Demon Lord of Karanda

extorted from these travelers and the horrid vision of a fire raging unchecked through his house and outbuildings. Finally, no longer able to stand it, he also threw down his weapon and ran after his neighbors.
    "Did you really set their village on fire?" Silk sounded a little shocked.
    "Of course not," Garion said.
    "Where's the smoke coming from then?"
    "Lots of places." Garion winked. "Out of the thatch on their roofs, up from between the stones in the streets, boiling up out of their cellars and granaries -lots of places. But it's only smoke." He swung down from Chretienne's back and gathered up the discarded crossbows. He lined them up, nose down, in a neat row along the brushy barricade. "How long does it take to restring a crossbow?" he asked.
    "Hours." Silk suddenly grinned., "Two men to bend the limbs with a windlass and another two to hook the cable in place."
    "That's what I thought," Garion agreed. He drew his old belt knife and went down the line of weapons, cutting each twisted rope cable. Each bow responded with a heavy twang. "Shall we go, then?" he asked.
    "What about this?" Silk pointed at the brushy barricade.
    Garion shrugged. "I think we can ride around it."
    "What were they trying to do?" Durnik asked when they returned.
    "An enterprising group of local peasants decided that the highway needed a tollgate about there." Silk shrugged. "They didn't really have the temperament for business affairs, though. At the first little distraction, they ran off and left the shop untended."
    They rode on past the now-deserted barricade with Yarblek's laden mules plodding along behind them, their bells clanging mournfully.
    "I think we're going to have to leave you soon," Belgarath said to the fur-capped Nadrak. "We have to get to Ashaba within the week, and your mules are holding us back."
    Yarblek nodded. "Nobody ever accused a pack mule of being fast on his feet," he agreed. "I'll be turning toward the west before long anyway. You can go into Karanda if you want to, but I want to get to the coast as quickly as possible."
    "Garion," Polgara said. She looked meaningfully at the column of smoke rising from the village behind them.
    "Oh," he replied. "I guess I forgot." He raised his hand, trying to make it look impressive. "Enough," he said, releasing his will. The smoke thinned at its base, and the column continued to rise as a cloud, cut off from its source.
    "Don't overdramatize, dear," Polgara advised. "It's ostentatious."
    "You do it all the time," he accused.
    "Yes, dear, but I know how."
    It was perhaps noon when they rode up a long hill, crested it in the bright sunshine, and found themselves suddenly surrounded by mailed, red-tunicked Mallorean soldiers, who rose up out of ditches and shallow gullies with evil-looking javelins in their hands.
    "You! Halt!" the officer in charge of the detachment of soldiers commanded brusquely. He was a short man, shorter even than Silk, though he strutted about as if he were ten feet tall.
    "Of course, Captain," Yarblek replied, reining in his horse.
    "What do we do?" Garion hissed to Silk.
    "Let Yarblek handle it," Silk murmured. "He knows what he's doing."
    "Where are you bound?" the officer asked when the rangy Nadrak had dismounted.
    "Mal Dariya," Yarblek answered, "or Mal Camat -wherever I can hire ships to get my goods to Yar Marak."
    The captain grunted as if trying to find something wrong with that. "What's more to the point is where you come from." His eyes were narrowed.
    "Maga Renn." Yarblek shrugged.
    "Not Mal Zeth?" The little captain's eyes grew even harder and more suspicious.
    "I don't do business in Mal Zeth very often, Captain. It costs too much -all those bribes and fees and permits, you know."
    "I assume that you can prove what you say?" The captain's tone was belligerent.
    "I suppose I could- if there's a need for it."
    "There's a need, Nadrak, because, unless you can prove that you haven't come from Mal Zeth, I'm going to turn you back." He sounded smug about that.
    "Turn back? That's impossible. I have to be in Boktor by midsummer."
    "That's your problem, merchant." The little soldier seemed rather pleased at having upset the larger man.
    "There's plague in Mal Zeth, and I'm here to make sure that it doesn't spread." He tapped himself importantly on the chest.
    "Plague!" Yarblek's eyes went wide, and his face actually paled. "Torak's teeth! And I almost stopped there!" He suddenly snapped his fingers. "So that's why all the villages hereabouts