Silk looked a bit worried. “He wouldn’t really do that, would he?”
“He might. You never really know about Durnik, do you?”
As the sun rose higher, the fog diffused its light, and the world around them became a monochrome—white fog and black water with no hint at all that they were making any progress or, if they were, that it was in the right direction. Garion felt a bit strange, knowing that they were entirely at Ce’Nedra’s mercy. It was only her eyes on that cord lightly lying across an angled mark on the rail that kept them on course. He loved her, but he knew that she was sometimes flighty, and her judgment was not always the best. Her insistent little gestures to port or to starboard, however, showed no sign of hesitancy or lack of certainty, and Durnik obeyed them implicitly. Garion sighed and kept on rowing.
About midmorning, the fog began to thin, and Beldin drew in his oar. “Can you manage here without me?” he asked Belgarath. “I think we ought to know just exactly what we’re running into. There’s all sorts of unpleasantness going on in Darshiva, and I don’t think we’ll want to come ashore right in the middle of it.”
“And you’re getting tired of rowing, right?” the old man replied sarcastically.
“I could row all the way around the world if I wanted to,” the gnarled-looking little hunchback replied, flexing his oak-stump arms, “but this might be more important. Do you really want to beach this tub and find Nahaz waiting for you on the sand?”
“Do whatever you think is right.”
“I always do, Belgarath—even if it makes you unhappy sometimes.” The grimy little gnome went forward toward the bow. “Excuse me, me little darlin’,” he said to Ce’Nedra in an exaggerated brogue, “but I must be off now.”
“I need you at that oar,” she objected. “How can I keep the course if everybody runs away?”
“I’m sure y’ kin manage, me little darlin’,” he said, patting her cheek; then, leaving a ghostly laugh behind him, he disappeared into the fog.
“You come back here!” she shouted after him, but he was already gone.
There was the faintest touch of a breeze then. Garion could feel it brushing across the back of his sweaty neck as he rowed. The fog eddied and swirled slightly, thinning even more.
And then there were looming black shapes all around them.
“Garion!” Ce’Nedra exclaimed.
A number of triumphant shouts came out of the rapidly dissipating fog. They were surrounded by ships that moved purposefully to block them.
“Do we make a run for it?” Silk asked in a tense, hoarse whisper.
Belgarath looked at the ships moving to surround them, his eyes like flint. “Run?” he said. “In this tub? Don’t be ridiculous.”
A boat had moved directly in front of them, and, as they drifted closer, Garion could see the oarsmen. “Mallorean soldiers,” he noted quietly. “Zakath’s army.”
Belgarath muttered a few choice oaths. “Let’s sit tight for a bit. They may not know who we are. Silk, see if you can talk us out of this. “
The little man rose and went to the bow of their barge. “We’re certainly glad to see imperial troops in this region, Captain,” he said to the officer commanding the boat blocking their path. “Maybe you can put a stop to all the insanity that’s been going on around here.”
“I’ll need your name,” the officer replied.
“Of course,” Silk said, slapping his forehead. “How stupid of me. My name is Vetter. I work for Prince Kheldar. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“The name’s familiar. Where are you going?”
“Actually, we’re bound for Balasa down in the Dalasian Protectorates. Prince Kheldar has interests there—that’s assuming we can make our way across Darshiva. Things are in turmoil there.” He paused. “I wonder, Captain, do you suppose you could spare us a few soldiers to act as an escort? I’m authorized to pay quite handsomely.”
“We’ll see,” the officer said.
Then an even larger ship emerged from the fog and moved alongside their patched and leaky vessel. A familiar face looked over the rail. “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it, King Belgarion?” General Atesca said in a pleasant, conversational tone. “We really ought to try to stay in touch.” Atesca wore his customary scarlet cloak and a burnished steel helmet embossed with gold.
Garion’s heart sank. Subterfuge was quite out of the question now. “You knew we were out here,” he said accusingly.
“Of course. I had people watching you on the Peldane side.” The red-clad general sounded a bit smug about that.
“I felt no presence,” Polgara declared, pulling her blue cloak about her.
