‘That’s quite all right, Sadi,’ Belgarath replied. ‘I may have said it before, but you’re a very versatile fellow.’
‘Merely a student of pharmacology, Belgarath. I’ve found that there are chemicals suitable for almost every situation.’
‘Won’t the Hound report back to its pack that we’re here?’ Durnik asked, looking around worriedly.
‘Not for several days.’ Sadi chuckled, brushing off his hands, holding them as far away from his face as possible.
They rode slowly up the weed-grown track along the bottom of the ravine where mournful, blackened trees spread their branches, filling the deep cut with a pervading gloom. Off in the distance they could hear the baying of Torak’s Hounds as they coursed through the forest. Above them, sooty ravens flapped from limb to limb, croaking hungrily.
‘Disquieting sort of place,’ Velvet murmured.
‘And that adds the perfect touch,’ Silk noted, pointing at a large vulture perched on the limb of a dead snag at the head of the ravine.
‘Are we close enough to Ashaba yet for you to be able to tell if Zandramas is still there?’ Garion asked Polgara.
‘Possibly,’ she replied. ‘But even that faint a sound could be heard.’
‘We’re close enough now that we can wait,’ Belgarath said. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, though,’ he added. ‘If my great-grandson is at Ashaba, I’ll take the place apart stone by stone until I find him and I don’t care how much noise it makes.’
Impulsively, Ce’Nedra pulled her horse in beside his, leaned over, and locked her arms about his waist. ‘Oh, Belgarath,’ she said, ‘I love you.’ And she burrowed her face into his shoulder.
‘What’s this?’ His voice was slightly surprised.
She pulled back, her eyes misty. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, then gave him an arch look. ‘You’re the dearest man in all the world,’ she told him. ‘I might even consider throwing Garion over for you,’ she added, ‘if it weren’t for the fact that you’re twelve thousand years old, that is.’
‘Seven,’ he corrected automatically.
She gave him a sadly whimsical smile, a melancholy sign of her final victory in an on-going contest that no longer had any meaning for her. ‘Whatever,’ she sighed.
And then in a peculiarly uncharacteristic gesture, he enfolded her in his arms and gently kissed her. ‘My dear child,’ he said with brimming eyes. Then he looked back over his shoulder at Polgara. ‘How did we ever get along without her?’ he asked.
Polgara’s eyes were a mystery. ‘I don’t know, father,’ she replied. ‘I really don’t.’
At the head of the ravine, Sadi dismounted and dusted the leaves of a low bush growing in the middle of the track they were following with some more of his powder. ‘Just to be on the safe side,’ he explained, pulling himself back into his saddle.
The region they entered under a lowering sky was a wooded plateau, and they rode on along the scarcely visible track in a generally northerly direction with the rising wind whipping at their cloaks. The baying of Torak’s Hounds still sounded from some distance off, but seemed to be coming no closer.
As before, Silk and Feldegast ranged out ahead, scouting for possible dangers. Garion again rode at the head of their column, his helmet in place and the butt of his lance riding in his stirrup. As he rounded a sharp bend in the track, he saw Silk and the juggler ahead. They had dismounted and were crouched behind some bushes. Silk turned quickly and motioned Garion back. Garion quickly passed on that signal and, step by step, backed his gray stallion around the bend again. He dismounted, leaned his lance against a tree, and took off his helmet.
‘What is it?’ Belgarath asked, also swinging down from his horse.
‘I don’t know,’ Garion replied. ‘Silk motioned us to stay out of sight.’
‘Let’s go have a look,’ the old man said.
‘Right.’
The two of them crouched over and moved forward on silent feet to join the rat-faced man and the juggler. Silk put his finger to his lips as they approached. When Garion reached the brush, he carefully parted the leaves and looked out.
There was a road there, a road that intersected the track they had been following. Riding along that road were half-a-hundred men dressed mostly in furs, with rusty helmets on their heads and bent and dented swords in their hands. The men at the head of the column, however, wore mail coats. Their helmets were polished, and they carried lances and shields.
Tensely, without speaking, Garion and his friends watched the loosely organized mob ride past.
When the strangers were out of sight, Feldegast turned to Belgarath. ‘It sort of confirms yer suspicion, old friend,’ he said.
