the belgariad pawn of prophecy 66

The most logical thing to do would be to go directly back to the

council hall, but in his haste to escape from Asharak, he had run down

so many dim passageways and turned so many corners that he had no idea

where he was or how to get back to the familiar parts of the palace. His

headlong flight was dangerous. Asharak or his men could wait around any

corner to seize him, and he knew that the Murgo could quickly

re-establish that strange bond between them that Aunt Pol had shattered

with her touch. It was that which had to be avoided at any cost. Once

Asharak had him again, he would never let go. The only alternative to

him was to find some place to hide.

He dodged into another narrow passageway and stopped, panting and

with his back pressed tightly against the stones of the wall. Dimly, at

the far end of this hallway, he could see a narrow flight of worn stone

steps twisting upward in the flickering light of a single torch. He

quickly reasoned that the higher he went, the less likely he would be to

encounter anyone. The fighting would most likely be concentrated on the

lower floors. He took a deep breath and went swiftly to the foot of the

stairs.

Halfway up he saw the flaw in his plan. There were no side passages

on the stairs, no way to escape and no place to hide. He had to get to

the top quickly or chance discovery and capture, or even worse.

"Boy!" a shout came from below.

Garion looked quickly over his shoulder. A grim-faced Cherek in mail

and helmet was coming up the stairs behind him, his sword drawn. Garion

started to run, stumbling up the stairs.

There was another shout from above, and Garion froze. The warrior at

the top was as grim as the one below and wielded a cruel-looking axe. He

was trapped between them. Garion shrank back against the stones,

fumbling for his dagger, though he knew it would be of little use. Then

the two warriors saw each other. With ringing shouts they both charged.

The one with the sword rushed up past Garion while the one with the axe

lunged down.

The axe swung wide, missed and clashed a shower of sparks from the

stones of the wall. The sword was more true. With his hair standing on

end in horror, Garion saw it slide through the downward-plunging body of

the axeman. The axe fell clattering down the stairs, and the axeman,

still falling on top of his opponent, pulled a broad dagger from its

sheath at his hip and drove it into the chest of his enemy. The impact

as the two men came together tore them from their feet, and they

tumbled, still grappled together down the stairs, their daggers flashing

as each man struck again and again.

In helpless horror Garion watched as they rolled and crashed past

him, their daggers sinking into each other with sickening sounds and

blood spurting from their wounds like red fountains.

Garion retched once, clenched his teeth tightly, and ran up the

stairs, trying to close his ears to the awful sounds coming from below

as the two dying men continued their horrid work on each other.

He no longer even considered stealth; he simply ran-fleeing more from

that hideous encounter on the stairs than from Asharak or the Earl of

Jarvik. At last, after how long he could not have said, gasping and

winded, he plunged through the partially open door of a dusty, unused

chamber. He pushed the door shut and stood trembling with his back

against it.

There was a broad, sagging bed against one wall of the room and a

small window set high in the same wall. Two broken chairs leaned wearily

in corners and an empty chest, its lid open, in a third, and that was

all. The chamber was at least a place out of the corridors where savage

men were killing each other, but Garion quickly realized that the

seeming safety here was an illusion. If anyone opened this door, he

would be trapped. Desperately he began to look around the dusty room.

Hanging on the bare wall across from the bed were some drapes; and

thinking that they might conceal some closet or adjoining chamber,

Garion crossed the room and pulled them aside. There was an opening

behind the drapes, though it did not lead into another room but instead

into a dark, narrow hall. He peered into the passageway, but the

darkness was so total that he could only see a short distance into it.

He shuddered at the thought of groping through that blackness with armed

men pounding along at his heels.

He glanced up at the single window and then dragged the heavy chest

across the room to stand on so that he could see out. Perhaps he might

be able to see something from the window that would give him some idea

of his location. He climbed up on the chest, stood on his tiptoes and

looked out.

Towers loomed here and there amid the long slate roofs of the endless

galleries and halls of King Anheg's palace. It was hopeless. He saw

nothing that he could recognize. He turned back toward the chamber and

was about to jump down from the chest when he stopped suddenly. There,

clearly in the dust which lay heavily on the floor, were his foot punts.

He hopped quickly down and grabbed up the bolster from the long unused

bed. He spread it out on the floor and dragged it around the room,

erasing the footprints. He knew that he could not completely conceal the

fact that someone had been in the room, but he could obliterate the

footprints which, because of their size, would immediately make it

obvious to Asharak or any of his men that whoever had been i hiding here

was not yet full-grown. When he finished, he tossed the bolster back on

the bed. The job wasn't perfect, but at least it was better than it had

been.

Then there was a shout in the corridor outside and the ring of steel on steel.

Garion took a deep breath and plunged into the dark passageway behind the drapes.

He had gone no more than a few feet when the darkness in the narrow

passage become absolute. His skin crawled at the touch of cobwebs on his

face, and the dust of years rose chokingly from the uneven floor. At

first he moved quite rapidly, wanting more than anything to put as much

distance between himself and the fighting in the corridor as possible,

but then he stumbled, and for one heart-stopping instant it seemed that

he would fall. The picture of a steep stairway dropping down into the

blackness flashed through his mind, and he realized that at his present

pace there would be no possible way to catch himself. He began to move

more cautiously, one hand on the stones of the wall and the other in

front of his face to ward off the cobwebs which hung thickly from the

low ceiling.

There was no sense of time in the dark, and it seemed to Garion that

he had been groping for hours in this dark hallway that appeared to go

on forever. Then, despite his care, he ran full into a rough stone wall.

He felt a moment of panic. Did the passageway end here? Was it a trap?

Then, flickering at one corner of his vision, he saw dim light. The

passageway did not end, but rather made a sharp turn to the right. There

seemed to be a light at the far end, and Garion gratefully followed it.