The Seeress of Kell

  Yarblek grinned. ‘How did he take it?’

  ‘Badly, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Good. He’s been getting just a little too sure of himself lately. All right, let’s get down to business. What’s this problem?’

  ‘In a moment. Did you find out what Drosta’s been up to?’

  ‘Of course. He’s trying to make peace with Zakath. He’s been dealing – at a distance – with the Mallorean who’s in charge of their Bureau of Internal Affairs; Brador, I think his name is. Anyway, Drosta’s been letting Mallorean agents funnel through Gar og Nadrak to infiltrate the west.’

  It was Yarblek’s tone of voice more than anything that warned Porenn that there was more. ‘All of it, Yarblek. You’re holding things back.’

  Yarblek sighed. ‘I hate dealing with a clever woman,’ he complained. ‘It seems so unnatural for some reason.’ Then he prudently skipped out of the range of Vella’s daggers. ‘All right,’ he gave up. ‘Zakath needs money and lots of it to deal with the wars he’s got on two different fronts. Drosta’s cut the import duties on Mallorean carpets – at least to the merchants who pay taxes to Mal Zeth. Those Malloreans have been scalping Silk and me in the Arendish markets.’

  ‘I assume you took advantage of that information?’

  ‘Naturally.’ He thought a moment. ‘Here’s your chance to make a tidy profit, Porenn,’ he suggested. ‘Drosta’s cut the import duties to the Malloreans by fifteen percent. You could raise your duties by the same amount. You’ll make money, and Silk and I can stay competitive.’

  ‘I think you’re trying to swindle me, Yarblek,’ Porenn said suspiciously.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘We’ll talk about it later. Now, listen very carefully. This is the reason I sent for you. Barak, Mandorallen, Hettar, Lelldorin, and Relg are sailing to Mallorea. We’re not entirely positive, but we think they plan to intrude themselves in Belgarion’s quest. You were there at Rheon, and you know that that Dalasian Seeress told us. Those hotheads absolutely have to stay out of it.’

  ‘I’ll certainly agree about that.’

  ‘How fast can you get a message to your people in Mallorea?’

  ‘A few weeks. Maybe a little faster if I make it a top priority.’

  ‘This matter has the highest priority, Yarblek. Anheg and Varana are chasing Barak, but we can’t be sure they’ll catch him in time. We have to delay Barak, and the best way to do that is to feed him misinformation. I want you to instruct your people in Mallorea to tell Barak lies. Keep him going off in the wrong direction every chance you get. Barak will be following Kheldar, so he’ll be checking in at every one of your branch offices in Mallorea for information. If Kheldar and the others are going to Maga Renn or Penn Daka, have your people tell Barak that he’s going to Mal Dariya.’

  ‘I know the procedure, Porenn,’ Yarblek said. He squinted at her speculatively. ‘You’ll be turning authority here in Drasnia over to his Majesty here fairly soon, won’t you?’ he asked her.

  ‘In a few years, yes.’

  ‘When this business in Mallorea is concluded, I think Silk and I might want to have a long discussion with you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘What’s your feeling about accepting a junior partnership in our operation – after your obligations here in Boktor have all been satisfied?’

  ‘I’m very flattered, Yarblek. What possessed you to raise such a possibility?’

  ‘You’re very shrewd, Porenn, and you’ve got all sorts of contacts. We might even be prepared to go as high as a five percent share.’

  ‘Absolutely out of the question, Yarblek,’ King Kheva interrupted surprisingly. ‘The percentage would have to be at least twenty.’

  ‘Twenty?’ Yarblek almost screamed.

  ‘I have to protect my mother’s interests,’ Kheva said blandly. ‘She won’t always be young, you know, and I’d hate to see her spend her declining years scrubbing floors.’

  ‘This is highway robbery, Kheva!’ Yarblek’s face had turned bright red.

  ‘I’m not holding a knife to your throat, Yarblek,’ Kheva said. ‘It might really be better in the long run if mother went into business for herself anyway. She should be able to do very well – particularly in view of the fact that all members of the royal family are exempt from Drasnian import duties.’

