David Eddings - Magician's Gambit

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Barak whispered nervously to Belgarath.

“I’ve been here before, using the causeway,” the old man told him quietly. “I like to keep an eye on Ctuchik from time to time. We got up those stairs. They’ll take us to the top of the city wall.”

The stairway was narrow and steep, with massive walls on either side and a vaulted roof overhead. The stone steps were worn by centuries of use. They climbed silently. Another scream echoed through the city, and the huge gong sounded its iron note once more.

When they emerged from the stairway, they were atop the outer wall. It was as broad as a highway and encircled the entire city. A parapet ran along its outer edge, marking the brink of the dreadful precipice that dropped away to the floor of the rocky wasteland a mile or more below. Once they emerged from the shelter of the buildings, the chill air bit at them, and the black flagstones and rough-hewn blocks of the outer parapet glittered with frost in the icy starlight.

Belgarath looked at the open stretch lying along the top of the wall ahead of them and at the shadowy buildings looming several hundred yards ahead. “We’d better spread out,” he whispered. “Too many people in one place attract attention in Rak Cthol. We’ll go across here two at a time. Walk—don’t run or crouch down. Try to look as if you belong here. Let’s go.” He started along the top of the wall with Barak at his side, the two of them walking purposefully, but not appearing to hurry. After a few moments, Aunt Pol and Mandorallen followed.

“Durnik,” Silk whispered. “Garion and I’ll go next. You and Relg follow in a minute or so.” He peered at Relg’s face, shadowed beneath the Murgo hood. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“As long as I don’t look up at the sky,” Relg answered tightly. His voice sounded as if it were coming from between clenched teeth.

“Come along, then, Garion,” Silk murmured.

It required every ounce of Garion’s self control to walk at a normal pace across the frosty stones. It seemed somehow that eyes watched from every shadowy building and tower as he and the little Drasnian crossed the open section atop the wall. The air was dead calm and bitterly cold, and the stone blocks of the outer parapet were covered with a lacy filigree of rime frost.

There was another scream from the Temple lying somewhere ahead. The corner of a large tower jutted out at the end of the open stretch of wall, obscuring the walkway beyond.

“Wait here a moment,” Silk whispered as they stepped gratefully into its shadow and he slipped around the jutting corner.

Garion stood in the icy dark, straining his ears for any sound. He glanced once toward the parapet. Far out on the desolate wasteland below, a small fire was burning. It twinkled in the dark like a small red star. He tried to imagine how far away it might be.

Then there was a slight scraping sound somewhere above him. He spun quickly, his hand going to his sword. A shadowy figure dropped from a ledge on the side of the tower several yards over his head and landed with catlike silence on the flagstones directly in front of him. Garion caught a familiar sour, acid reek of stale perspiration.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Garion?” Brill said quietly with an ugly chuckle.

“Stay back,” Garion warned, holding his sword with its point tow as Barak had taught him.

“I knew that I’d catch you alone someday,” Brill said, ignoring the sword. He spread his hands wide and crouched slightly, his cast eye gleaming in the starlight.

Garion backed away, waving his sword threateningly. Brill bounded to one side, and Garion instinctively followed him with the sword point. Then, so fast that Garion could not follow, Brill dodged back and struck his hand down sharply on the boy’s forearm. Garion’s sword skittered away across the icy flagstones. Desperately, Garion reached for his dagger.

Then another shadow flickered in the darkness at the corner of the tower. Brill grunted as a foot caught him solidly in the side. He fell, but rolled quickly across the stones and came back up onto his feet, his stance wide and his hands moving slowly in the air in front of him.

Silk dropped his Murgo robe behind him, kicked it out of the way, and crouched, his hands also spread wide.

Brill grinned. “I should have known you were around somewhere, Kheldar.”

“I suppose I should have expected you too, Kordoch,” Silk replied. “You always seem to show up.”

Brill flicked a quick hand toward Silk’s face, but the little man easily avoided it. “How do you keep getting ahead of us?” he asked, almost conversationally. “That’s a habit of yours that’s starting to irritate Belgarath.” He launched a quick kick at Brill’s groin, but the cast-eyed man jumped back agilely.

Brill laughed shortly. “You people are too tender-hearted with horses,” he said. “I’ve had to ride quite a few of them to death chasing you. How did you get out of that pit?” He sounded interested. “Taur Urgas was furious the next morning.”

“What a shame.”

“He had the guards flayed.”

“I imagine a Murgo looks a bit peculiar without his skin.”

Brill dove forward suddenly, both hands extended, but Silk sidestepped the lunge and smashed his hand sharply down in the middle of Brill’s back. Brill grunted again, but rolled clear farther out on the stones atop the wall. “You might be just as good as they say,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Try me, Kordoch,” Silk invited, with a nasty grin. He moved out from the wall of the tower, his hands in constant motion. Garion watched the two circling each other with his heart in his mouth.

Grill jumped again, with both feet lashing out, but Silk dove under him. They both rolled to their feet again. Silk’s left hand flashed out, even as he came to his feet, catching Brill high on the head. Brill reeled from the blow, but managed to kick Silk’s knee as he spun away. “Your technique’s defensive, Kheldar,” he grated, shaking his head to clear the effects of Silk’s blow. “That’s a weakness.”

“Just a difference of style, Kordoch,” Silk replied.

Grill drove a gouging thumb at Silk’s eye, but Silk blocked it and slammed a quick counterblow to the pit of his enemy’s stomach. Brill scissored his legs as he fell, sweeping Silk’s legs out from under him. Both men tumbled across the frosty stones and sprang to their feet again, their hands flickering blows faster than Garion’s eyes could follow them.

The mistake was a simple one, so slight that Garion could not even be sure it was a mistake. Brill flicked a jab at Silk’s face that was an ounce or two harder than it should have been and traveled no more than a fraction of an inch too far. Silk’s hands flashed up and caught his opponent’s wrist with a deadly grip and he rolled backward toward the parapet, his legs coiling, even as the two of them fell. Jerked off balance, Brill seemed almost to dive forward. Silk’s legs straightened suddenly, launching the cast-eyed man up and forward with a tremendous heave. With a strangled exclamation Brill clutched desperately at one of the stone blocks of the parapet as he sailed over, but he was too high and his momentum was too great. He hurtled over the parapet, plunging out and down into the darkness below the wall. His scream faded horribly as he fell, lost in the sound of yet another shriek from the Temple of Torak.

Silk rose to his feet, glanced once over the edge, and then came back to where Garion stood trembling in the shadows by the tower wall.

“Silk!” Garion exclaimed, catching the little man’s arm in relief.

“What was that?” Belgarath asked, coming back around the corner.

“Brill,” Silk replied blandly, pulling his Murgo robe back on.