honest with you, good sir, I can’t stand my brother. We’ve hated each other since we were children, but I promised my old father that I’d find out what happened to him.” Then he winked outrageously. “There’s an inheritance involved, you understand. If I can take definite word back to father that my brother’s dead, I stand to come into a nice piece of property.”
The red‑haired man grinned. “I can understand your situation, Saldas.” he said. “I had a dispute with my own brothers about our patrimony.” His eyes narrowed. “You say you’re from Dorikan?” he asked.
“Yes. On the banks of the northern River Magan. Do you know our city?”
“Does Dorikan follow the teachings of Lord Mengha?”
“The Liberator? Of course. Doesn’t all of Karanda?”
“Have you seen any of the Dark Lords in the last month or so?”
“The minions of the Lord Nahaz? No, I can’t say that I have ‑but then Kvasta and I haven’t attended any worship services for some time. I’m sure that the wizards are still raising them, though.”
“I wouldn’t be all that sure, Saldas. we haven’t seen one here in Karand for over five weeks. Our wizards have tried to summon them, but they refuse to come. Even the Grolims who now worship Lord Nahaz haven’t been successful and they’ll all powerful magicians, you know.”
“Truly,” Silk agreed.
“Have you heard anything at all about Lord Mengha’s whereabouts?”
Silk shrugged. “The last I heard, he was in Katakor someplace. In Dorikan we’re just waiting for his return so that we can sweep the Angaraks out of all Karanda.”
The answer seemed to satisfy the tall fellow. “All right, Saldas,” he said. “I’d say that you’ve got a legitimate reason to be in Karand after all. I don’t think you’re going to have much luck in finding the woman you want to talk to, though. From what I’ve heard, she was on your brother’s boat and she did get away before the storm hit. She had a small boat, and she landed to the south of the city. She came to the south gate with her brat in her arms and went straight to the Temple. She talked with the Grolims inside for about an hour. When she left, they were all following her.”
“Which way did they go?” Silk asked him.
“Out the east gate.”
“How long ago was it?”
“Late last week. I’ll tell you something, Saldas. Lord Mengha had better stop whatever he’s doing in Katakor and come back to central Karanda where he belongs. The whole movement is starting to falter. The Dark Lords have deserted us, and the Grolims are trailing after this woman with the baby. All we have left are the wizards, and they’re mostly mad, anyway.”
“They always have been, haven’t they?” Silk grinned. “Tampering with the supernatural tends to unsettle a man’s brains, I’ve noticed.”
“You seem like a sensible man, Saldas,” the redhead said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’d like to stay and talk with you further, but my men and I have to finish our patrol. I hope you find your brother.” He winked slyly. “Or don’t find him, I should say.”