Sorceress of Darshiva
Page 56"Of a certainty, my Lord of Trellheim," the great knight replied earnestly. "I vouchsafe it upon my life to thee." Mandorallen wore mail and his silver-trimmed blue surcoat.
"A simple yes would have been enough, Mandorallen." Barak sighed. "Now," he continued briskly, "we’ve been forbidden to ride along with Garion and the others, right?"
"That's what Cyradis said at Rheon," Hettar replied softly. He wore his usual black horsehide, and his scalplock was caught in a silver ring. He lounged in a chair with his long legs thrust far out in front of him.
"All right, then," Barak continued. "We can't go with them, but there's nothing to stop us from going to Mallorea on business of our own, is there?"
"What kind of business?" Lelldorin asked blankly.
"We'll think of something. I've got a ship. We'll run on down to Tot Honeth and load her with a cargo of some kind. Then we'll go to Mallorea and do some trading."
"How do you plan to get the Seabird across to the Sea of the East?" Hettar asked.
"That could be a long portage, don't you think?"
Barak winked broadly. "I've got a map," he said. "We can sail around the southern end of Cthol Murgos and right on into the eastern sea. From there to Mallorea is nothing at all."
"I thought the Murgos were very secretive about maps of their coastline," Lelldorin said, a frown creasing his open young face.
"They are," Barak grinned, "but Javelin's been in Rak Urga and he managed to steal one."
"He sailed back to Boktor aboard Greldik's ship. Javelin's not a good sailor, so he wasn't feeling very well. Greldik pinched the map and had his cartographer make a copy. Javelin never even knew he'd been robbed."
"Thy plan is excellent, my Lord," Mandorallen said gravely, "but methinks I detect a flaw."
"Oh?"
"As all the world knows, Mallorea is a vast continent, thousands of leagues across and even more thousands from the south to the polar ice of the far north. It could well take us our lifetimes to locate our friends, for I perceive that to be the thrust of thy proposal."
Barak slyly laid one finger aside his nose. "I was just coming to that," he said. "When we were in Boktor, I got Yarblek drunk. He's shrewd enough when he's sober, but once you get a half keg of ale into him, he gets talkative. I asked him a few questions about the operation of the business he and Silk are running in Mallorea, and I got some very useful answers. It seems that the two of them have offices in every major city in Mallorea, and those offices keep in constant touch with each other. No matter what else he's doing, Silk's going to keep an eye on his business interests. Every time he gets near one of those offices, he'll find some excuse to stop by to see how many millions he's made in the past week."
"That's Silk, all right," Hettar agreed.
"All we have to do is drop anchor in some Mallorean seaport and look up the little thief's office. His people will know approximately where he is, and where Silk is, you're going to find the others."
"My Lord," Mandorallen apologized, "I have wronged thee. Canst thou forgive me for underestimating thy shrewdness?"
"Perfectly all right, Mandorallen," Barak replied magnanimously.
"But," Lelldorin protested, "we're still forbidden to join Garion and the others."
"I think I've worked that part out, too," the big man said. "We can't ride along with them, but Cyradis didn't say anything about how far we have to stay away from them, did she? All we're going to be doing is minding our own business—a league or so away—or maybe a mile. We'll be close enough so that if they get into any kind of trouble, we'll be able to lend a hand and then be on our way again. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"
Mandorallen's face came suddenly alight. " Tis a duty, my Lord," he exclaimed, "a moral obligation. The Gods look with great disfavor upon those who fail to come to the aid of travelers in peril."
"Somehow I knew you'd see it that way," Barak said, slapping his friend on the shoulder with one huge hand.
"Sophistry," Relg said with a note of finality in his harsh voice. The UIgo zealot now wore a tunic that looked very much like the one Durnik customarily wore. His once-pale skin was now sun-browned, and he no longer wore a cloth across his eyes. The years of working out of doors near the house he had built for Taiba and their horde of children had gradually accustomed his skin and eyes to sunlight.
"What do you mean, sophistry?" Barak protested.
"Just what I said, Barak. The Gods look at our intent, not our clever excuses. You want to go to Mallorea to aid Belgarion—we all do—but don't try to fool the Gods with these trumped-up stories."
They all stared at the zealot helplessly.
"But it was such a good plan," Barak said plaintively.
"Very good," Relg agreed, "but it's disobedient, and disobedience of the Gods—and of prophecy—is sin."
"Sin again, Relg?" Barak said in disgust. "I thought you'd gotten over that."
Barak's son Unrak, who at fourteen was already as big as a grown man, rose to his feet. He wore a mail shirt and had a sword belted at his side. His hair was flaming red, and his downy beard had already begun to cover his cheeks. "Let's see if I've got this right," he said. Unrak's voice no longer cracked and warbled, but had settled into a resonant baritone. "We have to obey the prophecy, is that it?"
"To the letter," Relg said firmly.
"Then I have to go to Mallorea," Unrak said.
"That went by a little fast," his father said to him.
"It's not really all that complicated, father. I'm the hereditary protector of the heir to the Rivan Throne, aren't I?"
"He's got a point there," Hettar said. "Go ahead, Unrak. Tell us what you've got in mind."
"Well," the young man said, blushing slightly under the scrutiny of his elders, "if Prince Geran's in Mallorea and in danger, I have to go there. The prophecy says so. Now, I don't know where he is, so I'm going to have to follow King Belgarion until he finds his son so that I can protect him."
Barak grinned broadly at his son.