Enchanter's End Game

tell her on to my uncle. Rhodar will be reading Drosta's message three days after you ride into Boktor. I guarantee it."
    "You'd let a woman know about all this?" Drosta objected violently. "Kheldar, you're insane. The only woman safe with a secret is one who's had her tongue cut out."
    Silk shook his head firmly. "Porenn's in control of Drasnian intelligence right now, Drosta. She already knows most of the secrets in the world. You're never going to get an emissary through an Alorn army to Rhodar, so forget that. There'll be Chereks with him, and they'll kill any Angarak on sight. If you want to communicate with Rhodar, you're going to have to use Drasnian intelligence as an intermediary, and that means going through Porenn."
    Drosta looked dubious. "Maybe," he concluded after a moment's thought. "I'll try anything at this point - but why should Yarblek get involved? Why can't you carry my message to the Drasnian queen?"
    Silk looked a trifle pained. "That wouldn't be a good idea at all, I'm afraid," he replied. "Porenn was rather central to my difficulties with my uncle. I'm definitely unwelcome at the palace just now."
    One of King Drosta's shaggy eyebrows shot up. "So that's the way it is." He laughed. "Your reputation's well-earned, I see." He turned to Yarblek. "It's up to you, then. Make the necessary arrangements for the trip to Boktor."
    "You already owe me money, Drosta," Yarblek replied bluntly, "the reward for bringing in Kheldar, remember?"
    Drosta shrugged. "Write it down someplace."
    Yarblek shook his head stubbornly. "Not hardly. Let's keep your account current. You're known as a slow payer, once you've got what you want."
    "Yarblek," Drosta said plaintively, "I'm your king."
    Yarblek inclined his head somewhat mockingly. "I honor and respect your Majesty," he said, "but business is business, after all."
    "I don't carry that much money with me," Drosta protested.
    "That's all right, Drosta. I can wait." Yarblek crossed his arms and sat down in a large chair with the air of a man planning to stay for quite some time.
    The king of the Nadraks stared at him helplessly.
    Then the door opened and Belgarath stepped into the room, still dressed in the rags he had worn in the tavern downstairs. There was no furtiveness about his entrance, and he moved like a man on serious business.
    "What is this?" Drosta exclaimed incredulously. "Guards!" he bawled, "get this drunken old man out of here."
    "They're asleep, Drosta," Belgarath replied calmly. "Don't be too harsh with them, though. It's not their fault." He closed the door.
    "Who are you? What do you think you're doing?" Drosta demanded. "Get out of here!"
    "I think you'd better take a closer look, Drosta," Silk advised with a dry little chuckle. "Appearances can be deceiving sometimes, and you shouldn't be so quick to try to throw somebody out. He might have something important to say to you."
    "Do you know him, Kheldar?" Drosta asked.
    "Just about everybody in the world knows him," Silk replied. "Or of him."
    Drosta's face creased into a puzzled frown, but Yarblek had started from his chair, his lean face suddenly pale. "Drosta!" he gasped. "Look at him. Think a minute. You know who he is."
    Drosta stared at the shabby-looking old man, and his bulging eyes slowly opened even wider. "You!" he blurted.
    Yarblek was still gaping at Belgarath. "He's been involved in it from the very beginning. I should have put it together down in Cthol Murgos - him, the woman, all of it."
    "What are you doing in Gar og Nadrak?" Drosta asked in an awed voice.
    "Just passing through, Drosta," Belgarath replied. "If you're quite finished with your discussion here, I need these two Alorns. We have an appointment, and we're running a little behind schedule."
    "I always thought you were a myth."
    "I like to encourage that as much as I can," Belgarath told him. "It makes moving around a lot easier."
    "Are you mixed up in what the Alorns are doing?"
    "They're acting more or less on my suggestions, yes. Polgara's keeping an eye on them."
    "Can you get word to them and tell them to disengage?"
    "That won't really be necessary, Drosta. I wouldn't worry too much about 'Zakath and Taur Urgas, if I were you. There are more important things afoot than their squabbles."
    "So that's what Rhodar's doing," Drosta said in sudden comprehension. "Is it really that late?"
    "It's even later than you think," the old sorcerer answered. He crossed to the table and poured himself some of Drosta's wine.