Chapter 11
Cyradis sat near the window, cradling the small bundle almost reverently. Her eyes and thoughts, however, were not on her newborn child, but on the war waging throughout the world. Her thoughts were on her beloved Zakath, fighting valiantly to defend Mal Zeth, the depopulated city and its residents holding firm against the storm of Morindim. The news that Rak Cthan had been taken had been a shock, as well, and now a heated battle was taking place not ten leagues from here.
How did such people move so fast? Cyradis wondered. In the brief moment in which she had been connected with her people, the Dals, she had sensed in their group mind a kind of bewildered fascination. These Morindim, and their leader... something was strange. The information the stars had given them had been strange and confusing. But the words they had given her to pass on to the kings of the West: "A great evil moves throughout the mountains. There is one who has great power and who was thought to be dead by all. He is searching for one who is hiding in the west." She felt a chill go through her.
"Thought to be dead by all..."
She herself had never been very good at searching out the meaning behind the words of prophecy. Her job had always been to conceal the facts behind words of that sort. She shivered, though the sun was warm in the room.
War. She looked down at the tiny, smooth face of the Crown Prince of Mallorea. Terath. It was a name that was slightly Dal and slightly Mallorean. Thinking of the baby's father, longing entered her eyes. Would Zakath ever live to see his newborn son?
She shook the thought away. Of course he would live.
"Thought to be dead by all..."
Who was thought to be dead by all? Who would be of such importance that everyone would take notice of where he-or she-was? And how could they overlook him or her? The major opponents of the Light Prophecy were all accounted for. Torak? Dead. Zandramas? Obliviated. Zedar? Trapped. Ctuchik? Obliviated. Urvon? Burning in hell.
Terath gave a little cry, squirming in her arms. With a sigh, Cyradis began to unlace her dress so she could nurse her child.
A Cherek warship, smaller than most, sailed into the harbor at Kotu and docked, a rope being tossed over the side, and a sailor leapt to secure it. Two figures on deck paced impatiently, mirror images of each other. As soon as the gangplank was lowered, Silk and Urgit sprang down it impatiently, striding out of the quays and down the street, heading for a quiet, dirty part of town.
"And you know this man who'll sell us horses," Urgit repeated for the fourth time. "He won't scalp us?"
"Urgit, Urgit," Silk answered, with a flash of white teeth. "Since when is there a man who can scalp US?"
Urgit frowned impatiently. "But I don't know Western currency very well."
"Then allow me," Silk swept him a bow.
"Aren't you worried we won't get there before the battle starts?" Urgit asked, lowering his voice.
Silk dropped his sardonic air. "Of course," he replied quietly. "Deadly worried. If a man startles me in any way right now, my nerves are stretched so fine that I think I'd cut his throat before I realized he was a friend." He began to walk faster, and his brother unconsciously lengthened his steps to match his. "I'm worried about Velvet, I'm worried about our child." He bit his lip. "This is why I never wanted to fall in love. This helplessness, actually CARING about someone. I can't live with it. I can't deal with it." Then he grinned again. "Besides, why shouldn't we have some fun on the way?"
Soon, Urgit was watching curiously as Silk haggled back and forth with the owner of the horses. He had thought that Kheldar would be forced to settle for a high price because of their hurry, but his sly brother had adopted a careless, casual air, and the owner saw that. The owner pointed out what strong, sturdy working beasts they were at every opportunity, and Silk countered by saying that they really should go to the nearest Algar embassy, since their horses were so much better.
He sighed theatrically. "The price of horses is dropping all the time, friend. They seem to be getting more and more common nowadays. You can buy them almost anywhere." His long nose was twitching slightly.
The owner of the horses watched him with narrow eyes, then replied casually, "If I had a dragon or a huge bird I'd sell them to you, but I don't." His fingers were moving almost idly, and Urgit watched them with interest as the two prattled on about other ways of transportation. -You seem to be in a hurry, Kheldar. Do you really have the time to stand around haggling like this?-
-All the time in the world, friend. Why don't we just skip through all this and get down to the offers?-
-Very well. Five gold coins.-
-Five gold coins! You've got to be joking. For these nags?-
-They're dependable creatures, Kheldar. You can rely on them.-
-Drokev,- Silk's fingers tilted sarcastically, -five gold coins is enough to feed a family of seven for a year. I'm not buying mere horses for that price. I'll offer a gold coin.-
-A gold coin! Are you trying to rob me?-
-Obviously.-
-Very funny, Kheldar. I can't let you have these horses for less than four gold coins. I need the money to pay off my debts.-
-Drokev, you know you've got many other ways to pay off debts. Two gold coins.-
-Why don't we just say three gold coins, to save argument?-
-Done. Drasnian coins, of course.-
"WHAT?" yelled Drokev, out loud.
