“I’ll see to it at once, your Highness. I’ll have several hundred men on those wharves within the hour and I’ll keep you posted about the progress of the search. Will there be anything else?”
Silk frowned. “Yes,” he decided. “We came to Melcena aboard one of our own ships. It should still be down in the harbor. Send someone to the captain and tell him to make ready to sail again. We’ll be leaving as soon as we get the information.”
“I’ll attend to it.” Vetter bowed and quietly left the room.
“He seems like a good man,” Beldin noted.
“One of the best,” Silk agreed. “He gets things done and he never gets excited.” The little man smiled. “I’ve heard that Bradors been trying to lure him back, but I’ve got more money than Brador has.”
Beldin grunted and looked at Belgarath. “We’ve got some things to sort out,” he said. “Why is Zandramas saddling herself with this archduke? This whole side trip of hers didn’t make any sense at all.”
“Of course it did.”
“I’m sure you’ll explain that to me—sometime in the next week or so.”
Belgarath fished around inside his tunic and pulled out a tattered scrap of paper. He looked at it. “This is it,” he grunted. He held the paper out in front of him. “ ‘Behold:’ “ he read. “ ‘In the days which shall follow the ascension of the Dark God into the heavens shall the King of the East and the King of the South do war upon each other, and this shall be a sign unto ye that the day of the meeting is at hand. Hasten therefore unto the Place Which Is No More when battles do rage upon the plains of the South. Take with thee the chosen sacrifice and a King of Angarak to bear witness to what shall come to pass. For lo, whichever of ye cometh into the presence of Cthrag Sardius with the sacrifice and an Angarak king shall be exalted above all the rest and shall have dominion over them. And know further that in the moment of sacrifice shall the Dark God be reborn, and he shall triumph over the Child of Light in the instant of his rebirth.’ “
“What a fascinating piece of gibberish,” Beldin said. “Where did you come by it?”
“We picked it up in Cthol Murgos.” Belgarath shrugged. “It’s a part of the Grolim Prophecies of Rak Cthol. I told you about it before.”
“No,” Beldin disagreed, “as a matter of fact, you didn’t.”
“I must have.”
“I’m sorry, Belgarath,” the grubby little man said from between clenched teeth, “you didn’t.”
“What an amazing thing.” Belgarath frowned. “It must have completely slipped my mind.”
“We knew it was going to happen eventually, Pol,” Beldin said. “The old boy’s finally slipped over the line into senility.”
“Be nice, uncle,” she murmured.
“Are you positive I didn’t tell you about this?” Belgarath said a little plaintively.
“There’s no such thing as positive,” Beldin replied, automatically, it seemed.
“I’m awfully glad you said that,” Belgarath said just a bit smugly.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Don’t try to use my own prejudices against me. Where does this Grolim insanity put us?”
“Grolims obey orders beyond the point of reason.”
“So do we, when you get down to it.”
“Perhaps, but at least we question the orders now and then. Grolims don’t. They follow instructions blindly. When we were in Rak Urga, we saw the Hierarch Agachak bullying King Urgit about this. Agachak knows that he has to have an Angarak king in tow if he’s going to have any chance at all when he gets to this place of the final meeting. He’s going to take Urgit, even if he has to drag him by the hair. Up until now, Zandramas hasn’t bothered herself about the requirement.”
“She must be planning to kill Zakath, then,” Durnik said, “and then put this archduke on the throne in his place.”
“She won’t even have to do that, Durnik. All you need to be called a king in Angarak society is a hint of royal blood, a coronation ceremony, and recognition by a major Grolim priest. Back in the old days, every clan-chief was a king. It didn’t really matter that much, because all the power was in the hands of Torak anyway. They all had crowns and thrones, though. Anyway, Zandramas is a recognized Grolim priest—or priestess, in this case. Otrath is of royal blood. A coronation, spurious or not, would qualify him as a King of Angarak, and that would satisfy the prophecy.”
