Free The Belgariad 5: Enchanter's End Game by David Eddings Page B

of cross-eyed?" Yarblek asked.
    "That's him. Why don't you take a shipment of furs and go to Boktor? While you're trying to sell Geldahar the furs, tell him that the salmon run is late this year."
    "I'm sure he'll be fascinated to hear that."
    "It's a code-word," Silk explained with exaggerated patience. "As soon as you say that, he'll see to it that you get into the palace to see Queen Porenn."
    "I've heard that she's a lovely woman," Yarblek said, "but that's a long trip just to see a pretty girl. I can probably find a pretty girl just down the hall."
    "You're missing the point, Yarblek," Silk told him. "Porenn is Rhodar's queen, and he trusts her even more than he used to trust me. She'll know that I sent you, and she'll pass anything you 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