David Eddings - Queen of Sorcery

They were in a long hallway of some sort. Garion could see the flagstone floor quite clearly. Three men were carrying him face down, and his head bobbed and swung on his neck uncomfortably. His mouth was dry, and the thick, sweet smell that had impregnated the cloth they had crushed to his face lingered. He raised his head, trying to look around.

“He’s awake,” the man holding one of his arms said.

“Finally,” one of the others muttered. “You held the cloth to his face too long, Issus.”

“I know what I’m doing,” the first one said.

“Put him down.”

“Can you stand?” Issus asked Garion. His shaved head was stubbled, and he had a long scar running from his forehead to his chin directly through the puckered vacancy of an empty eye-socket. His belted robe was stained and spotted.

“Get up,” Issus ordered in a hissing kind of voice. He nudged Garion with his foot. Garion struggled to rise. His knees were shaky, and he put his hand on the wall to steady himself. The stones were damp and covered with a kind of mold.

“Bring him,” Issus told the others. They took Garion’s arms and half-dragged, half-carried him down the damp passageway behind the one-eyed man. When they came out of the corridor, they were in a vaulted area that seemed not so much like a room but rather a large roofed place. Huge pillars, covered with carvings, supported the soaring ceiling, and small oil lamps hung on long chains from above or sat on little stone shelves on the pillars. There was a confused sense of movement as groups of men in varicolored robes drifted from place to place in a kind of langorous stupor.

“You,” Issus snapped at a plump young man with dreamy eyes, “tell Sadi, the chief eunuch, that we have the boy.”

“Tell him yourself,” the young man said in a piping voice. “I don’t take orders from your kind, Issus.”

Issus slapped the plump young man sharply across the face.

“You hit me!” the plump one wailed, putting his hand to his mouth. “You made my lip bleed—see?” He held out his hand to show the blood.

“If you don’t do what I tell you to do, I’ll cut your fat throat,” Issus told him in a flat, unemotional voice.

“I’m going to tell Sadi what you did.”

“Go ahead. And as long as you’re there, tell him that we’ve got the boy the queen wanted.”

The plump young man scurried away.

“Eunuchs!” One of the men holding Garion’s arm spat.

“They have their uses,” the other said with a coarse laugh.

“Bring the boy,” Issus ordered. “Sadi doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

They pulled Garion across the lighted area.

A group of wretched-looking men with unkempt hair and beards sat chained together on the floor. “Water,” one of them croaked. “Please.” He stretched out an imploring hand.

Issus stopped and stared at the slave in amazement. “Why does this one still have its tongue?” he demanded of the guard who stood over the slaves.

The guard shrugged. “We haven’t had time to attend to that yet.”

“Take time,” Issus told him. “If one of the priests hear it talk, they’ll have you questioned. You wouldn’t like that.”

“I’m not afraid of the priests,” the guard said, but he looked nervously over his shoulder.

“Be afraid,” Issus advised him. “And water these animals. They’re no good to anybody dead.” He started to lead the men holding Garion through a shadowy area between two pillars, then stopped again. “Get out of my way,” he said to something lying in the shadows. Grudgingly, the thing began to move. With revulsion Garion realized that it was a large snake.

“Get over there with the others,” Issus told the snake. He pointed toward a dimly lighted corner where a large mass seemed to be undulating, moving with a kind of sluggish seething. Faintly Garion could hear the dry hiss of scales rubbing together. The snake which had barred their way flicked a nervous tongue at Issus, then slithered toward the dim corner.

“Someday you’re going to get bitten, Issus,” one of the men warned. “They don’t like being ordered around.”

Issus shrugged indifferently and moved on.

“Sadi wants to talk to you,” the plump young eunuch said spitefully to Issus as they approached a large polished door. “I told him that you hit me. Maas is with him.”

“Good,” Issus said. He pushed the door open. “Sadi,” he called sharply, “tell your friend I’m coming in. I don’t want him making any mistakes.”

“He knows you, Issus,” a voice on the other side of the door said. “He won’t do anything by mistake.”

Issus went in and closed the door behind him.

“You can leave now,” one of the men holding Garion told the young eunuch.

The plump one sniffed. “I go where Sadi tells me to go.”

“And come running when Sadi whistles, too.”

“That’s between Sadi and me, isn’t it?”

“Bring him in,” Issus ordered, opening the door again.

The two men pushed Garion into the room. “We’ll wait out here,” one of them said nervously.

Issus laughed harshly, pushed the door shut with his foot, and pulled Garion to the front of a table where a single oil lamp flickered with a tiny flame that barely held back the darkness. A thin man with deadlooking eyes sat at the table, lightly stroking his hairless head with the long fingers of one hand.

“Can you speak, boy?” he asked Garion. His voice had a strange contralto quality to it, and his silk robe was a solid crimson rather than varicolored.

“Could I have a drink of water?” Garion asked.

“In a minute.”

“I’ll take my money now, Sadi,” Issus said.

“As soon as we’re sure this is the right boy,” Sadi replied.

“Ask it what its name is,” a hissing whisper said from the darkness behind Garion.

“I will, Maas.” Sadi looked faintly annoyed at the suggestion. “I’ve done this before.”

“You’re taking too long,” the whisper said.

“Say your name, boy,” Sadi told Garion.

“Doroon,” Garion lied quickly. “I’m really very thirsty.”

“Do you take me for a fool, Issus?” Sadi asked. “Did you think just any boy would satisfy me?”

“This is the boy you told me to fetch,” Issus said. “I can’t help it if your information was wrong.”

“You say your name is Doroon?” Sadi asked.

“Yes,” Garion said. “I’m the cabin-boy on Captain Greldik’s ship. Where are we?”

“I’ll ask the questions, boy,” Sadi said.

“It’s lying,” the sibilant whisper came from behind Garion.

“I know that, Maas,” Sadi replied calmly. “They always do at first.”

“We don’t have time for all this,” the hiss said. “Give it oret. I need the truth immediately.”

“Whatever you say, Maas,” Sadi agreed. He rose to his feet and disappeared momentarily into the shadows behind the table. Garion heard a clink and then the sound of water pouring. “Remembering that this was your idea, Maas. If she becomes angry about it, I don’t want to be the one she blames.”

“She’ll understand, Sadi.”

“Here, boy,” Sadi offered, coming back into the light and holding out a brown earthenware cup.

“Uh-no, thank you,” Garion said. “I guess I’m not really thirsty after all.”

“You might as well drink it, boy,” Sadi told him. “If you don’t, Issus will hold you, and I’ll pour it down your throat. It isn’t going to hurt you.

“Drink,” the hissing voice commanded.

“Better do as they say,” Issus advised.

Helplessly Garion took the cup. The water had a strangely bitter taste and seemed to burn his tongue.

“Much better,” Sadi said, resuming his seat behind the table. “Now, you say your name is Doroon?”