  ‘I think you just stabbed yourself in the hand, Yarblek,’ Vella smirked. ‘As long as you’re getting bad news today anyway, I might as well add my share. When this is all over, I want you to sell me.’

  ‘Sell you? To whom?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when the time comes.’

  ‘Has he got any money?’

  ‘I really don’t know, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll pay you your share of the price myself.’

  ‘You must really think a lot of him to make that kind of an offer.’

  ‘You have absolutely no idea, Yarblek. I was made for this man.’

  ‘We were told to stay here, Atesca,’ Brador said stubbornly.

  ‘That was before this long silence,’ General Atesca said, nervously pacing up and down in the large pavilion they shared. Atesca wore his uniform and his gold-inlaid steel breastplate. ‘The Emperor’s well-being and safety are my responsibility.

  ‘They’re as much mine as they are yours.’ Brador was absently rubbing the furry tummy of the half-grown cat lying ecstatic in his lap.

  ‘All right, why aren’t you doing something about it then? We haven’t had word of him in weeks. Not even your intelligence network can tell us where he is.’

  ‘I know that, Atesca, but I’m not going to disobey an imperial command just because you’re getting nervous – or bored.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay here and take care of the kittens, then?’ Atesca said acidly. ‘I’m going to move the army out tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I didn’t deserve that, Atesca.’

  ‘Sorry, Brador. This long silence is making me a little edgy, and I’m losing my grip on civility.’

  ‘I’m as concerned as you are, Atesca,’ Brador said, ‘but all of my training rises up in protest at the notion of flying directly in the face of an imperial command.’ The kitten in Brador’s lap nuzzled at his fingers affectionately. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I think that when his Majesty returns, I’ll ask him if I can have this kitten. I’m really growing rather fond of her.’

  ‘That’s up to you,’ Atesca said. ‘Trying to find homes for two or three litters of kittens every year might keep you out of trouble.’ The broken-nosed general tugged thoughtfully at one earlobe. ‘How about a compromise?’ he suggested.

  ‘I’m always willing to listen.’

  ‘All right. We know that Urvon’s army has largely disbanded, and there’s fairly strong presumptive evidence that Urvon is dead.’

  ‘I’d say so, yes.’

  ‘And Zandramas has moved her forces into the Dalasian protectorates.’

  ‘That’s what my people report.’

  ‘Now then, we’re both senior officials in his Majesty’s government, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doesn’t that mean that we’re expected to use our own initiative to take advantage of tactical situations that arise in the field without consulting Mal Zeth?’

  ‘I suppose so. You’ve spent more time in the field than I have, though.’

  ‘It’s standard practice, Brador. All right, then. Darshiva is virtually undefended. What I’m suggesting is that we restore order across the river in Peldane and move in to occupy Darshiva. That way we cut Zandramas off from her base of support. We set up a main line of resistance along the edge of those mountains to repel her forces if they try to return. We’ll have effectively brought these two provinces back under imperial control. We might even get a few medals out of it.’

  ‘His Majesty would be rather pleased if that happened, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘He’d be overjoyed, Brador.’

  ‘I still don’t see how occupying Darshiva is going to get us any closer to loc
ating his Majesty.’

  ‘That’s because you’re not a military man. We have to keep track of the enemy. In this case, that means the Darshivan army. Standard military proceedure in such situations is to send out patrols in force to make contact with the enemy to determine his strength and probable intentions. If those patrols should just happen to encounter the Emperor in the process, well—’ he spread his hands eloquently.

  ‘You’d have to brief the officers in command of those patrols rather thoroughly,’ Brador pointed out cautiously. ‘A green lieutenant might get flustered and blurt out things we’d rather not have the emperor aware of.’

  ‘I said patrols in force, Brador,’ Atesca smiled. ‘I was thinking along the lines of full brigades. A brigade is commanded by a colonel, and I’ve got a number of fairly intelligent colonels.’

  Brador grinned at his friend. ‘When do we start?’ he asked.

  ‘Did you have anything planned for tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Nothing that I can’t postpone,’ Brador said.

  ‘But why didn’t you know it was coming?’ Barak demanded of Drolag, his bosun. The two of them stood on the aft deck with the wind-driven rain sheeting almost horizontally across the rail to tear at their beards.

