"Do you think we can outrun them?" Silk asked Belgarath.
"That probably wouldn't be a very good idea. I think we'd better stay here until they're out of the area."
Toth gave a low whistle from the top of the bank he had just climbed.
"Go see what he wants, Durnik," Belgarath said.
The smith nodded and started up the steep slope.
"Do you think they'll find us up here?" Ce'Nedra asked tensely.
"It's not too likely, your Majesty," Sadi replied. "I doubt that they're going to take the time to search every ravine and gully in these mountains."
Belgarath squinted out at the dust cloud. "They're moving toward the southwest," he noted. "If we sit tight for a day or so, they'll move on out of our vicinity."
"I hate to lose the time," Garion fretted.
"So do I, but I don't think we've got much choice."
Durnik came sliding back down the bank of the ravine. "There's another group of men up ahead," he reported tersely. "Murgos, I think."
Belgarath uttered a fairly rancid curse. "I really don't want to get caught in the middle of a skirmish," he said. "Go up there and keep an eye on things," he told Silk. "Let's not have any more surprises."
Silk started up the steep bank of the ravine. On an impulse, Garion followed him. When they reached the top, they took cover behind a scrubby thorn bush.
The fiery ball of the sun slid up out of the desert lying to the east, and the obscuring cloud of dust raised by the advancing Mallorean column turned it to an ominous red. The figures of the men below, both the mounted Malloreans and the concealed Murgos, were tiny in the distance, like toy figures on a miniature landscape.
"As closely as I can tell, they're about evenly matched," Silk noted, looking down at the two parties of troops.
Garion considered it. "The Murgos are going to have the advantage, though. They're on higher ground and they'll have the element of surprise."
Silk grinned. "You're turning into quite a tactician."
Garion let that pass.
"Sadi was right," Silk said. "The Malloreans brought water with them." He pointed at two dozen or so cumbersome-looking wagons loaded with large casks, trailing along at the rear of the column advancing across the desert.
The Malloreans reached the first of the shallow ravines stretching up into the foothills, then halted, while their scouts fanned out to search the rocky terrain. It was only a short time before alarmed shouts announced that at least some of the Murgos had been seen.
"That doesn't make any sense," Garion said. "They didn't even try to keep from being found."
"Murgos aren't notorious for intelligence," Silk replied. As the red-clad Malloreans massed up for a charge, the concealed Murgos rose from their hiding places and began to shower their foes with arrows, but after only a few volleys, they began to pull back.
"Why are they retreating?" Garion demanded in disgust. "What's the point of setting up an ambush and then turning around and running away from it?"
"Nobody's that stupid," Silk muttered his agreement. "They're up to something else."
The retreating Murgos kept up a steady rain of arrows, littering the ravines stretching up into the hills with windrows of red-garbed dead as the Malloreans doggedly charged up into the foothills. Once again, the toy-like quality of all those men so far below became apparent. At closer range, the carnage at the edge of that vast desert would have sickened Garion, but from up here he could watch with little more than curiosity.
And then, when the great majority of the charging Malloreans were far up the ravines and gullies, a force of axe-wielding Murgo cavalry came pounding around the tip of a long, rocky ridge that protruded out into the wasteland.
"That's what they were up to," Garion said. "They lured the Malloreans into a charge so that they could attack from the rear."
"I don't think so," Silk disagreed. "I think they're after the supply wagons."
The galloping Murgo cavalry swept across the intervening space and then thundered along the sides of the poorly guarded Mallorean supply column, their axes rising and falling as they chopped open the water casks. With each stroke, sparkling water gushed out to soak into the arid floor of the desert. The sun, obscured by the dust of the charge, glowed red through the choking clouds to dye the gushing streams of water. From their vantage point high above the battle, it looked almost to Garion that the fluid spurting from the ruptured barrels was not water, but blood.
