Magician's Gambit Part 27

"You couldn't afford me, Yarblek," she told him without seeming to take the slightest offense.

Yarblek stared at her and then roared with laughter. "By One-Eye's nose, I'd bet that I couldn't, at that - and you've probably got a dagger somewhere under your clothes, too. You'd slice open my belly if I tried to steal you, wouldn't you?"

"Naturally."

"What a woman!" Yarblek chortled. "Can you dance, too?"

"Like you've never seen before, Yarblek," she replied. "I could turn your bony to water."

Yarblek's eyes burned. "After we all get drunk, maybe you'll dance for us."

"We'll see," she said with a hint of promise. Garion was stunned at this uncharacteristic boldness. It was obviously the way Yarblek expected a woman to behave, but Garion wondered just when Aunt Pol had learned the customs of the Nadraks so well that she could respond without the slightest hint of embarra.s.sment.

"This is Mister Wolf," Silk said, indicating Belgarath.

"Never mind names." Yarblek waved his hand. "I'd just forget them anyway." He did, however, look rather shrewdly at each of them. "As a matter of fact," he continued, sounding suddenly not nearly as drunk as he appeared, "it might be just as well if I didn't know your names. What a man doesn't know, he can't reveal, and you're too well-mixed a group to be in stinking Cthol Murgos on honest business. Fetch yourselves cups. This keg is almost full, and I've got another chilling out back of the tent."

At Silk's gesture, they each took a cup from the heap of cookware piled beside a well-worn saddle and joined Yarblek on the carpet near the keg.

"I'd pour for you like a proper host," Yarblek told them, "but I spill too much that way. Dip out your own."

Yarblek's ale was a very dark brown and had a rich, almost fruity flavor.

"Interesting taste," Barak said politely.

"My brewer chops dried apples into his vats," the Nadrak replied. "It smooths out some of the bite." He turned to Silk. "I thought you didn't like Murgos."

"I don't."

"What are you doing in Cthol Murgos, then?"

Silk shrugged. "Business."

"Whose? Yours or Rhodar's?"

Silk winked at him.

"I thought as much. I wish you luck, then. I'd even offer to help, but I'd probably better keep my nose out of it. Murgos distrust us even more than they distrust you Alorns - not that I can really blame them. Any Nadrak worth the name would go ten leagues out of his way for the chance to cut a Murgo's throat."

"Your affection for your cousins touches my heart." Silk grinned.

Yarblek scowled. "Cousins!" he spat. "If it weren't for the Grolims, we'd have exterminated the whole cold-blooded race generations ago." He dipped out another cup of ale, lifted it and said, "Confusion to the Murgos."

"I think we've found something we can drink to together," Barak said with a broad smile. "Confusion to the Murgos."

"And may Taur Urgas grow boils on his behind," Yarblek added. He drank deeply, scooped another cupful of ale from the open keg and drank again. "I'm a little drunk," he admitted.

"We'd never have guessed," Aunt Pol told him.

"I like you, girl." Yarblek grinned at her. "I wish I could afford to buy you. I don't suppose you'd consider running away?"

She sighed a mocking little sigh. "No," she refused. "I'm afraid not. That gives a woman a bad reputation, you know."

"Very true," Yarblek agreed owlishly. He shook his head sadly. "As I was saying," he went on, "I'm a little drunk. I probably shouldn't say anything about this, but it's not a good time for westerners to be in Cthol Murgos - Alorns particularly. I've been hearing some strange things lately. Word's been filtering out of Rak Cthol that Murgoland is to be purged of outsiders. Taur Urgas wears the crown and plays king in Rak Goska, but the old Grolim at Rak Cthol has his hand around Taur Urgas' heart. The king of the Murgos knows that one squeeze from Ctuchik will leave his throne empty."

"We met a Tolnedran a few leagues west of here who said the same sort of thing," Silk said seriously. "He told us that merchants from the West were being arrested all over Rak Goska on false charges."

Yarblek nodded. "That's only the first step. Murgos are always predictable - they have so little imagination. Taur Urgas isn't quite ready to offend Ran Borune openly by butchering every western merchant in the kingdom, but it's getting closer. Rak Goska's probably a closed city by now. Taur Urgas is free to turn his attention to the outlands. I'd imagine that's why he's coming here."

"He's what?" Silk's face paled visibly.

"I thought you knew," Yarblek told him. "Taur Urgas is marching toward the frontier with his army behind him. My guess is that he plans to close the border."

"How far away is he?" Silk demanded.

"I was told that he was seen this morning not five leagues from here," Yarblek said. "What's wrong?"

