Sorceress of Darshiva

  ‘This is not like you, Urgit,’ Agachak said, his nostrils white with fury.

  ‘I know. Delightful, isn’t it? You may go now, Agachak.’

  The Hierarch spun on his heel and started toward the door.

  ‘Oh, by the way, old boy,’ Urgit added. ‘I’ve had news that our dear brother Gethel of Thulldom recently died—probably something he ate. Thulls eat almost anything that swims, flies, crawls, or spawns on rotten meat. It’s a pity, actually. Gethel was one of the few people in the world I could bully. Anyway, he’s been succeeded on the throne by his half-wit son, Nathel. I’ve met Nathel. He has the mentality of an earthworm, but he’s a true Angarak king. Why don’t you see if he wants to go to Mallorea with you? It might take you a while to explain to him where Mallorea is, since I think he believes that the world is flat, but I have every confidence in you, Agachak.’ Urgit flipped his hand at the fuming Hierarch. ‘Run along now,’ he said. ‘Go back to your temple and gut a few more Grolims. Maybe you can even get the fires started in your sanctum again. If nothing else, I’m sure it will calm your nerves.’

  Agachak stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Urgit doubled over, pounding on the arm of his throne and howling in glee.

  ‘Don’t you think you might have gone just a bit too far, my son?’ Lady Tamazin asked from the shadowy alcove where she had been listening.

  ‘Perhaps so, mother,’ he agreed, still laughing, ‘but wasn’t it fun?’

  She limped into the light and smiled fondly at him. ‘Yes, Urgit,’ she agreed, ‘it was, but don’t push Agachak too far. He can be a dangerous enemy.’

  ‘I’ve got lots of enemies, mother,’ Urgit said, tugging unconsciously at his long, pointed nose. ‘Most of the people in the world hate me, but I’ve learned to live with that. It’s not as if I had to run for re-election, you know.’

  The bleak-faced seneschal, Oskatat, also came out of the shadowed alcove. ‘What are we going to do with you, Urgit?’ he said wryly. ‘What did Belgarion teach you, anyway?’

  ‘He taught me how to be a king, Oskatat. I may not last very long, but by the Gods, as long as I’m here, I’m going to be king. They’re going to kill me anyway, so I might as well enjoy myself while I can.’

  His mother sighed, then raised her hands helplessly. ‘There’s no reasoning with him, Oskatat,’ she said.

  ‘I suppose not, my Lady Tamazin,’ the gray-haired man agreed.

  ‘Princess Prala wants to speak with you,’ Tamazin said to her son.

  ‘I am at her immediate disposal,’ Urgit said. ‘Not only immediate, but perpetual, if I understand the terms of the marriage contract.’

  ‘Be nice,’ Tamazin chided.

  ‘Yes, mother.’

  The Princess Prala of the House of Cthan swept in through a side door. She wore a riding habit consisting of a calf-length black skirt, a white satin blouse and polished boots. Her heels hit the marble floor like little hammers. Her long black hair swayed at her back, and her eyes were dangerous. She held a parchment scroll in her hands.

  ‘Will you assist me, my Lord Oskatat?’ Lady Tamazin asked, holding one hand out to the seneschal.

  ‘Of course, my Lady,’ he replied, offering his arm to Urgit’s mother with tender solicitude. The two of them withdrew.

  ‘Now what?’ Urgit warily asked his bride-to-be.

  ‘Am I disturbing your Majesty?’ Prala asked. She did not bother to curtsy. The princess had changed. She was no longer a properly submissive Murgo lady. The time she had spent with Queen Ce’Nedra and the Margravine Liselle had definitely corrupted her, Urgit felt, and the unwholesome influence of Polgara the sorceress showed in her every move and gesture. She was, however, Urgit concluded, absolutely adorable now. Her black eyes flashed, her delicate white skin seemed to reflect her mood, and her wealth of black hair seemed almost alive as it flowed down her back. Rather surprisingly, Urgit found that he was very fond of her.

  ‘You always disturb me, my beloved,’ he answered her question, spreading his arms extravagantly.

  ‘Stop that,’ she snapped. ‘You sound like your brother.’

  ‘It runs in the family.’

  ‘Did you put this in here?’ she demanded, waving the scroll at him like a club.

  ‘Did I put what in where?’

