Belgarath the Sorcerer

I swam across the Aldur river and reached the Eastern Escarpment the following morning. I followed it for quite some distance until I came to one of those ravines Algar had told us about at Riva’s Isle. The Eastern Escarpment’s one of the results of what the Master and Belar were obliged to do to contain the ocean Torak created when he cracked the world. The mountain range that came pushing up out of the earth fractured along its western edge, and the result was that imposing, mile-high cliff that forms the natural boundary between Algaria and Mishrak ac Thull.

I considered it as I stood at the mouth of the ravine and decided to wait until nightfall before climbing it. Fleet-foot had told us that Murgos sometimes came down those ravines on horse-stealing expeditions, and I didn’t want to meet a chance group of them in tight quarters. Besides, I didn’t particularly want Ctuchik to know that I was coming. Zedar knew that my favorite alternative to my own form was that of the wolf, and I couldn’t be sure whether or not he’d shared that knowledge with his fellow disciples. I went a mile or so on along the cliff and bedded down in the tall grass.

As it turned out, my decision was a wise one. About noon, I heard riders picking their way around the rubble at the foot of the cliff. I pricked up my ears and stayed hidden in the tall grass.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Rashag,’ I heard one of them saying. ‘I’ve heard about what the horse-people do to those who try to steal their animals.’

‘They’ll have to catch us before they can do anything to us, Agga,’ another voice replied.

I very slowly raised my head. The breeze was a bit erratic, but I was fairly sure it wouldn’t carry my scent to their horses. I peered intently in the direction from which their voices had been coming. Then I saw them. There were only the two of them. They were wearing chain-mail shirts and conical helmets, and they both had swords belted at their waists. Murgos are not an attractive race to begin with, and the fact that they gash their faces during the ceremony that marks their entry into adulthood doesn’t add very much to their appearance. The pair I was watching were fairly typical representatives of their race. They had broad shoulders, of course; you don’t spend most of your life practicing swordsmanship without developing a few muscles. Aside from those bulky shoulders though, they were fairly lean. They had swarthy skin, prominent cheekbones, and narrow, angular eyes.

I saw immediately why Murgos risked coming down the steep ravines that cut the escarpment. The horses they were riding weren’t very good.

‘I saw a large herd from the top of the cliff,’ the one called Rashag told his companion.

‘Horses or cows?’ Agga asked him.

‘It’s hard to say for sure. The cliff’s very high and the animals were in deep grass.’

‘I didn’t come down that ravine to steal cows, Rashag. If I want a cow, I’ll take one from the Thulls. They don’t get excited the way the horse-people do. What did that Grolim you were talking with want?’

‘What else? He was looking for somebody to butcher. His altar’s drying out, and it needs fresh blood.’

‘He didn’t look all that much like a Thullish Grolim.’

‘He wasn’t. He’s a southern Grolim from Rak Cthol. Ctuchik’s got them spread out along the top of the cliff. He doesn’t want any surprises, and the horse-people do know about the ravines.’

‘Alorns,’ Agga spat. ‘I hate Alorns.’

‘I don’t imagine they’re very fond of us, either. The Grolim told me to pass the word that we’re all supposed to stay out of the Wasteland of Murgos.’

‘Who’d want to go there anyway? All that’s there is black sand and that stinking lake.’

‘I’m sure Ctuchik has his reasons. He doesn’t confide in me though. Actually, I’ve never even seen the man.’

‘I have,’ Agga said, shuddering. ‘I had to take a message to Rak Cthol from my general, and Ctuchik questioned me about it. He looks like a man who’s been dead for a week.’

‘What’s Rak Cthol like?’

‘It’s not the sort of place you’d want to visit.’

They were almost out of earshot by now, and I decided not to follow them. They were obviously of fairly low rank, so it wasn’t likely that their conversation would provide any useful information. I lowered my chin onto my paws and went back to sleep.

I did see them one more time, though. It was starting to get dark, and I rose, arched my back, stretched, and yawned.

Then I heard horses galloping toward me. I sank back down in the grass to watch. Rashag and Agga were coming back, and they didn’t have any Algar horses. The only Algar horses I saw had Algars on their backs, and they were in hot pursuit of the two fleeing Murgos. Algar horses were - still are - much better than Murgo horses, so the outcome was fairly predictable. Rashag and Agga didn’t make it back to Cthol Murgos.