“I’d have been very surprised if you had, my Lady,” Atesca replied. “The men who were watching you are imbeciles. Their minds are as vacant as the minds of mushrooms.” He looked distastefully out across the river. “You have no idea of how long it took me to explain to them what they were supposed to do. Every army has a few men like that. We try to weed them out, but even gross stupidity has its uses, I suppose.”
“You’re very clever, General Atesca,” she said in a tight voice.
“No, Lady Polgara,” he disagreed. “I’m just a plain soldier. No officer is more clever than his intelligence service. Brador’s the clever one. He’s been gathering information about your peculiar gifts from various Grolims since the battle of Thull Mardu. Grolims pay very close attention to your exploits, my Lady, and over the years they’ve amassed a great deal of information about your abilities. As I understand it—although I’m certainly no expert—the more acute a mind is, the more easily you can detect its presence. That’s why I sent those human turnips out to watch you.” He looked critically at their boat. “That’s really a wretched thing, you know. Are you keeping it afloat by sorcery?”
“No,” Durnik told him in a flat, angry tone of voice, “by skill.”
“I bow to your skill, Goodman Durnik,” Atesca said a bit extravagantly. “You could probably work out a way to make a rock float—if you really wanted to.” He paused and looked at Belgarath. “I assume we’re going to be civilized about this, Ancient One?” he asked.
“I’m willing to listen,” Belgarath replied warily.
“His Imperial Majesty feels a strong need to discuss certain matters with you and your companions, Holy Belgarath,” Atesca said, “and I think I should advise you that you’re paddling this wreck of yours directly into the middle of a hornet’s nest. Sensible people are avoiding Darshiva right now.”
“I’ve never pretended to be sensible.”
Atesca laughed ruefully. “I haven’t either,” he admitted. “At the moment, I’m trying to map out a military campaign to invade that most insensible region. May I offer you gentlemen—and your ladies—the hospitality of my ship?” He paused. “I think I’ll have to insist,” he added regretfully. “Orders, you understand. Besides, we might want to pool our information while we await the arrival of his Imperial Majesty.”
“Is Zakath coming here?” Garion asked.
“I doubt that he’s more than a day behind me, your Majesty,” Atesca replied, “and he’s aflame with the desire to have a long, long talk with you.”
What do we do, Grandfather?—Garion’s fingers asked.
—I don’t think we ‘ve got much choice at the moment. Beldin ‘s out there somewhere. I’ll let him know what’s happening. He’ll come up with something.—”All right, General,” he said aloud. “I was getting a little tired of rowing anyway.”
—Pass the word to the others—He motioned to Garion.—Let’s seem to go along—at least until we get to the Darshiva side. —
Atesca’s ship, while not opulent, was comfortable. They gathered in the forward cabin, a room littered with maps and various-sized bits and pieces of parchment. As always, General Atesca was polite, but firm. “Have you had breakfast yet?” he inquired.
“We were a little rushed,” Belgarath told him.
“I’ll send word to the cook, then,” Atesca said. He went to the door and spoke with one of the red-garbed guards posted outside. Then he came back. “While we’re waiting, why don’t we share that information I was talking about? I’d heard that you were going to Ashaba when you left Mal Zeth. Then you suddenly surface in Melcena, and now you’re halfway across the Magan to Darshiva. You people certainly move around.”
—He already knows what we ‘re doing. —Silk’s fingers said to Belgarath.—There’s no point in trying to hide it.—
“Please, Prince Kheldar,” Atesca said in a pained tone, “Don’t do that. It’s very impolite, you know.”
Silk laughed. “Either your eyes are very sharp, General, or advancing age is making my fingers clumsy. In point of fact, I was merely suggesting to Belgarath that we’d made no secret of our reason for coming to Mallorea. Kal Zakath knew why we were here, so there’s no point in being coy about it.” He gave Belgarath an inquiring look, and the old man nodded. Silk’s face grew serious, even bleak. “We went to Ashaba in pursuit of Zandramas—and King Belgarion’s son. Then we followed her across Karanda and on down to Jarot in northern Celanta. Her trail led to Melcena, so we followed her there. Then we came back to the continent.”