Silk smirked at him. "This is Kotu, Drokev. Kotu is in Drasnia, and it's only fair we should use the national currency. Our national currency." He opened his money pouch and gave the fuming man his money. "Thanks for the horses, Drokev," he tossed over his shoulder as he led them off. "We're in a hurry, you know."
Drokev began to swear.
Silk laughed lightly as they walked away. "My, my, wasn't that fun?"
"I don't get it," Urgit said. "What was that about Drasnian coins?"
"He assumed that we were bargaining with Tolnedran currency, since most people do. Drasnian coins are worth far less."
"You're a bad man, Kheldar," Urgit said reprovingly.
"I know." Silk smiled again. "That look on his face!"
Frozen in place, the western forces stared at the towering figures, fear piercing their hearts like darts of cold ice. Garion felt a terrifying helplessness. They were doomed, all of them. The demons lifted their heads and let out ear-shattering bellows, their shimmering forms towering a hundred feet in the air. Garion covered his ears desperately, trying to keep his eardrums from being shattered.
There was utter silence, the silence of despair.
And then Belgarath began to laugh.
It was a long, ringing laugh of surprise, and it echoed throughout the army, seeming to stir them from their stupor. Garion stared at his grandfather. Had he gone mad? Peals of laughter came from the old man, and he was doubling over, laughing so hard he could barely stand.
"All right, Old Wolf." Aunt Pol drew herself up, her steely eyes blazing, the lock at her brow glowing with incandescent fury. "What's so funny?"
"They're..." More laughter. He fought to get out the words. "They're..." He began to laugh harder, and managed to gasp: "Illusions!"
They all stared at him, then turned to look at the towering, shimmering figures. They were real, so real that the cold chill was still in their hearts. It wasn't possible. Illusions?
"Think about it." Belgarath wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "They'd have to be directed by a demon lord, and there aren't any major ones left. Both Nahaz and Morja have been killed or sent back where they came from, and the other demon lords are too minor to raise so many demons. The Morindim are the ones we assumed to be raising the demons, and they aren't even doing anything." He waved at the other figure beside the Morindim leader. "That's the one who's casting them. He's good, very good. I'm guessing he's a renegade Grolim who was found by this leader of the Morindim and trained. But they're still illusions."
Garion's eyes were riveted on the Mimbrates, the Algars, the Chereks, the Drasnians. "Grandfather, that doesn't help us." They turned to look at him. "We know they're illusions, but our warriors don't." He pointed at the towering, shimmering figures. "They're too real. It doesn't make any difference that we know what they are if the ones that are fighting don't."
Belgarath had stopped laughing. They were all silent, staring at the towering forms that they had feared for so long, only to find out they were illusions, and then to discover the knowledge was no good.
The demons took an earth-shaking step forward.
And the warriors of the west turned and fled.
Screaming, crying, weeping in horror, the Drasnians and Chereks ran. The Algars, their faces deathly pale, galloped away from the battlefields. The rain of Asturian arrows faltered and stopped. And the Mimbrates, their eyes wide in shock and horror, spun and retreated, for the first time in the history of Arendia.
The waves of Morindim black began marching forward, an inexorable tide of steady black.
"Boktor," murmured Poledra. "Boktor is doomed."
They watched as the Morindim streamed past...and turned off the North Caravan Route. They cut through the trees at a southwestern angle, marching away from Boktor and in the general direction of the Great Southern Road. Column upon column, row upon row. The demons shifted and vanished, and then there was only black.
Garion looked out to where the two mounted figures had been before. But they had vanished, possibly into the sea of black.
"They weren't going to Boktor," murmured Polgara. Her gaze turned to the heaps upon heaps of bodies: Cherek, Drasnian, Algar, Mimbrate. The Tolnedrans had been kept in reserve, farther down the North Caravan Route, thankfully. But hundreds of Alorns and Arends lay dead about a blood-stained battlefield. For nothing. The Morindim had marched on.
Garion, suddenly feeling a thousand years old, and very tired, asked wearily, "If they're not going to Boktor, where are they going?"
Belgarath's eyes were shadowed. "We'll have to find out."
If anyone has the slightest REAL inkling who the leader of the Morindim is, something that fits in, don't you dare say it in a review! Just keep it to yourself, and there's various hints if you're right. And see, I DID deal with the demon problem. The demon problem was the one that made me choose this plot, actually.