Magician's Gambit

by David Eddings

  One by one, they rolled out of the tent into the chill wind.

  "Get the horses," Belgarath said quietly. He looked around, his eyes narrowing. "That gully over there." He pointed at a wash opening out just beyond the last row of tents. "If we keep the tents between us and the main caravan track, we should be able to get into it without being seen. Most likely everybody here's going to be watching the arrival of Taur Urgas."

  "Would the Murgo king know thee, Belgarath?" Mandorallen asked.

  "He might. We've never met, but my description's been noised about in Cthol Murgos for a long time now. It's best not to take any chances."

  They led their horses along the back of the tents and gained the cover of the gully without incident.

  "This wash comes down off the back side of that hill there." Barak pointed. "If we follow it, we'll be out of sight all the way, and once we get the hill between us and the camp, we'll be able to ride away without being seen."

  "It's almost evening." Belgarath looked up at the lowering sky. "Let's go up a ways and then wait until after dark."

  They moved on up the gully until they were behind the shoulder of the hill.

  "Better keep an eye on things," Belgarath said.

  Barak and Garion scrambled up out of the gully and moved at a crouch to the top of the hill, where they lay down behind a scrubby bush. "Here they come," Barak muttered.

  A steady stream of grim-faced Murgo soldiers marched eight abreast into the makeshift fair to the cadenced beat of great drums. In their midst, astride a black horse and under a flapping black banner, rode Taur Urgas. He was a tall man with heavy, sloping shoulders and an angular, merciless face. The thick links of his mail shirt had been dipped in molten red gold, making it almost appear as if he were covered with blood. A thick metal belt encircled his waist, and the scabbard of the sword he wore on his left hip was jewel-encrusted. A pointed steel helmet sat low over his black eyebrows, and the blood-red crown of Cthol Murgos was riveted to it. A kind of chain-mail hood covered the back and sides of the king's neck and spread out over his shoulders.

  When he reached the open area directly in front of the square stone supply post, Taur Urgas reined in his horse. "Wine!" he commanded. His voice, carried by the icy wind, seemed startlingly close. Garion squirmed a bit lower under the bush.

  The Murgo who ran the supply post scurried inside and came back out, carrying a flagon and a metal goblet. Taur Urgas took the goblet, drank, and then slowly closed his big fist around it, crushing it in his grip. Barak snorted with contempt.

  "What was that about?" Garion whispered.

  "Nobody drinks from a cup once Taur Urgas has used it," the redbearded Cherek replied. "If Anheg behaved like that, his warriors would dunk him in the bay at Val Alorn."

  "Have you the names of all foreigners here?" the king demanded of the Murgo storekeeper, his wind-carried voice distinct in Garion's ears. "As you commanded, dread king," the storekeeper replied with an obsequious bow. He drew a roll of parchment out of one sleeve and handed it up to his ruler.

  Taur Urgas unrolled the parchment and glanced at it. "Summon the Nadrak, Yarblek," he ordered.

  "Let Yarblek of Gar og Nadrak approach," an officer at the king's side bellowed.

  Yarblek, his felt overcoat flapping stiffly in the wind, stepped forward. "Our cousin from the north," Taur Urgas greeted him coldly.

  "Your Majesty," Yarblek replied with a slight bow.

  "It would be well if you departed, Yarblek," the king told him. "My soldiers have certain orders, and some of them might fail to recognize a fellow Angarak in their eagerness to obey my commands. I cannot guarantee your safety if you remain, and I would be melancholy if something unpleasant befell you."

  Yarblek bowed again. "My servants and I will leave at once, your Majesty."

  "If they are Nadraks, they have our permission to go," the king said. "All foreigners, however, must remain. You're dismissed, Yarblek."

  "I think we got out of that tent just in time," Barak muttered. Then a man in a rusty mail shirt covered with a greasy brown vest stepped out of the supply post. He was unshaven, and the white of one of his eyes gleamed unwholesomely.

  "Brill!" Garion exclaimed. Barak's eyes went flat.

  Brill bowed to Taur Urgas with an unexpected grace. "Hail, Mighty King," he said. His tone was neutral, carrying neither respect nor fear.

  "What are you doing here, Kordoch?" Taur Urgas demanded coldly.

