The Malloreon: Book 03 - Demon Lord Of Karanda

by David Eddings

  ‘Can you think of anything else, Cyradis?’ Polgara pressed. ‘No matter how remote?’

  The Seeress struggled with it, her face strained as she reached deeper into her strange vision. Her shoulders finally sagged in defeat. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Only a woman’s face.’

  ‘Describe it.’

  ‘She is tall,’ the Seeress replied. ‘Her hair is very dark, but her skin is like marble. Her husband is much involved with horses.’

  ‘Adara!’ Garion exclaimed, the beautiful face of his cousin suddenly coming before his eyes.

  Polgara snapped her fingers. ‘And Adara’s rose!’ Then she frowned. ‘I examined that flower very closely some years back, Cyradis,’ she said. ‘Are you absolutely sure? There are some unusual substances in it, but I didn’t find any particular medicinal qualities in any of them—either in any distillation or powder.’

  Cyradis concentrated. ‘Can healing be accomplished by means of a fragrance, Lady Polgara?’

  Polgara’s eyes narrowed in thought. ‘There are some minor remedies that are inhaled,’ she said doubtfully, ‘but—’

  ‘There are poisons that can be administered in that fashion, Lady Polgara,’ Sadi supplied. ‘The fumes are drawn into the lungs and from there into the heart. Then the blood carries them to every part of the body. It could very well be the only way to neutralize the effects of thalot.’

  Belgarath’s expression had grown intent. ‘Well, Pol?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s worth a try, father,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got a few of the flowers. They’re dried, but they might work.’

  ‘Any seeds?’

  ‘A few, yes.’

  ‘Seeds?’ Andel exclaimed. ‘Kal Zakath would be months in his grave before any bush could grow and bloom.’

  The old man chuckled slyly. ‘Not quite,’ he said, winking at Polgara. ‘I have quite a way with plants sometimes. I’m going to need some dirt—and some boxes or tubs to put it in.’

  Sadi went to the door and spoke briefly with the guards outside. They looked baffled, but a short command from Andel sent them scurrying.

  ‘What is the origin of this strange flower, Lady Polgara?’ Cyradis asked curiously. ‘How is it that thou art so well acquainted with it?’

  ‘Garion made it.’ Polgara shrugged, looking thoughtfully at Zakath’s narrow cot. ‘I think we’ll want the bed out from the wall, father,’ she said. ‘I want it surrounded by flowers.’

  ‘Made?’ the Seeress exclaimed.

  Polgara nodded. ‘Created, actually,’ she said absently. ‘Do you think it’s warm enough in here, father? We’re going to want big, healthy blooms, and even at best the flower’s a bit puny.’

  ‘I did my best,’ Garion protested.

  ‘Created?’ Cyradis’ voice was awed. Then she bowed to Garion with profound respect.

  When the tubs of half-frozen dirt had been placed about the stricken Emperor’s bed, smoothed, and dampened with water, Polgara took a small leather pouch from her green canvas sack, removed a pinch of miniscule seeds, and carefully sowed them in the soil.

  ‘All right,’ Belgarath said, rolling up his sleeves in a workmanlike fashion, ‘stand back.’ He bent and touched the dirt in one of the tubs. ‘You were right, Pol,’ he muttered. ‘Just a little too cold.’ He frowned slightly, and Garion saw his lips move. The surge was not a large one, and the sound of it was little more than a whisper. The damp earth in the tubs began to steam. ‘That’s better,’ he said. Then he extended his hands out over the narrow cot and the steaming tubs. Again Garion felt the surge and the whisper.

  At first nothing seemed to happen, but then tiny specks of green appeared on the top of the dampened dirt. Even as Garion watched those little leaves grow and expand, he remembered where he had seen Belgarath perform this same feat before. As clearly as if he were there, he saw the courtyard before King Korodullin’s palace at Vo Mimbre and he saw the apple twig the old man had thrust down between two flagstones expand and reach up toward the old sorcerer’s hand as proof to the sceptical Sir Andorig that he was indeed who he said he was.

  The pale green leaves had grown darker, and the spindly twigs and tendrils that had at first appeared had already expanded into low bushes.

  ‘Make them vine up across the bed, father,’ Polgara said critically. ‘Vines produce more blossoms, and I want a lot of blossoms.’