  ‘This.’ She unrolled the scroll. ‘“It is agreed that Princess Prala of the House of Cthan shall be his Majesty’s most favored wife,”’ she read. ‘Most favored wife’ came out from between clenched teeth.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ he asked, a little surprised at the girl’s vehemence.

  ‘The implication is that there will be others.’

  ‘It’s the custom, Prala. I didn’t make the rules.’

  ‘You’re the king. Make different rules.’

  ‘Me?’ He swallowed hard.

  ‘There will be no other wives, Urgit—or royal concubines.’ Her usually gentle voice seemed to crackle. ‘You are mine, and I’m not going to share you with anybody.’

  ‘Do you really feel that way?’ he asked, a bit amazed.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ She lifted her chin.

  ‘Nobody’s ever felt that way about me before.’

  ‘Get used to it.’ Her voice was flat and had the overtone of daggers in it.

  ‘We’ll amend the passage,’ he agreed quickly. ‘I don’t need more than one wife anyway.’

  ‘Definitely not, my Lord. A very wise decision.’

  ‘Naturally. All royal decisions are wise. It says so in the history books.’

  She tried very hard not to smile, but finally gave up, laughed, and hurled herself into his arms. ‘Oh, Urgit,’ she said burrowing her face into his neck, ‘I do love you.’

  ‘You do? What an amazing thing.’ Suddenly an idea came to him, and its sheer purity almost blinded him. ‘What’s your feeling about a double wedding, love?’ he asked her.

  She pulled her face back from where she had been grazing on his neck. ‘I don’t quite follow you,’ she admitted.

  ‘I’m the king, right?’

  ‘A little more than you were before you met Belgarion,’ she admitted.

  He let that pass. ‘I’ve got this female relative,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be busy being married.’

  ‘Very busy, my love,’ she agreed.

  He coughed nervously. ‘Anyway,’ he rushed on. ‘I’m not really going to have all that much time to look after this certain female relative, am I? Wouldn’t it be better if I married her off to some deserving fellow who’s always held her in the highest regard?’

  ‘I don’t quite follow you, Urgit. I didn’t think you had any female relatives.’

  ‘Only one, my Princess,’ he grinned. ‘Only one.’

  She stared at him. ‘Urgit!’ she gasped.

  He gave her a rat-faced little grin. ‘I’m the king,’ he said grandly. ‘I can do anything I want to do, and my mother’s been alone for far too long, wouldn’t you say? Oskatat’s loved her since she was a girl, and she’s at least fond of him—although I think it might go a little farther than that. If I ordered them to get married, they’d have to do it, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘That’s absolutely brilliant, Urgit,’ she marveled.

  ‘It comes from my Drasnian heritage,’ he admitted modestly. ‘Kheldar himself couldn’t have come up with a neater scheme.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she almost squealed. ‘This way I won’t have a mother-in-law interfering when I start changing you.’

  ‘Changing?’

  ‘Just a few little things, love,’ she said sweetly. ‘You have a few bad habits, and your taste in clothing is terrible. Whatever possessed you to start wearing purple?’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I’ll bring the list with me next time I visit.’

  Urgit began to have second thoughts at that point.

  His Imperial Majesty, Kal Zakath of Mallorea, had a busy morning that day. Most of the time, he was closeted with Brador, Chief of the Bur
eau of Internal Affairs, in a small, blue-draped office on the second floor of the palace.

  ‘It’s definitely subsiding, your Majesty,’ Brador reported when the subject of the plague came up. ‘There hasn’t been a new case in the past week, and a surprising number of people are actually recovering. The plan of walling off each separate district of the city seems to have worked.’

  ‘Good,’ Zakath said. He turned to another matter. ‘Is there any further word out of Karanda?’

  Brador shuffled through the papers he was holding. ‘Mengha hasn’t been seen for several weeks now, your Majesty.’ The Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs smiled briefly. ‘That particular plague also seems to be subsiding. The demons appear to have left, and the fanatics are losing heart.’ He tapped one of the papers against his pursed lips. ‘This is only an educated guess, your Majesty, since I can’t get any agents into the region, but the turmoil appears to have shifted to the east coast. Shortly after Mengha disappeared, large bodies of Karandese irregular troops, along with Urvon’s Temple Guardsmen and his Chandim, crossed the Mountains of Zamad, and all communications out of Voresebo and Rengel have broken down.’

