“Why don’t you let me deal with this, Mandorallen?” Silk suggested mildly, swinging down from his saddle.
Ce’Nedra’s expression had first registered shock, then outrage. She appeared almost on the verge of explosion before Garion reached her and put his hand on her arm. “Watch,” he told her softly.
“How dare-”
“Hush. Just watch. Silk’s going to take care of it.”
“That’s a pretty paltry offer,” Silk said, his fingers flicking idly.
“She’s still young,” the other Drasnian pointed out. “She obviously hasn’t had much training yet. Which one of you owns her?”
“We’ll get to that in a moment,” Silk replied. “Surely you can make a better offer than that.”
“It’s all I’ve got,” the scruffy man answered plaintively, waving his fingers, “and I don’t want to go into partnership with any of the brigands in this place. I’d never get to see any of the profits.”
Silk shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he refused. “It’s out of the question. I’m sure you can see our position.”
Ce’Nedra was making strangled noises.
“Be quiet,” Garion snapped. “This isn’t what it seems to be.”
“What about the older one?” the scruffy man suggested, sounding desperate. “Surely fifty pennyweight’s a good price for her.”
Without warning Silk’s fist lashed out, and the scruffy Drasnian reeled back from the apparent blow. His hand flew to his mouth, and he began to spew curses.
“Run him off, Mandorallen,” Silk said quite casually.
The grim-faced knight drew his broadsword and moved his warhorse deliberately at the swearing Drasnian. After one startled yelp, the man turned and fled.
“What did he say?” Wolf asked Silk. “You were standing in front of him, so I couldn’t see.”
“The whole region’s alive with Murgos,” Silk replied, climbing back on his horse. “Kheran says that a dozen parties of them have been through here in the last week.”
“You knew that animal?” Ce’Nedra demanded.
“Kheran? Of course. We went to school together.”
“Drasnians like to keep an eye on things, Princess,” Wolf told her. “King Rhodar has agents everywhere.”
“That awful man is an agent of King Rhodar?” Ce’Nedra asked incredulously.
Silk nodded. “Actually Kheran’s a margrave,” he said. “He has exquisite manners under normal circumstances. He asked me to convey his compliments.”
Ce’Nedra looked baffled.
“Drasnians talk to each other with their fingers,” Garion explained. “I thought everybody knew that.”
Ce’Nedra’s eyes narrowed at him.
“What Kheran actually said was, ‘Tell the red-haired wench that I apologize for the insult,’ ” Garion informed her smugly. “He needed to talk to Silk, and he had to have an excuse.”
“Wench?”
“His word, not mine,” Garion replied quickly.
“You know this sign language?”
“Naturally.”
“That’ll do, Garion,” Aunt Pol said firmly.
“Kheran recommends that we get out of here immediately,” Silk told Mister Wolf. “He says that the Murgos are looking for somebody – us, probably.”
From the far side of the camp there were sudden angry voices. Several dozen Nadraks boiled out of their shanties to confront a group of Murgo horsemen who had just ridden up out of a deep gully. At the forefront of the Nadraks hulked a huge, fat man who looked more animal than human. In his right hand he carried a brutal-looking steel mace. “Kordoch!” he bellowed. “I told you I’d kill you next time you came here.”
The man who stepped out from among the Murgo horses to face the hulking Nadrak was Brill. “You’ve told me a lot of things, Tarlek,” he shouted back.
“This time you get what’s coming to you, Kordoch,” Tarlek roared, striding forward and swinging his mace.
“Stay back,” Brill warned, stepping away from the horses. “I don’t have time for this right now.”
“You don’t have any time left at all, Kordoch – for anything.” Tarlek was grinning broadly. “Would anyone like to take this opportunity to say good – bye to our friend over there?” he said. “I think he’s about to leave on a very long journey.”
But Bril1’s right hand had dipped suddenly inside his tunic. With a flickering movement, he whipped out a peculiar-looking triangular steel object about six inches across. Then, in the same movement, he flipped it, spinning and whistling, directly at Tarlek. The flat steel triangle sailed, flashing in the sun as it spun, and disappeared with a sickening sound of shearing bone into the hulking Nadrak’s chest. Silk hissed with amazement.
