“In Melcena, we heard that Kell has been sealed off,” the old man continued. “Will they let us through?”
Toth made a series of those obscure gestures.
“He says that there won’t be any problem—as long as Cyradis is still at Kell,” Durnik translated. “She’ll instruct the other seers to let us through.”
“She’s there, then?” Belgarath asked.
The gestures came more rapidly.
“I didn’t quite follow that,” Durnik told his friend.
Toth gestured again, slower this time.
Durnik frowned. “This is a little complicated, Belgarath,” he said. “As closely as I can make out what he says, she’s there and yet not there at the same time—sort of the way she was when we saw Zandramas that time. But she’s also there and not there in several other places as well—and in several different times.”
“That’s a neat trick,” Beldin said. “Did he tell you where these other places and times are?”
“No. I think he’d rather not.”
“We can respect that,” Belgarath said.
“It doesn’t diminish the curiosity, though,” Beldin said. He brushed a few twigs out of his beard, then pointed at the sky. “I’m going up there,” he added. “I think we ought to know how far this fog extends and what we’re likely to run into once we get past it.” He stopped, spread his arms, shimmered, and swooped away.
Durnik led the way into the ruined house and built a small fire in the fireplace while Silk and Sadi prowled through the shattered village. After a short while they returned with a very thin Melcene in the brown robe of a bureaucrat. “He was hiding in a cellar,” Silk reported.
The bureaucrat was trembling visibly, and his eyes were wild.
“What’s your name?” Belgarath asked him.
The Melcene stared at the old man as if he didn’t understand.
“I think he’s had a bad time lately,” Silk said. “We weren’t able to get a word out of him.”
“Can you give him something to calm his nerves?” Belgarath asked Sadi.
“I was just about to suggest that myself, Ancient One.” Sadi went to his red leather case and took out a small glass vial filled with amber liquid. He took a tin cup from the table and poured some water into it. Then he carefully measured a few drops of the amber liquid into the water and swirled it around. “Why don’t you drink this?” he said, handing the trembling Melcene the cup.
The fellow seized the cup gratefully and drained it in several noisy gulps.
“Give it a few moments to take effect,” Sadi said quietly to Belgarath.
They watched the terrified man until his trembling subsided. “Are you feeling any better now, friend?” Sadi asked him.
“Y-yes,” the thin fellow replied. He drew in a long shuddering breath. “Thank you,” he said. “Have you any food? I’m very hungry.”
Polgara gave him some bread and cheese. “This should tide you over until breakfast,” she said.
“Thank you, Lady.” He hungrily took the food and began to wolf it down.
“You look as if you’ve been through quite a lot lately,” Silk said.
“And none of it pleasant,” the bureaucrat told him.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Nabros. I’m with the Bureau of Roads.”
“How long have you been in Peldane?”
“It seems like forever, but I suppose it’s only been twenty years or so.”
“What’s going on here?” The rat-faced man gestured around at the shattered houses.
“Absolute chaos,” Nabros replied. “Things have been in an upheaval for several years now, but last month Zandramas annexed Peldane.”
“How did she do that? I’d heard that she was somewhere in the western part of the continent.”
“So had I. Maybe she just got word back to her generals. Nobody’s seen her for several years now.”
“You seem to be fairly well informed, Nabros,” Silk suggested.
Nabros shrugged. “It goes with being a member of the bureaucracy.” He smiled a bit wanly. “Sometimes I think we spend more time gossiping than we do working.”
“What have you heard about Zandramas lately?” Belgarath asked.
“Well,” the fellow replied, rubbing at his unshaven cheek, “just before I fled the bureau offices in Selda, a friend of mine from the Bureau of Commerce came by. He said that there’s supposed to be a coronation of some kind in Hemil—that’s the capital of Darshiva, you know. My friend told me that they’re going to crown some archduke from Melcena as Emperor of Mallorea.”
“Mallorea’s already got an emperor,” Velvet objected.