  He let out his breath explosively and gave her a look that spoke volumes. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘You want vines? Vines it is.’

  ‘Is it too much for you, father?’ she asked solicitously.

  He set his jaw, but did not answer. He did, however, start to sweat. Longer tendrils began to writhe upward like green snakes winding up around the legs of the Emperor’s cot and reaching upward to catch the bedframe. Once they had gained that foothold, they seemed to pause while Belgarath caught his breath. ‘This is harder than it looks,’ he puffed. Then he concentrated again, and the vines quickly overspread the cot and Kal Zakath’s inert body until only his ashen face remained uncovered by them.

  ‘All right,’ Belgarath said to the plants, ‘that’s far enough. You can bloom now.’ There was another surge and a peculiar ringing sound.

  The tips of all the myriad twiglets swelled, and then those buds began to split, revealing their pale lavender interiors. Almost shyly the lopsided little flowers opened, filling the room with a gentle-seeming fragrance. Garion straightened as he breathed in that delicate odor. For some reason, he suddenly felt very good, and the cares and worries which had beset him for the past several months seemed to fall away.

  The slack-faced Zakath stirred slightly, took a breath, and sighed deeply. Polgara laid her fingertips to the side of his neck. ‘I think it’s working, father,’ she said. ‘His heart’s not laboring so hard now, and his breathing’s easier.’

  ‘Good,’ Belgarath replied. ‘I hate to go through something like that for nothing.’

  Then the Emperor opened his eyes. The shimmering form of Cyradis hovered anxiously at the foot of his bed. Strangely, he smiled when he saw her, and her shy, answering smile lighted her pale face. Then Zakath sighed once more and closed his eyes again. Garion leaned forward to make sure that the sick man was still breathing. When he looked back toward the foot of the bed, the Seeress of Kell was gone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A warm wind came in off the lake that night, and the wet snow that had blanketed Rak Hagga and the surrounding countryside turned to a dreary slush that sagged and fell from the limbs of the trees in the little garden at the center of the house and slid in sodden clumps from the gray slate roof. Garion and Silk sat near the fire in the mauve-cushioned room, looking out at the garden and talking quietly.

  ‘We’d know a great deal more, if I could get in touch with Yarblek,’ Silk was saying. The little man was dressed again in the pearl-gray doublet and black hose which he had favored during those years before they had begun this search, although he wore only a few of the costly rings and ornaments which had made him appear so ostentatiously wealthy at that time.

  ‘Isn’t he in Gar og Nadrak?’ Garion asked. Garion had also discarded his serviceable travel clothing and reverted to his customary silver-trimmed blue.

  ‘It’s hard to say exactly where Yarblek is at any given time, Garion. He moves around a great deal; but no matter where he goes, the reports from our people in Mal Zeth, Melcene, and Maga Renn are all forwarded to him. Whatever this Mengha is up to is almost certain to have disrupted trade. I’m sure that our agents have gathered everything they could find out about him and sent it along to Yarblek. Right now my scruffy-looking partner probably knows more about Mengha than Brador’s secret police do.’

  ‘I don’t want to get side-tracked, Silk. Our business is with Zandramas, not Mengha.’

  ‘Demons are everybody’s business,’ Silk replied soberly, ‘but no matter what we decide to do, we have to get to Mallorea first—and that means persuading Zakath that this is serious. Was he listening at all whe
n you told him about Mengha?’

  Garion shook his head. ‘I’m not sure if he even understood what we were telling him. He wasn’t altogether rational.’

  Silk grunted. ‘When he wakes up, we’ll have to try again.’ A sly grin crossed the little man’s face. ‘I’ve had a certain amount of luck negotiating with sick people,’ he said.

  ‘Isn’t that sort of contemptible?’

  ‘Of course it is—but it gets results.’

  Later that morning, Garion and his rat-faced friend stopped by the Emperor’s room, ostensibly to inquire about his health. Polgara and Sadi were seated on either side of the bed, and Andel sat quietly in the corner. The vines that had enveloped the narrow cot had been pulled aside, but the air in the room was still heavy with the fragrance of the small, lavender flowers. The sick man was propped into a half-sitting position by pillows, but his eyes were closed as Silk and Garion entered. His cat lay contentedly purring at the foot of the bed.

  ‘How is he?’ Garion asked quietly.

