The ship slowed, and her keel ground gently on the gravel bottom. A broad ramp came sliding out over the side, and its weighted end sank in about three feet of water. Toth, leading his reluctant horse, waded out to the ramp. Then he turned and looked inquiringly back at the rest of them. He motioned with his arm.
"He says we're supposed to board now," Durnik said.
"I heard him," Belgarath growled. "All right, I suppose we might as well." Sourly, he took his horse's reins and waded out into the water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The crew of the strange ship all wore rough, cowled tunics made of heavy cloth. The bones of their faces were prominent, giving their features a peculiarly hewn-out look and, like Toth, they were all mutes. They went about their work in absolute silence. Garion, accustomed to the bawling and cursing which accompanied the labors of Cherek sailors, found this stillness peculiar, even slightly unnerving. The ship itself made none of the usual sounds. There was no rasp of oars in their locks, no creak of rigging, no groaning of timbers—only the faint wash and run of water along the sides as they were propelled out across the fog-muffled sea by some force or spirit Garion could not even comprehend.
Once the shore behind had sunk into the fog, there was no reference point, no hint of direction. The silent ship moved on.
Garion stood with his arm about Ce'Nedra's shoulders. The peculiar combination of his near-exhaustion from the ordeal in the wood of the Raveners and the pervading gloom of dark, unbroken water and thick-hanging fog made his mood melancholy and his thoughts abstracted. It was enough merely to stand at the side of his weary wife, holding her in the protecting curve of his arm and to look blankly, uncomprehendingly into the fog.
"What in the world is that?" Velvet exclaimed from somewhere behind him. He turned and looked toward the stern. From out of the pearly fog, there came a ghostly white bird with impossible wings—pinions that appeared longer than a tall man might stretch his arms. The wings did not move, and yet the silent bird came on, gliding through the misty air like a disembodied spirit.
"Albatross," Polgara identified the magnificent creature.
"Aren't they supposed to be bad luck?" Silk asked.
"Are you superstitious, Prince Kheldar?"
"Not exactly, but—" He left it hanging.
"It's a sea bird, nothing more," she told him.
"Why does it have such enormous wings?" Velvet asked curiously.
"It flies great distances over open water," Polgara said. "The wings hold it aloft without any effort. It's very practical."
The great-winged bird tilted in the air, giving forth a strange, lonely cry, a sound that carried in it all the emptiness of a vast, rolling sea.
Polgara inclined her head in response to that strange greeting.
"What did he say, Pol?" Durnik asked her in an oddly subdued voice.
"It was quite formal," she replied. "Sea birds have a great deal of dignity—perhaps because they spend so much time alone. It gives them leisure to formulate their thoughts, I suppose. Land birds babble a great deal, but sea birds try to be profound."
"They're strange creatures, aren't they—birds I mean?"
"Not once you get used to them." She looked out at the alabaster bird coasting in the silent air beside the ship with an indecipherable expression on her face.
The albatross moved his great wings and pulled ahead of the ship to station himself just in front of the prow, hanging apparently motionless in the mist.
Belgarath had been staring up at the sails, which bellied out improbably in the dead-calm air. Finally he grunted and turned to Toth. "How long does the trip to Verkat take?" he asked.
Toth measured out a short space with his hands.
"That's not very specific, my friend."
Toth pointed upward and spread his fingers wide.
"He says about five hours, Belgarath," Durnik translated.
"We're moving faster than it appears then," the old man observed. "I wonder how they managed to persuade the sprite to concentrate on one thing for that long, though. I've never run into one before that could keep hold of an idea for more than a minute."
"Do you want me to ask him?" Durnik offered.
Belgarath squinted back up at the sails. "No," he said. "I guess not. I might not like the answer."
The northwest coast of the Isle of Verkat rose dark and indistinct out of the fog as evening approached. They sailed closer, with the gleaming albatross hovering just ahead, and Garion saw that the low hills behind the gravel strand were thickly covered with dark evergreens wreathed in fog. Some distance back up from the beach, a few scattered lights gleamed golden in the windows of a village, and a line of torches wound down from that village toward the shore. Faintly, Garion could hear the sound of singing. The words were indistinct, but the overall tone of the song conveyed a great sadness and an endless longing.
Their ship moved silently across a shallow bay, then coasted gently up beside a rude stone quay that looked more like a natural rock formation than any man-made structure.
A tall man in a white linen robe stood on the quay. Although his face was unlined and his eyebrows were black as ravens' wings, his flowing hair was as silver as Belgarath's. "Welcome," he greeted them. His voice was deep and peculiarly gentle. "I am Vard. We have long awaited your coming, which the Book of the Heavens revealed to us ages past."
"Now you see why I don't like these people," Belgarath muttered. "I hate it when someone pretends to know everything."
"Forgive us, Holy Belgarath," the man on the quay said with a slight smile. "If it will make you more comfortable, we will conceal what we have read in the stars."
"You've got sharp ears, Vard," the old man noted.
"If you wish to believe so." Vard shrugged. "A place has been made ready for you—and food prepared. Your journey has been long and difficult, and I'm sure you are all very tired. If you will come with me, I will show you the way. My people will bring your mounts and your belongings."
