“I wouldn’t mind making Urgit and Drosta bow to me,” Nathel confessed, “but I don’t know about Zakath. Urgit and Drosta think they’re so smart. I’d like to take them down a peg or two. Zakath, though—I don’t know about that.” His eyes brightened again. “That means I’d get all the gold in Cthol Murgos and Gar og Nadrak, doesn’t it? And I could make them dig it out of the ground for me, too.” His crown slipped down over his eyes again, and he tilted his head back so that he could peer out from under its rim.
“And you’d get all the gold in Mallorea, too, and the jewels, and the silks and carpets—and they’d even give you your own elephant to ride.”
“What’s an elephant?”
“It’s a very large animal, your Majesty.”
“Bigger than a horse, even?”
“Much bigger. Besides, you’d also get Tolnedra and you know how much money they’ve got. You’d be the king of the world.”
“Even bigger than an ox? I’ve seen some awful big oxes sometimes.”
“Ten times as big.”
Nathel smiled happily. “I bet that would make people sit up and take notice.”
“Absolutely, your Majesty.”
“What is it I have to do again?”
“You must go with me to the Place Which Is No More.”
“That’s the part I don’t understand. How can we go there if it’s not there any more?”
“The prophecy will reveal that to us in time, your Majesty.”
“Oh. I see. Have you got any idea about where it is?”
“The clues I’ve been getting indicate that it’s somewhere in Mallorea.”
Nathel’s face suddenly fell. “Now that’s a real shame,” he said petulantly.
“I don’t quite—”
“I’d really like to go with you, Agachak. Truly I would— what with all the gold and carpets and silks and stuff—and making Urgit and Drosta and maybe even Zakath bow down to me and all, but I just can’t.”
“I don’t understand. Why not?”
“I’m not allowed to leave home. My mother’d punish me something awful if I did. You know how that goes. I couldn’t even think of going as far away as Mallorea.”
“But you’re the king.”
“That doesn’t change a thing. I still do what mother says. She tells everybody that I’m the best boy ever when it conms to that.”
Agachak resisted a powerful urge to change this half-wit into a toad or perhaps a jellyfish. “Why don’t I talk with your mother?” he suggested. “I’m sure I can persuade her to give you her permission.”
“Why, that’s a real, real good idea, Agachak. If mother says it’s all right, I’ll go with you quick as lightning.”
“Good,” Agachak said, turning.
“Oh, Agachak?” Nathel’s voice sounded puzzled.
“Yes?”
“What’s a prophecy?”
They had gathered at Vo Mandor, far from the watchful eyes of their kings, to discuss something that was very private and very urgent. It was also just a trifle on the disobedient side, and there is a very ugly word men use to describe those who disobey their kings.
Barak was there, and also Hettar, Mandorallen, and Lelldorin. Relg had just arrived from Maragor, and Barak’s son Unrak sat on a high-backed bench by the window.
The Earl of Trellheim cleared his throat by way of calling them to order. They had gathered in the tower of Mandor-alien’s keep, and the golden autumn sunlight streamed in through the arched window. Barak was huge and resplendent in a green velvet doublet. His red beard was combed, and his hair was braided. “All right,” he rumbled, “let’s get started. Mandorallen, are you sure the stairway leading up here is guarded? I wouldn’t want anybody to overhear us.”
“Of a certainty, my Lord of Trellheim,” the great knight replied earnestly. “I vouchsafe it upon my life to thee.” Mandorallen wore mail and his silver-trimmed blue surcoat.
“A simple yes would have been enough, Mandorallen.” Barak sighed. “Now,” he continued briskly, “we’ve been forbidden to ride along with Garion and the others, right?”
“That’s what Cyradis said at Rheon,” Hettar replied softly. He wore his usual black horsehide, and his scalplock was caught in a silver ring. He lounged in a chair with his long legs thrust far out in front of him.
“All right, then,” Barak continued. “We can’t go with them, but there’s nothing to stop us from going to Mallorea on business of our own, is there?”
