Demon Lord Of Karanda (48 page)

‘Ye have tasted ice,’ Belgarath told them. ‘Now taste fire! Your worship of the false Demon Lord hath offended the King of Hell, and now will ye roast in perpetual flames!’ He made another sweeping gesture with his staff, and a deep red glow appeared in the center of the seething white shape that even now approached the shore of the lake. The sooty red glow grew more and more rapidly, expanding until it filled the encasing white entirely. Then the wraithlike figure of flame and swirling ice raised its hundred-foot-long arms and roared with a deafening sound. The ice seemed to shatter, and the wraith stood as a creature of fire. Flames shot from its mouth and nostrils, and steam rose from the surface of the lake as it moved across the last few yards of water before reaching the shore.

It reached down one enormous hand, placing it atop the altar, palm turned up. Belgarath calmly stepped up onto that burning hand, and the illusion raised him high into the air.

‘Infidels!’ he roared at them in an enormous voice. ‘Prepare ye all to suffer the wrath of the King of Hell for your foul apostasy!’

There was a dreadful moan from the Karands, followed by terrified screams as the fire-wraith reached out toward the crowd with its other huge, burning hand. Then, as one man, they turned and fled, shrieking in terror.

Somehow, perhaps because Belgarath was concentrating so much of his attention on the vast form he had created and was struggling to maintain, the Grolim broke free and jumped down off the platform.

Garion, however, was waiting for him. He reached out and stopped the fleeing man with one hand placed flat against his chest, even as he swept the other back and then around in a wide swing that ended with a jolting impact against the side of the tattooed man’s head.

The Grolim collapsed in a heap. For some reason, Garion found that very satisfying.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

‘Which boat did you want to steal?’ Silk asked as Garion dropped the unconscious Grolim on the floating dock that stuck out into the lake.

‘Why ask me?’ Garion replied, feeling just a bit uncomfortable with Silk’s choice of words.

‘Because you and Durnik are the ones who are going to have to sail it. I don’t know the first thing about getting a boat to move through the water without tipping over.’

‘Capsizing,’ Garion corrected absently, looking at the various craft moored to the dock.

‘What?’

‘The word is “capsize,” Silk. You tip over a wagon. You capsize a boat.’

‘It means the same thing, doesn’t it?’

‘Approximately, yes.’

‘Why make an issue of it, then? How about this one?’ The little man pointed at a broad-beamed vessel with a pair of eyes painted on the bow.

‘Not enough freeboard,’ Garion told him. ‘The horses are heavy, so any boat we take is going to settle quite a bit.’

Silk shrugged. ‘You’re the expert. You’re starting to sound as professional as Barak or Greldik.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘You know, Garion, I’ve never stolen anything as big as a boat before. It’s really very challenging.’

‘I wish you’d stop using the word “steal.” Couldn’t we just say that we’re borrowing a boat?’

‘Did you plan to sail it back and return it when we’re finished with it?’

‘No. Not really.’

‘Then the proper word is “steal.” You’re the expert on ships and sailing; I’m the expert on theft.’

They walked farther out on the dock.

‘Let’s go on board this one and have a look around,’ Garion said, pointing at an ungainly-looking scow painted an unwholesome green color.

‘It looks like a washtub.’

‘I’m not planning to win any races with it.’ Garion leaped aboard the scow. ‘It’s big enough for the horses and the sides are high enough to keep the weight from swamping it.’ He inspected the spars and rigging. ‘A little crude,’ he noted, ‘but Durnik and I should be able to manage.’

‘Check the bottom for leaks,’ Silk suggested. ‘Nobody would paint a boat that color if it didn’t leak.’

Garion went below and checked the hold and the bilges. When he came back up on deck, he had already made up his mind. ‘I think we’ll borrow this one,’ he said, jumping back to the pier.

‘The term is still “steal,” Garion.’

Garion sighed. ‘All right, steal—if it makes you happy.’

‘Just trying to be precise, that’s all.’

‘Let’s go get that Grolim and drag him up here,’ Garion suggested. ‘We’ll throw him in the boat and tie him up. I don’t
think
he’ll wake up for a while, but there’s no point in taking chances.’

‘How hard did you hit him?’

‘Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me.’ They started back to where the Grolim lay.

