Sorceress of Darshiva

around them.
    "Garion!" Ce'Nedra exclaimed.
    A number of triumphant shouts came out of the rapidly dissipating fog. They were surrounded by ships that moved purposefully to block them.
    "Do we make a run for it?" Silk asked in a tense, hoarse whisper.
    Belgarath looked at the ships moving to surround them, his eyes like flint. "Run?" he said. "In this tub? Don't be ridiculous."
    A boat had moved directly in front of them, and, as they drifted closer, Garion could see the oarsmen. "Mallorean soldiers," he noted quietly. "Zakath's army."
    Belgarath muttered a few choice oaths. "Let's sit tight for a bit. They may not know who we are. Silk, see if you can talk us out of this. ‘'
    The little man rose and went to the bow of their barge. "We're certainly glad to see imperial troops in this region, Captain," he said to the officer commanding the boat blocking their path. "Maybe you can put a stop to all the insanity that's been going on around here."
    "I'll need your name," the officer replied.
    "Of course," Silk said, slapping his forehead. "How stupid of me. My name is Vetter.
    I work for Prince Kheldar. Perhaps you've heard of him?"
    "The name's familiar. Where are you going?"
    "Actually, we're bound for Balasa down in the Dalasian Protectorates. Prince Kheldar has interests there—that's assuming we can make our way across Darshiva. Things are in turmoil there." He paused. "I wonder, Captain, do you suppose you could spare us a few soldiers to act as an escort? I'm authorized to pay quite handsomely."
    "We'll see," the officer said.
    Then an even larger ship emerged from the fog and moved alongside their patched and leaky vessel. A familiar face looked over the rail. "It's been quite some time, hasn't it, King Belgarion?" General Atesca said in a pleasant, conversational tone.
    "We really ought to try to stay in touch." Atesca wore his customary scarlet cloak and a burnished steel helmet embossed with gold.
    Garion's heart sank. Subterfuge was quite out of the question now. "You knew we were out here," he said accusingly.
    "Of course. I had people watching you on the Peldane side." The red-clad general sounded a bit smug about that.
    "I felt no presence," Polgara declared, pulling her blue cloak about her.
    "I'd have been very surprised if you had, my Lady," Atesca replied. "The men who were watching you are imbeciles. Their minds are as vacant as the minds of mushrooms." He looked distastefully out across the river. "You have no idea of how long it took me to explain to them what they were supposed to do. Every army has a few men like that. We try to weed them out, but even gross stupidity has its uses, I suppose."
    "You're very clever, General Atesca," she said in a tight voice.
    "No, Lady Polgara," he disagreed. "I'm just a plain soldier. No officer is more clever than his intelligence service. Brador's the clever one. He's been gathering information about your peculiar gifts from various Grolims since the battle of Thull Mardu. Grolims pay very close attention to your exploits, my Lady, and over the years they've amassed a great deal of information about your abilities. As I understand it—although I'm certainly no expert—the more acute a mind is, the more easily you can detect its presence. That's why I sent those human turnips out to watch you." He looked critically at their boat. "That's really a wretched tiling, you know. Are you keeping it afloat by sorcery?"
    "No," Durnik told him in a flat, angry tone of voice, "by skill."
    "I bow to your skill, Goodman Durnik," Atesca said a bit extravagantly. "You could probably work out a way to make a rock float—if you really wanted to." He paused and looked at Belgarath. "I assume we're going to be civilized about this, Ancient One?" he asked.
    "I'm willing to listen," Belgarath replied warily.
    "His Imperial Majesty feels a strong need to discuss certain matters with you and your companions, Holy Belgarath," Atesca said, "and I think I should advise you that you're paddling this wreck of yours directly into the middle of a hornet's nest.
    Sensible people are avoiding Darshiva right now."
    "I’ve never pretended to be sensible."
    Atesca laughed ruefully. "I haven't either," he admitted. "At the moment, I'm trying to map out a military campaign to invade that most insensible region. May I offer you gentlemen—and your ladies—the hospitality of my ship?" He paused. "I think I'll have to insist," he added regretfully. "Orders, you understand. Besides, we might