Demon Lord Of Karanda Page 8

The cat jumped straight up to a height of about three feet, giving vent to a startled yowl. Zith retreated immediately back into the safety of her house, though she continued to purr.

  Warily, but still burning with curiosity, the cat approached the bottle again, moving one foot at a time.

  ‘Sadi,’ Zakath said, his voice filled with concern.

  ‘There’s no immediate danger, your Majesty,’ the eunuch assured him. ‘Zith never bites while she’s purring.’

  Again the little green snake slid her head out of the bottle. This time the cat recoiled only slightly. Then, curiosity overcoming her natural aversion to reptiles, she continued her slow advance, her nose reaching out toward this remarkable creature. Zith, still purring, also extended her blunt nose. Their noses touched, and both flinched back slightly. Then they cautiously sniffed at each other, the cat with her nose, the snake with her tongue. Both were purring loudly now.

  ‘Astonishing,’ Sadi murmured. ‘I think they actually like each other.’

  ‘Sadi, please,’ Zakath said plaintively. ‘I don’t know how you feel about your snake, but I’m rather fond of my cat, and she is about to become a mother.’

  ‘I’ll speak with them, your Majesty,’ Sadi assured him. ‘I’m not sure that they’ll listen, but I’ll definitely speak with them.’

  Belgarath had once again retired to the library, and Garion found him later that day poring over a large map of northern Mallorea. ‘Ah,’ he said, looking up as Garion entered, ‘there you are. I was just about to send for you. Come over here and look at this.’

  Garion went to the table.

  ‘The appearance of this Mengha fellow might just work to our advantage, you know.’

  ‘I don’t quite follow that, Grandfather.’

  ‘Zandramas is here at Ashaba, right?’ Belgarath stabbed his finger at a spot in the representation of the Karandese mountains.

  ‘Yes,’ Garion said.

  ‘And Mengha’s moving west and south out of Calida, over here.’ The old man poked at the map again.

  ‘That’s what Brador says.’

  ‘He’s got her blocked off from most of the continent, Garion. She’s been very careful here in Cthol Murgos to avoid populated areas. There’s no reason to believe that she’s going to change once she gets to Mallorea. Urvon’s going to be to the south of her at Mal Yaska, and the wastes to the north are virtually impassable—even though it’s nearly summer.’

  ‘Summer?’

  ‘In the northern half of the world it is.’

  ‘Oh. I keep forgetting.’ Garion peered at the map. ‘Grandfather, we don’t have any idea of where “the place which is no more” might be. When Zandramas leaves Ashaba, she could go in any direction.’

  Belgarath squinted at the map. ‘I don’t think so, Garion. In the light of all that’s happened in Mallorea—coupled with the fact that by now she knows that we’re on her trail—I think she almost has to be trying to get back to her power base in Darshiva. Everybody in the world is after her, and she needs help.’

  ‘We certainly aren’t threatening her all that much,’ Garion said moodily. ‘We can’t even get out of Cthol Murgos.’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve got to persuade Zakath that it’s vital for us to leave here and get to Mallorea as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Persuade?’

  ‘Just do whatever you have to, Garion. There’s a great deal at stake.’

  ‘Why me?’ Garion said it without thinking.

  Belgarath gave him a long, steady look.

  ‘Sorry,’ Garion muttered. ‘Forget that I said it.’

  ‘All right. I’ll do that.’

  Late that evening, Zakath’s cat gave birth to seven healthy kittens while Zith hovered in anxious attendance, warning off all other observers with ominous hisses. Peculiarly, the only person the protective little reptile would allow near the newborn kittens was Velvet.

  Garion had little success during the next couple of days in his efforts to steer his conversations with the convalescing Zakath around to the subject of the necessity for returning to Mallorea. The Emperor usually pleaded a lingering weakness as a result of his poisoning, though Garion privately suspected subterfuge on that score, since the man appeared to have more than enough energy for his usual activities and only protested exhaustion when Garion wanted to talk about a voyage.

  On the evening of the fourth day, however, he decided to try negotiation one last time before turning to more direct alternatives. He found Zakath seated in the chair near his bed with a book in his hands. The dark circles beneath his eyes had vanished, the trembling had disappeared entirely, and he seemed totally alert. ‘Ah, Belgarion,’ he said almost cheerfully, ‘so good of you to stop by.’

