Demon Lord Of Karanda (35 page)

The three remaining Guardsmen began to fall back, trying to give themselves room to use their lances, but they seemed unaware that Garion was returning to the fray—from behind them.

As Chretienne thundered toward the unsuspecting trio, a sudden idea came to Garion. Quickly he turned his lance sideways so that its center rested just in front of his saddle bow and crashed into the backs of the Guardsmen. The springy cedar pole swept all three of them out of their saddles and over the heads of their horses. Before they could stumble to their feet, Sadi, Feldegast, and Durnik were on them, and the fight ended as quickly as it had begun.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody use a lance that way before,’ Silk said gaily to Garion.

‘I just made it up,’ Garion replied with an excited grin.

‘I’m sure that there are at least a half-dozen rules against it.’

‘We probably shouldn’t mention it, then.’

‘I won’t tell anybody if you don’t.’

Durnik was looking around critically. The ground was littered with Guardsmen who were either unconscious or groaning over assorted broken bones. Only the man Toth had poked in the stomach was still in his saddle, though he was doubled over, gasping for breath. Durnik rode up to him. ‘Excuse me,’ he said politely, removed the poor fellow’s helmet, and then rapped him smartly on top of the head with the butt of his axe. The Guarsman’s eyes glazed, and he toppled limply out of the saddle.

Belgarath suddenly doubled over, howling with laughter. ‘
Excuse me
?’ he demanded of the smith.

‘There’s no need to be uncivil to people, Belgarath,’ Durnik replied stiffly.

Polgara came riding sedately down the hill, followed by Ce’Nedra, Velvet, and Eriond. ‘Very nice, gentlemen,’ she complimented them all, looking around at the fallen Guardsmen. Then she rode up to the pole gate. ‘Garion, dear,’ she said pleasantly, reining in her mount, ‘would you mind?’

He laughed, rode Chretienne over to the gate, and kicked it out of her way.

‘Why on earth were you jumping fences in the very middle of the fight?’ she asked him curiously.

‘It wasn’t altogether my idea,’ he replied.

‘Oh,’ she said, looking critically at the big horse. ‘I think I understand.’

Chretienne managed somehow to look slightly ashamed of himself.

They rode on past the border as evening began imperceptibly to darken an already gloomy sky. Feldegast pulled in beside Belgarath. ‘Would yer morals be at all offended if I was t’ suggest shelterin’ fer the night in a snug little smugglers’ cave I know of a few miles or so farther on?’ he asked.

Belgarath grinned and shook his head. ‘Not in the slightest,’ he replied. ‘When I need a cave, I never concern myself about the previous occupants.’ Then he laughed. ‘I shared quarters for a week once with a sleeping bear—nice enough bear, actually, once I got used to his snoring.’

‘’Tis a fascinatin’ story, I’m sure, an’ I’d be delighted t’ hear it—but the night’s comin’ on, an’ ye kin tell me about it over supper. Shall we be off, then?’ The juggler thumped his heels into his mule’s flanks and led them on up the rutted road in the rapidly descending twilight at a jolting gallop.

As they moved into the first of the foothills, they found the poorly maintained road lined on either side by mournful-looking evergreens. The road, however, was empty, though it showed signs of recent heavy traffic—all headed south.

‘How much farther to this cave of yours?’ Belgarath called to the juggler.

‘’Tis not far, Ancient One,’ Feldegast assured him. ‘There be a dry ravine that crosses the road up ahead, an’ we go up that a bit of a ways, an’ there we are.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘Trust me.’

Somewhat surprisingly, Belgarath let that pass.

They pounded on up the road as a sullen dusk settled into the surrounding foothills and deep shadows began to gather about the trunks of the evergreens.

‘Ah, an’ there it is,’ Feldegast said, pointing at the rocky bed of a dried-up stream. ‘The footin’ be treacherous here, so we’d best lead the mounts.’ He swung down from his mule and cautiously began to lead the way up the ravine. It grew steadily darker, the light fading quickly from the overcast sky. As the ravine narrowed and rounded a sharp bend, the juggler rummaged through the canvas pack strapped to the back of his mule. He lifted out the stub of a candle and looked at Durnik. ‘Kin ye be makin’ me a bit of a flame, Goodman?’ he asked. ‘I’d do it meself, but I seem t’ have misplaced me tinder.’

