David Eddings: Demon Lord of Karanda

“Oh?”

“The boat sank in a sudden storm just off the city of Karand on the east-side of the lake in Ganesia.”

“The nice thing about Zandramas is her predictability,” Silk murmured to Garion. “I don’t think we’re going to have much trouble picking up her trail again, do you?”

Arshag’s eyelids were drooping now, and he seemed barely able to hold his head erect.

“If you have any more questions for him, Ancient One, you should ask them quickly.” Sadi advised. “The drug is starting to wear off, and he’s very close to sleep again.”

“I think I have all the answers I need,” the old man replied.

“And I have what I need as well,” Polgara added grimly.

Because of the size of the lake, there was no possibility of reaching the eastern shore before nightfall, and so they lowered the sails and set a sea anchor to minimize the nighttime drift of their scow. They set sail again at first light and shortly after noon saw a low, dark smudge along the eastern horizon.

“That would be the east-coast of the lake,” Silk said to Garion. “I’ll go up to the bow and see if I can pick out some landmarks. I don’t think we’ll want to run right up to the wharves of Karand, do you?”

“No. Not really.”

“I’ll see if I can find us a quiet cove someplace, and then we can have a look around without attracting attention.”

They beached the scow in a quiet bay surrounded by high sand dunes and scrubby brush about midafternoon.

“What do you think, Grandfather?” Garion asked after they had unloaded the horses.

“About what?”

“The boat. What should we do with it?”

“Set it adrift. Let’s not announce that we came ashore here.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Garion sighed a bit regretfully. “It wasn’t a bad boat, though, was it?”

“It didn’t tip over.”

“Capsize,” Garion corrected.

Polgara came over to where they were standing. “Do you have any further need for Arshag ?” she asked the old man.

“No, and I’ve been trying to decide what to do with him.”

“I’ll take care of it, father,” she said. She turned and went back to where Arshag still lay, once more bound and half asleep on the beach. She stood over him for a moment, then raised one hand. The Grolim flinched wildly even as Garion felt the sudden powerful surge of her will.

“Listen carefully, Arshag,” she said. “You provided the Demon Lord with women so that he could unloose an abomination upon the world. That act must not go unrewarded. This, then, is your reward. You are now invincible. No one can kill you—no man, no demon—not even you yourself. But, no one will ever again believe a single word that you say. You will be faced with constant ridicule and derision all the days of your life and you will be driven out wherever you go, to wander the world as a rootless vagabond. Thus are you repaid for aiding Mengha and helping him to unleash Nahaz and for sacrificing foolish women to the Demon Lord’s unspeakable lust.” She turned to Durnik. “Untie him,” she commanded.

When his arms and legs were free, Arshag stumbled to his feet, his tattooed face ashen. “Who are you, woman?” he demanded in a shaking voice, “and what power do you have to pronounce so terrible a curse?”

“I am Polgara,” she replied. “You may have heard of me. Now go!” She pointed up the beach with an imperious finger.

As if suddenly seized by an irresistible compulsion, Arshag turned, his face filled with horror. He stumbled up one of the sandy dunes and disappeared on the far side.

“Do you think it was wise to reveal your identity, my lady?” Sadi asked dubiously.

“There’s no danger, Sadi.” She smiled. “He can shout my name from every rooftop, but no one will believe him.”

“How long will he live?” Ce’Nedra’s voice was very small.

“Indefinitely, I’d imagine. Long enough, certainly, to give him time to appreciate fully the enormity of what it was that he did.”

Ce’Nedra stared at her. “Lady Polgara!” she said in a sick voice. “How could you do it? It’s horrible.”

“Yes,” Polgara replied, “it is—but so was what happened back at that temple we burned.”

The street, if it could be called that, was narrow and crooked. An attempt had been made at some time in the past to surface it with logs, but they had long since rotted and been trodden into the mud. Decaying garbage lay in heaps against the walls of crudely constructed log houses, and herds of scrawny pigs rooted dispiritedly through those heaps in search of food.

As Silk and Garion, once again wearing their Karandese vests and caps and their cross-tied sackcloth leggings, approached the docks jutting out into the lake, they were nearly overcome by the overpowering odor of long-dead fish.

“Fragrant sort of place, isn’t it?” Silk noted, holding a handkerchief to his face.

“How can they stand it?” Garion asked, trying to keep from gagging.

“Their sense of smell has probably atrophied over the centuries,” Silk replied. “The city of Karand is the ancestral home of all the Karands in all the seven kingdoms. It’s been here for eons, so the debris—and the smell—has had a long time to build up.”

A huge sow, trailed by a litter of squealing piglets, waddled out into the very center of the street and flopped over on her side with a loud grunt. The piglets immediately attacked, pushing and scrambling to nurse.

“Any hints at all?” Silk asked.

Garion shook his head. The sword strapped across his back had neither twitched nor tugged since the two of them had entered the city early that morning on foot by way of the north gate. “Zandramas might not have even entered the city at all,” he said. “She’s avoided populated places before, you know.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” Silk admitted, “but I don’t think we should go any farther until we locate the place where she landed. She could have gone in any direction once she got to this side of the lake—Darshiva, Zamad, Voresebo—even down into Delchin and then on down the Magan into Rengel or Peldane.”

“I know,” Garion said, “but all this delay is very frustrating. We’re getting closer to her. I can feel it, and every minute we waste gives her that much more time to escape again with Geran.”

“It can’t be helped.” Silk shrugged. “About all we can do here is follow the inside of the wall and walk along the waterfront. If she came through the city at all, we’re certain to cross her path.”

They turned a corner and looked down another muddy street toward the lake-shore where fishnets hung over long poles. They slogged through the mud until they reached the street that ran along the shoreline where floating docks reached out into the lake and then followed it along the waterfront.

There was a certain amount of activity here. A number of sailors dressed in faded blue tunics were hauling a boat half-full of water up onto the shore with a large deal of shouting and contradictory orders. Here and there on the docks, groups of fishermen in rusty brown sat mending nets, and farther on along the street several loiterers in fur vests and leggings sat on the log stoop in front of a sour-smelling tavern, drinking from cheap tin cups. A blowzy young woman with frizzy orange hair and a pockmarked face leaned out of a second-story window, calling to passersby in a voice she tried to make seductive, but which Garion found to be merely coarse.

“Busy place,” Silk murmured.

Garion grunted, and they moved on along the littered street.

Coming from the other direction, they saw a group of armed men. Though they all wore helmets of one kind or another, the rest of their clothing was of mismatched colors and could by no stretch of the imagination be called uniforms. Their self-important swagger, however, clearly indicated that they were either soldiers or some kind of police.