  ‘I thought I’d come in and put you to sleep again,’ Garion replied with slightly exaggerated sarcasm.

  ‘Have I been that obvious?’ Zakath asked.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact you have. Every time I mention the words “ship” and “Mallorea” in the same sentence, your eyes snap shut. Zakath, we’ve got to talk about this, and time is starting to run out.’

  Zakath passed one hand across his eyes with some show of weariness.

  ‘Let me put it this way,’ Garion pressed on. ‘Belgarath’s starting to get impatient. I’m trying to keep our discussions civil, but if he steps in, I can almost guarantee that they’re going to turn unpleasant—very quickly.’

  Zakath lowered his hand, and his eyes narrowed. ‘That sounds vaguely like a threat, Belgarion.’

  ‘No,’ Garion disagreed. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s in the nature of friendly advice. If you want to stay here in Cthol Murgos, that’s up to you, but we have to get to Mallorea—and soon.’

  ‘And if I choose not to permit you to go?’

  ‘Permit?’ Garion laughed. ‘Zakath, did you grow up in the same world with the rest of us? Have you got even the remotest idea of what you’re talking about?’

  ‘I think that concludes this interview, Belgarion,’ the Emperor said coldly. He rose stiffly to his feet and turned to his bed. As usual, his cat had deposited her mewling little brood in the center of his coverlet and then gone off to nap alone in her wool-lined box in the corner. The irritated Emperor looked with some exasperation at the furry little puddle on his bed. ‘You have my permission to withdraw, Belgarion,’ he said over his shoulder. Then he reached down with both hands to scoop up the cluster of kittens.

  Zith reared up out of the very center of the furry heap, fixed him with a cold eye, and hissed warningly.

  ‘Torak’s teeth!’ Zakath swore, jerking his hands away. ‘This is going too far! Go tell Sadi that I want his accursed snake out of my room immediately!’

  ‘He’s taken her out four times already, Zakath,’ Garion said mildly. ‘She just keeps crawling back.’ He suppressed a grin. ‘Maybe she likes you.’

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Get the snake out of here.’

  Garion put his hands behind his back. ‘Not me, Zakath. I’ll go get Sadi.’

  In the hallway outside, however, he encountered Velvet, who was coming toward the Emperor’s room with a mysterious smile on her face.

  ‘Do you think you could move Zith?’ Garion asked her. ‘She’s in the middle of Zakath’s bed with those kittens.’

  ‘You can move her, Belgarion,’ the blond girl said, smiling the dimples into her cheeks. ‘She trusts you.’

  ‘I think I’d rather not try that.’

  The two of them went back into the Emperor’s bedchamber.

  ‘Margravine,’ Zakath greeted her courteously, inclining his head.

  She curtsied. ‘Your Majesty.’

  ‘Can you deal with this?’ he asked, pointing at the furry pile on his bed with the snake still half-reared out of the center, her eyes alert.

  ‘Of course, your Majesty.’ She approached the bed, and the snake flickered her tongue nervously. ‘Oh, do stop that,
Zith,’ the blond girl chided. Then she lifted the front of her skirt to form a kind of pouch and began picking up kittens and depositing them in her improvised basket. Last of all she lifted Zith and laid her in the middle. She crossed the room and casually put them all into the box with the mother cat, who opened one golden eye, made room for her kittens and their bright green nursemaid, and promptly went back to sleep.

  ‘Isn’t that sweet?’ Velvet murmured softly. Then she turned back to Zakath. ‘Oh, by the way, your Majesty, Kheldar and I managed to find out who it was who poisoned you.’

  ‘What?’

  She nodded, frowning slightly. ‘It came as something of a surprise, actually.’

  The Emperor’s eyes had become intent. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘As sure as one can be in these cases. You seldom find an eye-witness to a poisoning; but he was in the kitchen at the right time, he left right after you fell ill, and we know him by reputation.’ She smiled at Garion. ‘Have you noticed how people always tend to remember a man with white eyes?’

  ‘Naradas?’ Garion exclaimed.

  ‘Surprising, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who’s Naradas?’ Zakath demanded.