Tarlek stared stupidly at Brill, his mouth agape and his left hand going to the spurting hole in his chest. Then his mace slid out of his right hand, his knees buckled, and he fell heavily forward.
“Let’s get out of here!” Mister Wolf barked. “Down the creek! Go!”
They plowed into the rocky streambed at a plunging gallop, and the muddy water sprayed out from under their horses’ hooves. After several hundred yards they turned sharply to scramble up a steep gravel bank.
“That way!” Barak shouted, pointing toward more level ground. Garion did not have time to think, only to cling to his horse and try to keep up with the others. Faintly, far behind, he could hear shouts.
They rode behind a low hill and reined in for a moment at Wolf’s signal. “Hettar,” the old man said, “see if they’re coming.”
Hettar wheeled his horse and loped up to a stand of trees on the brow of the hill.
Silk was muttering curses, his face livid.
“What’s your problem now?” Barak demanded.
Silk kept on swearing.
“What’s got him so worked up?” Barak asked Mister Wolf.
“Our friend’s just had a nasty shock,” the old man answered. “He misjudged somebody – so did I, as a matter of fact. That weapon Brill used on the big Nadrak is called an adder-sting.”
Barak shrugged. “It looked like just an odd-shaped throwing knife to me.
“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Wolf told him. “It’s as sharp as a razor on all three sides, and the points are usually dipped in poison. It’s the special weapon of the Dagashi. That’s what has got Silk so upset.”
“I should have known,” Silk berated himself. “Brill’s been a little too good all along to be just an ordinary Sendarian footpad.”
“Do you know what they’re talking about, Polgara?” Barak asked.
“The Dagashi are a secret society in Cthol Murgos,” she told him. “Trained killers-assassins. They answer only to Ctuchik and their own elders. Ctuchik’s been using them for centuries to eliminate people who get in his way. They’re very efficient.”
“I’ve never been that curious about the peculiarities of Murgo culture,” Barak replied. “If they want to creep around and kill each other, so much the better.” He glanced up the hill quickly to find out if Hettar had seen anything behind them. “That thing Brill used might be an interesting toy, but it’s no match for armor and a good sword.”
“Don’t be so provincial, Barak,” Silk said, beginning to regain his composure. “A well-thrown adder-sting can cut right through a mail shirt; if you know how, you can even sail it around corners. Not only that, a Dagashi could kill you with his hands and feet, whether you’re wearing armor or not.” He frowned. “You know, Belgarath,” he mused, “we might have been making a mistake all along. We assumed that Asharak was using Brill, but it might have been the other way around. Brill has to be good, or Ctuchik wouldn’t have sent him into the West to keep an eye on us.” He smiled then, a chillingly bleak little smile. “I wonder just how good he is.” He flexed his fingers. “I’ve met a few Dagashi, but never one of their best. That might be very interesting.”
“Let’s not get sidetracked,” Wolf told him. The old man’s face was grim. He looked at Aunt Pol, and something seemed to pass between them.
“You’re not serious,” she said.
“I don’t think we’ve got much choice, Pol. There are Murgos all around us – too many and too close. I don’t have any room to move; they’ve got us pinned right up against the southern edge of Maragor. Sooner or later, we’re going to get pushed out onto the plain anyway. At least, if we make the decision ourselves, we’ll be able to take some precautions.”
“I don’t like it, father,” she stated bluntly.
“I don’t care much for it myself,” he admitted, “but we’ve got to shake off all these Murgos or we’ll never make it to the Vale before winter sets in.”
Hettar rode back down the hill. “They’re coming,” he reported quietly. “And there’s another group of them circling in from the west to cut us off.”
Wolf drew in a deep breath. “I think that pretty well decides it, Pol,” he said. “Let’s go.”
As they passed into the belt of trees dotting the last low line of hills bordering the plain, Garion glanced back once. A half dozen dust clouds spotted the face of the miles-wide slope above them. Murgos were converging on them from all over the mountains.