  "I'm on my master's business, dread king," Brill replied.

  "What business would Ctuchik have in a place like this?"

  "Something personal, Great King," Brill answered evasively.

  "I like to keep track of you and the other Dagashi, Kordoch. When did you come back to Cthol Murgos?"

  "A few months ago, Mighty Arm of Torak. If I'd known you were interested, I'd have sent word to you. The people my master wants me to deal with know I'm following them, so my movements aren't secret."

  Taur Urgas laughed shortly, a sound without any warmth. "You must be getting old, Kordoch. Most Dagashi would have finished the business by now."

  "These are rather special people." Brill shrugged. "It shouldn't take me much longer, however. The game is nearly over. Incidentally, Great King, I have a gift for you." He snapped his fingers sharply, and two of his henchmen came out of the building, dragging a third man between them. There was blood on the front of the captive's tunic, and his head hung down as if he were only semiconscious. Barak's breath hissed between his teeth.

  "I thought you might like a bit of sport," Brill suggested.

  "I'm the king of Cthol Murgos, Kordoch," Taur Urgas replied coldly. "I'm not amused by your attitude and I'm not in the habit of doing chores for the Dagashi. If you want him dead, kill him yourself."

  "This would hardly be a chore, your Majesty," Brill said with an evil grin. "The man's an old friend of yours." He reached out, roughly grasped the prisoner's hair, and jerked his head up for the king to see.

  It was Silk. His face was pale, and a deep cut on one side of his forehead trickled blood down the side of his face.

  "Behold the Drasnian spy Kheldar." Brill smirked. "I make a gift of him to your Majesty."

  Taur Urgas began to smile then, his eyes lighting with a dreadful pleasure. "Splendid," he said. "You have the gratitude of your king, Kordoch. Your gift is beyond price." His smile grew broader. "Greetings, Prince Kheldar," he said, almost purring. "I've been waiting for the chance to see you again for a long time now. We have many old scores to settle, don't we?"

  Silk seemed to stare back at the Murgo king, but Garion could not be sure if he were conscious enough even to comprehend what was happening to him.

  "Abide here a bit, Prince of Drasnia," Taur Urgas gloated. "I'll want to give some special thought to your final entertainment, and I'll want to be sure you're fully awake to appreciate it. You deserve something exquisite, I think - probably lingering - and I certainly wouldn't want to disappoint you by rushing into it."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BARAK AND GARION slid back down into the gully with the gravel rattling down the steep bank around them.

  "They've got Silk," Barak reported quietly. "Brill's there. It looks as if he and his men caught Silk while he was trying to leave. They turned him over to Taur Urgas,"

  Belgarath stood up slowly, a sick look on his face. "Is he-" He broke off.

  "No," Barak answered. "He's still alive. It looks as if they roughed him up a little, but he seemed to be all right."

  Belgarath let out a long, slow breath. "That's something, anyway."

  "Taur Urgas seemed to know him," Barak continued. "It sounded as if Silk had done something that offended the king pretty seriously, and Taur Urgas looks like the kind of man who holds grudges."

  "Are they holding him someplace where we can get to him?" Durnik asked.

  "We couldn't tell," Garion answered. "They all talked for a while, and then several soliders took him around behind that building down there.
We couldn't see where they took him from there."

  "The Murgo who runs the place said something about a pit," Barak added.

  "We have to do something, father," Aunt Pol said.

  "I know, Pol. We'll come up with something." He turned to Barak again. "Haw many soldiers did Taur Urgas bring with him?"

  "A couple of regiments at least. They're all over the place down there."

  "We can translocate him, father," Aunt Pol suggested.

  "That's a long way to lift something, Pol," he objected. "Besides, we'd have to know exactly where he's being held."

  "I'll find that out." She reached up to unfasten her cloak.

  "Better wait until after dark," he told her. "There aren't many owls in Cthol Murgos, and you'd attract attention in the daylight. Did Taur Urgas have any Grolims with him?" he asked Garion.

  "I think I saw a couple."

  "That's going to complicate things. Translocation makes an awful noise. We'll have Taur Urgas right on our heels when we leave."

  "Do you have any other ideas, father?" Aunt Pol asked.