I waited until the Algars returned to their herd, then loped back to the mouth of the ravine. I started up. The going would have been difficult for a horse, but wolves have toenails, so I made it to the top before daylight. I sniffed at the air to make sure that no one was in the vicinity, and then I went off toward the southeast and Ctuchik’s fortress in the middle of the Wasteland of Murgos.

The mountains of southern Mishrak ac Thull and northern Cthol Murgos are arid and rocky with hardly any vegetation to provide much in the way of concealment, so I traveled mostly at night. Wolves see well in the dark, but I relied primarily on my nose and my ears to warn me whenever I came near people. Those desiccated wastes held very little in the way of game, so a wolf might have seemed out of place there, and would probably have attracted attention. But I wasn’t particularly worried about the Thulls. They were an inattentive people, in the first place, and they built large fires at night - not because it was particularly cold at that time of year. Mainly they built fires because Thulls are afraid of the dark. When you get right down to it, there’s not really very much in the world that a Thull isn’t afraid of.

Once I crossed the border into Cthol Murgos, though, I began to be more careful. Murgos are just the opposite of Thulls. They make some show of not being afraid of anything - even the things they should be afraid of.

There were very few people in those mountains, however - either Thulls or Murgos. Every so often I’d see a Murgo outpost, but I didn’t have any trouble skirting those places.

It took me a little longer to reach the Wasteland of Murgos than it might have if I’d been traveling through friendly territory, since I spent quite a bit of time hiding or slinking around to stay out of sight. I was certain that no ordinary Murgo would pay very much attention to me, because Murgos are interested in people, not animals. But wolves weren’t common in the region; a Murgo who happened to see me might mention it to the next Grolim he came across. Sometimes the most casual remark will alert a Grolim. I didn’t want anybody to spoil the surprise I had planned for Ctuchik.

I finally came down out of the mountains into the area colorfully known as the Wasteland of Murgos. There was some evidence that it had been a large lake or even an inland sea at some time in the past. I seem to remember that there had been a sizeable body of water lying to the west of the Angarak city of Karnath before Torak cracked the world, and this black-sand-floored desert had obviously been drained all at one time. The skeletons of large aquatic creatures dotted the sand, but the only remnant of that ancient sea was the rancid Tarn of Cthok, some distance to the north of Rak Cthol. I was a little concerned about the fact that I was leaving tracks in that black sand, but the wind out there blew most of the time, so I quit worrying about it.

I finally got within sight of the steep mountain peak that Ctuchik had topped with his city, and I dropped to my haunches to think things over a little bit. Wolves were not unheard of in the mountains of Cthol Murgos and the wasteland, but a wolf padding through the streets of Rak Cthol would definitely attract attention. I was going to need some other disguise, and since the narrow path angling up around the peak was certain to be patrolled and since the city gates would be guarded, I couldn’t see any alternative but feathers.

It was late afternoon, and the heated air rising up off that black sand would help, so I went behind a pile of rocks and slipped back into my own form. Then, after giving some consideration to the surrounding terrain, I formed the image of a vulture in my mind and flowed into that particular shape. I’ll grant you that there are nicer birds in the world than vultures, but there were whole flocks of the ugly brutes circling in the air over Ctuchik’s mountain, so at least I wouldn’t be conspicuous.

I caught an updraft and spiraled aloft on the west side of Ctuchik’s mountain. The sun was just going down, and its ruddy light stained that basalt peak, making it look peculiarly as if it had been dipped in blood. Considering what was going on at the top of it, that was fairly appropriate, I suppose.

I’ve made quite an issue of the fact that I don’t fly very well, but I’m not a complete incompetent, and riding an updraft is a fairly simple process. All you really have to do is lock your wings and let it carry you. Hawks and eagles and vultures do it all the time.

I circled up and up until I was above the city, and then I swooped down and perched on the wall to look things over. At that particular time Rak Cthol was still under construction, and it was not nearly as cluttered as it came to be later on. It was already ugly, though. I think that was a reflection of Ctuchik’s mind. Although it really wasn’t necessary, he appeared to be consciously trying to duplicate the layout of Cthol Mishrak. The actual work of construction was being performed by slaves, of course, since Murgos and Grolims feel they’re above that sort of thing. I watched from my perch atop the wall as the slaves were herded into their cells in those tunnels beneath the city and locked in for the night. Then I patiently waited for it to get dark.