I looked around a bit and after I’d assured myself that Lelldorin’s family was in the right place and doing more or less what it was supposed to be doing, I bought a horse and went on south toward Vo Mandor.
It was early summer, and once I got beyond the gloomy stretches of that forest that blankets northern Arendia, traveling was pleasant. The Great West Road simplified matters enormously. The helpful Tolnedrans had even bridged the River Mallerin, so I was able to cross without getting my feet wet.
The Arendish Fair stood at the juncture of the Great West Road and the high road that skirted the western edges of Ulgoland. The fair had been there since the time of the first Horbite Dynasty, and its position astride the Great West Road meant that it was policed by Tolnedran legionnaires, which sort of kept down the bloodshed. Tolnedrans won’t let anything interfere with commerce, not even an ongoing civil war. I decided that it might not be a bad idea to stop over for a few days to rest my horse and pick up some information.
The Arendish Fair looked like a temporary collection of brightly-colored tents, but it’d been there for something like a thousand years and was a commercial center rivaling the cattle-fair at Muros in Sendaria. Since I wanted information, I went looking for Drasnians.
Yes, even back then. The Drasnian intelligence service had been established not long after the Alorn expedition into Nyissa, and, even as today, it relied heavily on merchants. Anytime you see a Drasnian merchant outside the borders of Drasnia itself, you can safely wager that he has some contacts with the intelligence service. He’s interested in making money, of course, but he’s also interested in information. The kings of Drasnia have shrewdly stressed the fact that gathering information is a Drasnian’s patriotic duty, so in most cases the spy-masters in Boktor don’t even have to pay for it. That’s very helpful when it comes time to balance the budget.
In many ways the Arendish Fair is like a city. It has its shops, its taverns, and even inns for those merchants who don’t want to bother bringing their own tents. It’s laid out like a city, too, with muddy streets and, in much the same fashion as in Muros, various districts. The Tolnedrans who police the fair are wise enough to segregate the races. Doing business with someone you hate is one thing; camping right next to him is something else.
The Drasnian enclave lay in the northeast quadrant of the fair, so I went there. I didn’t look like a merchant, so the Drasnians seemed to ignore me, but nothing really escapes a Drasnian. Of course, the fact that I was scattering recognition signals like a bridesmaid scattering rose-petals at a wedding might have helped a little, too.
Eventually, a small, sharp-faced merchant with a long, pointed nose emerged from his tent with a feigned expression of surprise on his face. ‘Garath!’ he exclaimed. ‘Can that really be you? I haven’t seen you in ten years! What are you doing in Arendia?’ His fingers were very busy telling me that he was a professional spy rather than an amateur, and that his name was Khaldan.
I reined in my horse. ‘Why, strike me blind if it isn’t my old friend Khaldan!’ I said with a certain enthusiasm. I’d never met him in person, but I definitely knew his father, since I had some plans for his family. Ultimately, a marriage between Khaldan’s family and the royal house of Drasnia was going to produce a sharp-nosed little fellow with some rather remarkable talents. Now that I think about it, that sharp-nosed fellow very closely resembled Khaldan, which probably isn’t much of a coincidence, if you stop and think about it.
‘Come inside,’ Khaldan invited me. ‘We’ll have a few tankards, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to for all these years.’
I dismounted and followed him into his tent. ‘Garath?’ I asked him incredulously. ‘Where did you learn about that name?’
He touched one finger slyly to his nose - evidently a family trait. ‘State secret,’ he replied. ‘The Service knows a great deal about you, Ancient One. How can I help you?’
‘It’s nothing very specific, Khaldan,’ I replied. ‘I’m going south is all, and I just stopped by to see if there was anything I ought to know about.’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing unusual for Arendia, Ancient One.’
I looked meaningfully at his half-open tent flap.
‘Not to worry, Garath,’ he assured me. ‘Nobody’s going to get near my tent who isn’t supposed to. We can talk safely.’
‘Maybe, but let’s not bandy that “Ancient One” around too much. Is anything major happening between here and the Tolnedran border?’