"You are very kind, Vard," Polgara said across the rail of the ship as the mute sailors ran their ramp out to the stones of the quay.
Vard bowed. "We are honored by your presence, Lady Polgara," he replied. "We have stood in awe of you since the beginning of the Third Age."
The path leading up from the bay was narrow and it wound about with no seeming purpose. "I fear that you will find our village rude by comparison with the mighty cities of the west," the white-robed man apologized. "We have ever been indifferent to our surroundings."
"One place is much the same as another," Belgarath agreed, peering ahead toward the cluster of lighted windows glowing in the mist.
The village consisted of a score or so buildings constructed of rough field stone and thatched with straw. They seemed scattered at random with nothing resembling an organized street anywhere in sight. The place was tidy, however, with none of the clutter that inevitably seemed to spring up in such places, and the doorstep of each house showed signs of frequent scrubbing.
Vard led them to a fair-sized house in the center of the village and opened the door for them. "This will be yours for as long as you remain," he said. "The table is prepared, and some of my people will attend you. Should you require anything else, please send for me." Then he bowed, turned, and walked away into the foggy twilight.
The inside of the house was by no means palatial, but it belied the crude-appearing exterior. Each room contained a low, cheery fireplace, exuding warmth and light. The doorways were arched and the walls all whitewashed. The furniture was plain, but stoutly made, and the beds were covered with thick, down-filled comforters.
A table and benches stood in the central room, and a number of covered earthenware pots stood on that table. The smells coming from those pots reminded Garion that he had not eaten a hot meal in several days.
"They're a strange sort of people," Velvet observed, removing her cloak, "but you certainly can't fault their hospitality."
Silk had been eyeing the
table. "We wouldn't want to offend them by letting supper get cold, would we? I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm famished."
The supper that had been laid for them was delicious. None of the dishes were anything out of the ordinary, but each was delicately seasoned. The main course was a well-browned haunch of some animal Garion did not recognize, but he found it rich and full-flavored.
"What is this delicious roast?" Ce'Nedra asked, helping herself to another piece.
"Goat, I think," Polgara replied.
"Goat?"
"It seems to be."
"But I hate goat."
"That's your third slice, dear," Polgara pointed out.
After they had eaten, they sat around the fireplace. Garion felt a vast weariness and knew that he should go to bed, but he was simply too comfortable to move.
"Did you get any hints that Zandramas came through here?" Silk asked him.
"What? Oh—no. Nothing."
"She seems to want to avoid inhabited places," Belgarath noted. "I don't think she'd have come to the village here. Probably tomorrow you're going to have to ride out and see if you can cross her trail."
"Wouldn't she have gone straight to Rak Verkat?" Silk suggested. "That's where all the ships are, and she wants to go to Mallorea, doesn't she?"
"She might have made other arrangements," the old man told him. "She does have a price on her head, and the Malloreans at Rak Verkat are probably as interested in collecting it as the ones at Rak Hagga. She's made careful preparations in advance for every step of this journey. I don't think she'd have left anything to chance, once she got this far."
Sadi came back into the room, holding the small earthenware bottle. "Margravine Liselle," he said acidly, "do you suppose I could have my snake back?"
"Oh, I'm ever so sorry, Sadi," she apologized. "I completely forgot I had her." She dipped into the front of her dress and gently removed the little green reptile.
Silk drew back with a sharp intake of his breath.
"I wasn't really trying to steal her," Velvet assured Sadi. "It was just that the poor dear was cold."
"Of course." He took his snake from her.
"I was only trying to keep her warm, Sadi. You certainly wouldn't want her to get sick, would you?"
"Your concern touches my heart." He turned and went back toward the sleeping rooms with Zith lazily coiled about his wrist.
The following morning, Garion went into the shed attached to the back of the house, saddled his horse, and rode back down to the gravel strand, where the waves rolled endlessly in off the foggy sea to crash against the shore. He stopped, looking first up the beach, then down. He shrugged and turned his horse toward the northeast.
The upper edge of the rock-strewn beach was thick with windrows of white-bleached driftwood. As he rode, he idly ran his eyes along those tangled heaps of branches and broken logs. Occasionally, he noted a squared-off timber lying among the other bits and pieces, mute evidence that some ship had come to grief. The possibility occurred to him that the shipwreck that had set those timbers adrift might have taken place as long as a century ago and that the debris might well have floated half around the world to wash up on this strand of salt-crusted pebbles.
"That's all very interesting," the dry voice in his mind told him, "but you're going the wrong way."
"Where have you been?" Garion asked, reining in.
"Why do we always have to start these conversations with that same question? The answer wouldn't mean anything to you, so why pursue it? Turn around and go back. The trail is on the other side of the village, and you don't have time to ride all the way around the island.''
"Is Zandramas still here with my son?" Garion asked quickly, wanting to get that question out in the open before the elusive voice went off again.
"No," the voice replied. "She left about a week ago."
"We're gaining on her then," Garion said aloud, a sudden hope springing up in him.
"That would be a logical assumption."
"Where did she go?"
"Mallorea—but you knew that already, didn't you? "
"Could you get a little more specific? Mallorea's a big place."
