Urgit, High King of Cthol Murgos, sat on his garish throne in the Drojim Palace in Rak Urga. He was dressed in his favorite purple doublet and hose, he had one leg negligently cocked over the arm of the throne, and he was absently tossing his crown back and forth between his hands as he listened to the droning voice of Agachak, the cadaverous-looking Hierarch of Rak Urga. “It’s going to have to wait, Agachak,” he said finally. “I’m getting married next month.”
“This is a command of the Church, Urgit.”
“Wonderful. Give the Church my regards.”
Agachak looked taken a bit aback. “You don’t believe in anything now, do you, my King?”
“Not very much, no. Is this sick world we live in ready for atheism yet?”
For the first time in his life, Urgit saw doubt on the face of the Hierarch. “Atheism’s a clean place, Agachak,” he said, “a flat, gray, empty place where man makes his own destiny, and let the Gods go hang. I didn’t make them; they didn’t make me; and we’re quits on all of that. I wish them well, though.”
“This is unlike you, Urgit,” Agachak said.
“No, not really. I’m just tired of playing the clown.” He stretched out his leg and tossed his crown at his foot like a hoop. He caught it and kicked it back again. “You don’t really understand, do you, Agachak?” he said as he caught the crown out of midair.
The Hierarch of Rak Urga drew himself up. “This is not a request, Urgit. I’m not asking you.”
“Good. Because I’m not going.”
“I command you to go.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you realize to whom you’re talking?”
“Perfectly, old boy. You’re the same tiresome old Grolim who’s been boring me to tears ever since I inherited the throne from that fellow who used to chew on the carpets back in Rak Goska. Listen carefully, Agachak. I’ll use short words and simple sentences so that I don’t confuse you. I am not going to Mallorea. I’ve never had any intention of going to Mallorea. There’s nothing I want to see in Mallorea. There’s nothing I want to do there. I most definitely do not intend to put myself anywhere near Kal Zakath, and he’s gone back to Mal Zeth. Not only that, they have demons in Mallorea. Have you ever seen a demon, Agachak?”
“Once or twice,” the Hierarch replied sullenly.
“And you’re still going to Mallorea? Agachak, you’re as crazy as Taur Urgas was.”
“I can make you king of all of Angarak.”
“I don’t want to be king of all of Angarak. I don’t even want to be King of Cthol Murgos. All I want is to be left alone to contemplate the horror that’s about to descend on me.”
“Your marriage, you mean?” Agachak’s face grew sly. “You could evade that by coming to Mallorea with me.”
“Have I been going too fast for you, Agachak? A wife is bad enough. Demons are much worse. Did anybody ever tell you what that thing did to Chabat?” Urgit shuddered.
“I can protect you.”
Urgit laughed scornfully. “You, Agachak? You couldn’t even protect yourself. Even Polgara had to have help from a God to deal with that monster. Do you plan to resurrect Torak to give you a hand? Or maybe you could appeal to Aldur. He’s the one who helped Polgara. I don’t really think He’d like you, though, I don’t even like you, and I’ve known you all my life.”
“You go too far, Urgit.”
“No. Not far enough, Agachak. For centuries—eons, probably—you Grolims have held the upper hand in Cthol Murgos, but that was when Ctuchik was still alive, and Ctuchik is dead now. You did know about that, didn’t you, old boy? He tried his hand against Belgarath, and Belgarath disassembled him right down to the floor. I may be the only Murgo alive who’s ever met Belgarath and lived to talk about it. We’re actually on fairly good terms. Would you like to meet him? I could probably arrange an introduction, if you’d like.”
Agachak visibly shrank back.
“Much better, Agachak,” Urgit said smoothly. “I’m delighted at your grasp of the realities of the situation. Now, I’m certain that you can raise your hand and wiggle your fingers at me, but now I know how to recognize that sort of thing. I watched Belgarion rather closely while we were trotting across Cthaka last winter. If your hand moves even a fraction of an inch, you’re going to get about a bushel basket full of arrows right in die middle of the back. The archers are already in place, and their bows are already drawn. Give it some thought, Agachak—while you’re leaving.”
