Demon Lord of Karanda

19

Beldin spat out a rancid oath and hurled his glowing hook at the throne. Then he started toward the smoking hole the fleeing demon had blasted out through the wall of the throne room.

Belgarath, however, managed to place himself in front of the angry hunchback. “No, Beldin,” he said firmly.

“Get out of my way, Belgarath.”

“I’m not going to let you chase after a demon who could turn on you at any minute.”

“I can take care of myself. Now stand aside.”

“You’re not thinking, Beldin. There’ll be time enough to deal with Urvon later. Right now we need to make some decisions.”

“What’s to decide? You go after Zandramas and I go after Urvon. It’s all pretty much cut and dried, isn’t it?”

“Not entirely. In any event, I’m not going to let you chase after Nahaz in the dark. You know as well as I do that the darkness multiplies his power—and I haven’t got so many brothers left that I can afford to lose one just because he’s irritated.”

Their eyes locked, and the ugly hunchback finally turned away. He stumped back toward the dais, pausing long enough to kick a chair to pieces on his way, muttering curses all the while.

“Is everyone all right?” Silk asked, looking around as he re-sheathed his knife.

“So it would seem,” Polgara replied, pushing back the hood of her blue cloak.

“It was a bit tight there for a while, wasn’t it?” The little man’s eyes were very bright.

“Also unnecessary,” she said, giving Garion a hard look. “You’d better take a quick look through the rest of the house, Kheldar. Let’s make sure that it’s really empty. Durnik, you and Toth go with him.”

Silk nodded and started back up the blood-splashed aisle, stepping over bodies as he went, with Durnik and Toth close behind him.

“I don’t understand,” Ce’Nedra said, staring in bafflement at the gnarled Beldin, who was once again dressed in rags and had the usual twigs and bits of straw clinging to him. “How did you change places with Feldegast—and where is he?”

A roguish smile crossed Beldin’s face. “Ah, me little darlin’,” he said to her in the juggler’s lilting brogue, “I’m right here, don’t y’ know. An’ if yer of a mind, I kin still charm ye with me wit an’ me unearthly skill.”

“But I liked Feldegast,” she almost wailed.

“All ye have t’ do is transfer yer affection t’ me, darlin’.”

“It’s not the same,” she objected.

Belgarath was looking steadily at the twisted sorcerer. “Have you got any idea of how much that particular dialect irritates me?” he said.

“Why, yes, brother.” Beldin grinned. “As a matter of fact I do. That’s one of the reasons I selected it.”

“I don’t entirely understand the need for so elaborate a disguise,” Sadi said as he put away his small poisoned dagger.

“Too many people know me by sight in this part of Mallore,” Beldin told him. “Urvon’s had my description posted on every tree and fence post within a hundred leagues of Mal Yaska for the last two thousand years, and let’s be honest about it, it wouldn’t be too hard to recognize me from even the roughest description.”

“You are a unique sort of person, Uncle,” Polgara said to him, smiling fondly.

“Ah, yer too kind t’ say it, me girl,” he replied with an extravagant bow.

“Will you stop that?” Belgarath said. Then he turned to Garion. “As I remember, you said that you were going to explain something later. All right—it’s later.”

“I was tricked,” Garion admitted glumly.

“By whom?”

“’Zandramas”

“She’s still here?” Ce’Nedra exclaimed.

Garion shook his head. “No. She sent a projection here—a projection of herself and of Geran.”

“Couldn’t you tell the difference between a projection and the real thing?” Belgarath demanded.

“I wasn’t in any condition to tell the difference when it happened.”

“I suppose you can explain that.”

Garion took a deep breath and sat down on one of the benches. He noticed that his bloodstained hands were shaking. “She’s very clever,” he said. “Ever since we left Mal Zeth, I’ve been having the same dream over and over again.”

“Dream?” Polgara asked sharply. “What kind of dream?”

“Maybe dream isn’t the right word,” he replied, “but over and over again, I kept hearing the cry of a baby. At first I thought that I was remembering the cry of that sick child we saw in the streets back in Mal Zeth, but that wasn’t it at all. When Silk and Beldin and I were in that room just above this one, we could see down into the throne room here and we saw Urvon come in with Nahaz right behind him. He’s completely insane now. He think’s he’s a God. Anyway, he summoned Mengha—only Mengha turned out to be Harakan, and then—”

“Wait a minute,” Belgarath interrupted him. "Harakan is Mengha?”

Garion glanced over at the limp form sprawled in front of the altar. Zith was still coiled atop the black stone, muttering and hissing to herself. “Well, he was,” he said.

“Urvon made the announcement before all this broke out,” Beldin added. “We didn’t have the time to fill you in.”

“That explains a great many things, doesn’t it?” Belgarath mused. He looked at Velvet. “Did you know about this?” he asked her.

“No, Ancient One,” she replied, “as a matter of fact, I didn’t. I just seized the opportunity when it arose.”

Silk, Durnik, and Toth came back into the body-strewn throne room. “The house is empty,” the little man reported. “We’ve got it all to ourselves.”

“Good,” Belgarath said. “Garion was just telling us why he saw fit to start his own private war.”

“Zandramas told him to.” Silk shrugged. “I’m not sure why he started taking orders from her, but that’s what happened.”

“I was just getting to that,” Garion said. “Urvon was down here telling all the Chandim that Harakan—Mengha—was going to be his first disciple. That’s when Zandramas came in—or at least she seemed to. She had a bundle under her cloak. I didn’t know it at first, but it was Geran. She and Urvon shouted at each other for a while, and Urvon finally insisted that he was a God. She said something like, ‘All right. Then I will summon the Godslayer to deal with you.’ That’s when she put the bundle on the altar. She opened it, and it was Geran. He started to cry, and I realized all at once that it was his cry I’d been hearing all along. I just totally stopped thinking at that point.”

“Obviously,” Belgarath said.

“Well, anyway, you know all the rest.” Garion looked around at the corpse-littered throne room and shuddered. “I hadn’t altogether realized just how far things went,” he said. “I guess I was sort of crazy.”

“The word is berserk, Garion,” Belgarath told him. “It’s fairly common among Alorns. I’d sort of thought you might be immune, but I guess I was wrong.”

“There was some justification for it, father,” Polgara said.

“There’s never a justification for losing your wits, Pol,” he growled.

“He was provoked.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then came over and lightly placed her hands on Garion’s temples. “It’s gone now,” she said.

“What is?” Ce’Nedra sounded concerned.

“The possession.”

“Possession?”

Polgara nodded. “Yes. That’s how Zandramas tricked him. She filled his mind with the sound of a crying child.Then, when she laid the bundle that seemed to be Geran on the altar and Garion heard that same crying, he had no choice but to do what she wanted him to do.” She looked at Belgarath. “This is very serious, father. She’s already tampered with Ce’Nedra, and now it’s Garion. She may try the same thing with others as well.”

“What would be the point?” he asked. “You can catch her at it, can’t you?”

“Usually, yes—if I know what’s going on. But Zandramas is very skilled at this and she’s very subtle. In many ways she’s even better at it than Asharak the Murgo was.” She looked around at them. “Now listen carefully, all of you,” she told them. “If anything unusual begins to happen to you—dreams, notions, peculiar ideas, strange feelings—anything at all, I want you to tell me about it at once. Zandramas knows that we’re after her and she’s using this to delay us. She tried it with Ce’Nedra while we were on our way to Rak Hagga, and now—”

“Me?” Ce’Nedra said in amazement. “I didn’t know that.”

” Remember your illness on the road from Rak Verkat?” Polgara said. “It wasn’t exactly an illness. It was Zandramas putting her hand on your mind.”

“But nobody told me.”

“Once Andel and I drove Zandramas away, there was no need to worry you about it. Anyway, Zandramas tried it first with Ce’Nedra and now with Garion. She could try it on any one of the rest of us as well, so let me know if you start feeling in the least bit peculiar.”

“Brass,” Durnik said.

“What was that, dear?” Polgara asked him.

He held up Urvon’s crown. “This thing is brass,” he said. “So’s that throne. I didn’t really think there’d be any gold left here. The house has been abandoned and wide open for looters for too many centuries.”

“That’s usually the way it is with the gifts of demons,” Beldin told him. “They’re very good at creating illusions.” He looked around. “Urvon probably saw all this as unearthly splendor. He couldn’t see the rotten drapes, or cobwebs, or all the trash on the floor. All he could see was the glory that Nahaz wanted him to see.” The dirty, twisted man chuckled. “I sort of enjoy the idea of Urvon spending his last days as a raving lunatic,” he added, “right up until the moment when I sink a hook into his guts.”

Silk had been looking narrowly at Velvet. “Do you suppose you could explain something for me?” he asked.

“I’ll try.” she said.

“You said something rather strange when you threw Zith into Harakan’s face.”

“Did I say something?”

“You said, ‘A present for the leader of the Bear-cult from Hunter.’ ”

“Oh, that.” She smiled her dimples into life. “I just wanted him to know who was killing him, that’s all.”

He stared at her.

“You are getting rusty, my dear Kheldar,” she chided him. “I was certain that you’d have guessed by now. I’ve done everything but hit you over the head with it.”

“Hunter?” he said incredulously. "You?”

“I’ve been Hunter for quite some time now. That’s why I hurried to catch up with you at Tol Honeth.” She smoothed the front of her plain gray traveling gown.

“At Tol Honeth you told us that Bethra was Hunter.”

“She had been, Kheldar, but her job was finished. She was supposed to make sure that we’d get a reasonable man as a successor to Ran Borune. First she had to eliminate a few members of the Honeth family before they could consolidate their positions, and then she made a few suggestions about Varana to Ran Borune while the two of them were—” She hesitated, glancing at Ce’Nedra, and then she coughed. “—ah—shall we say, entertaining each other?” she concluded.

Ce’Nedra blushed furiously.

“Oh, dear,” the blond girl said, putting one hand to her cheek. “That didn’t come out at all well, did it? Anyway,” she hurried on, “Javelin decided that Bethra’s task was complete and that it was time for there to be a new Hunter with a new mission. Queen Porenn was very cross about what Harakan did in the west—the attempt on Ce’Nedra’s life, the murder of Brand, and everything that went on at Rheon—so she instructed Javelin to administer some chastisement. He selected me to deliver it. I was fairly sure that Harakan would come back to Mallorea. I knew that you were all coming here, too—eventually—so that’s why I joined you.” She looked over at the sprawled form of Harakan. “I was absolutely amazed when I saw him standing in front of the altar,” she admitted, “but I couldn’t allow an opportunity like that to slip by.” She smiled. “Actually, it worked out rather well. I was just on the verge of leaving you and going back to Mal Yaska to look for him. The fact that he turned out to be Mengha, too, was just sort of a bonus.”

“I thought you were tagging along to keep an eye on me.”

“I’m very sorry, Prince Kheldar. I just made that up. I needed some reason to join you, and sometimes Belgarath can be very stubborn.” She smiled winsomely at the old sorcerer, then turned back to the baffled-looking Silk. “Actually,” she continued, “my uncle isn’t really upset with you at all.”

“But you said—” He stared at her. “You lied!” he accused.

“‘Lie’ is such an ugly word, Kheldar,” she replied, patting his cheek fondly. “Couldn’t we just say that I exaggerated a trifle? I wanted to keep an eye on you, certainly, but it was for reasons of my own—which had nothing whatsoever to do with Drasnian state policy.

“A slow flush crept up his cheeks.

“Why, Kheldar,” she exclaimed delightedly, “you’re actually blushing—almost like a simple village girl who’s just been seduced.”

Garion had been struggling with something. “What was the point of it, Aunt Pol?” he asked. “What Zandramas did to me, I mean?”

“Delay,” she replied, “but more importantly, there was the possibility of defeating us before we ever get to the final meeting.”

“I don’t follow that.”

She sighed. “We know that one of us is going to die,” she said. “Cyradis told us that at Rheon. But there’s always a chance that in one of these random skirmishes, someone else could be killed—entirely by accident. If the Child of Light—you—meets with the Child of Dark and he’s lost someone whose task hasn’t been completed, he won’t have any chance of winning. Zandramas could win by default. The whole point of that cruel game she played was to lure you into a fight with the Chandim and Nahaz. The rest of us, quite obviously, would come to your aid. In that kind of fight, it’s always possible for accidents to happen.”

“Accident? How can there be accidents when we’re all under the control of a prophecy?”

“You’re forgetting something, Belgarion,” Beldin said. “This whole business started with an accident. That’s what divided the Prophecies in the first place. You can read prophecies until your hair turns gray, but there’s always room for random chance to step in and disrupt things.”

“You’ll note that my brother is a philosopher,” Belgarath said, “always ready to look on the dark side of things.”

“Are you two really brothers?” Ce’Nedra asked curiously. “Yes,” Beldin told her, “but in a way that you could never begin to understand. It was something that our Master impressed upon us.”

“And Zedar was also one of your brothers?” She suddenly stared in horror at Belgarath.

The old man set his jaw. “Yes,” he admitted.

“But you—”

“Go ahead and say it, Ce’Nedra,” he said. “There’s nothing you can possibly say to me that I haven’t already said to myself.”

“Someday,” she said in a very small voice, “someday when this is all over, will you let him out?”

Belgarath’s eyes were stony. “I don’t think so, no.”

“And if he does let him out, I’ll go find him and stuff him right back in again,” Beldin added.

“There’s not much point in chewing over ancient history,” Belgarath said. He thought a moment, then said, “I think it’s time for us to have another talk with the young lady from Kell.” He turned to Toth. “Will you summon your mistress?” he asked.

The giant’s face was not happy. When he finally nodded, it was obviously with some reluctance.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Belgarath said to him, “but it’s really necessary.”