  Drolag mopped at his face with one hand. ‘I haven’t got the faintest idea, Barak,’ he admitted. ‘That leg has never failed me before.’ Drolag was one of those unfortunates who at some time in the past had broken one of his legs – in Drolag’s case it had happened in a tavern brawl. He had discovered not long after the bone had knit that the leg was extraordinarily sensitive to weather changes. He was able to predict the onset of bad weather with uncanny accuracy. His shipmates always watched him very closely. When Drolag winced with every step, they began searching the horizons for oncoming storms; when he limped, they shortened sail and began rigging safety lines; and when he fell down with a surprised cry of pain, they immediately battened down all hatches, rigged the sea anchor, and went below. Drolag had turned a temporary inconvenience into a lifetime career. He always commanded top pay, and nobody ever expected him to do any real work. All he had to do was pace the deck where everybody could watch him. The miraculous leg even made it possible for him to predict with some degree of certainty just exactly when a given storm would hit. But not this time. The storm that swept the Seabird’s decks with wind and pelting rain had come unannounced, and Drolag was as surprised by its arrival as any man on board.

  ‘You didn’t get drunk and fall down and break it again, did you?’ Barak demanded suspiciously. Barak had very little knowledge of human anatomy – except about where to hit someone with an axe or to run a sword through him which would have the desired, and usually fatal, results. The big red-bearded man reasoned somewhat foggily that if Drolag had achieved his weather sensitivity by breaking his leg, a second break might very well have taken it away again.

  ‘No, of course I didn’t, Barak,’ Drolag said disgustedly. ‘I’m not going to risk my livelihood for a few tankards of bad ale.’

  ‘How did the storm sneak up on you, then?’

  ‘I don’t know, Barak. Maybe it’s not a natural storm. Some wizard may have summoned it. I don’t know if my leg would react to something like that.’

  ‘That’s always an easy excuse, Drolag,’ Barak scoffed. ‘Any time an ignorant man can’t explain something, he blames it on magic.’

  ‘I don’t have to take this, Barak,’ Drolag said hotly. ‘I earn my way, but I’m not responsible for supernatural forces.’

  ‘Go below, Drolag,’ Barak told him. ‘Have a long talk with your leg and see if it can come up with a better excuse.’

  Drolag staggered down the pitching deck talking to himself.

  Barak was in a foul humor. Everything seemed to be conspiring to delay him. Not long after he and his friends had witnessed Agachak’s unpleasant demise, Seabird had struck a submerged log and sprung a seam. It had only been by dint of herculean bailing that they had been able to limp down river to Dal Zerba and to haul the leaky ship up onto a mud-bar for repairs. That chore had cost them two weeks, and now this storm from nowhere added to the delay. Then Unrak came up from below, trailed by the dull-faced King of the Thulls. Unrak looked around with the wind clawing at his bright red hair. ‘It doesn’t seem to be letting up, does it, father?’ he observed.

  ‘Not noticeably.’

  ‘Hettar wants to talk with you.’

  ‘I’ve got to steer this big brute.’

  ‘The mate can do it, father. All he has to do is keep her bow into the wind. Hettar’s been studying that map, and he thinks we’re in danger.

  ‘From this little storm? Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Is Seabird’s bottom strong enough to take on rocks?’

  ‘We’re in deep water.’

  ‘Not for long, I don’t think. Just come below, father. Hettar can show you.’

  Grumbling, Barak turned the tiller over to the first mate and followed his son to the companionway leading below. Nathel, the King of the Thulls, trailed along behind them, his face incurious. Nathel was a bit older than Unrak, but he had taken to following Barak’s red-haired son about like a stray puppy. Unrak was none too gracious to his unwanted companion.

  ‘What’s this all about, Hettar?’ Barak demanded of his friend as he entered the cramped cabin.

  ‘Come over here and have a look,’ the tall Algar said.

  Barak strode to the bolted-down table and looked down at the map.

  ‘We left Dal Zerba yesterday morning, right?’

  ‘Yes. We’d have gotten away sooner if somebody’d been paying attention to what was lying under the surface of that river. I think I’ll find out who was on bow watch that day and have him keel-hauled.’