  ‘He works for Zandramas,’ Garion replied. He frowned. ‘That doesn’t make any sense, Velvet. Why would Zandramas want to kill him? Wouldn’t she want to keep him alive?’

  She spread her hands. ‘I don’t know, Belgarion—not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Velvet?’ Zakath asked in puzzlement.

  She smiled the dimples into her cheeks again. ‘Isn’t it silly?’ She laughed. ‘I suppose these little nicknames are a form of affection, though. Belgarion’s question is to the point, however. Can you think of any reason why Zandramas might want to kill you?’

  ‘Not immediately, but we can wring that answer out of her when I catch her—and I’ll make a point of doing that, even if I have to take Cthol Murgos apart stone by stone.’

  ‘She isn’t here,’ Garion said absently, still struggling with the whole idea. ‘She’s at Ashaba—in the House of Torak.’

  Zakath’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Isn’t this convenient, Belgarion?’ he said. ‘I happen to get poisoned right after your arrival. Belgarath happens to cure me. Kheldar and Liselle happen to discover the identity of the poisoner, who happens to work for Zandramas, who happens to be at Ashaba, which happens to be in Mallorea—a place which just happens to be where you so desperately want to go. The coincidence staggers the imagination, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Zakath, you’re starting to make me tired,’ Garion said irritably. ‘If I decide that I need a boat to get to Mallorea, I’ll take one. All that’s kept me from doing that so far are the manners Lady Polgara drilled into me when I was a boy.’

  ‘And how do you propose to leave this house?’ Zakath snapped, his temper also starting to rise.

  That did it. The rage that came over Garion was totally irrational. It was the result of a hundred delays and stumbling blocks and petty interruptions that had dogged him for almost a year now. He reached over his shoulder, ripped Iron-grip’s sword from its sheath, and peeled the concealing leather sleeve from its hilt. He held the great blade before him and literally threw his will at the Orb. The sword exploded into blue flame. ‘How do I propose to leave this house?’ he half shouted at the stunned Emperor. ‘I’ll use this for a key. It works sort of like this.’ He straightened his arm, leveling the blazing sword at the door. ‘Burst!’ he commanded.

  Garion’s anger was not only irrational, it was also somewhat excessive. He had intended no more than the door—and possibly a part of the door frame—simply to illustrate to Zakath the intensity of his feeling about the matter. The Orb, however, startled into wakefulness by the sudden jolt of his angry will, had over-reacted. The door, certainly, disappeared, dissolving into splinters that blasted out into the hallway. The doorframe also vanished. What Garion had not intended, however, was what happened to the wall.

  White-faced and shaking, Zakath stumbled back, staring at the hallway outside that had suddenly been revealed and at the rubble that filled it—rubble that had a moment before been the solid, two-foot-thick stone wall of his bedroom.

  ‘My goodness,’ Velvet murmured mildly.

  Knowing that it was silly and melodramatic, but still caught up in that towering, irrational anger, Garion caught the stunned Zakath by the arm with his left hand and gestured with the sword he held in his right. ‘Now, we’re going to go talk with Belgarath,’ he announced. ‘We’ll go through the hallways if you’ll give me your word not to call soldiers every time we go around a corner. Otherwise, we’ll just cut straight through the house. The library’s sort of in that direction, isn’t it?’ he pointed at one of the still-standing walls with his sword.

  ‘Belgarion,’ Velvet chided him gently, ‘now really, that’s no way to behave. Kal Zakath has been a very courteous host. I’m sure that now that he understands the situation, he’ll be more than happy to co-operate, won’t you, your Imperial Majesty?’ She smiled winsomely at the Emperor. ‘We wouldn’t want the Rivan King to get really angry, now would we? There are so many breakable things about—windows, walls, houses, the city of Rak Hagga—that sort of thing.’

  They found Belgarath in the library again. He was reading a small scroll, and there was a large tankard at his elbow.

  ‘Something’s come up,’ Garion said shortly as he entered.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Velvet tells us that she and Silk found out that it was Naradas who poisoned Zakath.’

  ‘Naradas?’ the old man blinked. ‘That’s a surprise, isn’t it?’

  ‘What’s she up to, Grandfather—Zandramas, I mean?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Belgarath looked at Zakath. ‘Who’s likely to succeed you if somebody manages to put you to sleep?’