Durnik opened his pouch, took out his flint and steel and his wad of tinder, and, after several tries, blew a lighted spark into a tiny finger of fire. He held it out, shielded between his hands, and Feldegast lit his bit of candle.

‘An’ here we are, now,’ the juggler said grandly, holding up his candle to illuminate the steep banks of the ravine.

‘Where?’ Silk asked, looking about in puzzlement.

‘Well now, Prince Kheldar, it wouldn’t be much of a hidden cave if the openin’ was out in plain sight fer just anybody t’ stumble across, now would it?’ Feldegast went over to the steep side of the ravine to where a huge slab of water-scoured granite leaned against the bank. He lowered his candle, shielding it with his hand, ducked slightly, and disappeared behind it with his mule trailing along behind him.

The interior of the cave was floored with clean white sand, and the walls had been worn smooth by centuries of swirling water. Feldegast stood in the center of the cave holding his candle aloft. There were crude log bunks along the walls, a table and some benches in the center of the cave, and a rough fireplace near the far wall with a fire already laid. Feldegast crossed to the fireplace, bent, and lit the kindling lying under the split logs resting on a rough stone grate with his candle. ‘Well now, that’s better,’ he said, holding his hands out to the crackling flames. ‘Isn’t this a cozy little haven?’

Just beyond the fireplace was an archway, in part natural and in part the work of human hands. The front of the archway was closed off with several horizontal poles. Feldegast pointed at it. ‘There be the stable fer the horses, an’ also a small spring at the back of it. ‘Tis altogether the finest smugglers’ cave in this part of Mallorea.’

‘A cunning sort of place,’ Belgarath agreed, looking around.

‘What do they smuggle through here?’ Silk asked with a certain professional curiosity.

‘Gem stones fer the most part. There be rich deposits in the cliffs of Katakor, an’ quite often whole gravel bars of the shiny little darlin’s lyin’ in the streams t’ be had fer the trouble it takes t’ pick ’em up. The local taxes be notorious cruel, though, so the bold lads in this part of these mountains have come up with various ways t’ take their goods across the border without disturbin’ the sleep of the hardworkin’ tax collectors.’

Polgara was inspecting the fireplace. There were several iron pothooks protruding from its inside walls and a large iron grill sitting on stout legs to one side. ‘Very nice,’ she murmured approvingly. ‘Is there adequate firewood?’

‘More than enough, me dear lady,’ the juggler replied. ‘’Tis stacked in the stable, along with fodder fer the horses.’

‘Well, then,’ she said, removing her blue cloak and laying it across one of the bunks, ‘I think I might be able to expand the menu I’d planned for this evening’s meal. As long as we have such complete facilities here, it seems a shame to waste them. I’ll need more firewood stacked here—and water, of course.’ She went to the pack horse that carried her cooking utensils and her stores, humming softly to herself.

Durnik, Toth, and Eriond led the horses into the stable and began to unsaddle them. Garion, who had left his lance outside, went to one of the bunks, removed his helmet and laid it, along with his shield, under the bunk, and then he began to struggle out of his mail shirt. Ce’Nedra came over to assist him.

‘You were magnificent today, dear,’ she told him warmly.

He grunted noncommittally, leaning forward and extending his arms over his head so that she could pull the shirt off.

She tugged hard, and the mail shirt came free all at once. Thrown off balance by the weight, she sat down heavily on the sandy floor with the shirt in her lap.

Garion laughed and quickly went to her. ‘Oh, Ce’Nedra,’ he said, still laughing, ‘I do love you.’ He kissed her and then helped her to her feet.

‘This is terribly heavy, isn’t it?’ she said, straining to lift the steel-link shirt.

‘You noticed,’ he said, rubbing at one aching shoulder. ‘And here you thought I was just having fun.’

‘Be nice, dear. Do you want me to hang it up for you?’

He shrugged. ‘Just kick it under the bunk.’

Her look was disapproving.

‘I don’t think it’s going to wrinkle, Ce’Nedra.’

‘But it’s untidy to do it that way, dear.’ She made some effort to fold the thing, then gave up, rolled it in a ball, and pushed it far back under the bunk with her foot.

Supper that evening consisted of thick steaks cut from a ham Vella had provided them, a rich soup so thick that it hovered on the very edge of stew, large slabs of bread that had been warmed before the fire, and baked apples with honey and cinnamon.

