David Eddings: Demon Lord of Karanda

He gave up. “Just forget that I said it.” He squinted up at the sails, trying to swing the bow to the exact angle which would allow the sails to catch the offshore breeze.

Then, quite suddenly, they bellied out and boomed, and the scow began to pick up speed, plowing out past the end of the pier and into open water.

“Pol,” Belgarath said. “Why don’t you come over here and see what you can do with this man? I can’t get a twitch out of him, and I want to question him.”

“All right, father.” She went to the Grolim, knelt beside him, and put her hands on his temples. She concentrated for a moment, and Garion felt the surge of her will.

The Grolim groaned.

“Sadi,” she said thoughtfully, “Do you have any nephara in that case of yours?”

The eunuch nodded. “I was just going to suggest it myself, Lady Polgara.” He knelt and opened his red case.

Belgarath looked at his daughter quizzically.

“It’s a drug, father,” she explained. “It induces truthfulness.”

“Why not do it the regular way?” he asked.

“The man’s a Grolim. His mind is likely to be very strong. I could probably overcome him, but it would take time—and it would be very tiring. Nephara works just as well and it doesn’t take any effort.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself, Pol.”

Sadi had taken a vial of a thick green liquid from his case. He unstoppered it and then took hold of the Grolim’s nose, holding it until the half-conscious man was forced to open his mouth in order to breathe. Then the eunuch delicately tilted three drops of the green syrup onto the man’s tongue. “I’d suggest giving him a few moments before you wake him, Lady Polgara,” he said, squinting clinically at the Grolim’s face. “Give the drug time to take effect first.” He restoppered the vial and put it back in his case.

“Will the drug hurt him in any way?” Durnik asked.

Sadi shook his head. “It simply relaxes the will,” he replied. “He’ll be rational and coherent, but very tractable.”

“He also won’t be able to focus his mind sufficiently to use any talent he may have,” Polgara added. “We won’t have to worry about his translocating himself away from us the moment he wakes up.” She critically watched the Grolim’s face, occasionally lifting one of his eyelids to note the drug’s progress. “I think it’s taken hold now,” she said finally. She untied the prisoner’s hands and feet.

Then she put her hands on the man’s temples and gently brought him back to consciousness. “How are you feeling?” she asked him.

“My head hurts,” the Grolim said plaintively.

“That will pass,” she assured him. She rose and looked at Belgarath. “Speak to him calmly, father,” she said, “and start out with simple questions. With nephara it’s best to lead them rather gently up to the important things.”

Belgarath nodded. He picked up a wooden pail, inverted it, it on the deck beside the Grolim, and sat on it. “Good morning, friend,” he said pleasantly, “or is it afternoon?” He squinted up at the sky.

“You’re not really a Karand, are you?” the Grolim asked. His voice sounded dreamy. “I thought you were one of their wizards, but now that I look at you more closely, I can see that you’re not.”

“You’re very astute, friend,” Belgarath congratulated him. “What’s your name?”

” Arshag,” the Grolim replied.

“And where are you from?”

“I am of the Temple at Calida.”

“I thought you might be. Do you happen to know a Chandim named Harakan, by any chance?”

“He now prefers to be known as Lord Mengha.

“Ah, yes, I’d heard about that. That illusion of Nahaz you raised this morning was very accurate. You must have seen him several times in order to get everything right,”

“I have frequently been in close contact with Nahaz,” the Grolim admitted. “It was I who delivered him to Lord Mengha.”

“Why don’t you tell me about that? I’m sure it’s a fascinating story and I’d really like to hear it. Take your time, Arshag. Tell me the whole story, and don’t leave out any of the details.”

The Grolim smiled almost happily. “I’ve been wanting to tell someone the story for a long time now,” he said.

“Do you really want to hear it?”

“I’m absolutely dying to hear it,” Belgarath assured him.

The Grolim smiled again. “Well,” he began, “it all started quite a number of years ago—not too long after the death of Torak. I was serving in the Temple at Calida. Though we were all in deepest despair, we tried to keep the faith alive. Then one day Harakan came to our temple and sought me out privately. I had journeyed at times to Mal Yaska on Church business and I knew Harakan to be of high rank among the Chandim and very close to the Holy Disciple Urvon. When we were alone, he told me that Urvon had consulted the Oracles and Prophecies concerning the direction the Church must take in her blackest hour. The Disciple had discovered that a new God was destined to rise over Angarak, and that he will hold Cthrag Sardius in his right hand and Cthrag Yaska in his left. And he will be the almighty Child of Dark, and the Lord of Demons shall do his bidding.”

“That’s a direct quotation, I take it?”

Arshag nodded. “From the eighth antistrophe of the Ashabine Oracles,” he confirmed.

“It’s a little obscure, but prophecies usually are. Go on.”

Arshag shifted his position and continued. “The Disciple Urvon interpreted the passage to mean that our new God would have the aid of the demons in quelling his enemies.”

“Did Harakan identify these enemies for you?”

Arshag nodded again. “He mentioned Zandramas—of whom I have heard—and one named Agachak, whose name is strange to me. He also warned me that the Child of Light would probably attempt to interfere.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption,” Silk murmured to Garion.

“Harakan, who is the Disciple’s closest advisor, had selected me to perform a great task,” Arshag continued proudly. “He charged me to seek out the wizards of Karanda and to study their arts so that I might summon up the Demon Lord Nahaz and beseech him to aid the Disciple Urvon in his struggles with his enemies.”

“Did he tell you how dangerous that task would be?” Belgarath asked him.

“I understood the perils,” Arshag said, “but I accepted them willingly, for my rewards were to be great.”

“I’m sure,” Belgarath murmured. “Why didn’t Harakan do it himself?”

“The Disciple Urvon had placed another task upon Harakan—somewhere in the west, I understand—having to do with a child.”

Belgarath nodded blandly. “I think I’ve heard about it.”

“Anyway.” Arshag went on, “I journeyed into the forest of the north, seeking out the wizards who still practiced their rites in places hidden from the eyes of the Church. In time, I found such a one.” His lip curled in a sneer. “He was an ignorant savage of small skill, at best only able to raise an imp or two, but he agreed to accept me as his pupil—and slave. It was he who saw fit to put these marks upon my body.” He glanced with distaste at his tattoos. “He kept me in a kennel and made me serve him and listen to his ravings. I learned what little he could teach me and then I strangled him and went in search of a more powerful teacher.”

“Note how deep the gratitude of Grolims goes,” Silk observed quietly to Garion, who was concentrating half on the story and half on the business of steering the scow.

“The years that followed were difficult,” Arshag continued. “I went from teacher to teacher, suffering enslavement and abuse.” A bleak smile crossed his face. “Occasionally, they used to sell me to other wizards—as one might sell a cow or a pig. After I learned the arts, I retraced my steps and repaid each one for his impertinences. At length, in a place near the barrens of the north, I was able to apprentice myself to an ancient man reputed to be the most powerful wizard in Karanda. He was very old, and his eyes were failing, so he took me for a young Karand seeking wisdom. He accepted me as his apprentice, and my training began in earnest. The raising of minor demons is no great chore, but summoning a Demon Lord is much more difficult and much more perilous. The wizard claimed to have done it twice in his life, but he may have been lying. He did, however, show me how to raise the image of the Demon Lord Nahaz and also how to communicate with him. No spell or incantation is powerful enough to compel a Demon Lord to come when he is called. He will come only if he consents to come—and usually for reasons of his own.