“It still seems a little questionable to me,” Durnik said.
“This comes from a man whose people elected a rutabaga farmer as their first king,” Beldin said.
“Actually, Fundor the Magnificent wasn’t a bad king,” Belgarath said. “At least, once he got the hang of it all. Fanners always make good kings. They know what’s important. At any rate, Otrath will be king enough to fulfill the prophecy, and that means that Zandramas has everything she needs now. She has Geran and an Angarak king.”
“Do we need one, too?” Durnik asked. “An Angarak king, I mean?”
“No. We’d need an Alorn King. I think Garion qualifies.”
“It wasn’t this complicated last time, was it?”
“Actually it was. Garion was already the Rivan King as well as the Child of Light. Torak was both king and God, and he was the Child of Dark.”
“Who was the sacrifice, then?”
Belgarath smiled affectionately at the good man. “You were, Durnik,” he said gently. “Remember?”
“Oh,” Durnik said, looking a bit embarrassed. “I forget about that sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” Beldin growled. “Getting killed is the sort of thing that might tend to make one’s memory wander just a bit.”
“That’s enough of that, uncle,” Polgara said dangerously, putting a protective arm about Durnik’s shoulders.
Garion suddenly realized that not one of them had ever spoken with Durnik about that terrible time between the moment Zedar had killed him and the moment when the Orb and the Gods had returned him to life. He had the very strong feeling that Polgara fully intended to keep it that way.
“She’s completed all her tasks then, hasn’t she?” Ce’Nedra asked sadly. “Zandramas, I mean. She has my son and an Angarak king. I do so wish I could see him one more time before I die.”
“Die?” Garion asked incredulously. “What do you mean, die?”
“One of us is going to,” she said simply. “I’m sure it’s going to be me. There’s no other reason for me being along, is there? We all have tasks to perform. Mine is to die, I think.”
“Nonsense!”
“Really?” She sighed.
“Actually, Zandramas still has several more tasks,” Belgarath told her. “She has to deal with Urvon at the very least.”
“And Agachak, I think,” Sadi added. “He wants to play, too, as I recall.”
“Agachak’s in Cthol Murgos,” Silk objected.
“So were we—until some months back,” the eunuch pointed out. “All it takes to get to Mallorea from Cthol Murgos is a boat and a little luck with the weather.”
“Zandramas has one other thing she has to do as well,” Velvet said, moving over until she was beside Ce’Nedra and wrapping her arms about the sad little queen.
“Oh?” Ce’Nedra said without much interest. “What’s that?”
“The prophecy told Garion that she still doesn’t know where the Place Which Is No More is. She can’t go there until she finds out, can she?”
Ce’Nedra’s face brightened just a bit. “That’s true, isn’t it?” she conceded. “I suppose it’s something,” she said, laying her head against Velvet’s shoulder.
“Zandramas isn’t the only one with things left to do,” Belgarath said. “I still have to find an unmutilated copy of the Ashabine Oracles.” He looked at Silk. “How long do you think it’s going to take your men to find out what we need to know?”
Silk spread his hands. “It’s a little hard to say,” he admitted. “A lot could depend on luck. A day at the most, I’d imagine.”
“How fast is that ship of yours?” Garion asked him. “I mean, can it go any faster than it did when we were coming here?”
“Not by very much,” Silk replied. “Melcenes are better shipbuilders than Angaraks, but that ship was built to carry cargo, not to win races. If the wind gets too strong, the captain’s going to have to shorten his sails.”
“I’d give a lot to have a Cherek warship right now,” Garion said. “A fast boat could make up for a lot of lost time.” He gazed thoughtfully at the floor. “It wouldn’t really be too hard, would it?” he suggested. He looked at Belgarath. “Maybe you and I could put our heads together, and—” He made a kind of vague gesture with his hand.
“Uh—Garion,” Durnik interrupted him, “even if you did have a Cherek boat, who would you find to sail her? I don’t think the sailors here would understand what’s involved.”