The Malloreons reached the first of the shallow ravines stretching up into the foothills, then halted, while their scouts fanned out to search the rocky terrain. It was only a short time before alarmed shouts announced that at least some of the Murgos had been seen.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Garion said. “They didn’t even try to keep from being found.”
“Murgos aren’t notorious for intelligence,” Silk replied. As the red-clad Malloreons massed up for a charge, the concealed Murgos rose from their hiding places and began to shower their foes with arrows, but after only a few volleys, they began to pull back.
“Why are they retreating?” Garion demanded in disgust. “What’s the point of setting up an ambush and then turning around and running away from it?”
“Nobody’s that stupid,” Silk muttered his agreement. “They’re up to something else.”
The retreating Murgos kept up a steady rain of arrows, littering the ravines stretching up into the hills with windrows of red-garbed dead as the Malloreons doggedly charged up into the foothills. Once again, the toylike quality of all those men so far below became apparent. At closer range, the carnage at the edge of that vast desert would have sickened Garion, but from up here he could watch with little more than curiosity.
And then, when the great majority of the charging Malloreons were far up the ravines and gullies, a force of axe-wielding Murgo cavalry came pounding around the tip of a long, rocky ridge that protruded out into the wasteland.
“That’s what they were up to,” Garion said. “They lured the Malloreons into a charge so that they could attack from the rear.”
“I don’t think so,” Silk disagreed. “I think they’re after the supply wagons.”
The galloping Murgo cavalry swept across the intervening space and then thundered along the sides of the poorly guarded Malloreon supply column, their axes rising and falling as they chopped open the water casks. With each stroke, sparkling water gushed out to soak into the arid floor of the desert. The sun, obscured by the dust of the charge, glowed red through the choking clouds to dye the gushing streams of water. From their vantage point high above the battle, it looked almost to Garion that the fluid spurting from the ruptured barrels was not water, but blood.
With a great outcry of chagrin, the Malloreon charge faltered. Then the red-clad figures far below turned and desperately ran back toward the desert to protect their precious water supply. But it was too late. With brutal efficiency, the
Murgo cavalry had already axed open every barrel and cask and was riding back the way they had come with triumphant jeers.
The Murgos, whose feigned retreat had drawn the Malloreon troops into their fatal charge, ran back down the ridges to resume their former positions. From their vantage points above the now-demoralized Malloreons, they sent great sheets of arrows arching up into the morning sky to rain down upon their enemies. In the midst of that deadly rain, the Malloreons desperately tried to salvage what little water was left in the bottoms of their shattered barrels, but their losses from the arrow storm soon grew unacceptable. The men in red tunics broke and ran out into the waiting desert, leaving their wagons behind.
“That’s a brutal way to make war,” Silk said.
“The battle’s pretty much over then, isn’t it?” Garion said as the black-robed Murgos moved down into the ravines to butcher the wounded.
“Oh, yes,” Silk replied, sounding almost sick. “The fighting’s all done. The dying isn’t, though.”
“Maybe the ones who are left can make it back across the desert.”
“Not a chance.”
“All right, then,” a lean man in a black robe said, stepping out from behind a nearby rocky outcrop with a half-drawn bow in his hands. “Now that you’ve seen it all, why don’t we go back down to your camp and join the others?”
CHAPTER TEN
Silk rose to his feet slowly, keeping both hands in plain sight. “You’re very quiet on your feet, friend,” he observed.
“I’m trained to be so,” the man with the bow replied. “Move. Your friends are waiting.”
Silk gave Garion a quick warning look.—Let’s go along until we can size up the situation—His fingers cautioned.— I’m sure this one isn’t alone.—
They turned and slid down the bank to the floor of the ravine, with the stranger following watchfully behind them, his bow at the ready. At the upper end of the gully where they had pitched their tents the previous night, a score of black-robed men armed with bows guarded the others. They all had the scarred cheeks and angular eyes of Murgos, but there were certain subtle differences. The Murgos Garion had seen before had always been heavy-shouldered, and their stance had been marked by a stiff arrogance. These men were leaner, and their bearing was at once wary and peculiarly relaxed.