‘Who were they?’ Garion asked in a low voice.
‘The ones in fur be Karands,’ Feldegast replied, ‘an’ the ones in steel be Temple Guardsmen. ‘Tis more evidence of an alliance between Urvon and Mengha, y’ see.’
‘Can we be sure that the Karands were Mengha’s men?’
‘He’s overcome Katakor altogether, an’ the only armed Karands in the area be his. Urvon an’ his Chandim control the Guardsmen—an’ the Hounds. When ye see Karands an’ Hounds together the way we did yesterday, it’s fair proof of an alliance, but when ye see Karandese fanatics escorted by armed Guardsmen, it doesn’t leave hardly any doubt at all.’
‘What is that fool up to?’ Belgarath muttered.
‘Who?’ Silk asked.
‘Urvon. He’s done some fairly filthy things in his life, but he’s never consorted with demons before.’
‘Perhaps ‘twas because Torak had forbid it,’ Feldegast suggested. ‘Now that Torak’s dead, though, maybe he’s throwin’ off all restraints. The demons would be a powerful factor if the final confrontation between the Church an’ the imperial throne that’s been brewin’ all these years should finally come.’
‘Well,’ Belgarath grunted, ‘we don’t have time to sort it out now. Let’s get the others and move on.’
They quickly crossed the road that the Karands and the Guardsmen had been following and continued along the narrow track. After a few more miles, they crested a low knoll that at some time in the past had been denuded by fire. At the far end of the plateau, just before a series of stark cliffs rose sharply up into the mountains, there stood a huge black building, rearing up almost like a mountain itself. It was surmounted by bleak towers and surrounded by a battlement-topped wall, half-smothered in vegetation.
‘Ashaba,’ Belgarath said shortly, his eyes flinty.
‘I thought it was a ruin,’ Silk said with some surprise.
‘Parts of it are, I’ve been told,’ the old man replied. ‘The upper floors aren’t habitable any more, but the ground floor’s still more or less intact—at least it’s supposed to be. It takes a very long time for wind and weather to tear down a house that big.’ The old man nudged his horse and led them down off the knoll and back into the wind-tossed forest.
It was nearly dark by the time they reached the edge of the clearing surrounding the House of Torak. Garion noted that the vegetation half-covering the walls of the black castle consisted of brambles and thick-stemmed ivy. The glazing in the windows had long since succumbed to wind and weather, and the vacant casements seemed to stare out at the clearing like the eye sockets of a dark skull.
‘Well, father?’ Polgara said.
He scratched at his beard, listening to the baying of the Hounds back in the forest.
‘If yer open t’ a bit of advice, me ancient friend,’ Feldegast said, ‘wouldn’t it be wiser t’ wait until dark before we go in? Should there be watchers in the house, the night will conceal us from their eyes. An’ then, too, once it grows dark, there’ll undoubtedly be lights inside if the house be occupied. ‘Twill give us some idea of what t’ expect.’
‘It makes sense, Belgarath,’ Silk agreed. ‘Walking openly up to an unfriendly house in broad daylight disturbs my sense of propriety.’
‘That’s because you’ve go
t the soul of a burglar. But it’s probably the best plan anyhow. Let’s pull back into the woods a ways and wait for dark.’
Though the weather had been warm and springlike on the plains of Rakuth and Venna, here in the foothills of the Karandese mountains there was still a pervading chill, for winter only reluctantly released its grip on these highlands. The wind was raw, and there were some places under the trees where dirty windrows of last winter’s snow lay deep and unyielding.
‘Is that wall around the house going to cause us any problems?’ Garion asked.
‘Not unless someone’s repaired the gates,’ Belgarath replied. ‘When Beldin and I came in here after Vo Mimbre, they were all locked, so we had to break them down to get in.’
‘Walkin’ openly up to them gates might not be the best idea in the world, Belgarath,’ Feldegast said, ‘fer if the house do be occupied by Chandim or Karands or Guardsmen, ’tis certain that the gates are goin’ t’ be watched, an’ there be a certain amount of light even on the darkest night. There be a sally port on the east side of the house though, an’ it gives entry into an inner court that’s sure t’ be filled with deep shadows as soon as the night comes on.’