  ‘He’s been awake a few times,’ Sadi replied. ‘There are still some traces of thalot in his extremities, but they seem to be dissipating.’ The eunuch was picking curiously at one of the small flowers. ‘I wonder if these would work if they were distilled down to an essence,’ he mused, ‘or perhaps an attar. It might be very interesting to wear a perfume that would ward off any poison.’ He frowned slightly. ‘And I wonder if they’d be effective against snake venom.’

  ‘Have Zith bite someone,’ Silk suggested. ‘Then you can test it.’

  ‘Would you like to volunteer, Prince Kheldar?’

  ‘Ah, no, Sadi,’ Silk declined. ‘Thanks all the same.’ He looked at the red case lying open on the floor in the corner. ‘Is she confined, by the way?’ he asked nervously.

  ‘She’s sleeping,’ Sadi replied. ‘She always takes a little nap after breakfast.’

  Garion looked at the dozing Emperor. ‘Is he coherent at all—when he’s awake, I mean?’

  ‘His mind seems to be clearing,’ Polgara told him.

  ‘Hysteria and delirium are some of the symptoms brought on by thalot,’ Sadi said. ‘Growing rationality is an almost certain sign of recovery.’

  ‘Is that you, Belgarion?’ Zakath asked almost in a whisper and without opening his eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ Garion replied. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Weak. Light-headed—and every muscle in my body screams like an abscessed tooth. Aside from that, I’m fine.’ He opened his eyes with a wry smile. ‘What happened? I seem to have lost track of things.’

  Garion glanced briefly at Polgara, and she nodded. ‘You were poisoned,’ he told the sick man.

  Zakath looked a bit surprised. ‘It must not have been a very good one then,’ he said.

  ‘Actually, it’s one of the very best, your Imperial Majesty,’ Sadi disagreed mildly. ‘It’s always been universally lethal.’

  ‘I’m dying then?’ Zakath said it with a peculiar kind of satisfaction, almost as if he welcomed the idea. ‘Ah, well,’ he sighed. ‘That should solve many problems.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, your Majesty,’ Silk said with mock regret, ‘but I think you’ll live. Belgarath tampers with the normal course of events from time to time. It’s a bad habit he picked up in his youth, but a man needs some vices, I suppose.’

  Zakath smiled weakly. ‘You’re a droll little fellow, Prince Kheldar.’

  ‘If you’re really keen on dying, though,’ Silk added outrageously, ‘we could always wake Zith. One nip from her almost guarantees perpetual slumber.’

  ‘Zith?’

  ‘Sadi’s pet—a little green snake. She could even curl up at your ear after she bites you and purr you into eternity.’

  Zakath sighed, and his eyes drooped shut again.

  ‘I think we should let him sleep,’ Polgara said quietly.

  ‘Not just yet, Lady Polgara,’ the Emperor said. ‘I’ve shunned sleep and the dreams which infest it for so long that it comes unnaturally now.’

  ‘You must sleep, Kal Zakath,’ Andel told him. ‘There are ways to banish evil dreams, and sleep is the greatest healer.’

  Zakath sighed and shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to banish these dreams, Andel.’ Then he frowned slightly. ‘Sadi, is hallucination one of the symptoms of the poison I was given?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ the eunuch admitted. ‘What horrors have you seen?’

  ‘Not a horror,’ Zakath replied. ‘I seem to see the face of a young woman. Her eyes are bound with a strip of cloth. A peculiar peace comes over me when I see her face.’

  ‘Then it was not an hallucination, Kal Zakath,’ Andel told him.

  ‘Who is this strange blind child, then?’

  ‘My mistress,’ Andel said proudly. ‘The face which came to you in your direst hour was the face of Cyradis, the Seeress of Kell, upon whose decision rests the fate of all the world—and of all other worlds as well.’

  ‘So great a responsibility to lie upon such slender shoulders,’ Zakath said.

  ‘It is her task,’ Andel said simply.

  The sick man seemed to fall again into a doze, his lips lightly touched with a peculiar smile. Then his eyes opened again, seemingly more alert now. ‘Am I healed, Sadi?’ he asked the shaved-headed eunuch. ‘Has your excellent Nyissan poison quite run its course?’

  ‘Oh,’ Sadi replied speculatively, ‘I wouldn’t say that you’re entirely well yet, your Majesty, but I’d guess that you’re out of any immediate danger.’