“This is not like you, Urgit,” Agachak said, his nostrils white with fury.
“I know. Delightful, isn’t it? You may go now, Agachak.”
The Hierarch spun on his heel and started toward the door.
“Oh, by the way, old boy,” Urgit added. “I’ve had news that our dear brother Gethel of Thulldom recently died— probably something he ate. Thulls eat almost anything that swims, flies, crawls, or spawns on rotten meat. It’s a pity, actually. Gethel was one of the few people in the world I could bully. Anyway, he’s been succeeded on the throne by his half-wit son, Nathel. I’ve met Nathel. He has the mentality of an earthworm, but he’s a true Angarak king. Why don’t you see if he wants to go to Mallorea with you? It might take you a while to explain to him where Mallorea is, since I mink he believes mat the world is flat, but I have every confidence in you, Agachak.” Urgit flipped his hand at the fuming Hierarch. “Run along now,” he said. “Go back to your temple and gut a few more Grolims. Maybe you can even get the fires started in your sanctum again. If nothing else, I’m sure it will calm your nerves.”
Agachak stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Urgit doubled over, pounding on the arm of his throne and howling in glee.
“Don’t you think you might have gone just a bit too far, my son?” Lady Tamazin asked from the shadowy alcove where she had been listening.
“Perhaps so, mother,” he agreed, still laughing, “but wasn’t it fun?”
She limped into the light and smiled fondly at him. “Yes, Urgit,” she agreed, “it was, but don’t push Agachak too far. He can be a dangerous enemy.”
“I’ve got lots of enemies, mother,” Urgit said, tugging unconsciously at his long, pointed nose. “Most of the people in the world hate me, but I’ve learned to live with that. It’s not as if I had to run for reelection, you know.”
The bleak-faced seneschal, Oskatat, also came out of the shadowed alcove. “What are we going to do with you, Urgit?” he said wryly. “What did Belgarion teach you, anyway?”
“He taught me how to be a king, Oskatat. I may not last very long, but by the Gods, as long as I’m here, I’m going to be a king. They’re going to kill me anyway, so I might as well enjoy myself while I can.”
His mother sighed, then raised her hands helplessly. “There’s no reasoning with him, Oskatat,” she said.
“I suppose not, my Lady Tamazin,” the gray-haired man agreed.
“Princess Praia wants to speak with you,” Tamazin said to her son.
“I am at her immediate disposal,” Urgit said. “Not only immediate, but perpetual, if I understand the terms of the marriage contract.”
“Be nice,” Tamazin chided.
“Yes, mother.”
The Princess Praia of the House of Cthan swept in through a side door. She wore a riding habit consisting of a calf-length black skirt, a white satin blouse and polished boots. Her heels hit the marble floor like little hammers. Her long black hair swayed at her back, and her eyes were dangerous. She held a parchment scroll in her hands.
“Will you assist me, my Lord Oskatat?” Lady Tamazin asked, holding one hand out to the seneschal.
“Of course, my Lady,” he replied, offering his arm to Urgit’s mother with tender solicitude. The two of them withdrew.
“Now what?” Urgit warily asked his bride-to-be.
“Am I disturbing your Majesty?” Praia asked. She did not bother to curtsy. The princess had changed. She was no longer a properly submissive Murgo lady. The time she had spent with Queen Ce’Nedra and the Margravine Liselle had definitely corrupted her, Urgit felt, and the unwholesome influence of Polgara the sorceress showed in her every move and gesture. She was, however, Urgit concluded, absolutely adorable now. Her black eyes flashed, her delicate white skin seemed to reflect her mood, and her wealth of black hair seemed almost alive as it flowed down her back. Rather surprisingly, Urgit found that he was very fond of her.
“You always disturb me, my beloved,” he answered her question, spreading his arms extravagantly.
“Stop that,” she snapped. “You sound like your brother.”