With a great outcry of chagrin, the Mallorean charge faltered. Then the red-clad figures far below turned and desperately ran back toward the desert to protect their precious water supply. But it was too late. With brutal efficiency, the Murgo cavalry had already axed open every barrel and cask and was riding back the way they had come with triumphant jeers.
The Murgos, whose feigned retreat had drawn the Mallorean troops into their fatal charge, ran back down the ridges to resume their former positions. From their vantage points above the now demoralized Malloreans, they sent great sheets of arrows arching up into the morning sky to rain down upon their enemies. Jn the midst of that deadly rain, the Malloreans desperately tried to salvage what little water was left in the bottoms of their shattered barrels, but their losses from the arrow storm soon grew unacceptable. The men in red tunics broke and ran out into the waiting desert, leaving their wagons behind.
"That's a brutal way to make war," Silk said.
"The battle's pretty much over then, isn't it?" Garion said as the black-robed Murgos moved down into the ravines to butcher the wounded.
"Oh, yes," Silk replied, sounding almost sick. "The fighting's all done. The dying isn't, though."
"Maybe the ones who are left can make it back across the desert."
"Not a chance."
"All right, then," a lean man in a black robe said, stepping out from behind a nearby rocky outcrop with a half-drawn bow in his hands. "Now that you've seen it all, why don't we go back down to your camp and join the others?"
CHAPTER TEN
Silk rose to his feet slowly, keeping both hands in plain sight. "You're very quiet on your feet, friend," he observed.
"I'm trained to be so," the man with the bow replied. "Move. Your friends are waiting."
Silk gave Garion a quick warning look.—Let's go along until we can size up the situation—His fingers cautioned.— I'm sure this one isn't alone.—
They turned and slid down the bank to the floor of the ravine, with the stranger following watchfully behind them, his bow at the ready. At the upper end of the gully where they had pitched their tents the previous night, a score of black-robed men armed with bows guarded the others. They all had the scarred cheeks and angular eyes of Murgos, but there were certain subtle differences. The Murgos Garion had seen before had always been heavy-shouldered, and their stance had been marked by a stiff arrogance. These men were leaner, and their bearing was at once wary and peculiarly relaxed.
"You see, noble Tajak," Sadi said obsequiously to the lean-faced man who seemed to be in charge, "it is exactly as I told you. I have only these two other servants."
"We know your numbers, slaver," the lean-faced man replied in a harshly accented voice. "We've been watching you since you entered Cthol Murgos."
"We made no effort to hide," Sadi protested mildly. "The only reason we remained concealed here was to avoid becoming involved in that unpleasantness down at the edge of the desert." He paused. "One is curious, however, to know why the noble Dagashi would choose to concern themselves with the activities of a party of Nyissan slavers. Surely we are not the first to come this way."
Tajak ignored that, looking carefully at Garion and his friends with his slate-hard black eyes. "What's your name, slaver?" he asked Sadi finally.
"I am Ussa of Sthiss Tor, good master, a duly registered slave trader. I have all the proper documents, if you'd care to examine them."
"How is it that none of your servants are Nyissan?"
Sadi spread his hands innocently. "
The war here in the south makes most of my countrymen a bit reluctant to venture into Cthol Murgos just now," he explained, "so I was forced to hire foreign adventurers instead."
"Perhaps," the Dagashi said in a flat, unemotional voice. He gave Sadi a penetrating look. "Are you interested in money, Ussa of Sthiss Tor?" he asked suddenly.
Sadi's dead eyes brightened, and he rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Well, now," he said, "why don't we talk about that? Just exactly how may I serve you? And how much would you be willing to pay me?"
"You will need to discuss that with my master," Tajak replied. "My orders were to find a party of slavers and tell them that I could put them in touch with someone who could see that they were well-paid for a fairly minor service. Are you interested in such a proposition?"
Sadi hesitated, glancing surreptitiously at Belgarath for some kind of instruction.
"Well?" Tajak said impatiently. "Are you interested?"
"Of course," Sadi answered carefully. "Who is your master, Tajak? Just who is this benefactor who wants to make me rich?"