‘You’re getting to be more like Belgarath every day,’ Silk told him. ‘You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage.’

Garion shrugged and rolled the tattooed Grolim over with his foot. He took hold of one of the unconscious man’s ankles. ‘Get his other leg,’ he said.

The two of them walked back toward the scow with the Grolim dragging limply along behind them, his shaved head bouncing up and down on the logs of the dock. When they reached the scow, Garion took the man’s arms while Silk took his ankles. They swung him back and forth a few times, then lobbed him across the rail like a sack of grain. Garion jumped across again and bound him hand and foot.

‘Here comes Belgarath with the others,’ Silk said from the dock.

‘Good. Here—catch the other end of this gangplank.’ Garion swung the ungainly thing around and pushed it out toward the waiting little Drasnian. Silk caught hold of it, pulled it out farther, and set the end down on the dock.

‘Did you find anything?’ he asked the others as they approached.

‘We did quite well, actually,’ Durnik replied. ‘One of those buildings is a storehouse. It was crammed to the rafters with food.’

‘Good. I wasn’t looking forward to making the rest of this trip on short rations.’

Belgarath was looking at the scow. ‘It isn’t much of a boat, Garion,’ he objected. ‘If you were going to steal one, why didn’t you steal something a little fancier?’

‘You see?’ Silk said to Garion. ‘I told you that it was the right word.’

‘I’m not stealing it for its looks, Grandfather,’ Garion said. ‘I don’t plan to keep it. It’s big enough to hold the horses, and the sails are simple enough so that Durnik and I can manage them. If you don’t like it, go steal one of your own.’

‘Grumpy today, aren’t we?’ the old man said mildly. ‘What did you do with my Grolim?’

‘He’s lying up here in the scuppers.’

‘Is he awake yet?’

‘Not for some time, I don’t think. I hit him fairly hard. Are you coming on board, or would you rather go steal a different boat?’

‘Be polite, dear,’ Polgara chided.

‘No, Garion,’ Belgarath said. ‘If you’ve got your heart set on this one, then we’ll take this one.’

It took awhile to get the horses aboard, and then they all fell to the task of raising the boat’s square-rigged sails. When they were raised and set to Garion’s satisfaction, he took hold of the tiller. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Cast off the lines.’

‘You sound like a real sailor, dear,’ Ce’Nedra said in admiration.

‘I’m glad you approve.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘Toth, would you take that boat hook and push us out from the pier, please? I don’t want to have to crash through all these other boats to get to open water.’

The giant nodded, picked up the long boat hook, and shoved against the dock with it. The bow swung slowly out from the dock with the sails flapping in the fitful breeze.

‘Isn’t the word “ship,” Garion?’ Ce’Nedra asked.

‘What?’

‘You called them boats. Aren’t they called ships?’

He gave her a long, steady look.

‘I was only asking,’ she said defensively.

‘Don’t. Please.’

‘What did you hit this man with, Garion?’ Belgarath asked peevishly. He was kneeling beside the Grolim.

‘My fist,’ Garion replied.

‘Next time, use an axe or a club. You almost killed him.’

‘Would anyone else like to register any complaints?’ Garion asked in a loud voice. ‘Let’s pile them all up in a heap right now.’

They all stared at him, looking a bit shocked.

He gave up. ‘Just forget that I said it.’ He squinted up at the sails, trying to swing the bow to the exact angle which would allow the sails to catch the offshore breeze. Then, quite suddenly, they bellied out and boomed, and the scow began to pick up speed, plowing out past the end of the pier and into open water.

‘Pol,’ Belgarath said. ‘Why don’t you come over here and see what you can do with this man? I can’t get a twitch out of him, and I want to question him.’

‘All right, father.’ She went to the Grolim, knelt beside him, and put her hands on his temples. She concentrated for a moment, and Garion felt the surge of her will.

The Grolim groaned.

‘Sadi,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘do you have any nephara in that case of yours?’

The eunuch nodded. ‘I was just going to suggest it myself, Lady Polgara.’ He knelt and opened his red case.

Belgarath looked at his daughter quizzically.

‘It’s a drug, father,’ she explained. ‘It induces truthfulness.’

‘Why not do it the regular way?’ he asked.

