Enchanter's End Game

immediately, Drosta."
    "I almost got sidetracked." Drosta leered at the two girls. "Aren't they luscious?"
    "If you like the type." Yarblek shrugged. "I prefer a little more maturity."
    "That's good, too," Drosta admitted, "but I love them all. I fall in love twenty times a day. Run along, my pretties," he told the girls. "I've got some business to take care of just now. I'll send for you later."
    The two girls immediately left, closing the door quietly behind them. Drosta sat up on the bed, scratching absently at one armpit. His stained and rumpled yellow doublet was unbuttoned, and his bony chest was covered with coarse black hair. He was thin, almost emaciated, and his scrawny arms looked like two sticks. His hair was lank and greasy, and his beard was so thin that it was little more than a few scraggly-looking black hairs sprouting from his chin. The pockmarks on his face were deep, angry red scars, and his neck and hands were covered with an unwholesome, scabby-looking rash. There was a distinctly unpleasant odor about him. "Are you sure this is the man I want?" he asked Yarblek. Garion looked at the Nadrak King sharply. The coarseness had gone out of his voice, and his tone was incisive, direct, the tone of a man who was all business. Garion made a few quick mental adjustments. Drosta lek Thun was not at all what he seemed.
    "I've known him for years, Drosta," Yarblek replied. "This is Prince Kheldar of Drasnia. He's also known as Silk and sometimes Ambar of Kotu or Radek of Boktor. He's a thief, a swindler, and a spy. Aside from that, he's not too bad."
    "We are delighted to meet so famous a man," King Drosta declared. "Welcome, Prince Kheldar."
    "Your Majesty," Silk replied, bowing.
    "I'd have invited you to the palace," Drosta continued, "but I've got some house guests with the unfortunate habit of sticking their noses into my business." He laughed dryly. "Luckily, I found out very soon that Malloreans are a priggish race. They won't follow me into places like this, so we'll be able to talk freely." He looked around at the cheap, gaudy furnishings and red draperies with a sort of amused toleration. "Besides," he added, "I like it here."
    Garion stood with his back against the wall near the door, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, but Drosta's nervous eyes picked him out. "Can he be trusted?" the king demanded of Silk.
    "Completely," Silk assured him. "He's my apprentice. I'm teaching him the business."
    "Which business? Stealing or spying?"
    Silk shrugged. "It amounts to the same thing. Yarblek says you wanted to see me. I assume it has something to do with current matters rather than any past misunderstandings."
    "You're quick, Kheldar," Drosta replied approvingly. "I need your help and I'm willing to pay for it."
    Silk grinned. "I'm fond of the word pay."
    "So I've heard. Do you know what's going on here in Gar og Nadrak?" Drosta's eyes were penetrating, and his veneer of gross self indulgence had fallen completely away.
    "I am in the intelligence service, your Majesty," Silk pointed out. Drosta grunted, stood up, and went to a table where a decanter of wine and several glasses stood. "Drink?" he asked.
    "Why not?"
    Drosta filled four glasses, took one for himself and paced nervously about the room with an angry expression. "I don't need any of this, Kheldar," he burst out. "My family's spent generations - centuries - weaning Gar og Nadrak away from the domination of the Grolims. Now they're about to drag us back into howling barbarism again, and I don't have any choice but to go along with it. I've got a quarter of a million Malloreans roaming around at will inside my borders and an army I can't even count poised just to the south. If I raise so much as one word of protest, 'Zakath will crush my kingdom with one fist."
    "Would he really do that?" Silk asked, taking a chair at the table.
    "With just about as much emotion as you'd feel about swatting a fly," Drosta replied. "Have you ever met him?"
    Silk shook his head.
    "You're lucky," Drosta told him with a shudder. "Taur Urgas is a madman, but, much as I hate him, he's still human. 'Zakath is made out of ice. I've got to get in touch with Rhodar."
    "Ah," Silk said. "That's what this is all about, then."
    "You're a nice enough fellow, Kheldar," Drosta told him dryly, "but I wouldn't go to all this trouble just for the pleasure of your company. You've got to carry my message to Rhodar. I've tried to get word to him, but I can't catch up with him.