  ‘Urvon?’ Zakath asked.

  ‘It appears so, your Majesty. I’d say that the Disciple is moving into position for a final confrontation with Zandramas. One is tempted to suggest that we just let them fight it out. I don’t think that the world would miss either of them very much.’

  A faint, icy smile touched Zakath’s lips. ‘You’re right, Brador,’ he said. ‘It is tempting, but I don’t think we should encourage that sort of thing—just as a matter of policy. Those principalities are a part of the empire and they’re entitled to imperial protection. It might start some ugly rumors if we were to just stand idly by and let Urvon and Zandramas rip up the countryside. If anybody brings military force to bear in Mallorea, it’s going to be me.’ He leafed through the papers on the table in front of him, picked one up, and frowned at it. ‘I suppose we’d better deal with this,’ he said. ‘Where have you got Baron Vasca?’

  ‘He’s in a cell with a splendid view,’ Brador replied. ‘He can look out at the executioner’s block. I’m sure it’s been most educational.’

  Zakath remembered something then. ‘Demote him,’ he said.

  ‘That’s a novel word for the procedure,’ Brador murmured.

  ‘That’s not exactly what I meant,’ Zakath said with another chill smile. ‘Persuade him to tell us where he hid all the money he extorted from the people he dealt with. We’ll transfer the funds to the imperial treasury.’ He turned to look at the large map on the wall of his study. ‘Southern Ebal, I think.’

  ‘Your Majesty?’ Brador looked puzzled.

  ‘Assign him to the post of Minister of Trade in southern Ebal.’

  ‘There isn’t any trade in southern Ebal, your Majesty. There aren’t any seaports, and the only thing they raise in the Temba marshes is mosquitoes.’

  ‘Vasca’s inventive. I’m sure he’ll come up with something.’

  ‘Then you don’t want him—’ Brador made a suggestive gesture across his throat with one hand.

  ‘No,’ Zakath said. ‘I’m going to try something Belgarion suggested. I may need Vasca again someday and I don’t want to have to dig him up in pieces.’ A faintly pained look crossed the emperor’s face. ‘Has there been any word about him?’ he asked.

  ‘Vasca? I just—’

  ‘No. Belgarion.’

  ‘They were seen shortly after they left Mal Zeth, your Majesty. They were traveling with Prince Kheldar’s Nadrak partner, Yarblek. Not long after that, Yarblek sailed for Gar og Nadrak.’

  ‘It was all a ruse, then,’ Zakath sighed. ‘All Belgarion really wanted was to get back to his own country. That wild story of theirs was made up out of whole cloth.’ Zakath passed a weary hand before his eyes. ‘I really liked that young man, Brador,’ he said sadly. ‘I should have known better.’

  ‘Belgarion didn’t go back to the West, your Majesty,’ Brador informed him, ‘at least not with Yarblek. We always check that fellow’s ships rather closely. So far as we’re able to determine, Belgarion has not left Mallorea.’

  Zakath leaned back with a genuine smile on his face. ‘I’m not sure why, but that makes me feel better. The thought that he’d betrayed me was quite painful for some reason. Any idea about where he’s gone?’

  ‘There was some turmoil in Katakor, your Majesty—up around Ashaba. It was the sort of thing one might associate with Belgarion—strange lights in the sky, explosions, that sort of thing.’

  Zakath laughed out loud, a delighted kind of laugh. ‘He can be a little ostentatious when he’s irritated, can’t he? He blew the whole wall out of my bedchamber in Rak Hagga one time.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He was trying to make a point.’

  There was a respectful rap on the door.

  ‘Come,’ Zakath replied shortly.

  ‘General Atesca has arrived, your Majesty,’ one of the red-garbed guards at the door reported.

  ‘Good. Send him in.’

  The broken-nosed general entered and saluted smartly. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said. His red uniform was travel-stained.

  ‘You made good time, Atesca,’ Zakath said. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  ‘Thank you, your Majesty. We had a good following wind, and the sea was calm.’

  ‘How many men did you bring with you?’

  ‘About fifty thousand.’

  ‘How many men do we have now?’ Zakath asked Brador.