"He will tell you his name and what you must do for him when you meet him—at Kahsha."
"Kahsha?" Sadi exclaimed. "You didn't say that I'd have to go there."
"There are many things I didn't say. Well? Do you agree to go with us to Kahsha?"
"Do I have any choice?"
"No."
Sadi spread his arms helplessly.
—What's Kahsha—Garion's fingers asked Silk.
—The headquarters of the Dagashi. It's got an unsavory reputation.—
"All right," Tajak said decisively, "let's break down these tents and get ready to leave. It's many hours to Kahsha, and midafternoon is not a good time to be out in the desert."
The sun was well up when they rode out of the mouth of the ravine with Tajak's Dagashi formed up watchfully around them. Out in the wasteland, the defeated Malloreans had begun their hopeless trek.
"Will they not attempt to use your wells, noble Tajak?" Sadi asked.
"Probably—but they won't be able to find them. We cover our wells with piles of rock, and all piles of rock in the desert look the same."
There were Murgo troops at the base of the foothills, watching the dispirited retreat of the Malloreans. As Tajak approached them, he made a quick, imperious gesture to them, and they grudgingly stood aside.
As they rode through a narrow defile that opened out into the desert, Garion took the opportunity to pull his horse in beside Belgarath's. "Grandfather," he whispered urgently, "what should we do?"
"We wait and see what this is all about," the old man replied. "Let's not do anything to give away our disguise— not yet, anyway."
As they rode out into the furnace heat of the desert, Sadi looked back at the Murgo soldiers lining the tops of the last low line of hills. "Your countrymen are most accommodating," he said to Tajak. "I'm surprised, though, that they didn't stop us to ask one or two questions."
"They know who we are," Tajak said shortly, "and they know better than to interfere with us." He looked at the already-sweating eunuch. "It would be wise of you to keep your mouth closed now, Ussa. The sun draws the moisture out of a man's body very quickly in this desert, and an open mouth is the first thing it attacks. It's quite possible to talk yourself to death out here."
Sadi gave him a startled look and then clamped his lips tightly together.
The heat was unbelievable. The desert floor was for the most part a vast, flat bed of reddish-brown gravel, broken only by occasional heaps of dark boulders and widely scattered stretches of gleaming white sand. The world seemed to shimmer and undulate as heat waves rose from the blistering gravel. The sun was like a club beating down on Garion's head and neck; though he was sweating profusely, the moisture evaporated from his body so quickly that his clothing remained totally dry.
They rode into that furnace for an hour, and then Tajak signalled for a halt. With a quick gesture, he sent five of his men off across a low rock ridge lying to the northeast. A short while later they returned, carrying lukewarm water in bags made of whole goatskins.
"Water the horses first," Tajak said tersely. Then he strode to the base of the ridge, bent, and scooped up a handful of what appeared to be white sand. He came back. "Hold out your right hands," he said, then spilled perhaps a spoonful into each outstretched palm. "Eat it," he ordered.
Sadi cautiously licked at the white stuff in his palm and then immediately spat. "Issa!" he swore. "Salt!"
"Eat it all," Tajak told him. "If you don't, you'll die."
Sadi stared at him.
"The sun is baking the salt out of your body. Without salt in your blood, you die."
They all reluctantly ate the salt. When they had finished, the Dagashi allowed each of them to drink sparingly; then they remounted and rode on into the inferno.
Ce'Nedra began to droop in her saddle like a wilted flower. The heat seemed to crush her. Garion pulled his horse in beside hers. "Are you all right?" he asked through parched lips.
"No talking!" a Dagashi snapped.
The little queen lifted her face and gave Garion a wan smile and then rode on.
Time lost all meaning in that dreadful place, and even thought became impossible. Garion rode dumbly, his head bent beneath the hammer-like blows of the sun. Hours—or years—later, he raised his head, squinting against the brilliant light around him. He stared stupidly ahead, and only slowly did the realization come to him that what he was seeing was utterly impossible. There, looming in the air before them, floated a vast black island. It hovered above the shimmering, sun-blasted gravel, defying all reason. What manner of sorcery could perform such a feat? How could anyone have that much power?