  ‘Good,’ Zakath said crisply, trying to shoulder his way up into a sitting position. Garion reached out to help him. ‘And has the knave who poisoned me been apprehended yet?’

  Sadi shook his head. ‘Not as far as I know,’ he answered.

  ‘I think that might be the first order of business, then. I’m starting to feel a little hungry and I’d rather not go through this again. Is the poison common in Cthol Murgos?’

  Sadi frowned. ‘Murgo law forbids poisons and drugs, your Majesty,’ he replied. ‘They’re a backward sort of people. The Dagashi assassins probably have access to thalot, though.’

  ‘You think my poisoner might have been a Dagashi, then?’

  Sadi shrugged. ‘Most assassinations in Cthol Murgos are carried out by the Dagashi. They’re efficient and discreet.’

  Zakath’s eyes narrowed in thought. ‘That would seem to point a finger directly at Urgit, then. The Dagashi are expensive, and Urgit has access to the royal treasury.’

  Silk grimaced. ‘No,’ he declared. ‘Urgit wouldn’t do that. A knife between your shoulder blades maybe, but not poison.’

  ‘How can you be so sure, Kheldar?’

  ‘I know him,’ Silk replied a bit lamely. ‘He’s weak and a little timid, but he wouldn’t be a party to a poisoning. It’s a contemptible way to resolve political differences.’

  ‘Prince Kheldar!’ Sadi protested.

  ‘Except in Nyissa, of course,’ Silk conceded. ‘One always needs to take quaint local customs into account.’ He pulled at his long, pointed nose. ‘I’ll admit that Urgit wouldn’t grieve too much if you woke up dead some morning,’ he said to the Mallorean Emperor, ‘but it’s all just a little too pat. If your generals believed that it was Urgit who arranged to have you killed, they’d stay here for the next ten generations trying to obliterate all of Murgodom, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘I’d assume so,’ Zakath said.

  ‘Who would benefit the most by disposing of you and rather effectively making sure that the bulk of your army doesn’t return to Mallorea in the foreseeable future? Not Urgit, certainly. More likely it would be somebody in Mallorea who wants a free hand there.’ Silk squared his shoulders. ‘Why don’t you let Liselle and me do a little snooping around before you lock your mind in stone on this? Obvious things always make me suspicious.’

  ‘That’s all very well, Kheldar,’ Zakath said rather testily, ‘but how can I be sure that my next meal won’t have another dose of exotic spic
es in it?’

  ‘You have at your bedside the finest cook in the world,’ the rat-faced man said, pointing grandly at Polgara, ‘and I can absolutely guarantee that she won’t poison you. She might turn you into a radish if you offend her, but she’d never poison you.’

  ‘All right, Silk, that will do,’ Polgara told him.

  ‘I’m only paying tribute to your extraordinary gifts, Polgara.’

  Her eyes grew hard.

  ‘I think that perhaps it might be time for me to be on my way,’ Silk said to Garion.

  ‘Wise decision,’ Garion murmured.

  The little man turned and quickly left the room.

  ‘Is he really as good as he pretends to be?’ Zakath asked curiously.

  Polgara nodded. ‘Between them, Kheldar and Liselle can probably ferret out any secret in the world. Silk doesn’t always like it, but they’re almost a perfect team. And now, your Majesty, what would you like for breakfast?’

  A curious exchange was taking place in the corner. Throughout the previous conversation, Garion had heard a faint, drowsy purr coming from Zith’s earthenware bottle. Either the little snake was expressing a general sense of contentment, or it may have been one of the peculiarities of her species to purr while sleeping. Zakath’s pregnant, mackerel-striped cat, attracted by that sound, jumped down from the bed and curiously waddled toward Zith’s little home. Absently, probably without even thinking about it, she responded to the purr coming from the bottle with one of her own. She sniffed at the bottle, then tentatively touched it with one soft paw. The peculiar duet of purring continued.

  Then, perhaps because Sadi had not stoppered the bottle tightly enough or because she had long since devised this simple means of opening her front door, the little snake nudged the cork out of the bottle with her blunt nose. Both creatures continued to purr, although the cat was now obviously afire with curiosity. For a time Zith did not reveal herself, but lurked shyly in her bottle, still purring. Then, cautiously, she poked out her head, her forked tongue flickering as she tested the air.