“Can you really do that, Agachak?” Urgit asked. Agachak shrugged. “It’s a simple matter.”
“Then by all means, do it. I’m not going on board that scow over there until I find out exactly who my shipmates are going to be.”
Agachak took a deep breath and began to draw in his will. “Master!” a Grolim with a purple satin lining on the hood of his robe exclaimed, leaping forward with one hand outstretched. “Beware!”
“How dare you?” Chabat shrieked at him, her eyes blazing.
The Grolim ignored her. “Master,” he said to Agachak, “there is great danger in what the priestess proposes. Should either of these men be telling the truth, you will be probing the mind of a powerful sorcerer, and your own mind will be totally vulnerable. A single thought could erase your entire consciousness.”
Agachak slowly relaxed his wilt, “Ah, yes,” he murmured. “I had not considered that danger.” He turned to
Chabat, catching the brief flicker of disappointment that crossed her face. “How curious that my Holy Priestess did not think of that before she suggested the probing—or did you, Chabat? Have you given up the notion of raising a demon to destroy me, then? Will you now fall back on so commonplace a thing as simple deceit? I’m terribly disappointed in you, my beloved.”
She shrank back, her scar-laced face frightened.
“This matter has to be settled, Agachak,” Urgit said. “I’m not going to go near that ship until I find out the truth here. I haven’t succeeded in staying alive for all these years by being foolhardy.”
“The question is largely academic now anyway,” Agachak replied. “None of these people will be leaving.”
“Agachak, I have to get to Rak Cthaka immediately.”
“Then go. I will find another party of slavers and hire another Dagashi.”
“That could take months,” Urgit protested. “Personally, I’m inclined to believe these slavers. Ussa has been very honest with me, and the young man over there has none of the bearing of a king. This one who calls himself Kabach, however, is highly suspect. If you were to look along the trail between here and Mount Kahsha, I think you might find the real Kabach in a shallow grave someplace. This man— whoever he is—has come very close to forestalling the mission to Rak Hagga with his accusation. Wouldn’t that be exactly what Urvon would want?”
“There’s a logic to what you say, your Majesty, but I don’t think I want any of them going on board that ship until I find out the truth.”
“Why not let them settle it for us, then?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“One of them—or possibly both—is a sorcerer. Let them fight each other, and we’ll see which one tries to destroy the other by sorcery.”
“Trial by combat?”
“Why not? It’s a bit antique, but the circumstances here seem to be appropriate.”
“There is merit in your plan, your Majesty.”
Urgit suddenly grinned. “Why don’t we clear a space?” he suggested. “We wouldn’t want to get singed when these two start hurling thunderbolts at each other.” He came over and took Garion’s arm. “Just stay calm,” he whispered,
“and don’t do anything conspicuous. Try to force him to use sorcery.” Then he pushed Garion forward into the circle that had quickly been formed on the stone quay. “Here is the supposed King of Riva,” he said to Agachak. “Now, if the ostensible Malloreon Grolim will be so good as to step forth, we’ll find out who’s been telling the truth.”
“I have no sword,” Harakan said sullenly.
“Simplicity in itself. Somebody give him a sword.”
Several were offered at once.
“I think you’re in deep trouble, Harakan,” Urgit smirked. “If you so much as twitch one finger, you’ll reveal yourself as a Malloreon Grolim, and my soldiers will shoot you full of arrows. On the other hand, if this is really Belgarion and you don’t use sorcery to defend yourself, he’ll burn you right down into a little pile of cinders. All in all, I think you’re in for a very bad afternoon.”
Garion ground his teeth together and began talking fervently to the Orb, telling the stone over and over again not to do anything out of the ordinary. Then he steeled himself and reached back over his shoulder. The great blade made a steely hiss as it came out of the scabbard.