‘The man’s a Grolim. His mind is likely to be very strong. I could probably overcome him, but it would take time—and it would be very tiring. Nephara works just as well and it doesn’t take any effort.’

He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, Pol.’

Sadi had taken a vial of a thick green liquid from his case. He unstoppered it and then took hold of the Grolim’s nose, holding it until the half-conscious man was forced to open his mouth in order to breathe. Then the eunuch delicately tilted three drops of the green syrup onto the man’s tongue. ‘I’d suggest giving him a few moments before you wake him, Lady Polgara,’ he said, squinting clinically at the Grolim’s face. ‘Give the drug time to take effect first.’ He restoppered the vial and put it back in his case.

‘Will the drug hurt him in any way?’ Durnik asked.

Sadi shook his head. ‘It simply relaxes the will,’ he replied. ‘He’ll be rational and coherent, but very tractable.’

‘He
also
won’t be able to focus his mind sufficiently to use any talent he may have,’ Polgara added. ‘We won’t have to worry about his translocating himself away from us the moment he wakes up.’ She critically watched the Grolim’s face, occasionally lifting one of his eyelids to note the drug’s progress. ‘I think it’s taken hold now,’ she said finally. She untied the prisoner’s hands and feet. Then she put her hands on the man’s temples and gently brought him back to consciousness. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked him.

‘My head hurts,’ the Grolim said plaintively.

‘That will pass,’ she assured him. She rose and looked at Belgarath. ‘Speak to him calmly, father,’ she said, ‘and start out with simple questions. With nephara it’s best to lead them rather gently up to the important things.’

Belgarath nodded. He picked up a wooden pail, inverted it, put it on the deck beside the Grolim, and sat on it. ‘Good morning, friend,’ he said pleasantly, ‘or is it afternoon?’ He squinted up at the sky.

‘You’re not really a Karand, are you?’ the Grolim asked. His voice sounded dreamy. ‘I thought you were one of their wizards, but now that I look at you more closely, I can see that you’re not.’

‘You’re very astute, friend,’ Belgarath congratulated him. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Arshag,’ the Grolim replied.

‘And where are you from?’

‘I am of the Temple at Calida.’

‘I thought you might be. Do you happen to know a Chandim named Harakan, by any chance?’

‘He now prefers to be known as Lord Mengha.’

‘Ah, yes, I’d heard about that. That illusion of Nahaz you raised this morning was very accurate. You must have seen him several times in order to get everything right.’

‘I have frequently been in close contact with Nahaz,’ the Grolim admitted. ‘It was I who delivered him to Lord Mengha.’

‘Why don’t you tell me about that? I’m sure it’s a fascinating story and I’d really like to hear it. Take your time, Arshag. Tell me the whole story, and don’t leave out any of the details.’

The Grolim smiled almost happily. ‘I’ve been wanting to tell someone the story for a long time now,’ he said. ‘Do you really want to hear it?’

‘I’m absolutely dying to hear it,’ Belgarath assured him.

The Grolim smiled again. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘it all started quite a number of years ago—not too long after the death of Torak. I was serving in the Temple at Calida. Though we were all in deepest despair, we tried to keep the faith alive. Then one day Harakan came to our temple and sought me out privately. I had journeyed at times to Mal Yaska on Church business and I knew Harakan to be of high rank among the Chandim and very close to the Holy Disciple Urvon. When we were alone, he told me that Urvon had consulted the Oracles and the Prophecies concerning the direction the Church must take in her blackest hour. The Disciple had discovered that a new God was destined to rise over Angarak, and that he will hold Cthrag Sardius in his right hand and Cthrag Yaska in his left. And he will be the almighty Child of Dark, and the Lord of Demons shall do his bidding.’

‘That’s a direct quotation, I take it?’

Arshag nodded. ‘From the eighth antistrophe of the Ashabine Oracles,’ he confirmed.

‘It’s a little obscure, but prophecies usually are. Go on.’

Arshag shifted his position and continued. ‘The Disciple Urvon interpreted the passage to mean that our new God would have the aid of the demons in quelling his enemies.’

‘Did Harakan identify these enemies for you?’

Arshag nodded again. ‘He mentioned Zandramas—of whom I have heard—and one named Agachak, whose name is strange to me. He also warned me that the Child of Light would probably attempt to interfere.’