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Authors: David Eddings
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with his eyes bulging and his hands desperately clinging to his slippery perch.
"Where would you like to go next, Colonel?" Belgarath asked him. "As I recall, there's a very tall flagpole out front. I could set you on top of it if you wish."
The colonel stared at him in horror.
"Now, as soon as I bring you down from there, you're going to persuade your Emperor to see us at once. You're going to be very convincing, Colonel -that's unless you want to be a permanent flagpole ornament, of course."
The colonel's face was still pasty white when he emerged from the guarded door leading to the audience chamber, and he flinched violently every time Belgarath moved his hand. "His Majesty consents to see you," he stammered.
Belgarath grunted. "I was almost sure that he would."
Kal Zakath had undergone a noticeable transformation since Garion had last seen him. His white linen robe was wrinkled and stained, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His face was deathly pale, his hair was unkempt, and he was unshaven. Spasm-like tremors ran through his body, and he looked almost too weak to stand. "What do you want?" he demanded in a barely audible voice.
"Are you sick?" Belgarath asked him.
"A touch of fever, I think." Zakath shrugged. "What's so important that you felt you had to force your way in here to tell me about it?"
"Your empire's collapsing, Zakath," Belgarath told him flatly. "It's time you went home to mend your fences."
Zakath smiled faintly. "Wouldn't that be so very convenient for you?" he said.
"What's going on in Mallorea isn't convenient for anybody. Tell him, Brador."
Nervously, the Melcene bureaucrat delivered his report.
"Demons?" Zakath retorted skeptically. "Oh, come now, Belgarath. Surely you don't expect me to believe that, do you? Do you honestly think that I'll run back to Mallorea to chase shadows and leave you behind to raise an army here in the West to confront me when I return?"
The palsy-like shaking Garion had noted when they had entered the room seemed to be growing more severe. Zakath's head bobbed and jerked on his neck, and a stream of spittle ran unnoticed from one corner of his mouth.
"You won't be leaving us behind, Zakath," Belgarath replied. "We're going with you. If even a tenth of what Brador says is true, I'm going to have to go to Karanda and stop this Mengha. If he's raising demons, we're all going to have to put everything else aside to stop him."
"Absurd!" Zakath declared agitatedly. His eyes were unfocused now, and his weaving and trembling had become so severe that he was unable to control his limbs.
"I'm not going to be tricked by a clever old man into-" He suddenly started up from his chair with an animal-like cry, clutching at the sides of his head. Then he toppled forward to the floor, twitching and jerking.
Belgarath jumped forward and took hold of the convulsing man's arms. "Quick!" he snapped. "Get something between his teeth before he bites off his tongue!"
Brador grabbed up a sheaf of reports from a nearby table, wadded them up, and jammed them into the frothing Emperor's mouth.
"Garion!" Belgarath barked. "Get Pol -fast!"
Garion started toward the door at a run.
"Wait!" Belgarath said, sniffing suspiciously at the air above the face of the man he was holding down. "Bring Sadi, too. There's a peculiar smell here. Hurry!"
Garion bolted. He ran through the hallways past startled officials and servants and finally burst into the room where Polgara was quietly talking with Ce'Nedra and Velvet. "Aunt Pol!" he shouted, "Come quickly! Zakath just collapsed!" Then he spun, ran a few more steps down the hall, and shouldered open the door to Sadi's room. "We need you," he barked at the startled eunuch. "Come with me."
It took only a few moments for the three of them to return to the polished door in the anteroom.
"What's going on?" the Angarak colonel demanded in a frightened voice, barring their way.
"Your Emperor is sick," Garion told him. "Get out of the
"Where would you like to go next, Colonel?" Belgarath asked him. "As I recall, there's a very tall flagpole out front. I could set you on top of it if you wish."
The colonel stared at him in horror.
"Now, as soon as I bring you down from there, you're going to persuade your Emperor to see us at once. You're going to be very convincing, Colonel -that's unless you want to be a permanent flagpole ornament, of course."
The colonel's face was still pasty white when he emerged from the guarded door leading to the audience chamber, and he flinched violently every time Belgarath moved his hand. "His Majesty consents to see you," he stammered.
Belgarath grunted. "I was almost sure that he would."
Kal Zakath had undergone a noticeable transformation since Garion had last seen him. His white linen robe was wrinkled and stained, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His face was deathly pale, his hair was unkempt, and he was unshaven. Spasm-like tremors ran through his body, and he looked almost too weak to stand. "What do you want?" he demanded in a barely audible voice.
"Are you sick?" Belgarath asked him.
"A touch of fever, I think." Zakath shrugged. "What's so important that you felt you had to force your way in here to tell me about it?"
"Your empire's collapsing, Zakath," Belgarath told him flatly. "It's time you went home to mend your fences."
Zakath smiled faintly. "Wouldn't that be so very convenient for you?" he said.
"What's going on in Mallorea isn't convenient for anybody. Tell him, Brador."
Nervously, the Melcene bureaucrat delivered his report.
"Demons?" Zakath retorted skeptically. "Oh, come now, Belgarath. Surely you don't expect me to believe that, do you? Do you honestly think that I'll run back to Mallorea to chase shadows and leave you behind to raise an army here in the West to confront me when I return?"
The palsy-like shaking Garion had noted when they had entered the room seemed to be growing more severe. Zakath's head bobbed and jerked on his neck, and a stream of spittle ran unnoticed from one corner of his mouth.
"You won't be leaving us behind, Zakath," Belgarath replied. "We're going with you. If even a tenth of what Brador says is true, I'm going to have to go to Karanda and stop this Mengha. If he's raising demons, we're all going to have to put everything else aside to stop him."
"Absurd!" Zakath declared agitatedly. His eyes were unfocused now, and his weaving and trembling had become so severe that he was unable to control his limbs.
"I'm not going to be tricked by a clever old man into-" He suddenly started up from his chair with an animal-like cry, clutching at the sides of his head. Then he toppled forward to the floor, twitching and jerking.
Belgarath jumped forward and took hold of the convulsing man's arms. "Quick!" he snapped. "Get something between his teeth before he bites off his tongue!"
Brador grabbed up a sheaf of reports from a nearby table, wadded them up, and jammed them into the frothing Emperor's mouth.
"Garion!" Belgarath barked. "Get Pol -fast!"
Garion started toward the door at a run.
"Wait!" Belgarath said, sniffing suspiciously at the air above the face of the man he was holding down. "Bring Sadi, too. There's a peculiar smell here. Hurry!"
Garion bolted. He ran through the hallways past startled officials and servants and finally burst into the room where Polgara was quietly talking with Ce'Nedra and Velvet. "Aunt Pol!" he shouted, "Come quickly! Zakath just collapsed!" Then he spun, ran a few more steps down the hall, and shouldered open the door to Sadi's room. "We need you," he barked at the startled eunuch. "Come with me."
It took only a few moments for the three of them to return to the polished door in the anteroom.
"What's going on?" the Angarak colonel demanded in a frightened voice, barring their way.
"Your Emperor is sick," Garion told him. "Get out of the
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