Sorceress of Darshiva

Chretienne's flanks, intending to go to his friend's aid, but Toth was already there. With one huge hand he plucked one of Zakath's attackers from his saddle and hurled him headfirst at a large boulder at the side of the road. Zakath turned on his other enemy, deftly parried a couple of strokes, then smoothly ran the man through.
    Silk's daggers were already doing their deadly work. One Guardsman was aimlessly riding around in a circle, doubled over in his saddle and clutching at the dagger hilt protruding from his stomach. The acrobatic little Drasnian then leaped from his horse and landed behind the saddle of a confused Guardsman. With a wide sweep of his arm, Silk drove a dagger into the side of the man's neck. Blood gushed from the Guardsman's mouth as he fell to the ground.
    The remaining two armored men tried to flee, but Durnik and Beldin were already on them, clubbing at them with cudgel and axe. They tumbled senselessly from their horses and lay twitching in the dirt of the road.
    "Are you all right?" Garion asked Zakath.
    "I'm fine, Garion." The Mallorean was breathing hard, though.
    "Your training seems to be coming back to you."
    "I had a certain amount of incentive." Zakath looked critically at the bodies littering the road. "When this is all over, I think I'll order this organization disbanded," he said. "The notion of private armies offends me for some reason."
    "Did any of them get away?" Silk asked, looking around.
    "Not a one," Durnik told him.
    "Good. We wouldn't want somebody going for help." Silk frowned. "What were they doing this far south?" he asked.
    "Probably trying to stir up enough trouble to draw the Darshivan troops away from Urvon's main body," Belgarath replied. "I think we'll have to be alert from now on. This whole area could be crawling with soldiers at any time now." He looked at Beldin. "Why don't you have a look around?" he said. "See if you can find out what Urvon's up to and where the Darshivans are. We don't want to get caught between them."
    "It's going to take a while," the hunchback replied. "Darshiva's a fairly large place."
    "You'd better get started, then, hadn't you?"
    They took shelter that night in the ruins of another village. Belgarath and Garion scouted the surrounding region, but found it to be deserted. The following morning, the two wolves ranged out ahead of the rest of the party, but again they encountered no one.
    It was almost evening when Beldin returned. "Urvon outflanked your army," he told Zakath. "He's got at least one general who knows what he's doing. His troops are in the Dalasian Mountains now, and they're coming south at a forced march. Atesca had to stay near the coast to meet the Darshivans and their elephants."
    "Did you see Urvon?" Belgarath asked him.
    Beldin cackled an ugly little laugh. "Oh, yes. He's absolutely mad now. He's got two dozen soldiers carrying him on a throne and he's doing parlor tricks to demonstrate his divinity. I doubt if he could focus enough of his will right now to wilt a flower."
    "Is Nahaz with him?"
    Beldin nodded. "Right beside him, whispering in his ear. I'd say he needs to keep a tight grip on his plaything. If Urvon starts giving the wrong orders, his army could wind up wandering around in those mountains for a generation."
    Belgarath frowned. "This doesn't exactly fit," he said. "Every bit of information we picked up pointed to the probability that Nahaz and Mordja were concentrating on each other.''
    "Maybe they've already had it out," the hunchback shrugged, "and Mordja lost."
    "I doubt it. That sort of thing would have made a lot of noise, and we'd have heard it."
    "Who knows why demons do anything?" Beldin scowled, scratching at his matted hair. "Let's face it, Belgarath," hesaid. "Zandramas knows that she has to go to Kell, and so does Nahaz. I think this is turning into a race. We're all trying to be the first one to get to Cyradis."
    "I get the feeling that I'm overlooking something," Belgarath said. "Something important."
    "You'll think of it. It might take you a couple of months, but you'll think of it." Belgarath ignored that.
    The heavy pall of smoke and ash began to subside as evening drew on, but the prevailing gloom of thick overcast remained. Darshiva was still a land of dead trees, fungus, and stagnant water. Increasingly, that last became a problem. The supplies of water they had carried with them from the Mallorean camp on the shores of the Magan had long since been exhausted. As night fell,