“I think that may be part of the idea. My friend from Commerce is a fairly shrewd fellow, and he was speculating a bit after he told me what they were planning. Kal Zakath’s been in Cthol Murgos for years now, but he recently returned to Mal Zeth. Most of his army is still in the west, however, so he can’t put great masses of troops in the field. My friends seemed to think that Zandramas ordered this coronation in order to infuriate the Emperor to the point that he’ll do something rash. It’s my guess that she hopes to lure him out of Mal Zeth so her forces can fall on him. If she succeeds in killing him, this archduke from Melcena will actually be the emperor.”
“What’s the point of that?” Silk asked him.
“You’ve heard of Urvon, haven’t you?”
“The Disciple?”
“That’s the one. He’s been sitting for centuries in Mal Yaska, but what’s been going on in this part of the world has finally lured him out. It’s because of Zandramas, you see. She’s a direct challenge to him. Anyway, he marched across Karanda gathering up an enormous army. The Karands even believe he has demons aiding him. That’s nonsense, of course, but Karands will believe anything. That’s why Zandramas—or her people—have to get control of the imperial throne. She needs to bring the Mallorean army back from Cthol Murgos to match Urvon’s forces. Otherwise, he’ll destroy everything she’s worked for.” The suddenly talkative bureaucrat sighed deeply, and his head began to nod.
“I think he’ll sleep now,” Sadi murmured to Belgarath.
“That’s all right,” the old man replied. “I’ve got what I need.”
“Not quite yet,” Polgara said crisply from her cook-fire. “There are some things that I need as well.” She carefully stepped across the littered floor of the half-ruined house and lightly touched one hand to the dozing bureaucrat’s face. His eyes opened, and he looked at her a bit blankly. “How much do you know about Zandramas?” she asked him. “I think I’d like to hear the full story—if you know it. How did she gain so much power?”
“That’s a long story, Lady.”
“We have time.”
The thin Melcene rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn. “Let me see,” he said, half to himself, “where did it all start?” He sighed. “I came here to Peldane about twenty years ago. I was young and very enthusiastic. It was my first post, and I wanted very much to make good. Peldane’s not such a bad place, really. We had Grolims here, naturally, but they were a long way from Urvon and Mal Yaska, and they didn’t take their religion very seriously. Torak had been dormant for five hundred years, and Urvon wasn’t interested in what was going on out here in the hinterlands.
“Over in Darshiva, though, things were different. There had been some kind of a schism in the Temple in Hemil, the capital, and it ended up in a bloodbath.” He smiled faintly. “One of the few times Grolims have ever put their knives to good use, I suppose. The upshot of the affair was that a new archpriest gained control of the Temple—a man named Naradas.”
“Yes,” Polgara said. “We’ve heard of him.”
“I’ve never actually seen him, but I’m told he has very strange eyes. Anyway, among his followers there was a young Grolim priestess named Zandramas. She must have been about sixteen then, and very beautiful, I’ve heard. Naradas reintroduced the old forms of worship, and the altar in the Temple at Hemil ran with blood.” He shuddered. “It seems that the young priestess was the most enthusiastic participant in the Grolim rite of sacrifice—either out of an excess of fanaticism, or innate cruelty, or because she knew that this was the best way to attract the eye of the new archpriest. There are rumors that she attracted his eye in other ways as well. She’d unearthed a very obscure passage in the Book of Torak that seemed to say that the rite of sacrifice should be performed unclad. They say that Zandramas has a striking figure, and I guess the combination of blood and her nakedness completely inflamed Naradas. I’ve heard that things used to happen in the sanctum of the Temple during the rite that cannot be described in the presence of ladies.”
“I think we can skip over that part, Nabros,” Polgara told him primly, glancing at Eriond.
“Anyhow,” Nabros continued, “all Grolims claim to be sorcerers, but from what I gather, the ones in Darshiva weren’t very skilled. Naradas could manage a few things, but most of his followers resorted to charlatanism—sleight of hand and other forms of trickery, you understand.