Toth sighed and then he sank to one knee and closed his eyes in an oddly prayerful fashion. Once again, as it had happened back on the Isle of Verkat and again at Rak Hagga, Garion heard a murmur as of many voices. Then there came that peculiar, multicolored shimmering in the air not far from Urvon’s shoddy throne. The air cleared, and the unwavering form of the Seeress of Kell appeared on the dais. For the first time, Garion looked closely at her. She was slender and somehow looked very vulnerable, a helplessness accentuated by her white robe and her blindfolded eyes. There was, however, a serenity in her face—the serenity of someone who has looked full in the face of Destiny and has accepted it without question or reservation. For some reason, he felt almost overcome with awe in her radiant presence.

“Thank you for coming, Cyradis,” Belgarath said simply. “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I know how difficult it is for you to do this, but there are some answers I need before we can go any further.”

“I will tell thee as much as I am permitted to say, Ancient One,” she replied. Her voice was light and musical, but there was, nonetheless, a firmness in it that spoke of an unearthly resolve. “I must say unto thee, however, that thou must make haste. The time for the final meeting draws nigh.”

“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk about. Can you be any more specific about this appointed time?”

She seemed to consider it as if consulting with some power so immense that Garion’s imagination shuddered back from the very thought of it. “I know not time in thy terms, Holy Belgarath,” she said simply, “but only for so long as a babe lieth beneath his mother’s heart remains ere the Child of Light and the Child of Dark must face each other in the Place Which Is No More, and my task must be completed.”

“All right,” he said. “That’s clear enough, I guess. Now, when you came to us at Mal Zeth, you said that there was a task here at Ashaba that needed to be accomplished before we could move on. A great deal has happened here, so I can’t pinpoint exactly what that task was. Can you be a bit more specific?”

“The task is completed, Eternal One, for the Book of the Heavens sayeth that the Huntress must find her prey and bring him low in the House of Darkness in the sixteenth moon. And lo, even as the stars have proclaimed, it hath come to pass.”

The old man’s face took on a slightly puzzled expression.

“Ask further, Disciple of Aldur,” she told him. “My time with you grows short.”

“I’m supposed to follow the trail of the Mysteries,” he said, “but Zandramas cut certain key passages out of the copy of the Ashabine Oracles she left here for me to find.”

“Nay, Ancient One. It was not the hand of Zandramas which mutilated thy book, but rather the hand of its author.”

“Torak?” he sounded startled.

“Even so. For know thou that the words of prophecy come unbidden, and ofttimes their import is not pleasing unto the prophet. So it was with the master of this house.”

“But Zandramas managed to put her hands on a copy that hadn’t been mutilated?” he asked.

The seeress nodded.

“Are there any other copies that Burnt-face didn’t tamper with?” Beldin asked intently.

“Only two,” she replied. “One is in the house of Urvon the Disciple, but that one lieth under the hand of Nahaz, the accursed. Seek not to wrest it from him, lest ye die.”

“And the other?” the hunchback demanded.

“Seek out the clubfooted one, for he will aid thee in thy search.”

“That’s not too helpful, you know.”

“I speak to thee in the words that stand in the Book of the Heavens and were written ere the world began. These words have no language but speak instead directly to the soul.”

“Naturally,” he said. “All right. You spoke of Nahaz. Is he going to line our path with demons all the way across Karanda?”

“Nay, gentle Beldin. Nahaz hath no further interest in Karanda, and his legions of darkness abide no longer there and respond to no summons, however powerful. They infest instead the plains of Darshiva where they do war upon the minions of Zandramas.”

“Where is Zandramas now?” Belgarath asked her.

“She doth journey unto the place where the Sardion lay hidden for unnumbered centuries. Though it is no longer there, she hopes to find traces of it sunk into the very rocks and to follow those traces to the Place Which Is No More.”

“Is that possible?”

Her face grew very still. “That I may not tell thee,” she replied. Then she straightened. “I may say no more unto thee in this place, Belgarath. Seek instead the mystery which will guide thee. Make haste, however, for Time will not stay nor falter in its measured pace.” And then she turned toward the black altar standing before the dais where Zith was coiled, still muttering and hissing in irritation. “Be tranquil, little sister,” she said, “for the purpose of all thy days is now accomplished, and that which was delayed may now come to pass.” She then seemed, even though blindfolded, to turn her serene face toward each of them, pausing briefly only to bow her head to Polgara in a gesture of profound respect. At last she turned to Toth. Her face was filled with anguish, but she said nothing. And then she sighed and vanished.

Beldin was scowling. “That was fairly standard,” he said. “I hate riddles. They’re the entertainment of the preliterate.”

“Stop trying to show off your education and let’s see if we can sort things out,” Belgarath told him. “We know that this is all going to be decided one way or the other in nine more months. That was the number I needed.”

Sadi was frowning in perplexity. “How did we arrive at that number?” he asked. “To be perfectly frank, I didn’t understand very much of what she said.”

“She said that we have only as much time as a baby lies in its mother’s womb,” Polgara explained. “That’s nine months.”

“Oh,” he said. Then he smiled a bit sadly. “That’s the sort of thing I don’t pay too much attention to, I guess.”

“What was that business about the sixteenth moon?” Silk asked. “I didn’t follow that at all.”

“This whole thing began with the birth of Belgarion’s son,” Beldin told him. “We found a reference to that in the Mrin Codex. Your friend with the snake had to be here at Ashaba sixteen moons later.”

Silk frowned, counting on his fingers. “It hasn’t been sixteen months yet,” he objected.

“Moons, Kheldar,” the hunchback said. “Moons, not months. There’s a difference, you know.”

“Oh. That explains it, I guess.”

“Who’s this clubfoot who’s supposed to have the third copy of the Oracles?” Belgarath said.

“It rings a bell somehow,” Beldin replied. “Let me think about it.”

“What’s Nahaz doing in Darshiva?” Garion asked.

“Apparently attacking the Grolims there,” Belgarath replied. “We know that Darshiva is where Zandramas originally came from and that the church in that region belongs to her. If Nahaz wants to put the Sardion in Urvon’s hands, he’s going to have to stop her. Otherwise, she’ll get to it first.”

Ce’Nedra seemed to suddenly remember something. She looked at Garion, her eyes hungry. “You said that you saw Geran—when Zandramas tricked you.”

“A projection of him, yes.”

“How did he look?”

“The same. He hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him.”

“Garion, dear,” Polgara said gently. “That’s not really reasonable, you know. Geran’s almost a year older now. He wouldn’t look the same at all. Babies grow and change a great deal during their first few years.”

He nodded glumly. “I realize that now,” he replied. “At the time, I wasn’t really in any condition to think my way through it.” Then he stopped. “Why didn’t she project an image of him the way he looks now?”

“Because she wanted to show you something she was sure you’d recognize.”

“Now you stop that!” Sadi exclaimed. He was standing near the altar and he had just jerked his hand back out of Zith’s range. The little green snake was growling ominously at him. The eunuch turned toward Velvet. “Do you see what you’ve done?” he accused. “You’ve made her terribly angry.”

“Me?” she asked innocently.

“How would you like to be pulled out of a warm bed and thrown into somebody’s face?”

“I suppose I hadn’t thought about that. I’ll apologize to her, Sadi—just as soon as she regains her composure a bit. Will she crawl into her bottle by herself?”

“Usually, yes.”

“That might be the safest course, then. Lay the bottle on the altar and let her crawl inside and sulk a bit.”

“You’re probably right,” he agreed.

“Are any of the other rooms in the house habitable?” Polgara asked Silk.

He nodded. “More or less. The Chandim and the Guardsmen were staying in them.”

She looked around at the corpse-littered throne room.

“Why don’t we move out of here, then?” she suggested to Belgarath. “This place looks like a battlefield, and the smell of blood isn’t that pleasant.”

“Why bother?” Ce’Nedra said. “We’re leaving to follow Zandramas, aren’t we?”

“Not until morning, dear,” Polgara replied. “It’s dark and cold outside, and we’re all tired and hungry.”

“But—”

“The Chandim and the Guardsmen ran away, Ce’Nedra—but we can’t be at all sure how far they went. And, of course, there are the Hounds as well. Let’s not make the mistake of blundering out into a forest at night when we can’t see what might be hiding behind the first tree we come to.”

“It makes sense, Ce’Nedra,” Velvet told her. “Let’s try to get some sleep and start out early in the morning.”

The little Queen sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted. “It’s just that—”

“Zandramas can’t get away from me, Ce’Nedra,” Garion assured her. “The Orb knows which way she went.”

They followed Silk out of the throne room and along the blood-spattered corridor outside. Garion tried as best he could to shield Ce’Nedra from the sight of the crumpled forms of the Guardsmen and Karands he had killed in his raging dash to the throne room of Torak. About halfway down the corridor Silk pushed open a door and held up the guttering torch he had taken from one of the iron rings sticking out of the wall. “This is about the best I can do,” he told Polgara. “At least someone made an effort to clean it up.”

She looked around. The room had the look of a barracks. Bunks protruded from the walls and there was a table with benches in the center. There was a fireplace at the far end with the last embers of a fire glowing inside. “Adequate,” she said.

“I’d better go look after the horses,” Durnik said. “Is there a stable anywhere on the grounds?”

“It’s down at the far end of the courtyard,” Beldin told him, “and the Guardsmen who were here probably put in a supply of fodder and water for their own mounts.”

“Good,” Durnik said.

“Would you bring in the packs with my utensils and the stores, dear?” Polgara asked him.

“Of course.” Then he went out, followed by Toth and Eriond.

“Suddenly I’m so tired that I can barely stand,” Garion said, sinking onto a bench.

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” Beldin grunted."You’ve had a busy evening.”

“Are you coming along with us?” Belgarath asked him.

“No, I don’t think so,” Beldin replied, sprawling on the bench. “I want to find out where Nahaz took Urvon.”

“Will you be able to follow him?”

“Oh, yes.” Beldin tapped his nose. “I can smell a demon six days after he passes. I’ll trail Nahaz just like a bloodhound. I won’t be gone too long. You go ahead and follow Zandramas, and I’ll catch up with you somewhere along the way.” The hunchback rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully. “I think we can be fairly sure that Nahaz isn’t going to let Urvon out of his sight. Urvon is—or was—a Disciple of Torak, after all. Even as much as I detest him, I still have to admit that he’s got a very strong mind. Nahaz is going to have to talk to him almost constantly to keep his sanity from returning, so if our Demon Lord went to Darshiva to oversee his creatures there, he’s almost certain to have taken Urvon along.”

“You will be careful, won’t you?”

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Belgarath. Just leave me some kind of trail I can follow. I don’t want to have to look all over Mallorea for you.”

Sadi came from the throne room with his red leather case in one hand and Zith’s little bottle in the other. “She’s still very irritated,” he said to Velvet. “She doesn’t appreciate being used as a weapon.”

“I told you that I’d apologize to her, Sadi,” she replied. “I’ll explain things to her. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Silk was looking at the blond girl with an odd expression. “Tell me,” he said. “Didn’t it bother you at all the first time you put her down the front of your dress?” She laughed. “To be perfectly honest with you, Prince Kheldar, the first time it was all I could do to keep from screaming.”

20

At first light the following morning, a light that was little more than a lessening of the darkness of a sky where dense clouds scudded before the chill wind blowing down off the mountains, Silk returned to the room in which they had spent the night. “The house is being watched,” he told them.

“How many are there?” Belgarath asked.

“I saw one. I’m sure there are others.”

“Where is he? The one that you saw?”

Silk’s quick grin was vicious. “He’s watching the sky.At least he looks like he’s watching. His eyes are open and he’s lying on his back.” He slid his hand down into his boot, pulled out one of his daggers, and looked sorrowfully at its once-keen edge. “Do you have any idea of how hard it is to push a knife through a chain-mail shirt?”

“I think that’s why people wear them, Kheldar,” Velvet said to him. “You should use one of these.” From somewhere amongst her soft, feminine clothing she drew out a long-bladed poniard with a needle-like point.

“I thought you were partial to snakes.”

“Always use the appropriate weapon, Kheldar. I certainly wouldn’t want Zith to break her teeth on a steel shirt.”

“Could you two talk business some other time?” Belgarath said to them. “Can you put a name to this fellow who’s suddenly so interested in the sky?”

“We didn’t really have time to introduce ourselves,” Silk replied, sliding his jagged-edged knife back into his boot.

“I meant what—not who.”

“Oh. He was a Temple Guardsman.”

“Not one of the Chandim?”

“All I had to go by was his clothing.”

The old man grunted.

“It’s going to be slow going if we have to look behind every tree and bush as we ride along,” Sadi said.

“I realize that,” Belgarath answered, tugging at one earlobe. “Let me think my way through this.”

“And while you’re deciding, I’ll fix us some breakfast,” Polgara said, laying aside her hairbrush. “What would you all like?”

“Porridge?” Eriond asked hopefully.

Silk sighed. “The word is gruel, Eriond. Gruel.” Then he looked quickly at Polgara, whose eyes had suddenly turned frosty. “Sorry, Polgara,” he apologized, “but it’s our duty to educate the young, don’t you think?”

“What I think is that I need more firewood,” she replied.

“I’ll see to it at once.”

“You’re too kind.”

Silk rather quickly left the room.

“Any ideas?” the hunchbacked Beldin asked Belgarath.

“Several. But they all have certain flaws in them.”

“Why not let me handle it for you?” the gnarled sorcerer asked, sprawling on a bench near the fire and scratching absently at his belly. “You’ve had a hard night, a ten-thousand-year-old man needs to conserve his strength.”

“You really find that amusing, don’t you? Why not say twenty—or fifty? Push absurdity to its ultimate edge.”

“My,” Beldin said, “aren’t we testy this morning? Pol, have you got any beer handy?”

“Before breakfast, Uncle?” she said from beside the fireplace where she was stirring a large pot.

“Just as a buffer for the gruel,” he said.

She gave him a very steady look.

