Demon Lord of Karanda

marauding through the countryside, burning farmsteads, and massacring whole villages. You'd think that the whole of Venna's gone crazy. It's as much as a man's life is worth to go through there just now. They stop you and ask you which God you worship, and a wrong answer is fatal." He paused, still eating. "Have you heard about any place that's quiet -and safe?" he asked plaintively.
    "Try the coast," Silk suggested. "Mal Abad, maybe -or Mal Camat."
    "Which way are you going?"
    "We're going north to the river and see if we can find a boat to take us down to Lake Penn Daka ."
    "It won't be safe there for very long, friend. If the plague doesn't get there first, Mengha's demons will -or the crazed Grolims and their Guardsmen out of Venna ."
    "We don't plan to stop," Silk told him. "We're going to cut on across Delchin to Maga Renn and then on down the Magan."
    "That's a long journey."
    "Friend, I'll go to Gandahar if necessary to get away from demons and plague and mad Grolims. If worse comes to worst, we'll hide out among the elephant herders. Elephants aren't all that bad."
    The Melcene smiled briefly. "Thanks for the food," he said, tucking his loaf and his cheese inside his robe and looking around for his grazing horse. "Good luck when you get to Gandahar."
    "The same to you on the coast," Silk replied.
    They watched the Melcene ride off.
    "Why did you take his money, Kheldar?" Eriond asked curiously. "I thought we were just going to give him the food."
    " Unexpected and unexplained acts of charity linger in people's minds, Eriond, and curiosity overcomes gratitude. I took his money to make sure that by tomorrow he won't be able to describe us to any curious soldiers."
    "Oh," the boy said a bit sadly. "It's too bad that things are like that, isn't it?"
    "As Sadi says, I didn't make the world; I only try to live in it."
    "Well, what do you think?" Belgarath said to the juggler.
    Feldegast squinted off toward the horizon. "Yer dead set on goin' right straight up through the middle of Venna -past Mal Yaska an' all?"
    "We don't have any choice. We've got just so much time to get to Ashaba."
    "Somehow I thought y' might feel that way about it."
    "Do you know a way to get us through?"
    Feldegast scratched his head. " 'Twill be dangerous, Ancient One," he said dubiously, "what with Grolims and Chandim and Temple Guardsmen an' all."
    "It won't be nearly as dangerous as missing our appointment at Ashaba would be."
    "Well, if yer dead set on it, I suppose I kin get ye through."
    " All right," Belgarath said. "Let's get started then."
    The peculiar suspicion which had come over Garion the day before grew stronger. Why would his grandfather ask these questions of a man they scarcely knew? The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that there was a great deal more going on here than met the eye.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    It was late afternoon when they reached Mal Rakuth, a grim fortress city crouched on the banks of a muddy river. The walls were high, and black towers rose within those walls. A large crowd of people was gathered outside, imploring the citizens to let them enter, but the city gates were locked, and archers with half-drawn bows lined the battlements, threatening the refugees below.
    "That sort of answers that question, doesn't it?" Garion said as he and his companions reined in on a hilltop some distance from the tightened city.
    Belgarath grunted. "It's more or less what I expected," he said. "There's nothing we really need in Mal Rakuth anyway, so there's not much point in pressing the issue."
    "How are we going to get across the river, though?"
    "If I remember correctly, there be a ferry crossin' but a few miles upstream, Feldegast told him.
    "Won't the ferryman be just as frightened of the plague as the people in that city are?" Durnik asked him.
    " 'Tis an ox-drawn ferry, Goodman -with teams on each side an' cables an' pulleys an' all. The ferryman kin take our money an' put us on the far bank an' never come within fifty yards of us. I fear the crossin' will be dreadful expensive, though."
    The ferry proved to be a leaky old barge attached to a heavy cable stretched across the yellow-brown river.
    "Stay back!" the mud-covered man holding the rope hitched about the neck of the lead ox on the near side commanded as they approached. "I don't want any of your filthy diseases."
    "How much to go across?" Silk called to him.
    The muddy fellow squinted greedily at them, assessing their clothing and horses.