Enchanter's End Game

cluster of grapes on a sign banging in the breeze by the double doors at the front. A wide, roofed porch surrounded the building, and leather-garbed Nadraks lounged on benches along the porch, watching a dogfight in progress out in the middle of the street.
    Belgarath nodded. "But let's go around to the side," he suggested, "in case we have to leave in a hurry."
    They dismounted at the side porch, tied their horses to the railing, and went inside.
    The interior of the tavern was smoky and dim, since windows seemed to be a rare feature in Nadrak buildings. The tables and benches were rough-hewn, and what light there was came from smoking oil lamps that hung on chains from the rafters. The floor was mud-stained and littered with bits of food. Dogs roamed at will under the tables and benches. The smell of stale beer and unwashed bodies hung heavy in the air, and, though it was only early afternoon, the place was crowded. Many of the men in the large room were already far gone with drink. It was noisy, since the Nadraks lounging at the tables or stumbling about the room seemed all habitually to speak at the top of their voices.
    Belgarath pushed his way toward a table in the corner where a solitary man sat bleary-eyed and slack-lipped, staring into his ale cup. "You don't mind if we share the table, do you?" the old man demanded of him in an abrupt manner, sitting down without awaiting a reply.
    "Would it do any good if I did?" the man with the cup asked. He was unshaven, and his eyes were pouchy and bloodshot.
    "Not much," Belgarath told him bluntly.
    "You're new here, aren't you?" The Nadrak looked at the three of them with only a hint of curiosity, trying with some difficulty to focus his eyes.
    "I don't really see that it's any of your business," Belgarath retorted rudely.
    "You've got a sour mouth for a man past his prime," the Nadrak suggested, flexing his fingers ominously.
    "I came here to drink, not fight," Silk declared in a harsh tone. "I might change my mind later, but right now, I'm thirsty." He reached out and caught the arm of a passing servingman. "Ale," he ordered. "And don't take all day."
    "Keep your hands to yourself," the servingman told him. "Are you with him?" He pointed at the Nadrak they had joined.
    "We're sitting with him, aren't we?"
    "You want three cups or four?"
    "I want one-for now. Bring the others what they want, too. I'll pay for the first time around."
    The servingman grunted sourly and pushed his way off through the crowd, pausing long enough to kick a dog out of his way.
    Silk's offer seemed to quiet their Nadrak companion's belligerence. "You've picked a bad time to come to town," he told them. "The whole region's crawling with Mallorean recruiters."
    "We've been up in the mountains," Belgarath said. "We'll probably go back in a day or so. Whatever's happening down here doesn't interest us very much."
    "You'd better take an interest while you're here - unless you'd like to try army life."
    "Is there a war someplace?" Silk asked him.
    "Likely to beer so they say. Someplace down in Mishrak ac Thull."
    Silk snorted. "I've never met a Thull worth fighting."
    "It's not the Thulls. It's supposed to be the Alorns. They've got a queen - if you can imagine such a thing - and she's moving to invade the Thulls."
    "A queen?" Silk scoffed. "Can't be much of an army, then. Let the Thulls fight her themselves."
    "Tell that to the Mallorean recruiters," the Nadrak suggested.
    "Did you have to brew that ale?" Silk demanded of the servingman, who was returning with four large cups.
    "There are other taverns, friend," the servingman replied. "If you don't like this one, go find another. That'll be twelve pennies."
    "Three pennies a cup?" Silk exclaimed.
    "Times are hard."
    Grumbling, Silk paid him.
    "Thanks," the Nadrak they were sitting with said, taking one of the cups.
    "Don't mention it," Silk said sourly.
    "What are the Malloreans doing here?" Belgarath asked.
    "Rounding up everyone who can stand up, see lightning, and hear thunder. They do their recruiting with leg-irons, so it's a little hard to refuse. They've got Grolims with them too, and the Grolims keep their gutting knives out in plain sight as a sort of a hint about what might happen to anybody who objects too much."
    "Maybe you were right when you said we picked a bad time to come down out of the mountains," Silk said.
    The Nadrak nodded. "The Grolims say that Torak's stirring in his sleep."
    "That's not very good news," Silk