King of The Murgos

steep ridge that stood jaggedly outlined against the starry eastern sky.
    "Once we cross that ridge, we'll be in Cthol Murgos," Sadi told them as they sat around the fire after supper. "The Murgos watch their borders very carefully, so it's probably time to start wearing our disguises." He opened the large bundle he had brought from the village near the ford and took out a number of dark green silk robes. He looked speculatively at Ce'Nedra and the gigantic Toth. "There may be a slight problem here," he murmured. "The shopkeeper didn't have a wide variety of sizes."
    "I'll fix it, Sadi," Polgara said, taking the rolled-up robes from him and opening one of the packs in search of her sewing kit.
    Belgarath had been staring thoughtfully at a large map. "There's something that's been bothering me," he said. He turned to Sadi. "Is there any way Zandramas might have taken a ship from one of these ports on the west coast and sailed around the southern end of the continent to Verkat?"
    Sadi shook his head, his shaven scalp gleaming in the orange firelight. "Impossible, Ancient One. A Mallorean fleet slipped up behind the Murgos a few years back, and King Urgit still has nightmares about it. He's closed all the west coast ports and has ships patrolling the sea lanes all the way around the tip of the Urga peninsula. No one sails along that coast without his specific permission."
    "How far is it to Verkat?" Durnik asked.
    Sadi squinted up at the stars. "Three or four months at this time of the year, Goodman."
    Polgara had been humming quietly to herself as her needle ^flashed in the firelight. "Come here, Ce'Nedra," she said.
    The little queen rose and went over to where she sat. Pol held up the green silk robe, measuring it against her tiny waist, then nodded in satisfaction.
    Ce'Nedra wrinkled her nose. "Do they have to smell so bad?" she asked Sadi.
    'I don't suppose they have to, but they always do, for some reason. Slaves have a certain odor about them, and it seems to rub off."
    Aunt Pol was looking at Toth as she held another of the slaver's robes in her hands. "This could be a bit more challenging," she murmured.
    The giant gave her a brief, almost shy smile and rose to put more wood on the fire. As he poked the coals with a stick, a column of winking red sparks rose to greet the stars hanging low in the night sky. From somewhere down the ridge, as if in response to those sparks, there came a deep, coughing roar.
    "What's that?" Ce'Nedra cried.
    "Lion." Sadi shrugged. "Sometimes they hunt along the slave route—the old and crippled ones at any rate."
    "Why would they do that?"
    "Sometimes slaves get too sick to walk any farther and they have to be left behind. An old lion can't chase anything that's very nimble, and . . ." He left it hanging in the air.
    She stared at him in horror.
    "You did ask, after all, your Majesty," he reminded her. "As a matter of fact, I don't like the idea very much myself. That's one of the reasons I left the slave trade to go into politics." He stood up and brushed off the back of his robe. "Now, if you dear people will excuse me, I have to go feed Zith. Please be careful when you go to your beds tonight. Sometimes she sneaks away after she's been fed. I think it amuses her to hide from me, and one never knows where she might turn up." He walked out of the circle of golden firelight toward the place where he had spread his blankets.
    Silk stared after him, then turned back to the fire. "I don't know about the rest of you," he declared, "but I'm sleeping right here tonight."
    The next morning after breakfast, they donned the evil-smelling robes of Nyissan slavers. At Belgarath's instruction, Garion once again covered the hilt of Iron-grip's sword. "I think we'd better keep the Orb well wrapped as long as we're in Cthol Murgos," the old man said. "It tends to get excited when there are Angaraks about."
    They mounted their horses and followed the ancient highway up a ravine toward the jagged ridge top. As they rounded a bend, Polgara suddenly reined in her horse with a sharp hiss.
    "What's the matter, Pol?" Durnik asked her.
    She did not reply immediately, but her face grew pale. Her eyes flashed, and the white lock at her brow suddenly flamed. "Monstrous!" she said.
    "What is it, Aunt Pol?" Garion asked.
    "Look over there," she answered, pointing with a trembling hand. There were white bones scattered about on the rocky ground several yards from the road; lying among them was a vacant-eyed