He grinned at her, then turned back toward Belgarath. “Seriously, though,” he went on, “why not let me deal with all the lurkers in the bushes around the house? Kheldar could dull every knife he’s carrying, and Liselle could wear that poor little snake’s fangs down to the gums, and still wouldn’t be sure if you’d cleaned out the woods hereabouts. I’m going off in a different direction anyway, so why not let me do something flamboyant to frighten off the Guardsmen and the Karands and then leave a nice, wide trail for the Chandim and the Hounds? They’ll follow me, and that should leave you an empty forest to ride through.”

Belgarath gave him a speculative look. “Exactly what have you got in mind?” he asked.

“I’m still working on it.” The dwarf leaned back reflectively. “Let’s face it, Belgarath, the Chandim and Zandramas already know that we’re here, so there’s not much point in tiptoeing around anymore. A little noise isn’t going to hurt anything.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” Belgarath agreed. He looked at Garion. “Are you getting any hints from the Orb about the direction Zandramas took when she left here?”

“A sort of a steady pull toward the east is all.”

Beldin grunted. “Makes sense. Since Urvon’s people were wandering all over Katakor, she probably wanted to get to the nearest unguarded border as quickly as possible. That would be Jenno.”

“Is the border between Jenno and Katakor unguarded?” Velvet asked.

“They don’t even know for sure where the border is.” He snorted. “At least not up in the forest. There’s nothing up there but trees anyway, so they don’t bother with it.” He turned back to Belgarath. “Don’t get your mind set in stone on some of these things,” he advised. “We did a lot of speculating back at Mal Zeth, and the theories we came up with were related to the truth only by implication. There’s a great deal of intrigue going on here in Mallorea, so it’s a good idea to expect things to turn out not quite the way you thought they would.”

“Garion,” Polgara said from the fireplace, “would you see if you can find Silk? Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Yes, Aunt Pol,” he replied automatically.

After they had eaten, they repacked their belongings and carried the packs out to the stable.

“Go out through the sally port,” Beldin said as they crossed the courtyard again. “Give me about an hour before you start.”

“You’re leaving now?” Belgarath asked him.

“I might as well. We’re not accomplishing very much by sitting around talking. Don’t forget to leave me a trail to follow.”

“I’ll take care of it. I wish you’d tell me what you’re going to do here.”

“Trust me.” The gnarled sorcerer winked. “Take cover someplace and don’t come out again until all the noise subsides.” He grinned wickedly and rubbed his dirty hands together in anticipation. Then he shimmered and swooped away as a blue-banded hawk.

“I think we’d better go back inside the house,” Belgarath suggested. “Whatever he’s going to do out here is likely to involve a great deal of flying debris.”

They reentered the house and went back to the room where they had spent the night. “Durnik,” Belgarath said, “can you get those shutters closed? I don’t think we want broken glass sheeting across the room.”

“But then we won’t be able to see,” Silk objected.

“I’m sure you can live without seeing it. As a matter of fact, you probably wouldn’t want to watch, anyway.”

Durnik went to the window, opened it slightly, and pulled the shutters closed.

Then, from high overhead where the blue-banded hawk had been circling, there came a huge roar almost like a continuous peal of swirling thunder, accompanied by a rushing surge. The House of Torak shook as if a great wind were tearing at it, and the faint light coming from between the slats of the shutters Durnik had closed vanished, to be replaced by inky darkness. Then there came a vast bellow from high in the air above the house.

“A demon?” Ce’Nedra gasped. “Is it a demon?”

“A semblance of a demon,” Polgara corrected.

“How can anybody see it when it’s so dark outside?” Sadi asked.

“It’s dark around the house because the house is inside the image. The people hiding in the forest should be able to see it very well—too well, in fact.”

“It’s that big?” Sadi looked stunned. “But this house is enormous.”

Belgarath grinned. “Beldin was never satisfied with halfway measures,” he said.

There came another of those huge bellows from high above, followed by faint shrieks and cries of agony.

“Now what’s he doing?” Ce’Nedra asked.

“Some kind of visual display, I’d imagine.” Belgarath shrugged. “Probably fairly graphic. My guess is that everyone in the vicinity is being entertained by the spectacle of an illusory demon eating imaginary people alive.”

“Will it frighten them off?” Silk asked.

“Wouldn’t it frighten you?”

From high overhead, a dreadful booming voice roared.

“Hungry!” it said. “Hungry! Want food! Mow food!” There came a ponderous, earthshaking crash, the sound of a titanic foot crushing an acre of forest. Then there was another and yet another as Beldin’s enormous image stalked away. The light returned, and Silk hurried toward the window.

“I wouldn’t,” Belgarath warned him.

“But—”

“You don’t want to see it, Silk. Take my word for it.You don’t want to see it.”

The gigantic footsteps continued to crash through the nearby woods.

“How much longer?” Sadi asked in a shaken voice.

“He said about an hour,” Belgarath replied. “He’ll probably make use of all of it. He wants to make a lasting impression on everybody in the area.”

There were screams of terror coming from the woods now, and the crashing continued. Then there was another sound—a great roaring that receded off into the distance toward the southwest, accompanied by the fading surge of Beldin’s will.

“He’s leading the Chandim off now,” Belgarath said. “That means he’s already chased off the Guardsmen and the Karands. Let’s get ready to leave.”

It took them a while to calm the wild-eyed horses, but they were finally able to mount and ride into the courtyard. Garion had once again donned his mail shirt and helmet, and his heavy shield hung from the bow of Chretienne’s saddle. “Do I still need to carry the lance?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Belgarath replied. “We’re not likely to meet anybody out there now.”

They went through the sally port and into the brushy woods. They circled the black house until they reached the east-side, then Garion drew Iron-grip’s sword. He held it lightly and swept it back and forth until he felt it pull at his hand. “The trail’s over there,” he said, pointing toward a scarcely visible path leading off into the woods.

“Good,” Belgarath said. “At least we won’t have to beat our way through the brush.”

They crossed the weed-grown clearing that surrounded the House of Torak and entered the forest. The path they followed showed little sign of recent use, and it was at times difficult to see.

“It looks as if some people left here in a hurry.” Silk grinned, pointing at various bits and pieces of equipment lying scattered along the path.

They came up over the top of a hill and saw a wide strip of devastation stretching through the forest toward the southwest.

“A tornado?” Sadi asked.

“No,” Belgarath replied. “Beldin. The Chandim won’t have much trouble finding his trail.”

The sword in Garion’s hand was still pointed unerringly toward the path they were following. He led the way confidently, and they increased their pace to a trot and pushed on through the forest. After a league or so, the path began to run downhill, moving out of the foothills toward the heavily forested plains lying to the east of the Karandese range.

“Are there any towns out there?” Sadi asked, looking out over the forest.

” Akkadis the only one of any size between here and the border,” Silk told him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it. What’s it like?”

“It’s a pigpen of a place,” Silk replied. “Most Karandese towns are. They seem to have a great affinity for mud.”

“Wasn’t Akkad the place where the Melcene bureaucrat was from?” Velvet asked.

“That’s what he said,” Silk answered.

” And didn’t he say that there are demons there?”

“There were,” Belgarath corrected. “Cyradis told us that Nahaz has pulled all of his demons out of Karanda and sent them off to Darshiva to fight the Grolims there.” He scratched at his beard. “I think we’ll avoid Akkad anyway. The demons may have left, but there are still going to be Karandese fanatics there, and I don’t think that the news of Mengha’s death has reached them yet. In any event, there’s going to be a fair amount of chaos here in Karanda until ’Zakath’s army gets back from Cthol Murgos and he moves in to restore order.”

They rode on, pausing only briefly for lunch.

By midafternoon, the clouds that had obscured the skies over Ashaba had dissipated, and the sun came back out again. The path they had been following grew wider and more well-traveled, and it finally expanded into a road. They picked up the pace and made better time.

As evening drew on, they rode some distance back from the road and made their night’s encampment in a small hollow where the light from their fire would be well concealed. They ate, and, immediately after supper, Garion sought his bed. For some reason he felt bone weary.

After half an hour, Ce’Nedra joined him in their tent.

She settled down into the blankets and nestled her head against his back. Then she sighed disconsolately. “It was all a waste of time, wasn’t it?” she said. “Going to Ashaba, I mean.”

“No, Ce’Nedra, not really,” he replied, still on the verge of sleep. “We had to go there so that Velvet could kill Harakan. That was one of the tasks that have to be completed before we get to the Place Which Is No More.”

“Does all that really have any meaning, Garion?” she asked. “Half the time you act as if you believe it, and the other half you don’t. If Zandramas had been there with our son, you wouldn’t have just let her walk away because all the conditions hadn’t been met, would you?”

“Not by so much as one step,” he said grimly.

“Then you don’t really believe it, do you?”

“I’m not an absolute fatalist, if that’s what you mean, but I’ve seen things come out exactly the way the Prophecy said they were going to far too many times for me to ignore it altogether.”

“Sometimes I think that I’ll never see my baby again,” she said in a weary little voice.

“You mustn’t ever think that,” he told her. “We will catch up with Zandramas, and we will take Geran home with us again.”

“Home,” she sighed. “We’ve been gone for so long that I can barely remember what it looks like.”

He took her into his arms, buried his face in her hair, and held her close. After a time she sighed and fell asleep. In spite of his own deep weariness, however, it was quite late before he himself drifted off.

The next day dawned clear and warm. They made their way back to the road again and continued eastward with Iron-grip’s sword pointing the way.

About midmorning, Polgara called ahead to Belgarath.

“Father, there’s someone hiding off to the side of the road just ahead.”

He slowed his horse to a walk. “Chandim?” he asked tersely.

“No. It’s a Mallorean Angarak. He’s very much afraid—and not altogether rational.”

“Is he planning any mischief?”

“He’s not actually planning anything, father. His thoughts aren’t coherent enough for that.”

“Why don’t you go flush him out, Silk?” the old man suggested. “I don’t like having people lurking behind me—sane or not.

“About where is he?” the little man asked Polgara.

“Some distance back in the woods from that dead tree.” she replied.

He nodded. “I’ll go talk with him,” he said. He loped his horse on ahead and reined in beside the dead tree. “We know you’re back there, friend,” he called pleasantly."We don’t mean you any harm, but why don’t you come out in the open where we can see you?”

There was a long pause.

“Come along now,” Silk called. “Don’t be shy.”

“Have you got any demons with you?” The voice sounded fearful.

“Do I look like the sort of fellow who’d be consorting with demons?”

“You won’t kill me, will you?”

“Of course not. We only want to talk with you, that’s all.”

There was another long, fearful pause. “Have you got anything to eat?” The voice was filled with a desperate need.

“I think we can spare a bit.”

The hidden man thought about that. “All right,” he said finally. “I’m coming out. Remember that you promised not to kill me.” Then there was a crashing in the bushes, and a Mallorean soldier came stumbling out into the road. His red tunic was in shreds, he had lost his helmet, and the remains of his boots were tied to his legs with leather thongs. He had quite obviously neither shaved nor bathed for at least a month. His eyes were wild and his head twitched on his neck uncontrollably.He stared at Silk with a terrified expression.

“You don’t look to be in very good shape, friend,” Silk said to him. “Where’s your unit?”

“Dead, all dead, and eaten by the demons.” The soldier’s eyes were haunted. “Were you at Akkad ?” he asked in a terrified voice. “Were you there when the demons came?”

“No, friend. We just came up from Venna.”

“You said that you had something for me to eat.”

“Durnik,” Silk called, “could you bring some food for this poor fellow?”

Durnik rode to the packhorse carrying their stores and took out some bread and dried meat. Then he rode on ahead to join Silk and the fear-crazed soldier.

“Were you at Akkad when the demons came?” the fellow asked him.

Durnik shook his head. “No,” he replied, “I’m with him.” He pointed at Silk. Then he handed the fellow the bread and meat.

The soldier snatched them and began to wolf them down in huge bites.

“What happened at Akkad ?” Silk asked.

“The demons came,” the soldier replied, still cramming food into his mouth. Then he stopped, his eyes fixed on Durnik with an expression of fright. “Are you going to kill me?” he demanded.

Durnik stared at him. “No, man,” he replied in a sick voice.

“Thank you.” The soldier sat down at the roadside and continued to eat.

Garion and the others slowly drew closer, not wanting to frighten the skittish fellow off.

“What did happen at Akkad ?” Silk pressed. “We’re going in that direction, and we’d sort of like to know what to expect.”

“Don’t go there,” the soldier said, shuddering. “It’s horrible—horrible. The demons came through the gates with howling Karands all around them. The Karands started hacking people to pieces and then they fed the pieces to the demons. They cut off both of my captain’s arms and then his legs as well, and then a demon picked up what was left of him and ate his head. He was screaming the whole time.” He lowered his chunk of bread and fearfully stared at Ce’Nedra. “Lady, are you going to kill me?” he demanded.

“Certainly not!” she replied in a shocked voice.

“If you are, please don’t let me see it when you do. And please bury me someplace where the demons won’t dig me up and eat me.”

“She’s not going to kill you,” Polgara told him firmly.

The man’s wild eyes filled with a kind of desperate longing. “Would you do it then, Lady?” he pleaded. “I can’t stand the horror any more. Please kill me gently—the way my mother would—and then hide me so that the demons won’t get me.” He put his face into his shaking hands and began to cry.

“Give him some more food, Durnik,” Belgarath said, his eyes suddenly filled with compassion. “He’s completely mad, and there’s nothing else we can do for him.”

“I think I might be able to do something, Ancient One,” Sadi said. He opened his case and took out a vial of amber liquid. “Sprinkle a few drops of this on the bread you give him, Goodman,” he said to Durnik. “It will calm him and give him a few hours of peace.”

“Compassion seems out of character for you, Sadi,” Silk said.

“Perhaps,” the eunuch murmured, “but then, perhaps you don’t fully understand me, Prince Kheldar.”

Durnik took some more bread and meat from the pack for the hysterical Mallorean soldier, sprinkling them liberally with Sadi’s potion. Then he gave them to the poor man, and they all rode slowly past and on down the road.

