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.
“Nobody drinks from a cup once Taur Urgas has used it,” the red-bearded 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 attitude and I’m not in the habit of doing chores for the Dagashi. If you want him dead, kill him yourself.”
“This would hardly be a chore, 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 gratitude 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.”
22
Barak and Garion slid back down into the gully with the gravel rattling down the steep bank around them.
“They’ve got Silk,” Barak reported quietly. “Brill’s there. It looks as if he and his men caught Silk while he was trying to leave. They turned him over to Taur Urgas,”
Belgarath stood up slowly, a sick look on his face. “Is he—” He broke off.
“No,” Barak answered. “He’s still alive. It looks as if they roughed him up a little, but he seemed to be all right.”
Belgarath let out a long, slow breath. “That’s something, anyway.”
“Taur Urgas seemed to know him,” Barak continued. “It sounded as if Silk had done something that offended the king pretty seriously, and Taur Urgas looks like the kind of man who holds grudges.”
“Are they holding him someplace where we can get to him?” Durnik asked.
“We couldn’t tell,” Garion answered. “They all talked for a while, and then several soldiers took him around behind that building down there. We couldn’t see where they took him from there.”
“The Murgo who runs the place said something about a pit,” Barak added.
“We have to do something, father,” Aunt Pol said.
“I know, Pol. We’ll come up with something.” He turned to Barak again. “Haw many soldiers did Taur Urgas bring with him?”
“A couple of regiments at least. They’re all over the place down there.”
“We can translocate him, father,” Aunt Pol suggested.
“That’s a long way to lift something, Pol,” he objected. “Besides, we’d have to know exactly where he’s being held.”
“I’ll find that out.” She reached up to unfasten her cloak.
“Better wait until after dark,” he told her. “There aren’t many owls in Cthol Murgos, and you’d attract attention in the daylight. Did Taur Urgas have any Grolims with him?” he asked Garion.
“I think I saw a couple.”
“That’s going to complicate things. Translocation makes an awful noise. We’ll have Taur Urgas right on our heels when we leave.”
“Do you have any other ideas, father?” Aunt Pol asked.
“Let me work on it,” he replied. “At any rate, we can’t do anything until it gets dark.”
A low whistle came from some distance down the gully.
“Who’s that?” Barak’s hand went to his sword.
“Ho, Alorns.” It was a hoarse whisper.
“Methinks it is the Nadrak Yarblek,” Mandorallen said.
“How did he know we’re here?” Barak demanded.
There was the crunching sound of footsteps, in the gravel, and Yarblek came around a bend in the gully. His fur cap was low over his face, and the collar of his felt overcoat was pulled up around his ears. “There you are,” he said, sounding relieved.