Harakan handled his borrowed sword nervously, but the way he held it and his stance clearly indicated that he was a competent swordsman. A sudden anger filled Garion. This was the man who had been responsible for the attempt on Ce’Nedra’s life and for the murder of Brand. He dropped into a half crouch with Iron-grip’s sword extended in front of him. Harakan desperately tried to slap that great blade away with his own sword, and there was a steely ring as the two swords came together. Implacably, Garion stalked his enemy. His anger was so great that he had even forgotten the reason for this duel. He was no longer interested in unmasking Harakan. All he wanted to do was to kill him.
There was a rapid exchange of thrusts and parries, and the entire harbor rang with the steel song of the swords. Step by step Harakan retreated, and his eyes began to fill with fear. But finally Garion lost all patience with fencing. With his eyes ablaze he seized the hilt of his huge sword in both hands and swung it back over his shoulder. Had he delivered that blow, nothing could have stopped it.
Harakan’s cheeks blanched as he looked directly into the face of death. “Curse you!” he shouted at Garion, then flickered and vanished, to reappear briefly at the far end of the quay. He shimmered and swooped away in the form of a swift sea hawk.
“That sort of answers the question, doesn’t it, Agachak?” Urgit said quite calmly.
Agachak, however, his eyes ablaze with hate, also flashed into the form of a hawk. With two powerful strokes of his pinions, he drove himself into the air, shrieking for blood as he raced after the fleeing Harakan.
Garion’s hands were shaking. He turned and stalked toward Urgit with a scorching fury rising in his throat. With a great effort he restrained his sudden desire to take hold of the front of the smaller man’s doublet and hurl him far out into the harbor.
“Now—now don’t be hasty,” Urgit said, backing fearfully away.
Garion spoke from between clenched teeth in a dreadfully quiet voice. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Naturally not,” Urgit agreed hastily. He stopped, a curious expression suddenly crossing his rat-like face. “Are you really Belgarion?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “Would you like some proof?”
“No, no—that’s quite all right.” Urgit’s words came tumbling out. He stepped quickly around the still infuriated Gar-ion and crossed the quay to where Chabat stood. “Let us pray that your Hierarch succeeds in capturing that imposter,” he said. “Give him my regards upon his return. I’d wait, but I must board ship and depart at once.”
“Of course, your Majesty,” she replied in a voice that was nearly a purr. “I will take charge of these slavers until the Hierarch’s return.”
He stared at her.
“Since the entire purpose of this mission was to convey the Dagashi assassin to Rak Hagga, there’s no point in their going now, is there? They will have to remain here while we send to Kahsha for another Dagashi.” She looked at Sadi with an unconcealed smirk. “I will place them under my personal protection.”
Urgit looked at her narrowly. “Holy Priestess,” he said to her, “to be quite candid about it, I don’t think you can r be trusted. Your personal enmity toward this Nyissan is ^ painfully obvious, and he’s far too important to risk. I don’t think that you would be able to restrain yourself, once both Agachak and I are gone from Rak Urga. I think I’ll just take Ussa and his people with me—just to be on the safe side. When the Dagashi arrives from Mount Kahsha, send him along.”
Chabat’s eyes hardened, and her face grew angry. “The purpose of the mission to Rak Hagga is to fulfill a prophecy,” she declared, “and the fulfillment of prophecy is clearly in the domain of the Church.”
Urgit drew in a deep breath. Then he straightened from his usual slouching posture. “The mission is also a State matter, Holy Priestess. Agachak and I have been co-operating in this affair, and in his absence I assert the authority of the crown. Ussa and his people will go with me, and you will take your Grolims back to the Temple to await the return of your Hierarch.”
Chabat seemed taken aback by his sudden show of strength. She had obviously expected to brush aside any feeble objections he might raise, but this seemed to be a new Urgit. Her face hardened, and the flamelike scars writhed on her pale cheeks. “So,” she said, “it appears that our king is finally maturing. I think, however, that you will come to regret your passage into manhood at this particular time. Watch closely, High King of Cthol Murgos.” She bent, holding something in her hand, and began to mark symbols on the stones of the quay—symbols that glowed with an unholy light.