After they had gone a ways, Garion heard him calling after them. “Come back! Come back! Somebody—anybody—please come back and kill me. Mother, please kill me!”

Garion’s stomach wrenched with an almost overpowering sense of pity. He set his teeth and rode on, trying not to listen to the desperate pleas coming from behind.

They circled to the north of Akkad that afternoon, bypassing the city and returning to the road some two leagues beyond. The pull of the sword Garion held on the pommel of his saddle confirmed the fact that Zandramas had indeed passed this way and had continued on along this road toward the northeast and the relative safety of the border between Katakor and Jenno.

They camped in the forest a few miles north of the road that night and started out once more early the following morning. The road for a time stretched across open fields. It was deeply rutted and still quite soft at the shoulders.

“Karands don’t take road maintenance very seriously,” Silk observed, squinting into the morning sun.

“I noticed that,” Durnik replied.

“I thought you might have.”

Some leagues farther on, the road they were following reentered the forest, and they rode along through a cool, damp shade beneath towering evergreens.

Then, from somewhere ahead they heard a hollow, booming sound.

“I think we might want to go rather carefully until we’re past that.” Silk said quietly.

“What is that sound?” Sadi asked.

“Drums. There’s a temple ahead.”

“Out here in the forest?” The eunuch sounded surprised. “I thought that the Grolims were largely confined to the cities.”

“This isn’t a Grolim Temple, Sadi. It was nothing to do with the worship of Torak. As a matter of fact, the Grolims used to burn these places whenever they came across them. They were a part of the old religion of the area.”

“Demon worship, you mean?”

Silk nodded. “Most of them have been long abandoned, but every so often you come across one that’s still in use. The drums are a fair indication that the one just ahead is still open for business.”

“Will we be able to go around them?” Durnik asked.

“It shouldn’t be much trouble,” the little man replied. “The Karands burn a certain fungus in their ceremonial fires. The fumes have a peculiar effect on one’s senses.”

“Oh?” Sadi said with a certain interest.

“Never mind,” Belgarath told him. “That red case of yours has quite enough in it already.”

“Just scientific curiosity, Belgarath.”

“Of course. ”

“What are they worshipping?” Velvet asked. “I thought that the demons had all left Karanda.”

Silk was frowning. “The beat isn’t right,” he said.

“Have you suddenly become a music critic, Kheldar?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “I’ve come across these places before, and the drumming’s usually pretty frenzied when they’re holding their rites. That beat up ahead is too measured, It’s almost as if they’re waiting for something.”

Sadi shrugged. “Let them wait,” he said. “It’s no concern of ours, is it?”

“We don’t know that for sure, Sadi,” Polgara told him. She looked at Belgarath. “Wait here, father,” she suggested. “I’ll go on ahead and take a look.”

“It’s too dangerous, Pol,” Durnik objected.

She smiled. “They won’t even pay any attention to me, Durnik.” She dismounted and walked a short way up the path. Then, momentarily, she was surrounded with a kind of glowing nimbus, a hazy patch of light that had not been there before. When the light cleared, a great snowy owl hovered among the trees and then ghosted away on soft, silent wings.

“For some reason that always makes my blood run cold,” Sadi murmured.

They waited while the measured drumming continued.

Garion dismounted and checked his cinch strap. Then he walked about a bit, stretching his legs.

It was perhaps ten minutes later when Polgara returned, drifting on white wings under the low-hanging branches. When she resumed her normal shape, her face was pale and her eyes were filled with loathing. “Hideous!” she said. “Hideous!”

“What is it, Pol?” Durnik’s voice was concerned.

“There’s a woman in labor in that temple.”

“I don’t know that a temple is the right sort of place for that, but if she needed shelter—” The smith shrugged.

“The temple was chosen quite deliberately,” she replied. “The infant that’s about to be born isn’t human.”

“But—”

“It’s a demon.” Ce’Nedra gasped.

Polgara looked at Belgarath. “We have to intervene, father,” she told him. “This must be stopped.”

“How can it be stopped?” Velvet asked in perplexity. “I mean, if the woman’s already in labor . . .” She spread her hands.

“We may have to kill her,” Polgara said bleakly. “Even that may not prevent this monstrous birth. We may have to deliver the demon child and then smother it.”

“No!” Ce’Nedra cried. “It’s just a baby! You can’t kill it”

“It’s not that kind of baby, Ce’Nedra. It’s half human and half demon. It’s a creature of this world and a spawn of the other. If it’s allowed to live, it won’t be possible to banish it. It will be a perpetual horror.”

“Garion!” Ce’Nedra cried. “You can’t let her.”

“Polgara’s right, Ce’Nedra,” Belgarath told her. “The creature can’t be allowed to live.”

“How many Karands are gathered up there?” Silk asked.

“There are a half dozen outside the temple,” Polgara replied. “There may be more inside.”

“However many they are, we’re going to have to dispose of them,” he said. “They’re waiting for the birth of what they believe is a God, and they’ll defend the newborn demon to the death.”

“All right, then,” Garion said bleakly’, “let’s go oblige them.”

“You’re not condoning this?” Ce’Nedra exclaimed.

“I don’t like it,” he admitted, “but I don’t see that we’ve got much choice.” He looked at Polgara. “There’s absolutely no way it could be sent back to the place where demons originate?” he asked her.

“None whatsoever,” she said flatly. "This world will be it’s home. It wasn’t summoned and it has no master.

Within two years, it will be a horror such as this world has never seen. It must be destroyed.”

“Can you do it, Pol?” Belgarath asked her.

“I don’t have any choice, father,” she replied. “I have to do it.”

“All right, then,” the old man said to the rest of them.

“We have to get Pol inside that temple—and that means dealing with the Karands.”

Silk reached inside his boot and pulled out his dagger. “I should have sharpened this,” he muttered, looking ruefully at his jagged blade.

“Would you like to borrow one of mine?” Velvet asked him.

“No, that’s all right, Liselle,” he replied. “I’ve got a couple of spares.” He returned the knife to his boot and drew another from its place of concealment at the small of his back and yet a third from its sheath down the back of his neck.

Durnik lifted his axe from its loop at the back of his saddle. His face was unhappy. “Do we really have to do this, Pol?” he asked.

“Yes, Durnik. I’m afraid we do.”

He sighed. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s go get it over with.”

They started forward, riding at a slow walk to avoid alerting the fanatics ahead.

The Karands were sitting around a large, hollowed-out section of log, pounding on it with clubs in rhythmic unison. It gave forth a dull booming sound. They were dressed in roughly tanned fur vests and cross-tied leggings of dirty sackcloth. They were raggedly bearded, and their hair was matted and greasy. Their faces were hideously painted, but their eyes seemed glazed and their expressions slack-lipped.

“I’ll go first,” Garion muttered to the others.

“Shouting a challenge, I suppose,” Silk whispered.

“I’m not an assassin, Silk,” Garion replied quietly. “One or two of them might be rational enough to run, and that means a few less we’ll have to kill.”

“Suit yourself, but expecting rationality from Karands is irrational all by itself.”

Garion quickly surveyed the clearing. The wooden temple was constructed of half-rotten logs, sagging badly at one end and surmounted along its ridgepole by a line of mossy skulls staring out vacantly. The ground before the building was hard-packed dirt, and there was a smoky firepit not far from the drummers.

“Try not to get into that smoke,” Silk cautioned in a whisper. “You might start to see all sorts of peculiar things if you inhale too much of it.”

Garion nodded and looked around. “Are we all ready?” he asked in a low voice.

They nodded.

“All right then.” He spurred Chretienne into the clearing. “Throw down your weapons!” he shouted at the startled Karands.

Instead of obeying, they dropped their clubs and seized up a variety of axes, spears, and swords, shrieking their defiance.

“You see?” Silk said.

Garion clenched his teeth and charged, brandishing his sword. Even as he thundered toward the fur-clad men, he saw four others come bursting out of the temple. Even with these reinforcements, however, the men on foot were no match for Garion and his mounted companions. Two of the howling Karands fell beneath Iron-grip’s sword on Garion’s first charge, and the one who tried to thrust at his back with a broad-bladed spear fell in a heap as Durnik brained him with his axe. Sadi caught a sword thrust with a flick of his cloak and then, with an almost delicate motion, dipped his poisoned dagger into the swordsman’s throat. Using his heavy staff like a club, Toth battered two men to the ground, the sound of his blows punctuated by the snapping of bones. Their howls of frenzy turned to groans of pain as they fell. Silk launched himself from his saddle, rolled with the skill of an acrobat, and neatly ripped open one fanatic with one of his daggers while simultaneously plunging the other into the chest of a fat man who was clumsily trying to wield an axe. Chretienne whirled so quickly that Garion was almost thrown from his saddle as the big stallion trampled a Karand into the earth with his steel-shod hooves.

The lone remaining fanatic stood in the doorway of the crude temple. He was much older than his companions, and his face had been tattooed into a grotesque mask. His only weapon was a skull-surmounted staff, and he was brandishing it at them even as he shrieked an incantation. His words broke off suddenly, however, as Velvet hurled one of her knives at him with a smooth underhand cast. The wizard gaped down in amazement at the hilt of her knife protruding from his chest. Then he slowly toppled over backward.

There was a brief silence, punctuated only by the groans of the two men Toth had crippled. And then a harsh scream came from the temple—a woman’s scream.

Garion jumped from his saddle, stepped over the body in the doorway, and looked into the large, smoky room.

A half-naked woman lay on the crude altar against the far wall. She had been bound to it in a spread-eagle position and she was partially covered by a filthy blanket. Her features were distorted, and her belly grossly, impossibly distended. She screamed again and then spoke in gasps.

“Nahaz! Magrash Klat Grichak ! Nahaz!”

“I’ll deal with this, Garion,” Polgara said firmly from behind him. “Wait outside with the others.”

“Were there any others in there?” Silk asked him as he came out.

“Just the woman. Aunt Pol’s with her.” Garion suddenly realized that he was shaking violently.

“What was that language she was speaking?” Sadi asked, carefully cleaning his poisoned dagger.

“The language of the demons,” Belgarath replied."She was calling out to the father of her baby.”

“Nahaz?” Garion asked, his voice startled.

“She thinks it was Nahaz,” the old man said. “She could be wrong—or maybe not.”

From inside the temple the woman screamed again.

“Is anybody hurt?” Durnik asked.

“They are,” Silk replied, pointing at the fallen Karands. Then he squatted and repeatedly plunged his daggers into the dirt to cleanse the blood off them.

“Kheldar,” Velvet said in a strangely weak voice,” would you get my knife for me?”

Garion looked at her and saw that her face was pale and that her hands were trembling slightly. He realized then that this self-possessed young woman was perhaps not quite so ruthless as he had thought.

“Of course, Liselle,” Silk replied in a neutral tone. The little man quite obviously also understood the cause of her distress. He rose, went to the doorway, and pulled the knife out of the wizard’s chest. He wiped it carefully and returned it to her. “Why don’t you go back and stay with Ce’Nedra?” he suggested. “We can clean up here.”

“Thank you, Kheldar,” she said, turned her horse, and rode out of the clearing.

“She’s only a girl,” Silk said to Garion in a defensive tone. “She is good, though,” he added with a certain pride.

“Yes,” Garion agreed. “Very good.” He looked around at the twisted shapes lying in heaps in the clearing."Why don’t we drag all these bodies over behind the temple?” he suggested. “This place is bad enough without all of this.”

There was another scream from the temple.

Noon came and went unnoticed as Garion and the others endured the cries of the laboring woman. By midafternoon, the screams had grown much weaker, and as the sun was just going down, there came one dreadful last shriek that seemed to dwindle off into silence. No other sound came from inside, and after several minutes, Polgara came out. Her face was pale, and her hands and clothing were drenched with blood.

“Well, Pol?” Belgarath asked her.

“She died.”

“And the demon?”

“Stillborn. Neither one of them survived the birth.” She looked down at her clothing. “Durnik, please bring me a blanket and water to wash in.”

“Of course, Pol.” With her husband shielding her by holding up the blanket, Polgara deliberately removed all of her clothing, throwing each article through the temple doorway. Then she drew the blanket about her. “Now burn it,” she said to them. “Burn it to the ground.”

21

They crossed the border into Jenno about noon the following day, still following the trail of Zandramas.

The experiences of the previous afternoon and evening had left them all subdued, and they rode on in silence.

A league or so past the rather indeterminate border, they pulled off to the side of the road to eat. The spring sunlight was very bright and the day pleasantly warm. Garion walked a little ways away from the others and reflectively watched a cloud of yellow-striped bees industriously working at a patch of wild flowers.

“Garion,” Ce’Nedra said in a small voice, coming up behind him.

“Yes, Ce’Nedra?” He put his arm around her.

“What really happened back there?”

“You saw about as much of it as I did.”

“That’s not what I mean. What happened inside the temple? Did that poor woman and her baby really just die—or did Polgara kill them?”

“Ce’Nedra!”

“I have to know, Garion. She was so grim about it before she went inside that place. She was going to kill the baby. Then she came out and told us that the mother and baby had both died in the birth. Wasn’t that very convenient?”

He drew in a deep breath. “Ce’Nedra, think back.You’ve known Aunt Pol for a long time now. Has she ever told you a lie—ever?”

“Well—sometimes she hasn’t told me the whole truth. She’s told me part of it and kept the rest a secret.”

“That’s not the same as lying, Ce’Nedra, and you know it.”

“Well—”

“You’re angry because she said we might have to kill that thing.”

“Baby,” she corrected firmly.

He took her by the shoulders and looked directly into her face. “No, Ce’Nedra. It was a thing—half human, half demon, and all monster.”

“But it was so little—so helpless.”

“How do you know that?”

“All babies are little when they’re born.”

“I don’t think that one was. I saw the woman for just a minute before Aunt Pol told me to leave the temple. Do you remember how big you were just before Geran was born? Well, that woman’s stomach was at least five times as big as yours was—and she wasn’t a great deal taller than you are.”