  "Let me work on it," he replied. "At any rate, we can't do anything until it gets dark."

  A low whistle came from some distance down the gully.

  "Who's that?" Barak's hand went to his sword.

  "Ho, Alorns." It was a hoarse whisper.

  "Methinks it is the Nadrak Yarblek," Mandorallen said.

  "How did he know we're here?" Barak demanded.

  There was the crunching sound of footsteps, in the gravel, and Yarblek came around a bend in the gully. His fur cap was low over his face, and the collar of his felt overcoat was pulled up around his ears. "There you are," he said, sounding relieved.

  "Are you alone?" Barak's voice was heavy with suspicion.

  "Of course I'm alone," Yarblek snorted. "I told my servants to go on ahead. You certainly left in a hurry."

  "We didn't feel like staying to greet Taur Urgas," Barak replied.

  "It's probably just as well. I'd have had a great deal of trouble getting you out of that mess back there. The Murgo soldiers inspected every one of my people to be sure they were all Nadraks before they'd let me leave. Taur Urgas has Silk."

  "We know," Barak said. "How did you find us?"

  "You left the pegs pulled up at the back of my tent, and this hill's the closest cover on this side of the fair. I guessed which way you'd go, and you left a track here and there to confirm it." The Nadrak's coarse face was serious, and he showed no signs of his extended bout at the ale barrel. "We're going to have to get you out of here," he said. "Taur Urgas will be putting out patrols soon, and you're almost in his lap."

  "We must rescue our companion first," Mandorallen told him.

  "Silk? You'd better forget that. I'm afraid my old friend has switched his last pair of dice." He sighed. "I liked him, too."

  "He's not dead, is he?" Durnik's voice was almost sick.

  "Not yet," Yarblek replied, "but Taur Urgas plans to correct that when the sun comes up in the morning. I couldn't even get close enough to that pit to drop a dagger to him so he could open a vein. I'm afraid his last morning's going to be a bad one."

  "Why are you trying to help us?" Barak asked bluntly.

  "You'll have to excuse him, Yarblek," Aunt Pol said. "He's not familiar with Nadrak customs." She turned to Barak. "He invited you into his tent and offered you his ale. That makes you the same as his brother until sunrise tomorrow."

  Yarblek smiled briefly at her. "You seem to know us quite well, girl," he observed. "I never got to see you dance, did I?"

  "Perhaps another time," she replied.

  "Perhaps so." He squatted and pulled a curved dagger from beneath his overcoat. He smoothed a patch of sand with his other hand and began sketching rapidly with his dagger point. "The Murgos are going to watch me," he said, "so I can't add half a dozen or so more people to my party without having them all over me. I think the best thing would be for you to wait here until dark. I'll move out to the east and stop a league or so on up the caravan track. As soon as it gets dark, you slip around and catch up with me. We'll work something out after that."

  "Why did Taur Urgas tell you to leave?" Barak asked him.

  Yarblek looked grim. "There's going to be a large accident tomorrow. Taur Urgas will immediately send an apology to Ran Borune - something about inexperienced troops chasing a band of brigands and mistaking honest merchants for bandits. He'll offer to pay reparation, and things will all be smoothed over. Pay is a magic word when you're dealing with Tolnedrans."

  "He's going to massacre the whole camp?" Barak sounded stunned.

  "That's his plan. He wants to clean all the westerners out of Cthol Murgos and he seems to think that a few such accidents will do the job for him."

  Relg had been standing to one side, his large eyes lost in thought. Suddenly he stepped across the gully to where Yarblek's sketch was. He smoothed it out of the sand. "Can you show me exactly where this pit in which they're holding our friend is located?" he asked.

  "It won't do you any good," Yarblek told him. "It's guarded by a dozen men. Silk's got quite a reputation, and Taur Urgas doesn't want him to get away."

  "Just show me," Relg insisted.

  Yarblek shrugged. "We're here on the north side." He roughed in the fair and the caravan route. "The supply station is here." He pointed with his dagger. "The pit's just beyond it at the base of that big hill on the south side."

  "What kind of walls does it have?"

  "Solid stone."

  "Is it a natural fissure in the rock, or has it been dug out?"