  ‘What’s keel-hauled?’ Nathel asked Unrak.

  ‘Something very unpleasant,’ the red-haired boy replied.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t tell me, then. I don’t like unpleasant stuff.’

  ‘Whatever you want, your Majesty.’ Unrak did have a few manners.

  ‘Couldn’t you just call me Nathel?’ the Thull asked plaintively. ‘I’m not really a king anyway. Mother’s the one who makes all the decisions.’

  ‘Anything you want, Nathel.’ Unrak said it with a certain pity.

  ‘How far would you estimate we’ve come since yesterday?’ Hettar asked Barak.

  ‘Oh, maybe twenty leagues. We had to heave to last night because we’re in strange waters.’

  ‘That puts us almost right here, doesn’t it?’ Hettar pointed at an ominous symbol on the map.

  ‘We aren’t anywhere near that reef, Hettar. We came about to southeast as soon as we came out of that estuary at the mouth of the river.’

  ‘But we haven’t been going southeast, Barak. There seems to be a current that comes down along the west coast of Mallorea, and it’s a fairly strong one. I’ve checked a few times. Your bow is pointed southeast, but the Seabird has been drifting sideways almost due south because of that current.’

  ‘When did you suddenly become such an expert on sailing?’

  ‘I don’t have to be, Barak. Take a stick of wood and throw it off your starboard side. Your ship will catch up with the stick in just a few minutes. We’re definitely drifting south in spite of whichever direction your bow is pointed. I’d guess that within an hour we’ll be able to hear the surf breaking on that reef.’

  ‘I do confirm that our friend speaketh truth, my Lord of Trellhiem,’ Mandorallen assured him. ‘I myself have witnessed his experiment with the stick. Truly, we are tending southward.’

  ‘What can we do?’ Lelldorin asked a bit apprehensively.

  Barak stared gloomily at the map. ‘We don’t have any choice,’ he said. ‘We can’t get back out into open sea in this storm. We’ll have to drop both anchors and hope that we can find a bottom that’ll hold us. Then we sit tight and ride it out. What’s the name of that reef, Hettar?’

  ‘Turim,’ the Algar replied.

  CHAPTER TWENTY


  LIKE ALMOST EVERY other ship’s cabin in all the world, the one on Captain Kresca’s vessel was low and had dark-stained beams overhead. The furniture was bolted to the floor, and oil lamps swung from the beams as the ship, swinging at anchor, rolled heavily in the combers coming in off the Sea of the East. Garion rather liked being at sea. There was a calmness, a kind of suspension of care out on deep water. When he was ashore it seemed that he was always scurrying from place to place through crowds of people, all filling his ears with distractions. At sea, however, there was time to be alone with his thoughts, and the even, patient roll of waves and the slow movement of the sky made those thoughts long and deep.

  Their evening meal had been simple, a hearty bean soup and thick slices of dark, rich bread, and they sat on the benches around the plain table after they had eaten, talking idly and awaiting the arrival of the captain, who had promised to join them as soon as he had secured his ship.

  The half-grown wolf lay under the table near where Ce’Nedra sat, and his eyes had a studied, pleading look in them. Ce’Nedra slipped him tidbits when she thought no one was watching her. Wolves are not stupid, after all.

  ‘The surf seems to be heavy,’ Zakath said, cocking his head to one side to listen to the booming of the waves against the rocks of the reef. ‘That’s likely to cause some problems when we try to land, isn’t it?’

  ‘I rather doubt it,’ Belgarath said. ‘This storm has probably been brewing since the day the earth was made. It’s not going to interfere with us in any way.’

  ‘Aren’t you being just a little fatalistic, Belgarath?’ Beldin suggested, ‘and perhaps slightly overconfident?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The two prophecies must have this meeting. They’ve been coming toward this place since the beginning of time. They’re not going to let anything interfere with the arrival of anyone who’s supposed to be here.’

  ‘Why raise a storm like this, then?’

  ‘The storm wasn’t designed to hinder us – or Zandramas.’

  ‘What is its purpose?’

  ‘It’s probably out there to keep others away. There are only certain people who are supposed to be on that reef tomorrow. The prophecies are going to see to it that no one else can set foot on it until after our business has been completed.’