Hanging on the bare wall across from the bed were some drapes; and thinking that they might conceal some closet or adjoining chamber, Garion crossed the room and pulled them aside. There was an opening behind the drapes, though it did not lead into another room but instead into a dark, narrow hall. He peered into the passageway, but the darkness was so total that he could only see a short distance into it. He shuddered at the thought of groping through that blackness with armed men pounding along at his heels.
He glanced up at the single window and then dragged the heavy chest across the room to stand on so that he could see out. Perhaps he might be able to see something from the window that would give him some idea of his location. He climbed up on the chest, stood on his tiptoes and looked out.
Towers loomed here and there amid the long slate roofs of the endless galleries and halls of King Anheg’s palace. It was hopeless. He saw nothing that he could recognize. He turned back toward the chamber and was about to jump down from the chest when he stopped suddenly. There, clearly in the dust which lay heavily on the floor, were his foot punts. He hopped quickly down and grabbed up the bolster from the long unused bed. He spread it out on the floor and dragged it around the room, erasing the footprints. He knew that he could not completely conceal the fact that someone had been in the room, but he could obliterate the footprints which, because of their size, would immediately make it obvious to Asharak or any of his men that whoever had been i hiding here was not yet full-grown. When he finished, he tossed the bolster back on the bed. The job wasn’t perfect, but at least it was better than it had been.
Then there was a shout in the corridor outside and the ring of steel on steel.
Garion took a deep breath and plunged into the dark passageway behind the drapes.
He had gone no more than a few feet when the darkness in the narrow passage become absolute. His skin crawled at the touch of cobwebs on his face, and the dust of years rose chokingly from the uneven floor. At first he moved quite rapidly, wanting more than anything to put as much distance between himself and the fighting in the corridor as possible, but then he stumbled, and for one heart-stopping instant it seemed that he would fall. The picture of a steep stairway dropping down into the blackness flashed through his mind, and he realized that at his present pace there would be no possible way to catch himself. He began to move more cautiously, one hand on the stones of the wall and the other in front of his face to ward off the cobwebs which hung thickly from the low ceiling.
There was no sense of time in the dark, and it seemed to Garion that he had been groping for hours in this dark hallway that appeared to go on forever. Then, despite his care, he ran full into a rough stone wall. He felt a moment of panic. Did the passageway end here? Was it a trap?
Then, flickering at one corner of his vision, he saw dim light. The passageway did not end, but rather made a sharp turn to the right. There seemed to be a light at the far end, and Garion gratefully followed it.
As the light grew stronger, he moved more rapidly, and soon he reached the spot that was the source of the light. It was a narrow slot low in the wall. Garion knelt on the dusty stones and peered out.
The hall below was enormous, and a great fire burned in a pit in the center with the smoke rising to the openings in the vaulted roof which lofted even above the place where Garion was. Though it looked much different from up here, he immediately recognized King Anheg’s throne room. As he looked down, he saw the gross shape of King Rhodar and the smaller form of King Cho-Hag with the ever-present Hettar standing behind him. Some distance from the thrones, King Fulrach stood in conversation with Mister Wolf, and nearby was Aunt Pol. Barak’s wife was talking with Queen Islena, and Queen Porenn and Queen Silar stood not far from them. Silk paced the floor nervously, glancing now and then at the heavily guarded doors. Garion felt a surge of relief. He was safe.
He was about to call down to them when the great door banged open, and King Anheg, mail-shined and with his sword in his hand, strode into the hall, closely followed by Barak and the Rivan Warder, holding between them the struggling form of the flaxen-haired man Garion had seen in the forest on the day of the boar hunt.
"This treason will cost you dearly, Jarvik," Anheg said grimly over his shoulder as he strode toward his throne.
"Is it over, then?" Aunt Pol asked.
"Soon, Polgara," Anheg said. "My men are chasing the last of Jarvik’s brigands in the furthest reaches of the palace. If we hadn’t been warned, it might have gone quite differently, though."
Garion, his shout still hovering just behind his lips, decided at the last instant to stay silent for a few more moments.
King Anheg sheathed his sword and took his place on his throne.
"We’ll talk for a bit, Jarvik," he said, "before what must be done is done."
The flaxen-haired man gave up his hopeless struggle against Barak and the almost equally powerful Brand. "I don’t have anything to say, Anheg," he said defiantly. "If the luck had gone differently, I’d be sitting on your throne right now. I took my chance, and that’s the end of it.
"Not quite," Anheg said. "I want the details. You might as well tell me. One way or another, you’re going to talk."
"Do your worst," Jarvik sneered. "I’ll bite out my own tongue before I tell you anything."
"We’ll see about that," Anheg said grimly.
"That won’t be necessary, Anheg," Aunt Pol said, walking slowly toward the captive. "There’s an easier way to persuade him."
"I’m not going to say anything," Jarvik told her. "I’m a warrior and I’m not afraid of you, witch-woman."
"You’re a greater fool than I thought, Lord Jarvik," Mister Wolf said. "Would you rather I did it, Pol?"
"I can manage, Father," she said, not taking her eyes off Jarvik.
"Carefully," the old man cautioned. "Sometimes you go to extremes. Just a little touch is enough."
"I know what I’m doing, Old Wolf," she said tartly. She stared full into the captive’s eyes.
Garion, still hidden, held his breath.
The Earl of Jarvik began to sweat and tried desperately to pull his eyes away from Aunt Pol’s gaze, but it was hopeless. Her will commanded him, locking his eyes. He trembled, and his face grew pale. She made no move, no gesture, but merely stood before him, her eyes burning into his brain.
And then, after a moment, he screamed. Then he screamed again and collapsed, his weight sagging down in the hands of the two men who held him.
"Take it away," he whimpered, shuddering uncontrollably. "I’ll talk, but please take it away."
Silk, now lounging near Anheg’s throne, looked at Hettar. "I wonder what he saw," he said.
"I think it might be better not to know," Hettar replied.
Queen Islena had watched intently as if hoping to gain some hint of how the trick was done. She winced visibly when Jarvik screamed, pulling her eyes away.
"All right, Jarvik," Anheg said, his tone strangely subdued. "Begin at the beginning. I want it all."
"It was a little thing at first," Jarvik said in a shaking voice. "There didn’t seem to be any harm in it."
"There never does," Brand said.
The Earl of Jarvik drew in a deep breath, glanced once at Aunt Pol and shuddered again. Then he straightened. "It started about two years ago," he said. "I’d sailed to Kotu in Drasnia, and I met a Nadrak merchant named Grashor there. He seemed to be a good enough fellow and after we’d gotten to know each other he asked me if I’d be interested in a profitable venture. I told him that I was an earl and not a common tradesman, but he persisted. He said he was nervous about the pirates who live on the islands in the Gulf of Cherek and an earl’s ship manned by armed warriors was not likely to be attacked. His cargo was a single chest—not very large. I think it was some jewels he’d managed to smuggle past the customs houses in Boktor, and he wanted them delivered to Darine in Sendaria. I said that I wasn’t really interested, but then he opened his purse and poured out gold. The gold was bright red, I remember, and I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off it. I did need money—who doesn’t after all?—and I really couldn’t see any dishonor in doing what he asked.