Drosta groaned. “We’re all doomed then,” he declared, seeming to slump in on himself. “You were my last hope.”
“Let me think a moment,” Silk said. “We might be able to salvage something out of this yet.” He stared at the floor, chewing absently on a fingernail as he turned the problem over in his mind. “I can’t go,” he concluded. “That’s obvious. But that doesn’t mean that somebody else couldn’t.”
“Who else would Rhodar trust?” Drosta demanded.
Silk turned to Yarblek, who had been listening to the conversation intently with a worried frown. “Are you in any kind of trouble in Drasnia at the moment?” he asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“All right,” Silk continued. “There’s a fur dealer in Boktor. Geldahar’s his name.”
“Fat man? Sort of cross-eyed?” Yarblek asked.
“That’s him. Why don’t you take a shipment of furs and go to Boktor? While you’re trying to sell Geldahar the furs, tell him that the salmon run is late this year.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fascinated to hear that.”
“It’s a code-word,” Silk explained with exaggerated patience. “As soon as you say that, he’ll see to it that you get into the palace to see Queen Porenn.”
“I’ve heard that she’s a lovely woman,” Yarblek said, “but that’s a long trip just to see a pretty girl. I can probably find a pretty girl just down the hall.”
“You’re missing the point, Yarblek,” Silk told him. “Porenn is Rhodar’s queen, and he trusts her even more than he used to trust me. She’ll know that I sent you, and she’ll pass anything you tell her on to my uncle. Rhodar will be reading Drosta’s message three days after you ride into Boktor. I guarantee it.”
“You’d let a woman know about all this?” Drosta objected violently. “Kheldar, you’re insane. The only woman safe with a secret is one who’s had her tongue cut out.”
Silk shook his head firmly. “Porenn’s in control of Drasnian intelligence right now, Drosta. She already knows most of the secrets in the world. You’re never going to get an emissary through an Alorn army to Rhodar, so forget that. There’ll be Chereks with him, and they’ll kill any Angarak on sight. If you want to communicate with Rhodar, you’re going to have to use Drasnian intelligence as an intermediary, and that means going through Porenn.”
Drosta looked dubious. “Maybe,” he concluded after a moment’s thought. “I’ll try anything at this point – but why should Yarblek get involved? Why can’t you carry my message to the Drasnian queen?”
Silk looked a trifle pained. “That wouldn’t be a good idea at all, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Porenn was rather central to my difficulties with my uncle. I’m definitely unwelcome at the palace just now.”
One of King Drosta’s shaggy eyebrows shot up. “So that’s the way it is.” He laughed. “Your reputation’s well-earned, I see.” He turned to Yarblek. “It’s up to you, then. Make the necessary arrangements for the trip to Boktor.”
“You already owe me money, Drosta,” Yarblek replied bluntly, “the reward for bringing in Kheldar, remember?”
Drosta shrugged. “Write it down someplace.”
Yarblek shook his head stubbornly. “Not hardly. Let’s keep your account current. You’re known as a slow payer, once you’ve got what you want.”
“Yarblek,” Drosta said plaintively, “I’m your king.”
Yarblek inclined his head somewhat mockingly. “I honor and respect your Majesty,” he said, “but business is business, after all.”
“I don’t carry that much money with me,” Drosta protested.
“That’s all right, Drosta. I can wait.” Yarblek crossed his arms and sat down in a large chair with the air of a man planning to stay for quite some time.
The king of the Nadraks stared at him helplessly.
Then the door opened and Belgarath stepped into the room, still dressed in the rags he had worn in the tavern downstairs. There was no furtiveness about his entrance, and he moved like a man on serious business.
“What is this?” Drosta exclaimed incredulously. “Guards!” he bawled, “get this drunken old man out of here.”
“They’re asleep, Drosta,” Belgarath replied calmly. “Don’t be too harsh with them, though. It’s not their fault.” He closed the door.
“Who are you? What do you think you’re doing?” Drosta demanded. “Get out of here!”
“I think you’d better take a closer look, Drosta,” Silk advised with a dry little chuckle. “Appearances can be deceiving sometimes, and you shouldn’t be so quick to try to throw somebody out. He might have something important to say to you.”
