Demon Lord Of Karanda (34 page)

‘Are you all right?’ he asked the Temple Guardsman lying in the mud.

There was no answer.

Cautiously, Garion dismounted, dropped his lance, and drew Iron-grip’s sword. ‘I say, man, are you all right?’ he asked again. He reached out with his foot and nudged the fellow.

The Guardsman’s visor was closed, and Garion put the tip of his sword under the bottom of it and lifted. The man’s eyes were rolled back in his head until only the whites showed, and there was blood gushing freely from his nose.

The others came galloping up, and Ce’Nedra flung herself out of the saddle almost before her horse had stopped and hurled herself into her husband’s arms. ‘You were magnificent, Garion! Absolutely magnificent!’

‘It did go rather well, didn’t it?’ he replied modestly, trying to juggle sword, shield, and wife all at the same time. He looked at Polgara, who was also dismounting. ‘Do you think he’s going to be all right, Aunt Pol?’ he asked. ‘I hope I didn’t hurt him too much.’

She checked the limp man lying in the road. ‘He’ll be fine, dear,’ she assured him. ‘He’s just been knocked senseless, is all.’

‘Nice job,’ Silk said.

Garion suddenly grinned broadly. ‘You know something,’ he said. ‘I think I’m starting to understand why Mandorallen enjoys this so much. It
is
sort of exhilarating.’

‘I think it has t’ do with the weight of the armor,’ Feldegast observed sadly to Belgarath. ‘It bears down on ’em so much that it pulls all the juice out of their brains, or some such.’

‘Let’s move on,’ Belgarath suggested.

By midmorning the following day, they had moved into the broad valley which was the location of Mal Yaska, the ecclesiastical capital of Mallorea and the site of the Disciple Urvon’s palace. Though the sky remained overcast, the rain had blown on through, and a stiff breeze had begun to dry the grass and the mud which had clogged the roads. There were encampments dotting the valley, little clusters of people who had fled from the demons to the north and the plague to the south. Each group was fearfully isolated from its neighbors, and all of them kept their weapons close at hand.

Unlike those of Mal Rakuth, the gates of Mal Yaska stood open, though they were patrolled by detachments of mailarmored Temple Guardsmen.

‘Why don’t they go into the city?’ Durnik asked, looking at the clusters of refugees.

‘Mal Yaska’s not the sort of place ye visit willin’ly, Goodman,’ Feldegast replied. ‘When the Grolims be lookin’ fer people t’ sacrifice on their altars, ‘tis unwise t’ make yerself too handy.’ He looked at Belgarath. ‘Would ye be willin’ t’ accept a suggestion, me ancient friend?’ he asked.

‘Suggest away.’

‘We’ll be needin’ information about what’s happenin’ up there.’ He pointed at the snow-capped mountains looming across the northern horizon. ‘Since I know me way about Mal Yaska an’ know how t’ avoid the Grolims, wouldn’t ye say that it might be worth the investment of an hour or so t’ have me nose about the central market place an’ see what news I kin pick up?’

‘He’s got a point, Belgarath,’ Silk agreed seriously. ‘I don’t like riding into a situation blind.’

Belgarath considered it. ‘All right,’ he said to the juggler, ‘but be careful—and stay out of the alehouses.’

Feldegast sighed. ‘There be no such havens in Mal Yaska, Belgarath. The Grolims there be fearful strict in their disapproval of simple pleasures.’ He shook the reins of his mule and rode on across the plain toward the black walls of Urvon’s capital.

‘Isn’t he contradicting himself?’ Sadi asked. ‘First he says it’s too dangerous to go into the city and then he rides on in anyway.’

‘He knows what he’s doing,’ Belgarath said. ‘He’s in no danger.’

‘We might as well have some lunch while we’re waiting, father,’ Polgara suggested.

He nodded, and they rode some distance into an open field and dismounted.

Garion laid aside his lance, pulled his helmet from his sweaty head, and stood looking across the intervening open space at the center of Church power in Mallorea. The city was large, certainly, though not nearly so large as Mal Zeth. The walls were high and thick, surmounted by heavy battlements, and the towers rising inside were square and blocky. There was a kind of unrelieved ugliness about it, and it seemed to exude a brooding menace as if the eons of cruelty and blood lust had sunk into its very stones. From somewhere near the center of the city, the telltale black column of smoke rose into the air, and faintly, echoing across the plain with its huddled encampments of frightened refugees, he thought he could hear the sullen iron clang of the gong coming from the Temple of Torak. Finally, he sighed and turned his head away.