  Zakath shrugged. ‘There are a few distant cousins scattered about—mostly in the Melcene Islands and Celanta. The line of the succession is a little murky.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s what she has in mind, Belgarath,’ Velvet said seriously. ‘If there’s any truth in that Grolim Prophecy you found in Rak Urga, she’s got to have an Angarak king with her at the time of the final meeting. A tame king would suit her purposes much better than someone like his Majesty here—some third or fourth cousin she could crown and anoint and proclaim king. Then she could have her Grolims keep an eye on him and deliver him to her at the proper time.’

  ‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ he agreed. ‘I think there may be a bit more to it than that, though. Zandramas has never been that straightforward about anything before.’

  ‘I hope you all realize that I haven’t the faintest notion of what you’re talking about,’ Zakath said irritably.

  ‘Just how much does he know?’ Belgarath asked Garion.

  ‘Not very much, Grandfather.’

  ‘All right. Maybe if he does know what’s going on, he won’t be quite so difficult.’ He turned to the Mallorean Emperor. ‘Have you ever heard of the Mrin Codex?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve heard that it was written by a madman—like most of the other so-called prophecies.’

  ‘How about the Child of Light and the Child of Dark?’

  ‘That’s part of the standard gibberish used by religious hysterics.’

  ‘Zakath, you’re going to have to believe in something. This is going to be very difficult for you to grasp if you don’t.’

  ‘Would you settle for a temporary suspension of skepticism?’ the Emperor countered.

  ‘Fair enough, I suppose. All right, now, this gets complicated, so you’re going to have to pay attention, listen carefully, and stop me if there’s anything you don’t understand.’

  The old man then proceeded to sketch in the ancient story of the ‘accident’ that had occurred before the world had begun and the divergence of the two possible courses of the future and of the two consciousnesses which had somehow infused those courses.

  ‘All right,’ Zakath said. ‘That’s fairly standard theology
so far. I’ve had Grolims preaching the same nonsense since I was a boy.’

  Belgarath nodded. ‘I just wanted to start us off from common ground.’ He went on then, telling Zakath of the events spanning the eons between the cracking of the world and the Battle of Vo Mimbre.

  ‘Our point of view is somewhat different,’ Zakath murmured.

  ‘It would be,’ Belgarath agreed. ‘All right, there were five hundred years between Vo Mimbre and the theft of the Orb by Zedar the Apostate.’

  ‘Recovery,’ Zakath corrected. ‘The Orb was stolen from Cthol Mishrak by Iron-grip the thief and by—’ He stopped, and his eyes suddenly widened as he stared at the seedy-looking old man.

  ‘Yes,’ Belgarath said, ‘I really was there, Zakath—and I was there two thousand years before, when Torak originally stole the Orb from my Master.’

  ‘I’ve been sick, Belgarath,’ the Emperor said weakly, sinking into a chair. ‘My nerves aren’t really up to many of these shocks.’

  Belgarath looked at him, puzzled.

  ‘Their Majesties were having a little discussion,’ Velvet explained brightly. ‘King Belgarion gave the Emperor a little demonstration of some of the more flamboyant capabilities of the Sword of the Rivan King. The Emperor was quite impressed. So was most everybody else who happened to be in that part of the house.’

  Belgarath gave Garion a chill look. ‘Playing again?’ he asked.

  Garion tried to reply, but there was nothing he could really say.

  ‘All right, let’s get on with this,’ Belgarath continued briskly. ‘What happened after the emergence of Garion here is all recent history, so I’m sure you’re familiar with it.’

  ‘Garion?’ Zakath asked.

  ‘A more common—and familiar—form. “Belgarion” is a bit ostentatious, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘No more so than “Belgarath”.’

  ‘I’ve worn “Belgarath” for almost seven thousand years, Zakath, and I’ve sort of rubbed off the rough edges and corners. Garion’s only been wearing his “Bel” for a dozen years, and it still squeaks when he turns around too quickly.’

  Garion felt slightly offended by that.

  ‘Anyway,’ the old man continued, ‘after Torak was dead, Garion and Ce’Nedra got married. About a year or so ago, she gave birth to a son. Garion’s attention at that time was on the Bear-cult. Someone had tried to kill Ce’Nedra and had succeeded in killing the Rivan Warder.’