“You aren’t serious!”

“Oh, yes, I am. There was no way that the demon could have been born without killing its mother. For all I know, it might just simply have clawed its way out.”

“It’s own mother?” she gasped.

“Did you think it would love its mother? Demons don’t know how to love, Ce’Nedra. That’s why they’re demons. Fortunately the demon died. It’s too bad that the woman had to die, too, but it was much too late to do anything for her by the time we got there.”

“You’re a cold, hard person, Garion.”

“Oh, Ce’Nedra, you know better than that. What happened back there was unpleasant, certainly, but none of us had any choice but to do exactly what we did.”

She turned her back on him and started to stalk away.

“Ce’Nedra,” he said, hurrying to catch her.

“What?” She tried to free her arm from his grasp.

“We didn’t have any choice,” he repeated. “Would you want Geran to grow up in a world filled with demons?”

She stared at him. “No,” she firmly admitted. “It’s just that . . .” She left it hanging.

“I know,” He put his arms about her.

“Oh, Garion.” She suddenly clung to him, and everything was all right again.

After they had eaten, they rode on through the forest, passing occasional villages huddled deep among the trees. The villages were rude, most of them consisting of a dozen or so rough log houses and surrounded by crude log palisades. There were usually a rather surprising number of hogs rooting among the stumps that surrounded each village.

“There don’t seem to be very many dogs,” Durnik observed.

These people prefer pigs as house pets,” Silk told him. “As a race, Karands have a strong affinity for dirt, and pigs satisfy certain deep inner needs among them.”

“Do you know something, Silk,” the smith said then.

“You’d be a much more pleasant companion if you didn’t try to turn everything into a joke.”

“It’s a failing I have. I’ve looked at the world for quite a few years now and I’ve found that if I don’t laugh, I’ll probably end up crying.”

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“Would I do that to an old friend?”

About midafternoon, the road they were following curved slightly, and they soon reached the edge of the forest and a fork in the rutted track.

“All right. Which way?” Belgarath asked.

Garion lifted his sword from the pommel of his saddle and swept it slowly back and forth until he felt the familiar tug. “The right fork,” he replied.

“I’m so glad you said that,” Silk told him. “The left fork leads to Calida, I’d expect that news of Harakan’s death has reached there by now. Even without the demons, a town full of hysterics doesn’t strike me as a very nice place to visit. The followers of Lord Mengha might be just a bit upset when they hear that he’s gone off and left them.”

“Where does the right fork go?” Belgarath asked him.

“Down to the lake,” Silk replied, “Lake Karanda, It’s the biggest lake in the world. When you stand on the shore, it’s like looking at an ocean.”

Garion frowned. “Grandfather,” he said, starting to worry, “Do you think that Zandramas knows that the Orb can follow her?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

“And would she know that it can’t follow her over water?”

“I couldn’t say for sure.”

“But if she does, isn’t it possible that she went to the lake in order to hide her trail from us? She could have sailed out a ways, doubled back, and come ashore just about anyplace. Then she could have struck out in a new direction, and we’d never pick up her trail again.”

Belgarath scratched at his beard, squinting in the sunlight. “Pol,” he said. “Are there any Grolims about?”

She concentrated a bit. “Not in the immediate vicinity, father,” she replied.

“Good. When Zandramas was trying to tamper with Ce’Nedra back at Rak Hagga, weren’t you able to lock your thought with hers for a while?”

“Yes, briefly.”

“She was at Ashaba then, right?”

She nodded.

“Did you get any kind of notion about which direction she was planning to go when she left?”

She frowned. “Nothing very specific, father—just a vague hint about wanting to go home.

“Darshiva,” Silk said, snapping his fingers. “We know that Zandramas is a Darshivan name, and ’Zakath told Garion that it was in Darshiva that she started stirring up trouble.”

Belgarath grunted. “It’s a little thin,” he said. “I’d feel a great deal more comfortable with some confirmation.” He looked at Polgara. “Do you think you could reestablish contact with her—even for just a moment? All I need is a direction.”

“I don’t think so, father. I’ll try, but . . .” she shrugged. Then her face grew very calm, and Garion could feel her mind reaching out with a subtle probing. After a few minutes, she relaxed her will. “She’s shielding, father,” she told the old man. “I can’t pick up anything at all.”

He muttered a curse under his breath. “We’ll just have to go on down to the lake and ask a few questions. Maybe somebody saw her.”

“I’m sure they did,” Silk said, “but Zandramas likes to drown sailors, remember? Anyone who saw where she landed is probably sleeping under thirty feet of water.”

“Can you think of an alternative plan?”

“Not offhand, no.”

“Then we go on to the lake.”

As the sun began to sink slowly behind them, they passed a fair-sized town set perhaps a quarter of a mile back from the road. The inhabitants were gathered outside the palisade surrounding it. They had a huge bonfire going, and just in front of the fire stood a crude, skull-surmounted altar of logs. A skinny man wearing several feathers in his hair and with lurid designs painted on his face and body was before the altar, intoning an incantation at the top of his lungs. His arms were stretched imploringly at the sky, and there was a note of desperation in his voice.

“What’s he doing?” Ce’Nedra asked.

“He’s trying to raise a demon so that the townspeople can worship it,” Eriond told her calmly.

“Garion!” she said in alarm. “Shouldn’t we run?”

“He won’t succeed,” Eriond assured her. “The demon won’t come to him anymore. Nahaz has told them all not to.

The wizard broke off his incantation. Even from this distance, Garion could see that there was a look of panic on his face.

An angry mutter came from the townspeople.

“That crowd is starting to turn ugly,” Silk observed.

“The wizard had better raise his demon on the next try, or he might be in trouble.”

The gaudily painted man with feathers in his hair began the incantation again, virtually shrieking and ranting at the sky. He completed it and stood waiting expectantly.

Nothing happened.

After a moment, the crowd gave an angry roar and surged forward. They seized the cringing wizard and tore his log altar apart. Then, laughing raucously, they nailed his hands and feet to one of the logs with long spikes and, with a great shout, they hurled the log up onto the bonfire.

“Let’s get out of here,” Belgarath said. “Mobs tend to go wild once they’ve tasted blood.” He led them away at a gallop.

They made camp that night in a willow thicket on the banks of a small stream, concealing their fire as best they could.

It was foggy the following morning, and they rode warily with their hands close to their weapons.

“How much farther to the lake?” Belgarath asked as the sun began to burn off the fog.

Silk looked around into the thinning mist. “It’s kind of hard to say. I’d guess a couple more leagues at least.”

“Let’s pick up the pace, then. We’re going to have to find a boat when we get there, and that might take a while.”

They urged their horses into a canter and continued on. The road had taken on a noticeable downhill grade.

“It’s a bit closer than I thought,” Silk called to them. “I remember this stretch of road. We should reach the lake in an hour or so.”

They passed occasional Karands, clad in brown fur for the most part and heavily armed. The eyes of these local people were suspicious, even hostile, but Garion’s mail shirt, helmet, and sword were sufficient to gain the party passage without incident.

By midmorning the gray fog had completely burned off. As they crested a knoll, Garion reined in. Before him there lay an enormous body of water, blue and sparkling in the midmorning sun. It looked for all the world like a vast inland sea, with no hint of a far shore, but it did not have that salt tang of the sea.

“Big, isn’t it?” Silk said, pulling his horse in beside Chretienne. He pointed toward a thatch—and-log village standing a mile or so up the lake-shore. A number of fair-sized boats were moored to a floating dock jutting out into the water. “That’s where I’ve usually hired boats when I wanted to cross the lake.”

“You’ve done business around here, then?”

“Oh, yes. There are gold mines in the mountains of Zamad, and deposits of gem stones up in the forest.”

“How big are those boats?”

“Big enough. We’ll be a little crowded, but the weather’s calm enough for a safe crossing, even if the boat might be a bit overloaded.” Then he frowned. “What are they doing?”

Garion looked at the slope leading down to the village and saw a crowd of people moving slowly down toward the lake-shore. There seemed to be a great deal of fur involved in their clothing in varying shades of red and brown, though many of them wore cloaks all dyed in hues of rust and faded blue. More and more of them came over the hilltop, and other people came out of the village to meet them.

“Belgarath,” the little Drasnian called. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

Belgarath came jolting up to the crest of the knoll at a trot. He looked at the large crowd gathering in front of the village.

“We need to get into that village to hire a boat,” Silk told him. “We’re well enough armed to intimidate a few dozen villagers, but there are two or three hundred people down there now. That could require some fairly serious intimidation.”

“A country fair, perhaps?” the old man asked.

Silk shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so. It’s the wrong time of year for it, and those people don’t have any carts with them.” He swung down from his saddle and went back to the packhorses. A moment or so later, he came back with a poorly tanned red fur vest and a baggy fur hat. He pulled them on, bent over and wrapped a pair of sackcloth leggings about his calves, tying them in place with lengths of cord. “How do I look?” he asked.

“Shabby,” Garion told him.

“That’s the idea. Shab’s in fashion here in Karanda.” He remounted.

“Where did you get the clothes?” Belgarath asked curiously.

“I pillaged one of the bodies back at the temple.” The little man shrugged. “I like to keep a few disguises handy. I’ll go find out what’s happening down there.” He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and galloped down toward the throng gathering near the lakeside village.

“Let’s pull back out of sight,” Belgarath suggested. “I’d rather not attract too much attention.”

They walked their horses down the back side of the knoll and then some distance away from the road to a shallow gully that offered concealment and dismounted there. Garion climbed back up out of the gully on foot and lay down in the tall grass to keep watch.

About a half-hour later, Silk came loping back over the top of the knoll. Garion rose from the grass and signaled to him.

When the little man reached the gully and dismounted, his expression was disgusted. “Religion,” he snorted. “I wonder what the world would be like without it. That gathering down there is for the purpose of witnessing the performance of a powerful wizard, who absolutely guarantees that he can raise a demon—despite the notable lack of success of others lately. He’s even hinting that he might be able to persuade the Demon Lord Nahaz himself to put in an appearance. That crowd’s likely to be there all day.”

“Now what?” Sadi asked.

Belgarath walked down the gully a ways, looking thoughtfully up at the sky. When he came back, his look was determined. “We’re going to need a couple more of those,” he said, pointing at Silk’s disguise.

“Nothing simpler,” Silk replied. “There are still enough latecomers going down that hill for me to be able to waylay a few. What’s the plan?”

“You, Garion, and I are going down there.”

“Interesting notion, but I don’t get the point.”

“The wizard, whoever he is, is promising to raise Nahaz, but Nahaz is with Urvon and isn’t very likely to show up. After what we saw happen at that village yesterday, it’s fairly obvious that failing to produce a demon is a serious mistake for a wizard to make. If our friend down there is so confident, it probably means that he’s going to create an illusion—since nobody’s been able to produce the real thing lately. I’m good at illusions myself, so I’ll just go down and challenge him.”

“Won’t they just fall down and worship your illusion?” Velvet asked him.

His smile was chilling. “I don’t really think so, Liselle,” he replied. “You see, there are demons, and then there are demons. If I do it right, there won’t be a Karand within five leagues of this place by sunset—depending on how fast they can run, of course.” He looked at Silk. “Haven’t you left yet?” he asked pointedly.

While Silk went off in search of more disguises, the old sorcerer made a few other preparations. He found a long, slightly crooked branch to use as a staff and a couple of feathers to stick in his hair. Then he sat down and laid his head back against one of their packs. “All right, Pol,” he instructed his daughter, “make me hideous.”

She smiled faintly and started to raise one hand. “Not that way. Just take some ink and draw some designs on my face. They don’t have to be too authentic-looking. The Karands have corrupted their religion so badly that they wouldn’t recognize authenticity if they stepped in it.”

She laughed and went to one of the packs, returning a moment later with an inkpot and a quill pen.

“Why on earth are you carrying ink, Lady Polgara?” Ce’Nedra asked.

“I like to be prepared for eventualities as they arise. I went on a long journey once and had to leave a note for someone along the way. I didn’t have ink with me, so I ended up opening a vein to get something to write with. I seldom make the same mistake twice. Close your eyes, father. I always like to start with the eyelids and work my way out.”

Belgarath closed his eyes. “Durnik,” he said as Polgara started drawing designs on his face with her quill, “you and the others will stay back here. See if you can find someplace a little better hidden than this gully.”

“All right, Belgarath,” the smith agreed. “How will we know when it’s safe to come down to the lake-shore?”

“When the screaming dies out.”

“Don’t move your lips, father,” Polgara told him, frowning in concentration as she continued her drawing."Did you want me to blacken your beard too?”

“Leave it the way it is. Superstitious people are always impressed by venerability, and I look older than just about anybody.”

She nodded her agreement. “Actually, father, you look older than dirt.”

“Very funny, Pol,” he said acidly. “Are you just about done?”

“Did you want the death symbol on your forehead?” she asked.

“Might as well,” he grunted. “Those cretins down there won’t recognize it, but it looks impressive.”

By the time Polgara had finished with her artwork, Silk returned with assorted garments.

“Any problems?” Durnik asked him.

“Simplicity itself.” Silk shrugged. “A man whose eyes are fixed on heaven is fairly easy to approach from behind, and a quick rap across the back of the head will usually put him to sleep.”

“Leave your mail shirt and helmet, Garion,” Belgarath said. “Karands don’t wear them. Bring your sword, though.”

“I’d planned to.” Garion began to struggle out of his mail shirt. After a moment, Ce’Nedra came over to help him.

“You’re getting rusty,” she told him after they had hauled off the heavy thing. She pointed at a number of reddish-brown stains on the padded linen tunic he wore under the shirt.

“It’s one of the drawbacks to wearing armor,” he replied.

“That and the smell,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “You definitely need a bath, Garion.”

“I’ll see if I can get around to it one of these days,” he said. He pulled on one of the fur vests Silk had stolen.