‘It will not last forever,’ Eriond, who had come up beside him, said firmly. ‘We’re almost to the end of it now. All the altars will be torn down, and the Grolims will put their knives away to rust.’

‘Are you sure, Eriond?’

‘Yes, Belgarion. I’m very sure.’

They ate a cold lunch, and, not long after, Feldegast returned, his face somber. ‘’Tis perhaps a bit more serious than we had expected, Ancient One,’ he reported, swinging down from his mule. ‘The Chandim be in total control of the city, an’ the Temple Guardsmen be takin’ their orders directly from them. The Grolims who hold t’ the old ways have all gone into hidin’, but packs of Torak’s Hounds be sniffin’ out the places where they’ve hidden an’ they be tearin’ ’em t’ pieces wherever they find ’em.’

‘I find it very hard to sympathize with Grolims,’ Sadi murmured.

‘I kin bear their discomfort meself,’ Feldegast agreed, ‘but ‘tis rumored about the market place that the Chandim an’ their dogs an’ their Guardsmen
also
be movin’ about across the border in Katakor.’

‘In spite of the Karands and Mengha’s demons?’ Silk asked with some surprise.

‘Now that’s somethin’ I could not get the straight of,’ the juggler replied. ‘No one could tell me why or how, but the Chandim an’ the Guardsmen seem not t’ be concerned about Mengha nor his army nor his demons.’

‘That begins to smell of some kind of accommodation,’ Silk said.

‘There were hints of that previously,’ Feldegast reminded him.

‘An alliance?’ Belgarath frowned.

‘’Tis hard t’ say fer sure, Ancient One, but Urvon be a schemer, an’ he’s always had this dispute with the imperial throne at Mal Zeth. If he’s managed t’ put Mengha in his pocket, Kal Zakath had better look t’ his defenses.’

‘Is Urvon in the city?’ Belgarath asked.

‘No. No one knows where he’s gone fer sure, but he’s not in his palace there.’

‘That’s very strange,’ Belgarath said.

‘Indeed,’ the juggler replied, ‘but whatever he’s doin’ or plannin’ t’ do, I think we’d better be walkin’ softly once we cross the border into Katakor. When ye add the Hounds an’ the Temple Guardsmen t’ the demons an’ Karands already there, ‘tis goin’t’ be fearful perilous t’ approach the House of Torak at Ashaba.’

‘That’s a chance we’ll have to take,’ the old man said grimly, ‘We’re going to Ashaba, and if anything—Hound, human, or demon—gets in our way, we’ll just have to deal with it as it comes.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The sky continued to lower as they rode on past the brooding city of the Grolim Church under the suspicious gaze of the armored Guardsmen at the gate and the hooded Grolims on the walls.

‘Is it likely that they’ll follow us?’ Durnik asked.

‘It’s not very probable, Goodman,’ Sadi replied. ‘Look around you. There are thousands encamped here, and I doubt that either Guardsmen or Grolims would take the trouble to follow them all when they leave.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ the smith agreed.

By late afternoon they were well past Mal Yaska, and the snow-topped peaks in Katakor loomed higher ahead of them, starkly outlined against the dirty gray clouds scudding in from the west.

‘Will ye be wantin’t’ stop fer the night before we cross the border?’ Feldegast asked Belgarath.

‘How far is it to there from here?’

‘Not far at all, Ancient One.’

‘Is it guarded?’

‘Usually, yes.’

‘Silk,’ the old man said, ‘ride on ahead and have a look.’

The little man nodded and nudged his horse into a gallop.

‘All right,’ Belgarath said, signaling for a halt so that they could all hear him. ‘Everybody we’ve seen this afternoon was going south. Nobody’s fleeing
toward
Katakor. Now, a man who’s running away from someplace doesn’t stop when the border’s in sight. He keeps on going. That means that there’s a fair chance that there’s not going to be anybody within miles of the border on the Katakor side. If the border’s not guarded, we can just go on across and take shelter for the night on the other side.’

‘And if the border
is
guarded?’ Sadi asked.

Belgarath’s eyes grew flat. ‘We’re still going to go through,’ he replied.

‘That’s likely to involve fighting.’

‘That’s right. Let’s move along, shall we?’

About fifteen minutes later, Silk returned. ‘There are about ten Guardsmen at the crossing,’ he reported.

‘Any chance of taking them by surprise?’ Belgarath asked him.

‘A little, but the road leading to the border is straight and flat for a half mile on either side of the guard post.’