But it was not sorcery. As they rode nearer, the undulating heat waves began to thin, dispelling the mirage and revealing the fact that what they approached was not an island in the air, but instead a single rock peak rising precipitously from the desert floor. Encircling it was a narrow trail, hacked out of the solid rock and spiralling upward around the mountain.
"Kahsha," Tajak said shortly. "Dismount and lead your horses."
The trail was very steep. After the second spiral around the mountain the shimmering gravel floor of the desert lay far below. Up and up they went, round and round the blisteringly hot peak. And then the trail went directly into the mountain through a large, square opening.
"More caves?" Silk whispered bitterly. "Why is it always caves?"
Garion, however, moved eagerly. He would gladly have entered a tomb to get away from the intolerable sun.
"Take the horses," Tajak instructed some of his men, "and see to them at once. The rest of you, come with me."
He led them into a long corridor chopped out of the rock itself. Garion groped along blindly until his eyes became adjusted to the dimness. Though by no means cold, the air in the corridor was infinitely cooler than it had been outside. He breathed deeply, straightened, and looked around. The brutal amount of physical labor it had taken to hack this long corridor out of solid rock was clearly evident.
Sadi, noticing that as well, looked at the grim-faced man striding beside him. "I didn't know that Dagashi were such expert stonecutters," he observed.
"We aren't. The corridor was cut by slaves."
"I didn't know that the Dagashi kept slaves."
"We don't. Once our fortress was finished, we turned them loose."
"Out there?" Sadi's voice was aghast.
"Most of them preferred to jump off the mountain instead.”
The corridor ended abruptly in a cavern quite nearly as vast as some Garion had seen in the land of the Ulgos. Here, however, narrow windows high in the wall admitted light. As he looked up, he saw that this was not a natural cave, but rather was a large hollow that had been roofed over with stone slabs supported by vaults and buttresses. On the floor of the cave stood a city of low stone houses, and rising in the center of that city stood a bleak, square fortress.
"The house of Jaharb," their
guide said shortly. "He waits. We must hurry."
Silk drew in his breath with a sharp hiss.
"What's the matter?" Garion whispered.
"We're going to have to be very careful here," Silk murmured. "Jaharb is the chief elder of the Dagashi and he has a very nasty reputation."
The houses in the city of the Dagashi all had flat roofs and narrow windows. Garion noticed that there was none of the bustle in the streets which one might see in a western city. The black-robed, unsmiling Dagashi went about their business in silence, and each man he saw moving through that strange, half-lit town seemed to carry a kind of vacant space about him, a circle into which none of his fellow townsmen would intrude.
The fortress of Jaharb was solidly built of huge basalt blocks, and the guards at the heavy front door were formidably armed. Tajak spoke briefly to them, and the door swung open.
The room to which Tajak took them was large and was illuminated by costly oil lamps, swinging on chains from the ceiling. The only furnishings were heaps of yellow cushions scattered on the floor and a row of stout, iron-bound chests standing along the rear wail. Seated in the midst of one of the heaps of cushions was an ancient man with white hair and a dark face that was incredibly wrinkled. He wore a yellow robe and he was eating grapes as they entered, carefully selecting them one by one and then languidly raising them to his lips.
"The Nyissan slavers, Revered Elder," Tajak announced in tones of profoundest respect.
Jaharb set aside his bowl of grapes and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at them intently with his smoky, penetrating eyes. There was something infinitely chilling about that steady gaze. "How are you called?" he asked Sadi finally. His voice was as cold as his eyes, very quiet and with a kind of dusty dryness to it.
"I am Ussa, Revered One," Sadi replied with a sinuous bow.
"So? And what is your business in the lands of the Murgos?" The ancient man spoke slowly, drawing out his words almost as if he were singing them.
"The slave trade, Great Elder," Sadi answered quickly.
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