Then he tied on the crude leggings and crammed on a rancid-smelling fur cap. “How do I look?” he asked her.

“Like a barbarian,” she replied.

“That was sort of the whole idea.”

“I didn’t steal you a hat,” Silk was saying to Belgarath. “I thought you might prefer to wear feathers.”

Belgarath nodded. “All of us mighty wizards wear feathers,” he agreed. “It’s a passing fad, I’m sure, but I always like to dress fashionably.” He looked over at the horses. “I think we’ll walk,” he decided. “When the noise starts, the horses might get a bit skittish.” He looked at Polgara and the others who were staying behind. “This shouldn’t take us too long,” he told them confidently and strode off down the gully with Garion and Silk close behind him.

They emerged from the mouth of the gully at the south end of the knoll and walked down the hill toward the crowd gathering on the lake-shore.

“I don’t see any sign of their wizard yet,” Garion said, peering ahead.

“They always like to keep their audiences waiting for a bit,” Belgarath said. “It’s supposed to heighten the anticipation or something.”

The day was quite warm as they walked down the hill, and the rancid smell coming from their clothing grew stronger. Although they did not really look that much like Karands, the people in the crowd they quietly joined paid them scant attention. Every eye seemed to be fixed on a platform and one of those log altars backed by a line of skulls on stakes.

“Where do they get all the skulls?” Garion whispered to Silk.

“They used to be headhunters,” Silk replied. “The Angaraks discouraged that practice, so now they creep around at night robbing graves. I doubt if you could find a whole skeleton in any graveyard in all of Karanda.”

“Let’s get closer to the altar,” Belgarath muttered. “I don’t want to have to shove my way through this mob when things start happening.”

They pushed through the crowd. A few of the greasy-haired fanatics started to object to being thrust aside, but one look at Belgarath’s face with the hideous designs Polgara had drawn on it convinced them that here was a wizard of awesome power and that it perhaps might be wiser not to interfere with him.

Just as they reached the front near the altar, a man in a black Grolim robe strode out through the gate of the lakeside village, coming directly toward the altar.

“I think that’s our wizard,” Belgarath said quietly.

“A Grolim?” Silk sounded slightly surprised.

“Let’s see what he’s up to.”

The black-robed man reached the platform and stepped up to stand in front of the altar. He raised both hands and spoke harshly in a language Garion did not understand. His words could have been either a benediction or a curse. The crowd fell immediately silent. Slowly the Grolim pushed back his hood and let his robe fall to the platform. He wore only a loincloth, and his head had been shaved. His body was covered from crown to toe with elaborate tattoos.

Silk winced. “That must have really hurt,” he muttered.

“Prepare ye all to look upon the face of your God,” the Grolim announced in a large voice, then bent to inscribe the designs on the platform before the altar.

“That’s what I thought,” Belgarath whispered. “That circle he drew isn’t complete. If he were really going to raise a demon, he wouldn’t have made that mistake.” The Grolim straightened and began declaiming the words of the incantation in a rolling, oratorical style.

“He’s being very cautious,” Belgarath told them. “He’s leaving out certain key phrases. He doesn’t want to raise a real demon accidentally. Wait.” The old man smiled bleakly. “Here he goes.”

Garion also felt the surge as the Grolim’s will focused and then he heard the familiar rushing sound.

“Behold the Demon Lord Nahaz,” the tattooed Grolim shouted, and a shadow-encased form appeared before the altar with a flash of fire, a peal of thunder, and a cloud of sulfur-stinking smoke. Although the figure was no larger than an ordinary man, it looked very substantial for some reason.

“Not too bad, really,” Belgarath admitted grudgingly.

“It looks awfully solid to me, Belgarath,” Silk said nervously.

“It’s only an illusion, Silk,” the old man quietly reassured him. “A good one, but still only an illusion.”

The shadowy form on the platform before the altar rose to its full height and then pulled back its hood of darkness to reveal the hideous face Garion had seen in Torak’s throne room at Ashaba.

As the crowd fell to its knees with a great moan, Belgarath drew in his breath sharply. “When this crowd starts to disperse, don’t let the Grolim escape,” he instructed. “He’s actually seen the real Nahaz, and that means that he was one of Harakan’s cohorts. I want some answers out of him.” Then the old man drew himself up. “Well, I guess I might as well get started with this,” he said. He stepped up in front of the platform. “Fraud!” he shouted in a great voice. “Fraud and fakery!”

The Grolim stared at him, his eyes narrowing as he saw the designs drawn on his face. “On your knees before the Demon Lord,” he blustered.

“Fraud!” Belgarath denounced him again. He stepped up onto the platform and faced the stunned crowd. “This is no wizard, but only a Grolim trickster,” he declared.

“The Demon Lord will tear all your flesh from your bones,” the Grolim shrieked.

“All right,” Belgarath replied with calm contempt. “Let’s see him do it. Here. I’ll even help him.” He pulled back his sleeve, approached the shadowy illusion hovering threateningly before the altar and quite deliberately ran his bare arm into the shadow’s gaping maw. A moment later, his hand emerged, coming, or so it appeared, out of the back of the Demon Lord’s head. He pushed his arm further until his entire wrist and forearm were sticking out of the back of the illusion. Then, quite deliberately, he wiggled his fingers at the people gathered before the altar.

A nervous titter ran through the crowd.

“I think you missed a shred or two of flesh, Nahaz,” the old man said to the shadowy form standing before him.” There still seems to be quite a bit of meat clinging to my fingers and arm.” He pulled his arm back out of the shadow and then passed both hands back and forth through the Grolim’s illusion. “It appears to lack a bit of substance, friend,” he said to the tattooed man. “Why don’t we send it back where you found it? Then I’ll show you and your parishoners here a real demon.”

He put his hands derisively on his hips, leaned forward slightly from the waist, and blew at the shadow. The illusion vanished, and the tattooed Grolim stepped back fearfully.

“He’s getting ready to run,” Silk whispered to Garion. “You get on that side of the platform, and I’ll get on this. Thump his head for him if he comes your way.”

Garion nodded and edged around toward the far side of the platform.

Belgarath raised his voice again to the crowd. “You fall upon your knees before the reflection of the Demon Lord,” he roared at them. “What will you do when I bring before you the King of Hell?” He bent and quickly traced the circle and pentagram about his feet. The tattooed priest edged further away from him.

“Stay, Grolim,” Belgarath said with a cruel laugh. “The King of Hell is always hungry, and I think he might like to devour you when he arrives.” He made a hooking gesture with one hand, and the Grolim began to struggle as if he had been seized by a powerful, invisible hand.

Then Belgarath began to intone an incantation quite different from the one the Grolim had spoken, and his words reverberated from the vault of heaven as he subtly amplified them into enormity. Seething sheets of vari—colored flame shot through the air from horizon to horizon.

“Behold the Gates of Hell!” he roared, pointing.

Far out on the lake, two vast columns seemed to appear; between them were great billowing clouds of smoke and flame. From behind that burning gate came the sound of a multitude of hideous voices shrieking some awful hymn of praise.

“And now I call upon the King of Hell to reveal himself!” the old man shouted, raising his crooked staff. The surging force of his will was vast, and the great sheets of flame flickering in the sky actually seemed to blot out the sun and to replace its light with a dreadful light of its own.

From beyond the gate of fire carne a huge whistling sound that descended into a roar. The flames parted, and the shape of a mighty tornado swept between the two pillars. Faster and faster the tornado whirled, turning from inky black to pale, frozen white. Ponderously, that towering white cloud advanced across the lake, congealing as it came. At first it appeared to be some vast snow wraith with hollow eyes and gaping mouth. It was quite literally hundreds of feet tall, and its breath swept across the now-terrified crowd before the altar like a blizzard.

“Ye have tasted ice,” Belgarath told them. “Now taste fire! Your worship of the false Demon Lord hath offended the King of Hell, and now will ye roast in perpetual flames!” He made another sweeping gesture with his staff, and a deep red glow appeared in the center of the seething white shape that even now approached the shore of the lake. The sooty red glow grew more and more rapidly, expanding until it filled the encasing white entirely. Then the wraithlike figure of flame and swirling ice raised its hundred-foot-long arms and roared with a deafening sound. The ice seemed to shatter, and the wraith stood as a creature of fire.Flames shot from its mouth and nostrils, and steam rose from the surface of the lake as it moved across the last few yards of water before reaching the shore.

It reached down one enormous hand, placing it atop the altar, palm turned up. Belgarath calmly stepped up onto that burning hand, and the illusion raised him high into the air.

“Infidels!” he roared at them in an enormous voice.

“Prepare ye all to suffer the wrath of the King of Hell for your foul apostasy!”

There was a dreadful moan from the Karands, followed by terrified screams as the fire-wraith reached out toward the crowd with its other huge, burning hand.

Then, as one man, they turned and fled, shrieking in terror.

Somehow, perhaps because Belgarath was concentrating so much of his attention on the vast form he had created and was struggling to maintain, the Grolim broke free and jumped down off the platform.

Garion, however, was waiting for him. He reached out and stopped the fleeing man with one hand placed flat against his chest, even as he swept the other back and then around in a wide swing that ended with a jolting impact against the side of the tattooed man’s head.

The Grolim collapsed in a heap. For some reason, Garion found that very satisfying.

22

“Which boat did you want to steal?” Silk asked as Garion dropped the unconscious Grolim on the floating dock that stuck out into the lake.

“Why ask me?” Garion replied, feeling just a bit uncomfortable with Silk’s choice of words.

“Because you and Durnik are the ones who are going to have to sail it. I don’t know the first thing about getting a boat to move through the water without tipping over.”

“Capsizing,” Garion corrected absently, looking at the various craft moored to the dock.

“What?”

“The word is ‘capsize,’ Silk. You tip over a wagon. You capsize a boat.”

“It means the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“Approximately, yes. ”

“Why make an issue of it, then? How about this one?” The little man pointed at a broad-beamed vessel with a pair of eyes painted on the bow.

“Not enough freeboard,” Garion told him. “The horses are heavy, so any boat we take is going to settle quite a bit.”

Silk shrugged. “You’re the expert. You’re starting to sound as professional as Barak or Greldik.” He grinned suddenly. “You know, Garion, I’ve never stolen anything as big as a boat before. It’s really very challenging.”

“I wish you’d stop using the word ‘steal.’ Couldn’t we just say that we’re borrowing a boat?”

“Did you plan to sail it back and return it when we’re finished with it?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then the proper word is ‘steal.’ You’re the expert on ships and sailing; I’m the expert on theft.”

They walked farther out on the dock.

“Let’s go on board this one and have a look around,” Garion said, pointing at an ungainly-looking scow painted an unwholesome green color.

“It looks like a washtub.”

“I’m not planning to win any races with it.” Garion leaped aboard the scow. “It’s big enough for the horses and the sides are high enough to keep the weight from swamping it.” He inspected the spars and rigging. “A little crude,” he noted, “but Durnik and I should be able to manage.”

“Check the bottom for leaks,” Silk suggested. “Nobody would paint a boat that color if it didn’t leak.”

Garion went below and checked the hold and the bilges. When he came back up on deck, he had already made up his mind. “I think we’ll borrow this one,” he said, jumping back to the pier.

“The term is still ‘steal,’ Garion.”

Garion sighed. “All right, steal—if it makes you happy.”

“Just trying to be precise, that’s all.”

“Let’s go get that Grolim and drag him up here,” Garion suggested. “We’ll throw him in the boat and tie him up. I don’t think he’ll wake up for a while, but there’s no point in taking chances.”

“How hard did you hit him?”

“Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me.”

They started back to where the Grolim lay.

“You’re getting to be more like Belgarath every day,” Silk told him. “You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage.”

Garion shrugged and rolled the tattooed Grolim over with his foot. He took hold of one of the unconscious man’s ankles. “Get his other leg,” he said.

The two of them walked back toward the scow with the Grolim dragging limply along behind them, his shaved head bouncing up and down on the logs of the dock. when they reached the scow, Garion took the man’s arms while Silk took his ankles. They swung him back and forth a few times, then lobbed him across the rail like a sack of grain. Garion jumped across again and bound him hand and foot.

“Here comes Belgarath with the others,” Silk said from the dock.

“Good. Here—catch the other end of this gangplank.” Garion swung the ungainly thing around and pushed it out toward the waiting little Drasnian. Silk caught hold of it, pulled it out farther, and set the end down on the dock.

“Did you find anything?” he asked the others as they approached.

“We did quite well, actually.” Durnik replied. “One of those buildings is a storehouse. It was crammed to the rafters with food.”

“Good. I wasn’t looking forward to making the rest of this trip on short rations.”

Belgarath was looking at the scow. “It isn’t much of a boat, Garion,” he objected. “If you were going to steal one, why didn’t you steal something a little fancier?”

“You see?” Silk said to Garion. “I told you that it was the right word.”

“I’m not stealing it for its looks, Grandfather,” Garion said. “I don’t plan to keep it. It’s big enough to hold the horses, and the sails are simple enough so that Durnik and I can manage them. If you don’t like it, go steal one of your own.”

“Grumpy today, aren’t we?” the old man said mildly. “What did you do with my Grolim?”

“He’s lying up here in the scuppers.”

“Is he awake yet?”

“Not for some time, I don’t think. I hit him fairly hard. Are you coming on board, or would you rather go steal a different boat?”

“Be polite, dear,” Polgara chided.

“No, Garion,” Belgarath said. “If you’ve got your heart set on this one, then we’ll take this one.”

It took awhile to get the horses aboard, and then they all fell to the task of raising the boat’s square-rigged sails. When they were raised and set to Garion’s satisfaction, he took hold of the tiller. “All right,” he said. “Cast off the lines.”

“You sound like a real sailor, dear,” Ce’Nedra said in admiration.

“I’m glad you approve.” He raised his voice slightly.

“Toth, would you take that boat hook and push us out from the pier, please? I don’t want to have to crash through all these other boats to get to open water.”