‘Won’t it be barred off?’ Silk asked him.
‘T’ be sure, Prince Kheldar, it was indeed. The lock, however, was not difficult fer a man with fingers as nimble as mine.’
‘You’ve been inside, then?’
‘I like t’ poke around in abandoned houses from time t’ time. One never knows what the former inhabitants might have left behind, an’ findin’ is often times as good as earnin’ or stealin’.’
‘I can accept that,’ Silk agreed.
Durnik came back from the edge of the woods where he had been watching the house. He had a slightly worried look on his face. ‘I’m not entirely positive,’ he said, ‘but it looks as if there are clouds of smoke coming out of the towers of that place.’
‘I’ll just go along with ye an’ have a bit of a look,’ the juggler said, and he and the smith went back through the deepening shadows beneath the trees. After a few minutes they came back. Durnik’s expression was faintly disgusted.
‘Smoke?’ Belgarath asked.
Feldegast shook his head. ‘Bats,’ he replied. ‘Thousands of the little beasties. They be comin’ out of the towers in great black clouds.’
‘Bats?’ Ce’Nedra exclaimed, her hands going instinctively to her hair.
‘It’s not uncommon,’ Polgara told her. ‘Bats need protected places to nest in, and a ruin or an abandoned place is almost ideal for them.’
‘But they’re so ugly!’ Ce’Nedra declared with a shudder.
‘’Tis only a flyin’ mouse, me little darlin’,’ Feldegast told her.
‘I’m not fond of mice, either.’
‘’Tis a very unforgivin’ woman ye’ve married, young Master,’ Feldegast said to Garion, ‘brim-full of prejudices an’ unreasonable dislikes.’
‘More important, did you see any lights coming from inside?’ Belgarath asked.
‘Not so much as a glimmer, Ancient One, but the house be large, an’ there be chambers inside which have no windows. Torak was unfond of the sun, as ye’ll recall.’
‘Let’s move around through the woods until we’re closer to this sally port of yours,’ the old man suggested, ‘before the light goes entirely.’
They stayed back from the edge of the trees as they circled around the clearing with the great black house in its center. The last light was beginning to fade from the cloud-covered sky as they cautiously peered out from the edge of the woods.
‘I can’t quite make out the sally port,’ Silk murmured, peering toward the house.
‘’Tis partially concealed,’ Feldegast told him. ‘If ye give ivy the least bit of a toe hold, it can engulf a whole buildin’ in a few hundred years. Quiet yer fears, Prince Kheldar. I know me way, an’ I kin find the entrance t’ the House of Torak on the blackest of nights.’
‘The Hounds are likely to be patrolling the area around here after dark, aren’t they?’ Garion said. He looked at Sadi. ‘I hope you didn’t use up all of your powder back there.’
‘There’s more than enough left, Belgarion.’ The eunuch smiled, patting his pouch. ‘A light dusting at the entrance to Master Feldegast’s sally port should insure that we won’t be disturbed once we’re inside.’
‘What do you think?’ Durnik asked, squinting up at the dark sky.
‘It’s close enough,’ Belgarath grunted. ‘I want to get inside.’
They led their horses across the weed-choked clearing until they reached the looming wall.
‘’Tis this way just a bit,’ Feldegast said in a low voice as he began to feel his way along the rough black stones of the wall.
They followed him for several minutes, guided more by the faint rustling sound of his feet among the weeds than by sight.
‘An’ here we are, now,’ Feldegast said with some satisfaction. It was a low, arched entrance in the wall, almost totally smothered in ivy and brambles. Durnik and the giant Toth, moving slowly to avoid making too much noise, pulled the obstructing vines aside to allow the rest of them and the horses to enter. Then they followed, pulling the vines back in place once again to conceal the entrance.
Once they were inside, it was totally dark, and there was the musty smell of mildew and fungus. ‘May I borrow yer flint an’ steel an’ tinder again, Goodman Durnik?’ Feldegast whispered. Then there was a small clinking sound, followed by a rapid clicking accompanied by showers of glowing sparks as Feldegast, kneeling so that his body concealed even those faint glimmers, worked with Durnik’s flint and steel. After a moment, he blew on the tinder, stirring a tiny flame to life. There was another clink as he opened the front of a square lantern he had taken from a small niche in the wall.
