Free Demon Lord Of Karanda by David Eddings

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    Zakath’s convulsions had at least partially subsided, but Belgarath still held him down.
    ‘What is it, father?’ Polgara asked, kneeling beside the stricken man.
    ‘He threw a fit.’
    ‘The falling sickness?’
    ‘I don’t think so. It wasn’t quite the same. Sadi, come over here and smell his breath. I’m getting a peculiar odor from him.’
    Sadi approached cautiously, leaned forward, and sniffed several times. Then he straightened, his face pale. ‘Thalot,’ he announced.
    ‘A poison?’ Polgara asked him.
    Sadi nodded. ‘It’s quite rare.’
    ‘Do you have an antidote?’
    ‘No, my Lady,’ he replied. ‘There isn’t an antidote for thalot. It’s always been universally fatal. It’s seldom used because it acts very slowly, but no one ever recovers from it.’
    ‘Then he’s dying?’ Garion asked with a sick feeling.
    ‘In a manner of speaking, yes. The convulsions will subside, but they’ll recur with increasing frequency. Finally . . .’ Sadi shrugged.
    ‘There’s no hope at all?’ Polgara asked.
    ‘None whatsoever, my Lady. About all we can do is make his last few days more comfortable.’
    Belgarath started to swear. ‘Quiet him down, Pol,’ he said. ‘We need to get him into bed and we can’t move him while he’s jerking around that way.’
    She nodded and put one hand on Zakath’s forehead. Garion felt the faint surge, and the struggling Emperor grew quiet.
    Brador, his face very pale, looked at them. ‘I don’t think we should announce this just yet,’ he cautioned. ‘Let’s just call it a slight illness for the moment until we can decide what to do. I’ll send for a litter.’
    The room to which the unconscious Zakath was taken was plain to the point of severity. The Emperor’s bed was a narrow cot. The only other furniture was a single plain chair and a low chest. The walls were white and unadorned, and a charcoal brazier glowed in one corner. Sadi went back to their chambers and returned with his red case and the canvas sack in which Polgara kept her collection of herbs and remedies. The two of them consulted in low tones while Garion and Brador pushed the litterbearers and curious soldiers from the room. Then they mixed a steaming cup of a pungent-smelling liquid. Sadi raised Zakath’s head and held it while Polgara spooned the medicine into his slack-lipped mouth.
    The door opened quietly, and the green-robed Dalasian healer, Andel, entered. ‘I came as soon as I heard,’ she said. ‘Is the Emperor’s illness serious?’
    Polgara looked at her gravely. ‘Close the door, Andel,’ she said quietly.
    The healer gave her a strange look, then pushed the door shut. ‘Is it that grave, my Lady?’
    Polgara nodded. ‘He’s been poisoned,’ she said. ‘We don’t want word of it to get out just yet.’
    Andel gasped. ‘What can I do to help?’ she asked coming quickly to the bed.
    ‘Not very much, I’m afraid,’ Sadi told her.
    ‘Have you given him the antidote yet?’
    ‘There is no antidote.’
    ‘There must be. Lady Polgara—’
    Polgara sadly shook her head.
    ‘I have failed then,’ the hooded woman said in a voice filled with tears. She turned from the bed, her head bowed, and Garion heard a faint murmur that somehow seemed to come from the air above her—a murmur that curiously was not that of a single voice. There was a long silence, and then a shimmering appeared at the foot of the bed. When it cleared, the blindfolded form of Cyradis stood there, one hand slightly extended. ‘This must not be,’ she said in her clear, ringing voice. ‘Use thine art, Lady Polgara. Restore him. Should he die, all our tasks will fail. Bring thy power to bear.’
    ‘It won’t work, Cyradis,’ Polgara replied, setting the cup down. ‘If a poison affects only the blood, I can usually manage to purge it, and Sadi has a whole case full of antidotes. This poison, however, sinks into every particle of the body. It’s killing his bones and organs as well