As the litter reached the gangway, Agachak signaled his bearers to a halt. “Your Majesty,” he greeted Urgit hollowly as his litter was lowered to the stones. “Dread Hierarch.”
“I received your message. Is the situation in the south as grave as I was led to believe?”
“I’m afraid so, Agachak. I’m going to take advantage of this ship to go to Rak Cthaka and take personal command.”
“You, your Majesty?” Agachak looked startled. “Is that altogether wise?”
“Perhaps not, but I’m sure I can’t do much worse than my generals have done. I’ve left orders that reinforcements are to be sent to the city by ship.”
“By ship? A daring innovation, your Majesty. I’m surprised that your generals agreed to it.”
“I didn’t ask them to agree. I finally realized that their duty to advise me doesn’t give them the authority to order me around.”
Agachak looked at him, his eyes thoughtful. “This is a new side of you, your Majesty,” he noted, stepping out of his litter to stand on the stones of the quay. “I thought it was time for a change.”
It was at that point that Garion felt a warning tingle and an oppressive kind of weight that seemed centered just above his ears. He glanced quickly at Polgara, and she nodded. It did not appear to be emanating from the Hierarch, who seemed wholly engrossed in his conversation with Urgit. Chabat stood to one side with her burning eyes fixed bale-fully on Sadi, but there was no hint of any mounting of her will. The quiet probing was coming from somewhere else.
“We should be able to reach Rak Cthaka in five or six days,” Urgit was saying to the red-robed Hierarch. “As soon as we arrive, I’ll get Ussa and his people started toward Rak Hagga with our Dagashi. They might have to swing south a bit to avoid the Malloreon advance, but they won’t lose too much time.”
“You must be very careful at Rak Cthaka, your Majesty,” Agachak cautioned. “It’s not only the fate of Cthol Murgos you carry on your shoulders; it’s the fate of the entire world.”
“I don’t concern myself too much with fate, Agachak. A man whose main concern has always been staying alive for the next hour or so doesn’t have much time to worry about next year. Where’s Kabach?”
The man in the hooded robe stepped out from behind the litter. “I’m here, your Majesty,” he said in a deep, resonant voice. There was something familiar about that voice, and a warning prickle ran up between Garion’s shoulder blades.
“Good,” Urgit said. “Have you any final instructions for him, Agachak?”
“I have said to him all that needs to be said,” the Hierarch responded.
“That covers everything, then.” Urgit looked around. “All right,” he said, “let’s all get on board that ship.”
“Perhaps not just yet, your Majesty,” the black-robed Dagashi said to him, stepping forward and pushing back his hood. Garion suppressed a start of surprise. Although his black beard had been shaved off, there was no question about the man’s identity. It was Harakan.
“There is one last thing your Majesty should know before we board,” Harakan declared in a voice clearly intended to
‘. be heard by everyone on the quay. “Were you aware of the
‘ feet that the man with the sword over there is Belgarion of
Riva?”
Urgit’s eyes went very wide as a ripple of amazement went through the priests and the soldiers standing on the slippery stones of the quay. The Murgo King, however, was quick to recover. “That’s a very interesting thing to suggest, Kabach,” he said carefully. “I’d be interested to know what makes you so sure.”
“It’s absolute nonsense,” Sadi spluttered.
Agachak’s sunken eyes were boring into Garion’s face. “I have seen Belgarion myself,” he intoned hollowly. “He was much younger then, but there is a resemblance.”
“A resemblance certainly, Dread Hierarch,” Sadi agreed quickly, “but that’s all. The young man has been in my service since he was a boy. Oh, I’ll admit that there are some superficial similarities of features, but I can assure you that this most definitely is not Belgarion.”
Silk was standing just behind Urgit, and his lips were moving very fast as he whispered to his new-found brother. The Murgo King was a skilled enough politician to control his expression, but his eyes darted nervously this way and that as he began to realize that he stood at the very center of an incipient explosion. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You still haven’t told us what makes you believe that this is Belgarion, Kabach,” he said.
“I was in Tol Honeth some years ago,” Harakan shrugged. “Belgarion was there at the same time—for a funeral, I think. Someone pointed him out to me.”