After they had eaten, Polgara rose and looked around the cave again. ‘The ladies and I are going to need a bit of privacy now,’ she said, ‘and several basins of hot water.’

Belgarath sighed. ‘Again, Pol?’ he said.

‘Yes, father. It’s time to clean up and change clothes—for all of us.’ She pointedly sniffed at the air in the small cave. ‘It’s definitely time,’ she added.

They curtained off a portion of the cave to give Polgara, Ce’Nedra, and Velvet the privacy they required and began heating water over the fire.

Though at first reluctant even to move, Garion had to admit that after he had washed up and changed into clean, dry clothes, he did feel much better. He sat back on one of the bunks beside Ce’Nedra, not even particularly objecting to the damp smell of her hair. He had that comfortable sense of being clean, well fed, and warm after a day spent out of doors in bad weather. He was, in fact, right on the edge of dozing off when there echoed up the narrow ravine outside a vast bellow that seemed to be part animal and part human, a cry so dreadful that it chilled his blood and made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

‘What’s that?’ Ce’Nedra exclaimed in fright.

‘Hush now, girl,’ Feldegast warned softly. He jumped to his feet and quickly secured a piece of canvas across the opening of the fireplace, plunging the cave into near-darkness.

Another soulless bellow echoed up the ravine. The sound seemed filled with a dreadful malevolence.

‘Can we put a name to whatever it is?’ Sadi asked in a quiet voice.

‘It’s nothing I’ve ever heard before,’ Durnik assured him.

‘I think I have,’ Belgarath said bleakly. ‘When I was in Morindland, there was a magician up there who thought it was amusing to turn his demon out at night to hunt. It made a sound like that.’

‘What an unsavory practice,’ the eunuch murmured. ‘What do demons eat?’

‘You really wouldn’t want to know,’ Silk replied. He turned to Belgarath. ‘Would you care to hazard a guess at just how big that thing might be?’

‘It varies. From the amount of noise it’s making, though, I’d say that it’s fairly large.’

‘Then it wouldn’t be able to get into this cave, would it?’

‘That’s a gamble I think I’d rather not take.’

‘It can sniff out our tracks, I assume?’

The old man nodded.

‘Things are definitely going to pieces here, Belgarath. Can you do anything at all to drive it off?’ The little man turned to Polgara. ‘Or perhaps you, Polgara. You dealt with the demon Chabat raised back in the harbor at Rak Urga.’

‘I had help, Silk,’ she reminded him. ‘Aldur came to my aid.’

Belgarath began to pace up and down, scowling at the floor.

‘Well?’ Silk pressed.

‘Don’t rush me,’ the old man growled. ‘I
might
be able to do something,’ he said grudgingly, ‘but if I
do
, it’s going to make so much noise that every Grolim in Katakor is going to hear it—and probably Zandramas as well. We’ll have the Chandim or her Grolims hot on our heels all the way to Ashaba.’

‘Why not use the Orb?’ Eriond suggested, looking up from the bridle he was repairing.

‘Because the Orb makes even more noise than I do. If Garion uses the Orb to chase off a demon, they’re going to hear it in Gandahar all the way on the other side of the continent.’

‘But it
would
work, wouldn’t it?’

Belgarath looked at Polgara.

‘I thank he’s right, father,’ she said. ‘A demon
would
flee from the Orb—even if it were fettered by its master. An unfettered demon would flee even faster.’

‘Can you think of anything else?’ he asked her.

‘A God,’ she shrugged. ‘All demons—no matter how powerful—flee from the Gods. Do you happen to know any Gods?’

‘A few,’ he replied, ‘but they’re busy right now.’

Another shattering bellow resounded through the mountains. It seemed to come from right outside the cave.

‘It’s time for some kind of decision, old man,’ Silk said urgently.

‘It’s the noise the Orb makes that bothers you?’ Eriond asked.

‘That and the light. That blue beacon that lights up every time Garion draws the sword attracts a lot of attention, you know.’

‘You aren’t all suggesting that I fight a demon, are you?’ Garion demanded indignantly.

‘Of course not,’ Belgarath snorted. ‘Nobody fights a demon—nobody
can
. All we’re discussing is the possibility of driving it off.’ He began to pace up and down again, scuffing his feet in the sand. ‘I hate to announce our presence here,’ he muttered.

Outside, the demon bellowed again, and the huge granite slab partially covering the cave-mouth began to grate back and forth as if some huge force were rocking it to try to move it aside.