‘You might want to go around the Barony of Vo Mandor,’ he suggested. ‘The Baron’s having an argument with one of his neighbors just now.’
I swore.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘He’s the very man I have to see.’
‘Stay here for a few weeks, then. It won’t take him very long to finish up. The Mandor family has quite a reputation here in Mimbre. They’re incapable of anything resembling caution, but they’ve been lucky enough so far that they haven’t come up against anything they can’t handle.’
‘I know,’ I agreed, ‘and that’s not going to change very much in the foreseeable future. Are there very many Murgos here at the fair?’
‘Funny you should ask. I was just going to bring it up myself. A Murgo nobleman of some sort rode into the fair a couple days ago. His rank must be fairly exalted, because the other Murgos are falling all over themselves to do what he asks.’
‘Have you picked up his name, by any chance?’
‘I have, and it wasn’t by chance. I am a professional, old friend. He calls himself Achak, but I’ve been getting a faint smell of deception there.’
‘What’s he look like?’
‘Tall, thinner than most Murgos, and he’s got white hair and a long beard that’s kind of yellowish. I don’t think he’s very clean. From what I hear, he smells bad.’
‘Well, well, well,’ I said. ‘How very convenient. Now I won’t have to go looking for him.’
‘You know him?’
‘I’ve known him for centuries. The Gorim of Ulgo told me that he’d come down from Rak Cthol. I’ve been curious about what he’s doing.’
‘Rak Cthol? You’re not saying that this Achak fellow is Ctuchik, are you?’
‘Well, I hadn’t yet, but I’d have gotten to it eventually, I guess.’
‘Now that’s a name to reckon with.’ His eyes brightened. ‘Would you like to have him killed?’
‘Forget it, Khaldan. You wouldn’t be able to get an assassin near him. Besides, I might need him later on. Is he doing anything here - aside from terrorizing all the Murgos?’
‘He’s been holding some extended conferences is about all - Murgos, Nadraks, even a few Thulls. What’s he doing here?’
‘He’s looking for something.’
‘Oh? What’s that?’
I slyly touched my nose. ‘State secret,’ I replied, throwing his own clever remark back in his teeth. ‘Where’s the Murgo enclave? I think maybe I’d better go have another little talk with the Disciple of Torak.’
‘I’ll send some men along to guard you.’
‘That won’t be necessary. Ctuchik’s not here for a confrontation - not with me, anyway. As soon as he finds out that I know he’s here, he’ll probably go back to Rak Cthol where he belongs. Did he come here alone?’
‘No. He’s got a Grolim priest with him - a sycophant, obviously. If Ctuchik decides to get belligerent, you’ll be up against two of them, so I’d be a little careful.’
‘Numbers don’t really mean all that much to me, Khaldan. Where’s the Murgo enclave?’
‘Over on the west side of the fair. Murgos live in black tents, so you can’t miss it.’
‘Good.’ I stood up. ‘I’ll be back in a little while.’ I went outside his tent, remounted, and rode on across the fair to the Murgo enclave. ‘You there,’ I said to the first Murgo I encountered. ‘I need to talk with Achak. Where do I find him?’
‘Achak doesn’t talk to foreigners,’ he replied insolently.
‘He’ll talk to me. Go tell him that Belgarath’s here to see him.’
His face went visibly pale, and he hurried off to a large tent in the middle of the enclave. He came back a moment or so later, and his manners had improved noticeably. ‘He’ll see you,’ he said.
‘Somehow I thought he might. Lead the way, friend.’
He did that, though he didn’t seem to care much for the idea. I got the feeling that he didn’t want to be within five miles of what he expected to happen when I went into ‘Achak’s’ tent.
Ctuchik wasn’t alone. The Grolim Khaldan had mentioned was hovering in the background with a servile expression on his face. ‘Awfully good to see you again, old boy,’ Ctuchik said with one of those bleak smiles pasted to his too thin face. ‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I was beginning to think I might have offended you.’
‘Your very existence offends me, Ctuchik. What persuaded you to come down off your mountain-top? Did the stink of your temple finally start to turn your stomach?’