An hour or so later, they rounded a bend in the road and caught a glimpse of the strange, alien-looking towers of the capital of the snake-people rising into the air on the far side of the river. There seemed to be no coherent pattern to Nyissan architecture. Some of the towers rose in slender spires, and others were bulky, with bulb like tops. Some even twisted in spirals toward the sky. They were, moreover, painted every possible hue—green, red, yellow, and even some in a garish purple. Silk was waiting for them a few hundred yards farther along the road. "There won't be any trouble getting past here without being seen from the other side," he reported, "but there's someone on up ahead who wants to talk to us."
"Who?" Belgarath asked sharply.
"He didn't say, but he seemed to know we were coming."
"I don't like that very much. Did he say what he wants?"
"Only that he's got a message of some kind for us."
"Let's go find out about this." The old man looked at Garion. "You'd better cover the Orb," he suggested. "Let's keep it out of sight—just to be on the safe side."
Garion nodded, took out a soft, tight-fitting leather sleeve arid pulled it down over the hilt of Iron-grip's sword.
The shaven-headed Nyissan who awaited them was dressed in shabby, stained clothing and he had a long scar running from forehead to chin across an empty eye socket. "We thought you'd get here earlier," he said laconically as they all reined in. "What kept you?"
Garion looked at the one-eyed man closely. "Don't I know you?" he asked. "Isn't your name Issus?"
Issus grunted. "I'm surprised you remember. Your head wasn't too clear the last time we met."
"It wasn't the sort of thing I'd be likely to forget."
"Somebody in the city wants to see you," Issus said.
"I'm sorry, friend," Belgarath told him, "but we're pressed for time. I don't think there's anybody in Sthiss Tor that we need to talk with."
Issus shrugged. "That's up to you. I was paid to meet you and give you the message." He turned and started back through the slanting, late-afternoon sunlight toward the rank growth along the river bank. Then he stopped. "Oh. I almost forgot. The man who sent me said to tell you that he has some information about somebody named Zandramas, if that means anything to you."
"Zandramas?" Ce'Nedra said sharply.
"Whoever that is," Issus replied. "If you're interested, I've got a boat. I can take some of you across to the city if you want."
"Give us a minute or two to talk it over," Belgarath said to him.
"Take as long as you want. We can't cross until after dark anyway. I'll wait in the boat while you decide." He went on down through the bushes toward the river bank.
"Who is he?" Silk asked Garion.
"His name is Issus. He's for hire. Last time I saw him, he was working for Sadi—the Chief Eunuch in Salmissra's palace—but I get the feeling that he'll work for anybody as long as he gets paid." He turned to Belgarath. "What do you think, Grandfather?"
The old man tugged at one ear lobe. "It could be some kind of ruse," he said, "but somebody over there knows enough about what we're doing to realize that we're interested in Zandramas. I think I'd like to find out who this well-informed citizen is."
"You won't get anything out of Issus," Silk told him. "I've already tried."
Belgarath pondered a moment. "Go see how big this boat of his is."
Silk went over to the edge of the road and peered down through the bushes. "We can't all go," he reported. "Maybe four of us."
Belgarath scratched his chin. "You, me, Pol, and Garion," he decided. He turned to Durnik. "Take the others— and the horses—and go back into the jungle a ways. This might take us a while. Don't build up any fires that can be seen from the city."
"I'll take care of things, Belgarath."
The boat Issus had rowed across from the city was painted a dull black, and it was moored to a half-sunken log, and screened by overhanging tree limbs. The one-eyed man looked critically at Garion. "Do you have to take that big sword?" he asked.
"Yes," Garion replied.
Issus shrugged. "Suit yourself."
As twilight settled on the river, a mist of tiny gnats rose from the surrounding bushes and swarmed about them as they sat in the boat waiting for darkness. Silk absently slapped at his neck.
"Don't jiggle the boat," Issus warned. "The leeches are hungry this time of year, so it's not a good time for swimming."
They sat huddled in the small boat enduring the biting of the gnats as the light gradually faded. After about a half-hour of discomfort, Issus peered out through the concealing branches. "It's dark enough," he said shortly. He untied the boat and pushed it out from the bank with one oar. Then he settled himself and started to row toward the lights of Sthiss Tor on the far side. After about twenty minutes, he swung his boat into the deep shadows beneath the wharf jutting out into the water from the Drasnian enclave, that commercial zone on the river front where northern merchants were permitted to conduct business. A tar-smeared rope was slung under the wharf, and Issus pulled them hand over hand beneath the protecting structure until they reached a ladder. "We go up here," he said, tying his boat to a piling beside the ladder. "Try not to make too much noise."
"Exactly where are you taking us?" Polgara asked him.
"It's not far," he replied and quietly went up the ladder.
"Keep your eyes open," Belgarath muttered. "I don't altogether trust that fellow."
The streets of Sthiss Tor were dark, since all the ground-level windows were thickly shuttered. Issus moved on catlike feet, keeping to the shadows, although Garion could not be sure if his stealth was out of necessity or merely from habit. As they passed a narrow alleyway, Garion heard a skittering noise coming from somewhere in the darkness, and his hand flew to his sword hilt. "What's that?" he asked.
"Rats." Issus shrugged. "They come up from the river at night to feed on garbage—and then the snakes crawl in out of the jungle to eat the rats." He held up one hand. "Wait here a moment." He moved on ahead to peer cautiously up and down a broad street lying just ahead of them. "It's clear," he said. "Come ahead. The house we want is just across the street."
"That's Droblek's house, isn't it?" Polgara asked as they joined the furtive Nyissan, "the Drasnian Port Authority?"