“What kind of business?” Lelldorin asked blankly.
“We’ll think of something. I’ve got a ship. We’ll run on down to Tot Honeth and load her with a cargo of some kind. Then we’ll go to Mallorea and do some trading.”
“How do you plan to get the Seabird across to the Sea of the East?” Hettar asked. “That could be a long portage, don’t you think?”
Barak winked broadly. “I’ve got a map,” he said. “We can sail around the southern end of Cthol Murgos and right on into the eastern sea. From there to Mallorea is nothing at all.”
“I thought the Murgos were very secretive about maps of their coastline,” Lelldorin said, a frown creasing his open young face.
“They are,” Barak grinned, “but Javelin’s been in Rak Urga and he managed to steal one.”
“How did you get it away from Javelin?” Hettar asked. “He’s even more secretive than the Murgos.”
“He sailed back to Boktor aboard Greldik’s ship. Javelin’s not a good sailor, so he wasn’t feeling very well. Greldik pinched the map and had his cartographer make a copy. Javelin never even knew he’d been robbed.”
“Thy plan is excellent, my Lord,” Mandorallen said gravely, “but methinks I detect a flaw.”
“Oh?”
“As all the world knows, Mallorea is a vast continent, thousands of leagues across and even more thousands from the south to the polar ice of the far north. It could well take us our lifetimes to locate our friends, for I perceive that to be the thrust of thy proposal.”
Barak slyly laid one finger aside his nose. “I was just coming to that,” he said. “When we were in Boktor, I got Yarblek drunk. He’s shrewd enough when he’s sober, but once you get a half keg of ale into him, he gets talkative. I asked him a few questions about the operation of the business he and Silk are running in Mallorea, and I got some very useful answers. It seems that the two of them have offices in every major city in Mallorea, and those offices keep in constant touch with each other. No matter what else he’s doing, Silk’s going to keep an eye on his business interests. Every time he gets near one of those offices, he’ll find some excuse to stop by to see how many millions he’s made in the past week.”
“That’s Silk, all right,” Hettar agreed.
“All we have to do is drop anchor in some Mallorean seaport and look up the little thief’s office. His people will know approximately where he is, and where Silk is, you’re going to find the others.”
“My Lord,” Mandorallen apologized, “I have wronged thee. Canst thou forgive me for underestimating thy shrewdness?”
“Perfectly all right, Mandorallen,” Barak replied magnanimously.
“But,” Lelldorin protested, “we’re still forbidden to join Garion and the others.”
“Truly,” Mandorallen agreed. “We may not approach them lest we doom their quest to failure.”
“I think I’ve worked that part out, too,” the big man said. “We can’t ride along with them, but Cyradis didn’t say anything about how far we have to stay away from them, did she? All we’re going to be doing is minding our own business—a league or so away—or maybe a mile. We’ll be close enough so that if they get into any kind of trouble, we’ll be able to lend a hand and then be on our way again. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
Mandorallen’s face came suddenly alight. “ Tis a duty, my Lord,” he exclaimed, “a moral obligation. The Gods look with great disfavor upon those who fail to come to the aid of travelers in peril.”
“Somehow I knew you’d see it that way,” Barak said, slapping his friend on the shoulder with one huge hand.
“Sophistry,” Relg said with a note of finality in his harsh voice. The Ulgo zealot now wore a tunic that looked very much like the one Durnik customarily wore. His once-pale skin was now sun-browned, and he no longer wore a cloth across his eyes. The years of working out of doors near the house he had built for Taiba and their horde of children had gradually accustomed his skin and eyes to sunlight.
“What do you mean, sophistry?” Barak protested.
“Just what I said, Barak. The Gods look at our intent, not our clever excuses. You want to go to Mallorea to aid Belgarion—we all do—but don’t try to fool the Gods with these trumped-up stories.”
They all stared at the zealot helplessly.
“But it was such a good plan,” Barak said plaintively.