"Don't do that, Garion," the voice told him. "UL told you that finding your son was your task. I'm not permitted to do it for you any more than he was. Oh, incidentally, keep an eye on Ce'Nedra."
"Ce'Nedra? What for?"
But the voice had already gone. Garion swore and rode back the way he had come.
A league or so to the south of the village, where a cove sheltered by two jutting headlands ran back into the shore line, the sword strapped across his back tugged at him. He reined in sharply and drew the blade. It turned in his hand to point unerringly due inland.
He trotted his horse up the hill, with the blade of Iron-grip's sword resting on the pommel of his saddle. The trail did not veer. Ahead of him lay a long, grassy slope and then the misty edge of the evergreen forest. He considered the situation for a moment and decided that it might be better to go back and tell the others, rather than pursue Zandramas alone. As he turned his horse toward the village, he glanced down at the shallow waters of the cove. There, lying on its side beneath the water, lay the sunken wreck of a small ship. His face grew bleak. Once again, Zandramas had rewarded those who had aided her by killing them. He kicked his mount into a loping canter and rode back across the foggy meadows lying between the sea and the dark forest toward the village.
It was nearly noon when he reached the house Vard had provided for them, and he swung down out of his saddle, controlling his excitement as best he could.
"Well?" Belgarath, who sat before the fire with a mug in his hand, asked as Garion entered the room.
"The trail's about a league to the south."
Polgara, seated at the table, looked up quickly from the piece of parchment she had been examining. "Are you sure?" she asked.
"The Orb is." Garion unfastened his cloak. "Oh—I had another visit from our friend." He tapped his forehead. "He told me that Zandramas left the island about a week ago and that she's going to Mallorea. That's about all I could get out of him. Where's Ce'Nedra? I want to tell her that we're getting closer."
"She's asleep," Polgara said, carefully folding the parchment.
"Is that part of one of those books Grandfather's been looking for?" he asked.
"No, dear. It's the recipe for that soup we had at supper last night." She turned to Belgarath. "Well, father? Do we take up the trail again?"
He thought about it, staring absently into the fire dancing on the hearth. "I'm not sure, Pol," he answered finally. "We were deliberately brought here to this island for something, and I don't think that locating the trail was the only reason. I think we ought to stay here for another day or so."
"We've gained a great deal of time on Zandramas, father," she reminded him. "Why waste it by just sitting in one place?"
"Call it a hunch, Pol. I've got a very strong feeling that we're supposed to wait here for something—something fairly important."
"I think it's a mistake, father."
"That's your privilege, Pol. I've never told you what to think."
"Only what to do," she added tartly.
"That's my privilege. It's a father's duty to guide his children. I'm sure you understand."
The door opened, and Silk and Velvet came in out of the sunless noon. "Did you find the trail?" Silk asked, removing his cloak.
Garion nodded. "She came ashore a league or so down the beach. Then she sank the boat that brought her. It's lying on the bottom with the full crew aboard, about fifty yards from shore."
"She's running true to form, then," Silk noted.
"What have you been up to this morning?" Garion asked him.
"Snooping."
"The term is 'intelligence gathering,' Kheldar," Velvet said primly, also removing her cloak and smoothing the front of her dress.
"It amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?"
"Of course, but 'snoo
ping' has such a nasty ring to it."
"Did you find out anything?" Garion asked.
"Not much," Silk admitted, coming to the fire to warm himself. "All these people are terribly polite, but they're very good at evading direct questions. I can tell you one thing, though. This place isn't a real village—at least not in the sense that we understand it. It's all very carefully set up to look crude and rustic, and the people here go through the motions of tending crops and herds, but it's all for show. Their tools show almost no signs of use, and their animals are just a bit too well groomed."
"What are they doing, then?" Garion asked.
"I think they spend their time in study," Velvet replied. "I was visiting with one of the women, and there was a sort of a chart on the table in her house, I got a look at it before she put it away. It looked like a map of some constellations— a sort of a picture of the night sky."
Belgarath grunted. "Astrologers. I've never had much faith in astrology. The stars seem to say something different every quarter-hour or so," He thought about it for a moment. "Back at Prolgu, the Gorim said that these people are Dais— the same as the ones who live in southern Mallorea—and no one has ever been able to figure out what the Dais are up to. They seem to be docile and placid, but I suspect that's only a mask. There are several centers of learning in Dalasia, and I wouldn't be surprised to find out that this place is very similar. Did either of you see anyone wearing a blindfold— the way Cyradis does?"
"A seer?" Silk said. "I didn't." He looked at Velvet.
She shook her head.
"Toth might be able to give us some answers, father," Polgara said. "He seems to be able to communicate with these people in ways that we can't."
"How do you propose to get answers out of a mute, Polgara?" Silk asked her.
"Durnik seems to be able to talk with him," she replied. "Where are they, by the way?"
"They found a pond on the upper edge of the village," Velvet answered. "They're checking to see if it's occupied. Eriond is with them."
"Inevitably." Polgara smiled.
"Doesn't it get a little tedious?" Velvet asked. "Having him spend all his time fishing, I mean?"
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