"Taur Urgas and I have had some serious fallings out," Silk answered quickly, his face filled with consternation. "I can't be here when he arrives." He jumped to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Belgarath asked quickly.

"Some place safe. I'll catch up with you later." He turned then and bolted out of the tent. A moment later they heard the pounding of his horse's hooves.

"Do you want me to go with him?" Barak asked Belgarath.

"You'd never catch him."

"I wonder what he did to Taur Urgas," Yarblek mused. He chuckled then. "It must have been something pretty awful, the way the little thief ran out of here."

"Is it safe for him to go away from the caravan track?" Garion asked, remembering the vultures at their grisly feast beside the trail.

"Don't worry about Silk," Yarblek replied confidently.

From a great distance away, a slow thudding sound began to intrude itself. Yarblek's eyes narrowed with hate. "It looks like Silk left just in time," he growled.

The thudding became louder and turned into a hollow, booming sound. Dimly, behind the booming, they could hear a kind of groaning chant of hundreds of voices in a deep, minor key.

"What's that?" Durnik asked.

"Taur Urgas," Yarblek answered and spat. "That's the war song of the king of the Murgos."

"War?" Mandorallen demanded sharply.

"Taur Urgas is always at war," Yarblek replied with heavy contempt.

"Even when there isn't anybody to be at war with. He sleeps in his armor, even in his own palace. It makes him smelly, but all Murgos stink anyway, so it doesn't really make any difference. Maybe I'd better go see what he's up to." He got heavily to his feet. "Wait here," he told them. "This is a Nadrak tent, and there are certain courtesies expected between Angaraks. His soldiers won't come in here, so you'll be safe as long as you stay inside." He lurched toward the door of the tent, an expression of icy hatred on his face.

The chanting and the measured drumbeats grew louder. Shrill fifes picked up a discordant, almost jigging accompaniment, and then there was a sudden blaring of deep-throated horns.

"What do you think, Belgarath?" Barak rumbled. "This Yarblek seems like a good enough fellow, but he's still an Angarak. One word from him, and we'll have a hundred Murgos in here with us."

"He's right, father," Aunt Pol agreed. "I know Nadraks well enough to know that Yarblek wasn't nearly as drunk as he pretended to be."

Belgarath pursed his lips. "Maybe it isn't too good an idea to gamble all that much on the fact that Nadraks despise Murgos," he conceded. "We might be doing Yarblek an injustice, but perhaps it would be better just to slip away before Taur Urgas has time to put guards around the whole place anyway. There's no way of knowing how long he's going to stay here; and once he settles in, we might have trouble leaving."

Durnik pulled aside the red carpeting that hung along the back wall, reached down, and tugged out several tent pegs. He lifted the canvas. "I think we can crawl out here."

"Let's go, then," Belgarath decided.

One by one, they rolled out of the tent into the chill wind.

"Get the horses," Belgarath said quietly. He looked around, his eyes narrowing. "That gully over there." He pointed at a wash opening out just beyond the last row of tents. "If we keep the tents between us and the main caravan track, we should be able to get into it without being seen. Most likely everybody here's going to be watching the arrival of Taur Urgas."

"Would the Murgo king know thee, Belgarath?" Mandorallen asked.

"He might. We've never met, but my description's been noised about in Cthol Murgos for a long time now. It's best not to take any chances."

They led their horses along the back of the tents and gained the cover of the gully without incident.

"This wash comes down off the back side of that hill there." Barak pointed. "If we follow it, we'll be out of sight all the way, and once we get the hill between us and the camp, we'll be able to ride away without being seen."

"It's almost evening." Belgarath looked up at the lowering sky. "Let's go up a ways and then wait until after dark."

They moved on up the gully until they were behind the shoulder of the hill.

"Better keep an eye on things," Belgarath said.

Barak and Garion scrambled up out of the gully and moved at a crouch to the top of the hill, where they lay down behind a scrubby bush. "Here they come," Barak muttered.

A steady stream of grim-faced Murgo soldiers marched eight abreast into the makeshift fair to the cadenced beat of great drums. In their midst, astride a black horse and under a flapping black banner, rode Taur Urgas. He was a tall man with heavy, sloping shoulders and an angular, merciless face. The thick links of his mail shirt had been dipped in molten red gold, making it almost appear as if he were covered with blood. A thick metal belt encircled his waist, and the scabbard of the sword he wore on his left hip was jewel-encrusted. A pointed steel helmet sat low over his black eyebrows, and the blood-red crown of Cthol Murgos was riveted to it. A kind of chain-mail hood covered the back and sides of the king's neck and spread out over his shoulders.