‘Is that altogether wise?’ Durnik asked doubtfully as the juggler lighted the candle stub inside the lantern and returned the flint and steel.
‘’Tis a well-shielded little bit of a light, Goodman,’ Feldegast told him, ‘an’ it be darker than the inside of yer boots in this place. Trust me in this, fer I kin keep it so well concealed that not the tiniest bit of a glow will escape me control.’
‘Isn’t that what they call a burglar’s lantern?’ Silk asked curiously.
‘Well, now.’ Feldegast’s whisper sounded slightly injured. ‘I don’t know that I’d call it that, exactly. ’Tis a word that has an unsavory ring t’ it.’
‘Belgarath,’ Silk chuckled softly. ‘I think your friend here has a more checkered past than we’ve been led to believe. I wondered why I liked him so much.’
Feldegast had closed down the tin sides of his little lantern, allowing only a single, small spot of light feebly to illuminate the floor directly in front of his feet. ‘Come along, then,’ he told them. ‘The sally port goes back a way under the wall here, an’ then we come t’ the grate that used t’ close it off. Then it makes a turn t’ the right an’ a little farther on, another t’ the left, an’ then it comes out in the courtyard of the house.’
‘Why so many twists and turns?’ Garion asked him.
‘Torak was a crooked sort, don’t y’ know. I think he hated straight lines almost as much as he hated the sun.’
They followed the faint spot of light the lantern cast. Leaves had blown in through the entrance over the centuries to lie in a thick, damp mat on the floor, effectively muffling the sounds of their horses’ hooves.
The grate that barred the passageway was a massively constructed crisscross of rusty iron. Feldegast fumbled for a moment with the huge latch, then swung it clear. ‘An’ now, me large friend,’ he said to Toth, ‘we’ll be havin’ need of yer great strength here. The gate is cruel heavy, let me warn ye, an’ the hinges be so choked with rust that they’ll not likely yield easily.’ He paused a moment. ‘An’ that reminds me—ah, where have me brains gone? We’ll be needin’ somethin’ t’ mask the dreadful squeakin’ when ye swing the grate open.’ He looked back at th
e others. ‘Take a firm grip on the reins of yer horses,’ he warned them, ‘fer this is likely t’ give ’em a bit of a turn.’
Toth placed his huge hands on the heavy grate, then looked at the juggler.
‘Go!’ Feldegast said sharply, then he lifted his face and bayed, his voice almost perfectly imitating the sound of one of the great Hounds prowling outside, even as the giant slowly swung the grate open on shrieking hinges.
Chretienne snorted and shied back from the dreadful howl, but Garion held his reins tightly.
‘Oh, that was clever,’ Silk said in quiet admiration.
‘I have me moments from time to time,’ Feldegast admitted. ‘With all the dogs outside raisin’ their awful cater-wallin’, ‘tis certain that one more little yelp won’t attract no notice, but the squealin’ of them hinges could have been an altogether different matter.’
He led them on through the now-open grate and on along the dank passageway to a sharp right-hand turn. Somewhat farther along, the passage bent again to the left. Before he rounded that corner, the juggler closed down his lantern entirely, plunging them into total darkness. ‘We be approachin’ the main court now,’ he whispered to them.
‘’Tis the time for silence an’ caution, fer if there be others in the house, they’ll be payin’ a certain amount of attention t’ be sure that no one creeps up on ’em. There be a handrail along the wall there, an’ I think it might be wise t’ tie the horses here. Their hooves would make a fearful clatter on the stones of the court, an’ we’ll not be wantin’ t’ ride them up an’ down the corridors of this accursed place.’
Silently they tied the reins of their mounts to the rusty iron railing and then crept on quiet feet to the turn in the passageway. There was a lessening of the darkness beyond the turn—not light, certainly, but a perceptible moderation of the oppressive gloom. And then they reached the inside entrance to the sally port and looked out across the broad courtyard toward the looming black house beyond. There was no discernible grace to the construction of that house. It rose in blocky ugliness almost as if the builders had possessed no understanding of the meaning of the word beauty, but had striven instead for a massive kind of arrogance to reflect the towering pride of its owner.
Demon Lord of Karanda Page 29