“You see, noble Tajak,” Sadi said obsequiously to the lean-faced man who seemed to be in charge, “it is exactly as I told you. I have only these two other servants.”
“We know your numbers, slaver,” the lean-faced man replied in a harshly accented voice. “We’ve been watching you since you entered Cthol Murgos.”
“We made no effort to hide,” Sadi protested mildly. “The only reason we remained concealed here was to avoid becoming involved in that unpleasantness down at the edge of the desert.” He paused. “One is curious, however, to know why the noble Dagashi would choose to concern themselves with the activities of a party of Nyissan slavers. Surely we are not the first to come this way.”
Tajak ignored that, looking carefully at Garion and his friends with his slate-hard black eyes. “What’s your name, slaver?” he asked Sadi finally.
“I am Ussa of Sthiss Tor, good master, a duly registered slave trader. I have all the proper documents, if you’d care to examine them.”
“How is it that none of your servants are Nyissan?”
Sadi spread his hands innocently. “The war here in the south makes most of my countrymen a bit reluctant to venture into Cthol Murgos just now,” he explained, “so I was forced to hire foreign adventurers instead.”
“Perhaps,” the Dagashi said in a flat, unemotional voice. He gave Sadi a penetrating look. “Are you interested in money, Ussa of Sthiss Tor?” he asked suddenly.
Sadi’s dead eyes brightened, and he rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Well, now,” he said, “why don’t we talk about that? Just exactly how may I serve you? And how much would you be willing to pay me?”
“You will need to discuss that with my master,” Tajak replied. “My orders were to find a party of slavers and tell them that I could put them in touch with someone who could see that they were well-paid for a fairly minor service. Are you interested in such a proposition?”
Sadi hesitated, glancing surreptitiously at Belgarath for some kind of instruction.
“Well?” Tajak said impatiently. “Are you interested?”
“Of course,” Sadi answered carefully. “Who is your master, Tajak? Just who is this benefactor who wants to make me rich?”
“He will tell you his name and what you must do for him when you meet him—at Kahsha.”
“Kahsha?” Sadi exclaimed. “You didn’t say that I’d have to go there.”
“There are many things I didn’t say. Well? Do you agree to go with us to Kahsha?”
“Do I have any choice?”
“No.”
Sadi spread his arms helplessly.
What’s Kahsha—Garion’s fingers asked Silk.
The headquarters of the Dagashi. It’s got an unsavory reputation.—
“All right,” Tajak said decisively, “let’s break down these tents and get ready to leave. It’s many hours to Kahsha, and midafternoon is not a good time to be out in the desert.”
The sun was well up when they rode out of the mouth of the ravine with Tajak’s Dagashi formed up watchfully around them. Out in the wasteland, the defeated Malloreons had begun their hopeless trek.
“Will they not attempt to use your wells, noble Tajak?” Sadi asked.
“Probably—but they won’t be able to find them. We cover our wells with piles of rock, and all piles of rock in the desert look the same.”
There were Murgo troops at the base of the foothills, watching the dispirited retreat of the Malloreons. As Tajak approached them, he made a quick, imperious gesture to them, and they grudgingly stood aside.
As they rode through a narrow defile that opened out into the desert, Garion took the opportunity to pull his horse in beside Belgarath’s. “Grandfather,” he whispered urgently, “what should we do?”
“We wait and see what this is all about,” the old man replied. “Let’s not do anything to give away our disguise— not yet, anyway.”
As they rode out into the furnace heat of the desert, Sadi looked back at the Murgo soldiers lining the tops of the last low line of hills. “Your countrymen are most accommodating,” he said to Tajak. “I’m surprised, though, that they didn’t stop us to ask one or two questions.”