David Eddings - Queen of Sorcery

“Your Highness,” the gray-haired chamberlain said deferentially, “the Minister of Trade wanted to inform you that he’s reached an excellent agreement with the trade deputation from Rak Goska. The gentlemen from Cthol Murgos were most accommodating.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” Ran Borune said, throwing a meaningful look at Mister Wolf.

“The contingent from Rak Goska would like to pay their respects before they leave,” Morin added.

“By all means,” the Emperor said. “I’ll be delighted to receive them here.”

Morin turned and nodded shortly to the two officials near the gate. The officials turned and spoke to someone outside, and the gate swung open.

Five Murgos strode into the garden. Their coarse black robes were hooded, but the hoods were thrown back. The front of their robes were unclasped, and the chain mail shirts they all wore gleamed in the sunlight. The Murgo in front was a bit taller than the others, and his bearing indicated that he was the leader of the deputation. A welter of images and partial memories flooded Garion’s mind as he looked at the scar-faced enemy he had known all his life. The strange pull of the silent, hidden linkage between them touched him. It was Asharak.

Something brushed Garion’s mind, tentative only—not the powerful force the Murgo had directed at him in the dim hallway in Anheg’s palace at Val Alorn. The amulet under his tunic became very cold and yet seemed to burn at the same time.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Asharak said, striding forward with a cold smile, “we are honored to be admitted into your august presence.” He bowed, his mail shirt clinking.

Barak was holding Hettar’s right arm firmly, and Mandorallen moved and took the other.

“I’m overjoyed to see you again, worthy Asharak,” the Emperor said. “I’m told that an agreement has been reached.”

“Beneficial to both sides, your Highness.”

“The best kind of agreement,” Ran Borune approved.

“Taur Urgas, King of the Murgos, sends greetings,” Asharak said. “His Majesty feels most keenly the desirability of cementing relations between Cthol Murgos and Tolnedra. He hopes that one day he may call your Imperial Highness brother.”

“We respect the peaceful intentions and legendary wisdom of Taur Urgas.” The Emperor smiled with a certain smugness.

Asharak looked around, his black eyes flat. “Well, Ambar,” he said to Silk, “your fortunes seem to have improved since we met last in Mingan’s counting room in Darine.”

Silk spread his hands in an innocent-looking gesture. “The Gods have been kind—most of them, anyway.”

Asharak smiled briefly.

“You know each other?” the Emperor asked, a bit surprised.

“We’ve met, your Highness,” Silk admitted.

“In another kingdom,” Asharak added. He looked directly then at Mister Wolf. “Belgarath,” he said politely with a brief nod.

“Chamdar,” the old man replied.

“You’re looking well.”

“Thank you.”

“It seems that I’m the only stranger here,” the Emperor said.

“Chamdar and I have known each other for a very long time,” Mister Wolf told him. He glanced at the Murgo with a faintly malicious twinkle in his eyes. “I see that you’ve managed to recover from your recent indisposition.”

Asharak’s face flickered with annoyance, and he looked quickly at his shadow on the grass as if for reassurance.

Garion remembered what Wolf had said atop the tor after the attack of the Algroths—something about a shadow returning by an “indirect route.” For some reason the information that Asharak the Murgo and Chamdar the Grolim were the same man did not particularly surprise him. Like a complex melody that had been faintly out of tune, the sudden merging of the two seemed right somehow. The knowledge clicked in his mind like a key in a lock.

“Someday you’ll have to show me how you did that,” Asharak was saying. “I found the experience interesting. My horse had hysterics, however.”

“My apologies to your horse.”

“Why is it that I feel as if I’m missing about half of this conversation?” Ran Borune asked.

“Forgive us, your Highness,” Asharak said. “Ancient Belgarath and I are renewing an old enmity. We’ve seldom had the opportunity to speak to each other with any degree of civility.” He turned and bowed politely to Aunt Pol. “My Lady Polgara. You’re as beautiful as ever.” He eyed her with a deliberately suggestive stare.

“You haven’t changed much either, Chamdar.” Her tone was mild, even bland, but Garion, who knew her so well, recognized immediately the deadly insult she had just delivered to the Grolim.

“Charming,” Asharak said with a faint smile.

“This is better than a play,” the Emperor cried delightedly. “You people are actually dripping with malice. I wish I’d had the opportunity to see the first act.”

“The first act was very long, your Highness,” Asharak said, “and quite often tedious. As you may have noticed, Belgarath sometimes gets carried away with his own cleverness.”

“I’m certain I’ll be able to make up for that,” Mister Wolf told him with a slight smile. “I promise you that the last act will be extremely short, Chamdar.”

“Threats, old man?” Asharak asked. “I thought we’d agreed to be civilized.”

“I can’t recall when we ever agreed on anything,” Wolf said. He turned to the Emperor. “I think we’ll leave now, Ran Borune,” he said. “With your permission, of course.”

“Of course,” the Emperor replied. “I’m pleased to have met you though I still don’t believe in you, naturally. My skepticism, however, is theological, not personal.”

“I’m glad of that,” Wolf said, and quite suddenly he grinned impishly at the Emperor.

Ran Borune laughed.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Belgarath,” Asharak said.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Wolf advised him, then turned and led the way out of the Emperor’s garden.

It was midafternoon when they emerged from the palace gate. The broad lawns were green in the warm spring sunlight, and the cypress trees stirred in a faint breeze.

“I don’t think we want to stay in Tol Honeth too much longer,” Wolf said.

“Do we leave now, then?” Mandorallen asked.

“There’s something I have to do first,” Wolf replied, squinting into the sunlight. “Barak and his cousin will come along with me. The rest of you go on back to Grinneg’s house and wait there.”

“We’ll stop by the central market on our way,” Aunt Pol told him. “There are a few things I need.”

“This isn’t a shopping expedition, Pol.”

“The Grolims already know we’re here, father,” she said, “so there’s no point in creeping about like sneak thieves, is there?”

He sighed. “All right, Pol.”

“I knew you’d see it my way,” she said.

Mister Wolf shook his head helplessly and rode off with Barak and Grinneg. The rest of them rode down the hill from the palace toward the gleaming city below. The streets at the foot of the hill were broad and lined on either side by magnificent houses-each almost a palace in itself.

“The rich and the noble,” Silk said. “In Tol Honeth, the closer you live to the palace, the more important you are.”

“’Tis oft times thus, Prince Kheldar,” Mandorallen observed. “Wealth and position sometimes need the reassurance of proximity to the seat of power. By ostentation and propinquity to the throne, small men are able to avoid facing their own inadequacy.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Silk said.

The central marketplace of Tol Honeth was a vast square filled with bright-colored booths and stalls where a significant portion of the goods of the world were on display. Aunt Pol dismounted, left her horse with one of the Cherek guards, and moved busily from booth to booth, buying, it appeared, almost everything in sight. Silk’s face blanched often at her purchases, since he was paying for them.