The giant nodded, picked up the long boat hook, and shoved against the dock with it. The bow swung slowly out from the dock with the sails flapping in the fitful breeze.

“Isn’t the word ‘ship,’ Garion?” Ce’Nedra asked.

“What?”

“You called them boats. Aren’t they called ships?”

He gave her a long, steady look.

“I was only asking,” she said defensively.

“Don’t. Please.”

“What did you hit this man with, Garion?” Belgarath asked peevishly. He was kneeling beside the Grolim.

“My fist,” Garion replied.

“Next time, use an axe or a club. You almost killed him.”

“Would anyone else like to register any complaints?” Garion asked in a loud voice. “Let’s pile them all up in a heap right now.”

They all stared at him, looking a bit shocked.

He gave up. “Just forget that I said it.” He squinted up at the sails, trying to swing the bow to the exact angle which would allow the sails to catch the offshore breeze.

Then, quite suddenly, they bellied out and boomed, and the scow began to pick up speed, plowing out past the end of the pier and into open water.

“Pol,” Belgarath said. “Why don’t you come over here and see what you can do with this man? I can’t get a twitch out of him, and I want to question him.”

“All right, father.” She went to the Grolim, knelt beside him, and put her hands on his temples. She concentrated for a moment, and Garion felt the surge of her will.

The Grolim groaned.

“Sadi,” she said thoughtfully, “Do you have any nephara in that case of yours?”

The eunuch nodded. “I was just going to suggest it myself, Lady Polgara.” He knelt and opened his red case.

Belgarath looked at his daughter quizzically.

“It’s a drug, father,” she explained. “It induces truthfulness.”

“Why not do it the regular way?” he asked.

“The man’s a Grolim. His mind is likely to be very strong. I could probably overcome him, but it would take time—and it would be very tiring. Nephara works just as well and it doesn’t take any effort.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself, Pol.”

Sadi had taken a vial of a thick green liquid from his case. He unstoppered it and then took hold of the Grolim’s nose, holding it until the half-conscious man was forced to open his mouth in order to breathe. Then the eunuch delicately tilted three drops of the green syrup onto the man’s tongue. “I’d suggest giving him a few moments before you wake him, Lady Polgara,” he said, squinting clinically at the Grolim’s face. “Give the drug time to take effect first.” He restoppered the vial and put it back in his case.

“Will the drug hurt him in any way?” Durnik asked.

Sadi shook his head. “It simply relaxes the will,” he replied. “He’ll be rational and coherent, but very tractable.”

“He also won’t be able to focus his mind sufficiently to use any talent he may have,” Polgara added. “We won’t have to worry about his translocating himself away from us the moment he wakes up.” She critically watched the Grolim’s face, occasionally lifting one of his eyelids to note the drug’s progress. “I think it’s taken hold now,” she said finally. She untied the prisoner’s hands and feet.

Then she put her hands on the man’s temples and gently brought him back to consciousness. “How are you feeling?” she asked him.

“My head hurts,” the Grolim said plaintively.

“That will pass,” she assured him. She rose and looked at Belgarath. “Speak to him calmly, father,” she said, “and start out with simple questions. With nephara it’s best to lead them rather gently up to the important things.”

Belgarath nodded. He picked up a wooden pail, inverted it, it on the deck beside the Grolim, and sat on it. “Good morning, friend,” he said pleasantly, “or is it afternoon?” He squinted up at the sky.

“You’re not really a Karand, are you?” the Grolim asked. His voice sounded dreamy. “I thought you were one of their wizards, but now that I look at you more closely, I can see that you’re not.”

“You’re very astute, friend,” Belgarath congratulated him. “What’s your name?”

” Arshag,” the Grolim replied.

“And where are you from?”

“I am of the Temple at Calida.”

“I thought you might be. Do you happen to know a Chandim named Harakan, by any chance?”

“He now prefers to be known as Lord Mengha.

“Ah, yes, I’d heard about that. That illusion of Nahaz you raised this morning was very accurate. You must have seen him several times in order to get everything right,”

“I have frequently been in close contact with Nahaz,” the Grolim admitted. “It was I who delivered him to Lord Mengha.”

“Why don’t you tell me about that? I’m sure it’s a fascinating story and I’d really like to hear it. Take your time, Arshag. Tell me the whole story, and don’t leave out any of the details.”

The Grolim smiled almost happily. “I’ve been wanting to tell someone the story for a long time now,” he said.

“Do you really want to hear it?”

“I’m absolutely dying to hear it,” Belgarath assured him.

The Grolim smiled again. “Well,” he began, “it all started quite a number of years ago—not too long after the death of Torak. I was serving in the Temple at Calida. Though we were all in deepest despair, we tried to keep the faith alive. Then one day Harakan came to our temple and sought me out privately. I had journeyed at times to Mal Yaska on Church business and I knew Harakan to be of high rank among the Chandim and very close to the Holy Disciple Urvon. When we were alone, he told me that Urvon had consulted the Oracles and Prophecies concerning the direction the Church must take in her blackest hour. The Disciple had discovered that a new God was destined to rise over Angarak, and that he will hold Cthrag Sardius in his right hand and Cthrag Yaska in his left. And he will be the almighty Child of Dark, and the Lord of Demons shall do his bidding.”

“That’s a direct quotation, I take it?”

Arshag nodded. “From the eighth antistrophe of the Ashabine Oracles,” he confirmed.

“It’s a little obscure, but prophecies usually are. Go on.”

Arshag shifted his position and continued. “The Disciple Urvon interpreted the passage to mean that our new God would have the aid of the demons in quelling his enemies.”

“Did Harakan identify these enemies for you?”

Arshag nodded again. “He mentioned Zandramas—of whom I have heard—and one named Agachak, whose name is strange to me. He also warned me that the Child of Light would probably attempt to interfere.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption,” Silk murmured to Garion.

“Harakan, who is the Disciple’s closest advisor, had selected me to perform a great task,” Arshag continued proudly. “He charged me to seek out the wizards of Karanda and to study their arts so that I might summon up the Demon Lord Nahaz and beseech him to aid the Disciple Urvon in his struggles with his enemies.”

“Did he tell you how dangerous that task would be?” Belgarath asked him.

“I understood the perils,” Arshag said, “but I accepted them willingly, for my rewards were to be great.”

“I’m sure,” Belgarath murmured. “Why didn’t Harakan do it himself?”

“The Disciple Urvon had placed another task upon Harakan—somewhere in the west, I understand—having to do with a child.”

Belgarath nodded blandly. “I think I’ve heard about it.”

“Anyway.” Arshag went on, “I journeyed into the forest of the north, seeking out the wizards who still practiced their rites in places hidden from the eyes of the Church. In time, I found such a one.” His lip curled in a sneer. “He was an ignorant savage of small skill, at best only able to raise an imp or two, but he agreed to accept me as his pupil—and slave. It was he who saw fit to put these marks upon my body.” He glanced with distaste at his tattoos. “He kept me in a kennel and made me serve him and listen to his ravings. I learned what little he could teach me and then I strangled him and went in search of a more powerful teacher.”

“Note how deep the gratitude of Grolims goes,” Silk observed quietly to Garion, who was concentrating half on the story and half on the business of steering the scow.

“The years that followed were difficult,” Arshag continued. “I went from teacher to teacher, suffering enslavement and abuse.” A bleak smile crossed his face. “Occasionally, they used to sell me to other wizards—as one might sell a cow or a pig. After I learned the arts, I retraced my steps and repaid each one for his impertinences. At length, in a place near the barrens of the north, I was able to apprentice myself to an ancient man reputed to be the most powerful wizard in Karanda. He was very old, and his eyes were failing, so he took me for a young Karand seeking wisdom. He accepted me as his apprentice, and my training began in earnest. The raising of minor demons is no great chore, but summoning a Demon Lord is much more difficult and much more perilous. The wizard claimed to have done it twice in his life, but he may have been lying. He did, however, show me how to raise the image of the Demon Lord Nahaz and also how to communicate with him. No spell or incantation is powerful enough to compel a Demon Lord to come when he is called. He will come only if he consents to come—and usually for reasons of his own.

“Once I had learned all that the old wizard could teach me, I killed him and journeyed south toward Calida again.” He sighed a bit regretfully. “The old man was a kindly master, and I was sorry that I had to kill him.” Then he shrugged. “But he was old,” he added, “and I sent him off with a single knife stroke to the heart.”

“Steady, Durnik,” Silk said, putting his hand on the angry smith’s arm.

“At Calida, I found the Temple in total disarray,” Arshag went on. “My brothers had finally succumbed to absolute despair, and the Temple had become a vile sink of corruption and degeneracy. I suppressed my outrage, however, and kept to myself. I dispatched word to Mal Yaska, advising Harakan that I had been successful in my mission and that I awaited his commands in the Temple at Calida. In time, I received a reply from one of the Chandim, who told me that Harakan had not yet returned from the west.” He paused. “Do you suppose that I could have a drink of water?” he asked. “I have a very foul taste in my mouth for some reason.”

Sadi went to the water cask in the stern and dipped out a tin cup of water. “No drug is completely perfect,” he murmured defensively to Garion in passing.

Arshag gratefully took the cup from Sadi and drank.

“Go on with your story,” Belgarath told him when he had finished.

Arshag nodded. “It was a bit less than a year ago that Harakan returned from the west,” he said. “He came up to Calida, and he and I met in secret. I told him what I had accomplished and advised him of the limitations involved in any attempts to raise a Demon Lord. Then we went to a secluded place, and I instructed him in the incantations and spells which would raise an image of Nahaz and permit us to speak through the gate that lies between the worlds and communicate directly with Nahaz. Once I had established contact with the Demon Lord, Harakan began to speak with him. He mentioned Cthrag Sardius, but Nahaz already knew of it. And then Harakan told Nahaz that during the long years that Torak slept, the Disciple Urvon had become more and more obsessed with wealth and power and had at last convinced himself that he was in fact a demigod, and but one step removed from divinity. Harakan proposed an alliance between himself and Nahaz. He suggested that the Demon Lord nudge Urvon over the edge into madness and then aid him in defeating all the others who were seeking the hiding place of Cthrag Sardius. Unopposed, Urvon would easily gain the stone.”

“I gather that you chose to go along with them—instead of warning Urvon what was afoot? What did you get out of the arrangement?”

“They let me live.” Arshag shrugged. “I think Harakan wanted to kill me—just to be safe—but Nahaz told him that I could still be useful. He promised me kingdoms of my own to rule—and demon children to do my bidding. Harakan was won over by the Demon Lord and he treated me courteously.”

“I don’t exactly see that there’s much advantage to Nahaz in giving the Sardion to Urvon,” Belgarath confessed.

“Nahaz wants Cthrag Sardius for himself,” Arshag told him. “If Urvon has been driven mad, Nahaz will simply take Cthrag Sardius from him and replace it with a piece of worthless rock. Then the Demon Lord and Harakan will put Urvon in a house somewhere—Ashaba perhaps, or some other isolated castle—and they’ll surround him with imps and lesser demons to blind him with illusions. There he will play at being God in blissful insanity while Nahaz and Harakan rule the world between them.”

“Until the real new God of Angarak arises,” Polgara added.

“There will be no new God of Angarak,” Arshag disagreed. “Once Nahaz puts his hand on Cthrag Sardius—the Sardion both Prophecies will cease to exist. The Child of Light and the Child of Dark will vanish forever. The Elder Gods will be banished, and Nahaz will be Lord of the Universe and Master of the destinies of all mankind.”

“And what does Harakan get out of this?” Belgarath asked.

“Dominion of the Church—and the secular throne of all the world.”

“I hope he got that in writing,” Belgarath said dryly. “Demons are notorious for not keeping their promises. Then what happened?”

“A messenger arrived at Calida with instructions for Harakan from Urvon. The Disciple told him that there must be a disruption in Karanda so violent that Kal Zakath would have no choice but to return from Cthol Murgos. Once the Emperor was back in Mallorea, it would be a simple matter to have him killed, and once he is dead, Urvon believes that he can manipulate the succession to place a tractable man on the throne—one he can take with him when he goes to the place where the Sardion lies hidden. Apparently, this is one of the conditions which must be met before the new God arises.”

Belgarath nodded. “A great many things are starting to fall into place.” he said. “What happened then?”

“Harakan and I journeyed again in secret to that secluded place, and I once again opened the gate and brought forth the image of Nahaz. Harakan and the Demon Lord spoke together for a time, and suddenly the image was made flesh, and Nahaz himself stood before us.

Harakan instructed me that I should henceforth call him by the name Mengha, since the name Harakan is widely known in Mallorea, and then we went again to Calida, and Nahaz went with us. The Demon Lord summoned his hordes, and Calida fell. Nahaz demanded a certain repayment for his aid, and Lord Mengha instructed me to provide it. It was then that I discovered why Nahaz had let me live. We spoke together, and he told me what he wanted. I did not care for the notion, but the people involved were only Karands, so—” He shrugged."The Karands regard Nahaz as their God, and so it was not difficult for me to persuade young Karandese women that receiving the attentions of the Demon Lord would be a supreme honor. They went to him willingly, each one of them hoping in her heart to bear his offspring—not knowing, of course, that such a birth would rip them apart like fresh-gutted pigs.” He smirked contemptuously. “The rest I think you know.”

“Oh, yes, we do indeed.” Belgarath’s voice was like a nail scraping across a flat stone. “When did they leave? Harakan and Nahaz, I mean? We know that they’re no longer in this part of Karanda.”

“It was about a month ago. We were preparing to lay siege to Torpakan on the border of Delchin, and I awoke one morning to discover that Lord Mengha and the Demon Nahaz were gone and that none of their familiar demons were any longer with the army. Everyone looked to me, but none of my spells or incantations could raise even the least of demons. The army grew enraged, and I barely escaped with my life. I journeyed north again toward Calida, but found things there in total chaos. Without the demons to hold them in line, the Karands had quickly become unmanageable. I found that I could, however, still call up the image of Nahaz. It seemed likely to me that with Mengha and Nahaz gone, I could sway Karandese loyalty to me, if I used the image cleverly enough, and thus come to rule all of Karanda myself. I was attempting a beginning of that plan this morning when you interrupted.”