The old man muttered a curse under his breath. ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘They’ll at least have time to get to their horses. We don’t want to give them the leisure to get themselves set. Remember what Feldegast said about keeping your wits. Don’t take any chances, but I want all of those Guardsmen on their backs after our first charge. Pol, you stay back with the ladies—and Eriond.’

‘But—’ Velvet began to protest.

‘Don’t argue with me, Liselle—just this once.’

‘Couldn’t Lady Polgara just put them to sleep?’ Sadi asked. ‘The way she did with the spies back in Mal Zeth?’

Belgarath shook his head. ‘There are a few Grolims among the Guardsmen, and that particular technique doesn’t work on Grolims. This time we’re going to have to do it by main strength—just to be on the safe side.’

Sadi nodded glumly, dismounted, and picked up a stout tree limb from the side of the road. He thumped it experimentally on the turf. ‘I want you all to know that this is not my preferred way of doing things,’ he said.

The rest of them also dismounted and armed themselves with cudgels and staffs. Then they moved on.

The border was marked by a stone shed painted white and by a gate consisting of a single white pole resting on posts on either side of the road. A dozen horses were tethered just outside the shed, and lances leaned against the wall. A single, mail-coated Guardsman paced back and forth across the road on the near side of the gate, his sword leaning back over his shoulder.

‘All right,’ Belgarath said. ‘Let’s move as fast as we can. Wait here, Pol.’

Garion sighed. ‘I guess I’d better go first.’

‘We were hoping that you’d volunteer.’ Silk’s grin was tight.

Garion ignored that. He buckled on his shield, settled his helmet in place, and once again lifted the butt of his lance out of his stirrup. ‘Is everybody ready?’ he asked, looking around. Then he advanced his lance and spurred his horse into a charge with the others close on his heels.

The Guardsman at the gate took one startled look at the warlike party bearing down on him, ran to the door of the shed, and shouted at his comrades inside. Then he struggled into the saddle of his tethered horse, leaned over to pick up his lance, and moved out into the road. Other Guardsmen came boiling out of the shed, struggling with their equipment and stumbling over each other.

Garion had covered half the distance to the gate before more than two or three of the armored men were in their saddles, and so it was that the man who had been standing watch was forced to meet his charge alone.

The results were relatively predictable.

As Garion thundered past his unhorsed opponent, another Guardsman came out into the road at a half gallop, but Garion gave him no time to set himself or to turn his horse. The crashing impact against the unprepared man’s shield hurled his horse from its feet. The Guardsman came down before the horse did, and the animal rolled over him, squealing and kicking in fright.

Garion tried to rein in, but Chretienne had the bit in his teeth. He cleared the pole gate in a long, graceful leap and charged on. Garion swore and gave up on the reins. He leaned forward and seized the big gray by one ear and hauled back. Startled, Chretienne stopped so quickly that his rump skidded on the road.

‘The fight’s back that way,’ Garion told his horse, ‘or did you forget already?’

Chretienne gave him a reproachful look, turned, and charged back toward the gate again.

Because of the speed of their attack, Garion’s friends were on top of the Guardsmen before the armored men could bring their lances into play, and the fight had quickly turned ugly. Using the butt of his axe, Durnik smashed in one Guardsman’s visor, denting it so severely that the man could no longer see. He rode in circles helplessly, both hands clutching at his helmet until he rode under a low-hanging limb, which smoothly knocked him off his horse.

Silk ducked under a wide, backhand sword stroke, reached down with his dagger, and neatly cut his attacker’s girth strap. The fellow’s horse leaped forward, jumping out from under his rider. Saddle and all, the Guardsman tumbled into the road. He struggled to his feet, sword in hand, but Feldegast came up behind him and methodically clubbed him to earth again with an ugly lead mace.

It was Toth, however, who was the hardest pressed. Three Guardsmen closed on the giant. Even as Chretienne leaped the gate again, Garion saw the huge man awkwardly flailing with his staff for all the world like someone who had never held one in his hands before. When the three men came within range however, Toth’s skill miraculously reemerged. His heavy staff whirled in a blurring circle. One Guardsman fell wheezing to earth, clutching at his broken ribs. Another doubled over sharply as Toth deftly poked him in the pit of the stomach with the butt of his staff. The third desperately raised his sword, but the giant casually swiped it out of his hand, then reached out and took the surprised man by the front of his mail coat. Garion clearly heard the crunch of crushed steel as Toth’s fist closed. Then the giant looked about and almost casually threw the armored man against a roadside tree so hard that it shook the spring leaves from the highest twig.