“Do you know him, Kheldar?” Drosta asked.
“Just about everybody in the world knows him,” Silk replied. “Or of him.”
Drosta’s face creased into a puzzled frown, but Yarblek had started from his chair, his lean face suddenly pale. “Drosta!” he gasped. “Look at him. Think a minute. You know who he is.”
Drosta stared at the shabby-looking old man, and his bulging eyes slowly opened even wider. “You!” he blurted.
Yarblek was still gaping at Belgarath. “He’s been involved in it from the very beginning. I should have put it together down in Cthol Murgos – him, the woman, all of it.”
“What are you doing in Gar og Nadrak?” Drosta asked in an awed voice.
“Just passing through, Drosta,” Belgarath replied. “If you’re quite finished with your discussion here, I need these two Alorns. We have an appointment, and we’re running a little behind schedule.”
“I always thought you were a myth.”
“I like to encourage that as much as I can,” Belgarath told him. “It makes moving around a lot easier.”
“Are you mixed up in what the Alorns are doing?”
“They’re acting more or less on my suggestions, yes. Polgara’s keeping an eye on them.”
“Can you get word to them and tell them to disengage?”
“That won’t really be necessary, Drosta. I wouldn’t worry too much about ‘Zakath and Taur Urgas, if I were you. There are more important things afoot than their squabbles.”
“So that’s what Rhodar’s doing,” Drosta said in sudden comprehension. “Is it really that late?”
“It’s even later than you think,” the old sorcerer answered. He crossed to the table and poured himself some of Drosta’s wine. “Torak’s already stirring, and the whole matter’s likely to be settled before the snow flies.”
“This is going too far, Belgarath,” Drosta said. “I might try to maneuver my way around Taur Urgas and ‘Zakath, but I’m not going to cross Torak.” He turned decisively toward the door.
“Don’t do anything rash, Drosta,” Belgarath advised him calmly, sitting in a chair and taking a sip of his wine. “Grolims can be most unreasonable, and the fact that I’m here in Yar Nadrak could only be viewed as the result of some collusion on your part. They’d have you bent backward over an altar and your heart sizzling in the coals before you ever got the chance to explain – king or no king.”
Drosta froze in his tracks, his pockmarked face going very pale. For a moment, he seemed to be struggling with himself. Then his shoulders slumped and his resolution seemed to wilt. “You’ve got me by the throat, haven’t you, Belgarath?” he said with a short laugh. “You’ve managed to make me outsmart myself, and now you’re going to use that to force me to betray the God of Angarak.”
“Are you really all that fond of him?”
“Nobody’s fond of Torak. I’m afraid of him, and that’s a better reason to stay on the good side of him than any sentimental attachment. If he wakes up-” The king of the Nadraks shuddered.
“Have you ever given much thought to the kind of world we’d have if he didn’t exist?” Belgarath suggested.
“That’s too much to even wish for. He’s a God. No one could hope to ‘defeat him. He’s too powerful for that.”
“There are things more powerful than Gods, Drosta – two that I can think of offhand, and those two are rushing toward a final meeting. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to put yourself between them at this point.”
But something else had occurred to Drosta. He turned slowly with a look of stunned incredulity and stared directly at Garion. He shook his head and wiped at his eyes, like a man trying to clear away a fog. Garion became painfully aware of the great sword strapped across his back. Drosta’s bulging eyes widened even more as the realization of what he was seeing erased the Orb’s suggestion that his brain not record what stood in plain sight before him. His expression became awed, and desperate hope dawned on his ugly face. “Your Majesty,” he stammered, bowing with profound respect. ”
“Your Majesty,” Garion replied, politely inclining his head.
“It looks as if I’m forced to wish you good luck,” Drosta said in a quiet voice. “Despite what Belgarath says, I think you’re going to need it.”
“Thank you, King Drosta,” Garion said.
Chapter Six
“DO YOU THINK we can trust Drosta?” Garion asked Silk as they followed Belgarath along the garbage-littered alley behind the tavern.