When he reached the open area directly in front of the square stone supply post, Taur Urgas reined in his horse. "Wine!" he commanded. His voice, carried by the icy wind, seemed startlingly close. Garion squirmed a bit lower under the bush.

The Murgo who ran the supply post scurried inside and came back out, carrying a flagon and a metal goblet. Taur Urgas took the goblet, drank, and then slowly closed his big fist around it, crushing it in his grip. Barak snorted with contempt.

"What was that about?" Garion whispered.

"n.o.body drinks from a cup once Taur Urgas has used it," the redbearded Cherek replied. "If Anheg behaved like that, his warriors would dunk him in the bay at Val Alorn."

"Have you the names of all foreigners here?" the king demanded of the Murgo storekeeper, his wind-carried voice distinct in Garion's ears. "As you commanded, dread king," the storekeeper replied with an obsequious bow. He drew a roll of parchment out of one sleeve and handed it up to his ruler.

Taur Urgas unrolled the parchment and glanced at it. "Summon the Nadrak, Yarblek," he ordered.

"Let Yarblek of Gar og Nadrak approach," an officer at the king's side bellowed.

Yarblek, his felt overcoat flapping stiffly in the wind, stepped forward. "Our cousin from the north," Taur Urgas greeted him coldly.

"Your Majesty," Yarblek replied with a slight bow.

"It would be well if you departed, Yarblek," the king told him. "My soldiers have certain orders, and some of them might fail to recognize a fellow Angarak in their eagerness to obey my commands. I cannot guarantee your safety if you remain, and I would be melancholy if something unpleasant befell you."

Yarblek bowed again. "My servants and I will leave at once, your Majesty."

"If they are Nadraks, they have our permission to go," the king said. "All foreigners, however, must remain. You're dismissed, Yarblek."

"I think we got out of that tent just in time," Barak muttered. Then a man in a rusty mail shirt covered with a greasy brown vest stepped out of the supply post. He was unshaven, and the white of one of his eyes gleamed unwholesomely.

"Brill!" Garion exclaimed. Barak's eyes went flat.

Brill bowed to Taur Urgas with an unexpected grace. "Hail, Mighty King," he said. His tone was neutral, carrying neither respect nor fear.

"What are you doing here, Kordoch?" Taur Urgas demanded coldly.

"I'm on my master's business, dread king," Brill replied.

"What business would Ctuchik have in a place like this?"

"Something personal, Great King," Brill answered evasively.

"I like to keep track of you and the other Dagashi, Kordoch. When did you come back to Cthol Murgos?"

"A few months ago, Mighty Arm of Torak. If I'd known you were interested, I'd have sent word to you. The people my master wants me to deal with know I'm following them, so my movements aren't secret."

Taur Urgas laughed shortly, a sound without any warmth. "You must be getting old, Kordoch. Most Dagashi would have finished the business by now."

"These are rather special people." Brill shrugged. "It shouldn't take me much longer, however. The game is nearly over. Incidentally, Great King, I have a gift for you." He snapped his fingers sharply, and two of his henchmen came out of the building, dragging a third man between them. There was blood on the front of the captive's tunic, and his head hung down as if he were only semiconscious. Barak's breath hissed between his teeth.

"I thought you might like a bit of sport," Brill suggested.

"I'm the king of Cthol Murgos, Kordoch," Taur Urgas replied coldly. "I'm not amused by your att.i.tude and I'm not in the habit of doing ch.o.r.es for the Dagashi. If you want him dead, kill him yourself."

"This would hardly be a ch.o.r.e, your Majesty," Brill said with an evil grin. "The man's an old friend of yours." He reached out, roughly grasped the prisoner's hair, and jerked his head up for the king to see.

It was Silk. His face was pale, and a deep cut on one side of his forehead trickled blood down the side of his face.

"Behold the Drasnian spy Kheldar." Brill smirked. "I make a gift of him to your Majesty."

Taur Urgas began to smile then, his eyes lighting with a dreadful pleasure. "Splendid," he said. "You have the grat.i.tude of your king, Kordoch. Your gift is beyond price." His smile grew broader. "Greetings, Prince Kheldar," he said, almost purring. "I've been waiting for the chance to see you again for a long time now. We have many old scores to settle, don't we?"

Silk seemed to stare back at the Murgo king, but Garion could not be sure if he were conscious enough even to comprehend what was happening to him.

"Abide here a bit, Prince of Drasnia," Taur Urgas gloated. "I'll want to give some special thought to your final entertainment, and I'll want to be sure you're fully awake to appreciate it. You deserve something exquisite, I think - probably lingering - and I certainly wouldn't want to disappoint you by rushing into it."

Chapter Twenty-two.