“I think the noble Dagashi is mistaken,” Sadi said. “His identification is based entirely on a fleeting glance from a distance. That hardly qualifies as definitive proof. I tell you that this is not Belgarion.”
“He lies,” Harakan said flatly. “I am of the Dagashi. We are trained observers.”
“That raises an interesting point, Agachak,” Urgit said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Harakan. “In spite of everything, the Dagashi are still Murgos, and every Murgo alive slashes his face as a blood offering to Torak.” He turned and pointed at two faint, thin white lines on his cheek. The king’s scarcely visible scars gave mute evidence that his self-mutilation had been none too fervent. “Look at our Dagashi there,” he continued. “I don’t see a single mark on his face, do you?”
“I was instructed by my elder not to make the customary blood offering,” Harakan said quickly. “He wanted me un- marked so that I could move around freely in the Kingdoms of the West.”
“I’m sorry, Kabach,” Urgit said with heavy skepticism, “but that story doesn’t hold water at all. The blood offering to Torak is a part of the rite of passage into manhood. Were you so precocious as a child that your elder decided to make you a spy before you were ten years old? And even if he had, you would still have been required to go through the rite before you could marry or even enter the Temple. The scars may not be on your face, but if you’re a Murgo, you’ve got scars on you someplace. Show us your scars, noble Dagashi. Let us see the proof of your fidelity to Torak and your uncontaminated Murgo blood.”
“Dread Hierarch,” Sadi said with a thoughtful expression on his face, “this is not the first accusation leveled at one of my servants.” He looked meaningfully at Chabat. “Is it possible that there is a faction among your Grolims that does not want this mission to succeed—some group hiding behind false beards?”
“Beard!” Silk exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “That’s why I couldn’t place him! He’s shaved off his beard!”
Urgit turned to look inquiringly at him. “What are you talking about, fellow?”
“Excuse me, your Majesty,” Silk said with exaggerated humility. “I just realized something, and it surprised me. I think I can clarify things here.”
“I certainly hope someone can. All right, go ahead.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.” Silk looked around with a beautifully feigned expression of nervousness. “I’m an Alorn, your Majesty,” he said, then held up one hand quickly. “Please hear me out,” he begged, half of the king and half of the surrounding Murgos. “I’m an Alorn, but I’m not a fanatic about it. The way I look at it, there’s plenty of room in the world for Alorns and Murgos. Live and let live, I always say. Anyway, last year I hired myself out as a soldier in King Belgarion’s army—the one that he raised to lay siege to the Bear-cult at Rheon in northeastern Drasnia. Well, to make it short, I was present when Belgarion and his friend from Sendaria—Durnik, I think his name is—captured the cult-leader, Ulfgar. He had a beard then, but I swear to you that this Kabach is the selfsame man. I ought to know. I helped to carry him into a house after Durnik knocked him senseless.”
“What would a Dagashi be doing in Drasnia?” Urgit asked with an artfully puzzled expression on his face,
“Oh, he’s not a Dagashi, your Majesty,” Silk explained. “When King Belgarion and his friends questioned him, it came out that he’s a Malloreon Grolim. Harakan, I think his name is.”
“Harakan?” Agachak said, turning quickly to fix the counterfeit Dagashi with his suddenly smoldering eyes.
“Ridiculous,” Harakan scoffed. “This little weasel is one of Belgarion’s servants. He’s lying to protect his master.”
“Is the name Harakan in any way significant, Agachak?” Urgit asked.
The Hierarch straightened, his eyes intent. “Harakan is Urvon’s underling,” he replied, “and I’ve heard that he’s been seen here in the west.”
“I think we’ve got a problem on our hands here, Agachak,” Urgit said. “These charges—both of them—are too serious to be ignored. We’ve got to get to the truth here.” The priestess Chabat’s eyes were narrowed, and her expression cunning. “Finding that truth is a simple matter, your Majesty,” she declared. “My master Agachak is the most powerful sorcerer in all of Cthol Murgos. He will have no difficulty in probing the minds of all who are here to find out who is speaking truth and who is lying.”