Demon Lord of Karanda

"One gold piece," he said flatly.
    "That's outrageous!"
    "Try swimming."
    "Pay him," Belgarath said.
    "Not likely," Silk replied. "I refuse to be cheated -even here. Let me think a minute." His narrow face became intent as he stared hard at the rapacious ferryman.
    "Durnik," he said thoughtfully, "do you have your axe handy?"
    The smith nodded, patting the axe which hung from a loop at the back of his saddle.
    "Do you suppose you could reconsider just a bit, friend?" the little Drasnian called plaintively to the ferryman.
    "One gold piece," the ferryman repeated stubbornly.
    Silk sighed. "Do you mind if we look at your boat first? It doesn't look all that safe to me."
    "Help yourself -but I won't move it until I get paid."
    Silk looked at Durnik. "Bring the axe," he said.
    Durnik dismounted and lifted his broad-bladed axe from its loop. Then the two of them climbed down the slippery bank to the barge. They went up the sloping ramp and onto the deck. Silk stamped his feet tentatively on the planking. "Nice boat," he said to the ferryman, who stood cautiously some distance away." Are you sure you won't reconsider the price?"
    "One gold piece. Take it or leave it."
    Silk sighed. "I was afraid you might take that position." He scuffed one foot at the muddy deck. "You know more about boats than I do, friend," he observed. "How long do you think it would take this tub to sink if my friend here chopped a hole in the bottom?"
    The ferryman gaped at him.
    "Pull up the decking in the bow, Durnik," Silk suggested pleasantly. "Give yourself plenty of room for a good swing."
    The desperate ferryman grabbed up a club and ran down the bank.
    "Careful, friend," Silk said to him. "We left Mal Zeth only yesterday, and I'm already starting to feel a little feverish -something I ate, no doubt."
    The ferryman froze in his tracks.
    Durnik was grinning as he began to pry up the decking at the front of the barge.
    "My friend here is an expert woodsman," Silk continued in a conversational tone, "and his axe is terribly sharp. I'll wager that he can have this scow lying on the bottom inside of ten minutes."
    "I can see into the hold now," Durnik reported, suggestively testing the edge of his axe with his thumb. "Just how big a hole would you like?"
    "Oh," Silk replied, "I don't know, Durnik -a yard or so square, maybe. Would that sink it?"
    "I'm not sure. Why don't we try it and find out?" Durnik pushed up the sleeves of his short jacket and hefted his axe a couple of times.
    The ferryman was making strangled noises and hopping up and down.
    "What's your feeling about negotiation at this point, friend?" Silk asked him. "I'm almost positive that we can reach an accommodation -now that you fully understand the situation."
    When they were partway across the river and the barge was wallowing heavily in the current, Durnik walked forward to the bow and stood looking into the opening he had made by prying up the deck. "I wonder how big a hole it would take to sink this thing," he mused.
    "What was that, dear?" Polgara asked him.
    "Just thinking out loud, Pol," he said. "But do you know something? I just realized that I've never sunk a boat before."
    She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Men," she sighed.
    "I suppose I'd better put the planks back so that we can lead the horses off on the other side," Durnik said almost regretfully.
    They erected their tents in the shelter of a grove of cedar trees near the river that evening. The sky, which had been serene and blue since they had arrived in Mallorea, had turned threatening as the sun sank, and there were rumbles of thunder and brief flickers of lightning among the clouds off to the west.
    After supper, Durnik and Toth went out of the grove for a look around and returned with sober faces. "I'm afraid that we're in for a spell of bad weather," the smith reported. "You can smell it coming."
    "I hate riding in the rain," Silk complained.
    "Most people do, Prince Kheldar," Feldegast told him. "But bad weather usually keeps others in as well, don't y' know; an' if what that hungry traveler told us this afternoon be true, we'll not be wantin' t' meet the sort of folk that be abroad in Venna when the weather's fine."
    "He mentioned the Chandim," Sadi said, frowning. "Just exactly who are they?"
    "The Chandim are an order within the Grolim Church," Belgarath told him. "When Torak built Cthol Mishrak, he converted certain Grolims into Hounds to patrol the region. After Vo Mimbre, when Torak was bound in sleep,