  ‘Something in excess of a million, your Majesty.’

  ‘That’s a solid number. Let’s stage up the troops and get ready to move.’ He rose and went to the window. The leaves had begun to turn, filling the garden below with bright reds and yellows. ‘I want to quiet things down on the east coast,’ he said, ‘and it’s turning into autumn now, so I think we want to move the troops before the weather starts to deteriorate. We’ll go on down to Maga Renn and send out scouting parties from there. If the circumstances are right, we’ll march. If not, we can wait at Maga Renn for more troops to come back from Cthol Murgos.’

  ‘I’ll get started on that immediately, your Majesty.’ Brador bowed and quietly left the room.

  ‘Sit down, Atesca,’ the Emperor said. ‘What’s happening in Cthol Murgos?’

  ‘We’re going to try to hold the cities we’ve already taken, your Majesty,’ Atesca reported, drawing up a chair. ‘We’ve gathered the bulk of our forces near Rak Cthan. They’re waiting there for transport to bring them back to Mallorea.’

  ‘Any chance that Urgit might try a counterattack?’

  ‘I wouldn’t think so, your Majesty. I don’t believe he’ll gamble his army in open country. Of course, you never know what a Murgo might do.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Zakath agreed. He kept his knowledge that Urgit was not actually a Murgo to himself. He leaned back. ‘You captured Belgarion for me once, Atesca,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, your Majesty.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to do it again. He managed to get away. Careless of me, I suppose, but I had a lot on my mind at the time.’

  ‘We’ll just have to pick him up again then, won’t we, your Majesty?’

  The Alorn Council met at Boktor that year. Somewhat uncharacteristically, Queen Porenn took charge. The tiny blond Queen of Drasnia, dressed in her usual black, walked quietly to the head of the table in the red-draped council chamber in the palace and took the chair normally reserved for the Rivan King. The others stared at her in astonishment.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ she began crisply, ‘I recognize the fact that this flies in the face of tradition, but our time is limited. Certain information has come to me that I think you should be made aware of. We have decisions to make and very little time in which to make them.’

  Emperor Varana leaned back in his chair with an amused twinkle in his eyes. ‘We will now pause while the Alorn kings go into collective apoplexy,’ he said.
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  King Anheg scowled at the curly-haired emperor for a moment, then laughed. ‘No, Varana,’ he said wryly. ‘We all got that out of our systems when Rhodar persuaded us to follow Ce’Nedra into Mishrak ac Thull. It’s Porenn’s house; let her run things.’

  ‘Why, thank you, Anheg.’ The Queen of Drasnia actually sounded a little surprised. She paused, gathering her thoughts. ‘As I’m sure you’ve noticed, our gathering this year includes kings who would not normally attend. The matter before us, however, concerns us all. I’ve recently received communications from Belgarath, Belgarion, and the others.’

  There was an excited stir in the room. Porenn held up one hand. ‘They’re in Mallorea, close on the trail of the abductor of Belgarion’s son.’

  ‘That young man can move faster than the wind sometimes,’ King Fulrach of Sendaria observed. The years had given Fulrach a tendency toward portliness, and his brown beard was now streaked with silver.

  ‘How did they get to Mallorea?’ King Cho-Hag asked in his quiet voice.

  ‘It seems that they were captured by Kal Zakath,’ Porenn replied. ‘Garion and Zakath became friends, and Zakath took them with him when he returned to Mal Zeth.’

  ‘Zakath actually became friends with somebody?’ King Drosta of Gar og Nadrak demanded incredulously in his shrill voice. ‘Impossible!’

  ‘Garion has a way about him, sometimes,’ Hettar murmured.

  ‘The friendship, however, may have run its course,’ Porenn continued. ‘Late one night, Garion and his friends slipped out of Mal Zeth without saying good-bye to the emperor.’

  ‘With the whole imperial army on their trail, I’d imagine,’ Varana added.

  ‘No,’ Porenn disagreed. ‘Zakath can’t leave Mal Zeth just now. Tell them, Yarblek.’

  Silk’s rangy partner rose to his feet. ‘They’ve got plague in Mal Zeth,’ he said. ‘Zakath has sealed up the city. No one can go in or out.’

  ‘Prithee,’ Mandorallen asked, ‘how then was it possible for our friends to make good their escape?’