  "What difference does it make?"

  "I need to know."

  "I didn't see any tool marks," Yarblek replied, "and the opening at the top is irregular. It's probably just a natural hole."

  Relg nodded. "And the hill behind it - is it rock or dirt?"

  "Mostly rock. All of stinking Cthol Murgos is mostly rock."

  Relg stood up. "Thank you," he said politely.

  "You're not going to be able to tunnel through to him, if that's what you're thinking," Yarblek said, also standing and brushing the sand off the skirts of his overcoat. "You don't have time."

  Belgarath's eyes were narrowed with thought. "Thanks, Yarblek," he said. "You've been a good friend."

  "Anything to irritate the Murgos," the Nadrak said. "I wish I could do something for Silk."

  "Don't give up on him yet."

  "There isn't much hope, I'm afraid. I'd better be going. My people will wander off if I'm not there to watch them."

  "Yarblek," Barak said, holding out his hand, "someday we'll have to get together and finish getting drunk."

  Yarblek grinned at him and shook his hand. Then he turned and caught Aunt Pol in a rough embrace. "If you ever get bored with these Alorns, girl, my tent flap is always open to you."

  "I'll keep that in mind, Yarblek," she replied demurely.

  "Luck," Yarblek told them. "I'll wait for you until midnight." Then he turned and strode off down the gully.

  "That's a good man there," Barak said. "I think I could actually get to like him."

  "We must make plans for Prince Kheldar's rescue," Mandorallen declared, beginning to take his armor out of the packs strapped to one of the horses. "All else failing, we must of necessity resort to main force."

  "You're backsliding again, Mandorallen," Barak said.

  "That's already been taken care of," Belgarath told them.

  Barak and Mandorallen stared at him.

  "Put your armor away, Mandorallen," the old man instructed the knight. "You're not going to need it."

  "Who's going to get Silk out of there?" Barak demanded.

  "I am," Relg answered quietly. "How much longer is it going to be before it gets dark?"

  "About an hour. Why?"

  "I'll need some time to prepare myself."

  "Have you got a plan?" Durnik asked.

  Relg shrugged. "There isn't any need. We'll just circle around until we're behind
that hill on the other side of the encampment. I'll go get our friend, and then we can leave."

  "Just like that?" Barak asked.

  "More or less. Please excuse me." Relg started to turn away.

  "Wait a minute. Shouldn't Mandorallen and I go with you?"

  "You wouldn't be able to follow me," Relg told him. He walked up the gully a short distance. After a moment, they could hear him muttering his prayers.

  "Does he think he can pray him out of that pit?" Barak sounded disgusted.

  "No," Belgarath replied. "He's going to go through the hill and carry Silk back out. That's why he was asking Yarblek all those questions."

  "He's going to what?"

  "You saw what he did at Prolgu - when he stuck his arm into the wall?"

  "Well, yes, but "

  "It's quite easy for him, Barak."

  "What about Silk? How's he going to pull him through the rock?"

  "I don't really know. He seems quite sure he can do it, though."

  "If it doesn't work, Taur Urgas is going to have Silk roasting over a slow fire first thing tomorrow morning. You know that, don't you?"

  Belgarath nodded somberly.

  Barak shook his head. "It's unnatural," he grumbled.

  "Don't let it upset you so much," Belgarath advised.

  The light began to fade, and Relg continued to pray, his voice rising and falling in formal cadences. When it was fully dark, he came back to where the others waited. "I'm ready," he said quietly. "We can leave now."

  "We'll circle to the west," Belgarath told them. "We'll lead the horses and stay under cover as much as we can."

  "It will take us a couple hours," Durnik said.

  "That's all right. It will give the soldiers time to settle down. Pol, see what the Grolims Garion saw are up to."

  She nodded, and Garion felt the gentle push of her probing mind. "It's all right, father," she stated after a few moments. "They're preoccupied. Taur Urgas has them conducting services for him."

  "Let's go, then," the old man said.

  They moved carefully down the gully, leading the horses. The night was murky, and the wind bit at them as they came out from between the protecting gravel banks. The plain to the east of the fair was dotted with a hundred fires whipping in the wind and marking the vast encampment of the army of Taur Urgas.