“I see,” Belgarath said bleakly.

“How long have you been in this vicinity?” Polgara asked the captive suddenly.

“Several weeks,” the Grolim replied.

“Good,” she said. “Some few weeks ago, a woman came from the west carrying a child.”

“I pay little attention to women.”

“This one might have been a bit different. We know that she came to that village back on the lake-shore and that she would have hired a boat. Did any word of that reach you?”

“There are few travelers in Karanda right now,” he told her. “There’s too much turmoil and upheaval. There’s only one boat that left that village in the past month. I’ll tell you this, though. If the woman you seek was a friend of yours, and if she was on board that boat, prepare to mourn her.”

“Oh?”

“The boat sank in a sudden storm just off the city of Karand on the east-side of the lake in Ganesia.”

“The nice thing about Zandramas is her predictability,” Silk murmured to Garion. “I don’t think we’re going to have much trouble picking up her trail again, do you?”

Arshag’s eyelids were drooping now, and he seemed barely able to hold his head erect.

“If you have any more questions for him, Ancient One, you should ask them quickly.” Sadi advised. “The drug is starting to wear off, and he’s very close to sleep again.”

“I think I have all the answers I need,” the old man replied.

“And I have what I need as well,” Polgara added grimly.

Because of the size of the lake, there was no possibility of reaching the eastern shore before nightfall, and so they lowered the sails and set a sea anchor to minimize the nighttime drift of their scow. They set sail again at first light and shortly after noon saw a low, dark smudge along the eastern horizon.

“That would be the east-coast of the lake,” Silk said to Garion. “I’ll go up to the bow and see if I can pick out some landmarks. I don’t think we’ll want to run right up to the wharves of Karand, do you?”

“No. Not really.”

“I’ll see if I can find us a quiet cove someplace, and then we can have a look around without attracting attention.”

They beached the scow in a quiet bay surrounded by high sand dunes and scrubby brush about midafternoon.

“What do you think, Grandfather?” Garion asked after they had unloaded the horses.

“About what?”

“The boat. What should we do with it?”

“Set it adrift. Let’s not announce that we came ashore here.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Garion sighed a bit regretfully. “It wasn’t a bad boat, though, was it?”

“It didn’t tip over.”

“Capsize,” Garion corrected.

Polgara came over to where they were standing. “Do you have any further need for Arshag ?” she asked the old man.

“No, and I’ve been trying to decide what to do with him.”

“I’ll take care of it, father,” she said. She turned and went back to where Arshag still lay, once more bound and half asleep on the beach. She stood over him for a moment, then raised one hand. The Grolim flinched wildly even as Garion felt the sudden powerful surge of her will.

“Listen carefully, Arshag,” she said. “You provided the Demon Lord with women so that he could unloose an abomination upon the world. That act must not go unrewarded. This, then, is your reward. You are now invincible. No one can kill you—no man, no demon—not even you yourself. But, no one will ever again believe a single word that you say. You will be faced with constant ridicule and derision all the days of your life and you will be driven out wherever you go, to wander the world as a rootless vagabond. Thus are you repaid for aiding Mengha and helping him to unleash Nahaz and for sacrificing foolish women to the Demon Lord’s unspeakable lust.” She turned to Durnik. “Untie him,” she commanded.

When his arms and legs were free, Arshag stumbled to his feet, his tattooed face ashen. “Who are you, woman?” he demanded in a shaking voice, “and what power do you have to pronounce so terrible a curse?”

“I am Polgara,” she replied. “You may have heard of me. Now go!” She pointed up the beach with an imperious finger.

As if suddenly seized by an irresistible compulsion, Arshag turned, his face filled with horror. He stumbled up one of the sandy dunes and disappeared on the far side.

“Do you think it was wise to reveal your identity, my lady?” Sadi asked dubiously.

“There’s no danger, Sadi.” She smiled. “He can shout my name from every rooftop, but no one will believe him.”

“How long will he live?” Ce’Nedra’s voice was very small.

“Indefinitely, I’d imagine. Long enough, certainly, to give him time to appreciate fully the enormity of what it was that he did.”

Ce’Nedra stared at her. “Lady Polgara!” she said in a sick voice. “How could you do it? It’s horrible.”

“Yes,” Polgara replied, “it is—but so was what happened back at that temple we burned.”

23

The street, if it could be called that, was narrow and crooked. An attempt had been made at some time in the past to surface it with logs, but they had long since rotted and been trodden into the mud. Decaying garbage lay in heaps against the walls of crudely constructed log houses, and herds of scrawny pigs rooted dispiritedly through those heaps in search of food.

As Silk and Garion, once again wearing their Karandese vests and caps and their cross-tied sackcloth leggings, approached the docks jutting out into the lake, they were nearly overcome by the overpowering odor of long-dead fish.

“Fragrant sort of place, isn’t it?” Silk noted, holding a handkerchief to his face.

“How can they stand it?” Garion asked, trying to keep from gagging.

“Their sense of smell has probably atrophied over the centuries,” Silk replied. “The city of Karand is the ancestral home of all the Karands in all the seven kingdoms. It’s been here for eons, so the debris—and the smell—has had a long time to build up.”

A huge sow, trailed by a litter of squealing piglets, waddled out into the very center of the street and flopped over on her side with a loud grunt. The piglets immediately attacked, pushing and scrambling to nurse.

“Any hints at all?” Silk asked.

Garion shook his head. The sword strapped across his back had neither twitched nor tugged since the two of them had entered the city early that morning on foot by way of the north gate. “Zandramas might not have even entered the city at all,” he said. “She’s avoided populated places before, you know.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” Silk admitted, “but I don’t think we should go any farther until we locate the place where she landed. She could have gone in any direction once she got to this side of the lake—Darshiva, Zamad, Voresebo—even down into Delchin and then on down the Magan into Rengel or Peldane.”

“I know,” Garion said, “but all this delay is very frustrating. We’re getting closer to her. I can feel it, and every minute we waste gives her that much more time to escape again with Geran.”

“It can’t be helped.” Silk shrugged. “About all we can do here is follow the inside of the wall and walk along the waterfront. If she came through the city at all, we’re certain to cross her path.”

They turned a corner and looked down another muddy street toward the lake-shore where fishnets hung over long poles. They slogged through the mud until they reached the street that ran along the shoreline where floating docks reached out into the lake and then followed it along the waterfront.

There was a certain amount of activity here. A number of sailors dressed in faded blue tunics were hauling a boat half-full of water up onto the shore with a large deal of shouting and contradictory orders. Here and there on the docks, groups of fishermen in rusty brown sat mending nets, and farther on along the street several loiterers in fur vests and leggings sat on the log stoop in front of a sour-smelling tavern, drinking from cheap tin cups. A blowzy young woman with frizzy orange hair and a pockmarked face leaned out of a second-story window, calling to passersby in a voice she tried to make seductive, but which Garion found to be merely coarse.

“Busy place,” Silk murmured.

Garion grunted, and they moved on along the littered street.

Coming from the other direction, they saw a group of armed men. Though they all wore helmets of one kind or another, the rest of their clothing was of mismatched colors and could by no stretch of the imagination be called uniforms. Their self-important swagger, however, clearly indicated that they were either soldiers or some kind of police.

“You two! Halt!” one of them barked as they came abreast of Garion and Silk.

“Is there some problem, sir?” Silk asked ingratiatingly.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” the man said, his hand on his sword hilt. He was a tall fellow with lank red hair poking out from under his helmet. “Identify yourselves.”

“My name is Saldas,” Silk lied. “This is Kvasta.” He pointed at Garion. “We’re strangers here in Karand.”

“What’s your business here—and where do you come from?”

“We’re from Dorikan in Jenno,” Silk told him, “and we’re here looking for my older brother. He sailed out from the village of Dashun on the other side of the lake awhile back and hasn’t returned.”

The redheaded man looked suspicious.

“We talked with a fellow near the north gate,” Silk continued, “and he told us that there was a boat that sank in a storm just off the docks here.” His face took on a melancholy expression. “The time would have been just about right, I think, and the description he gave us of the boat matched the one my brother was sailing. Have you by any chance heard about it, sir?” The little man sounded very sincere.

Some of the suspicion faded from the red-haired man’s face. “It seems to me that I heard some mention of it,” he conceded.

“The fellow we talked with said that he thought there might have been some survivors,” Silk added, “one that he knew of, anyway. He said that a woman in a dark cloak and carrying a baby managed to get away in a small boat. Do you by chance happen to know anything about that?”

The Karand’s face hardened. “Oh, yes,” he said. “We know about her, all right.”

“Could you by any chance tell me where she went?” Silk asked him. “I’d really like to talk with her and find out if she knows anything about my brother.” He leaned toward the other man confidentially. “To be perfectly honest with you, good sir, I can’t stand my brother. We’ve hated each other since we were children, but I promised my old father that I’d find out what happened to him.” Then he winked outrageously. “There’s an inheritance involved, you understand. If I can take definite word back to father that my brother’s dead, I stand to come into a nice piece of property.”

The red-haired man grinned. “I can understand your situation, Saldas.” he said. “I had a dispute with my own brothers about our patrimony.” His eyes narrowed. “You say you’re from Dorikan ?” he asked.

“Yes. On the banks of the northern River Magan. Do you know our city?”

“Does Dorikan follow the teachings of Lord Mengha?”

“The Liberator? Of course. Doesn’t all of Karanda?”

“Have you seen any of the Dark Lords in the last month or so?”

“The minions of the Lord Nahaz? No, I can’t say that I have—but then Kvasta and I haven’t attended any worship services for some time. I’m sure that the wizards are still raising them, though.”

“I wouldn’t be all that sure, Saldas. We haven’t seen one here in Karand for over five weeks. Our wizards have tried to summon them, but they refuse to come. Even the Grolims who now worship Lord Nahaz haven’t been successful and they’ll all powerful magicians, you know.”

“Truly,” Silk agreed.

“Have you heard anything at all about Lord Mengha’s whereabouts?”

Silk shrugged. “The last I heard, he was in Katakor someplace. In Dorikan we’re just waiting for his return so that we can sweep the Angaraks out of all Karanda.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the tall fellow. “All right, Saldas,” he said. “I’d say that you’ve got a legitimate reason to be in Karand after all. I don’t think you’re going to have much luck in finding the woman you want to talk to, though. From what I’ve heard, she was on your brother’s boat and she did get away before the storm hit. She had a small boat, and she landed to the south of the city. She came to the south gate with her brat in her arms and went straight to the Temple. She talked with the Grolims inside for about an hour. When she left, they were all following her.”

“Which way did they go?” Silk asked him.

“Out the east gate.”

“How long ago was it?”

“Late last week. I’ll tell you something, Saldas. Lord Mengha had better stop whatever he’s doing in Katakor and come back to central Karanda where he belongs. The whole movement is starting to falter. The Dark Lords have deserted us, and the Grolims are trailing after this woman with the baby. All we have left are the wizards, and they’re mostly mad, anyway.”

“They always have been, haven’t they?” Silk grinned. “Tampering with the supernatural tends to unsettle a man’s brains, I’ve noticed.”

“You seem like a sensible man, Saldas,” the redhead said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’d like to stay and talk with you further, but my men and I have to finish our patrol. I hope you find your brother.” He winked slyly. “Or don’t find him, I should say.”

Silk grinned back. “I thank you for your wishes about my brother’s growing ill health,” he replied.

The soldiers moved off along the street. “You tell better stories than Belgarath does,” Garion said to his little friend.

“It’s a gift. That was a very profitable encounter, wasn’t it? Now I understand why the Orb hasn’t picked up the trail yet. We came into the city by way of the north gate, and Zandramas came up from the south. If we go straight to the Temple, the Orb’s likely to jerk you off your feet.”

Garion nodded. “The important thing is that we’re only a few days behind her.” He paused, frowning.

“Why is she gathering Grolims, though?”

“Who knows? Reinforcements maybe. She knows that we’re right behind her. Or, maybe she thinks she’s going to need Grolims who have training in Karandese magic when she gets home to Darshiva. If Nahaz has sent his demons down there, she’s going to need all the help she can get. We’ll let Belgarath sort it out. Let’s go to the Temple and see if we can pick up the trail.”

As they approached the Temple in the center of the city, the Orb began to pull at Garion again, and he felt a surge of exultation. “I’ve got it,” he said to Silk.

“Good.” The little man looked up at the Temple. “I see that they’ve made some modifications,” he observed.

The polished steel mask of the face of Torak which normally occupied the place directly over the nail-studded door had been removed, Garion saw, and in its place was a red-painted skull with a pair of horns screwed down into its brow.

“I don’t know that the skull is all that big an improvement,” Silk said, “but then, it’s no great change for the worse either. I was getting a little tired of that mask staring at me every time I turned around.”

“Let’s follow the trail,” Garion suggested, “and make certain that Zandramas left the city before we go get the others.”

“Right,” Silk agreed.

The trail led from the door of the Temple through the littered streets to the east gate of the city. Garion and Silk followed it out of Karand and perhaps a half mile along the highway leading eastward across the plains of Ganesia.

“Is she veering at all?” Silk asked.

“Not yet. She’s following the road.”

“Good. Let’s go get the others—and our horses. we won’t make very good time on foot.”

They moved away from the road, walking through knee-high grass.

“Looks like good, fertile soil here,” Garion noted. “Have you and Yarblek ever considered buying farmland? It might be a good investment.”

“No, Garion.” Silk laughed. “There’s a major drawback to owning land. If you have to leave a place in a hurry, there’s no way that you can pick it up and carry it along with you.”

“That’s true, I guess.”

The others waited in a grove of large old willows a mile or so north of the city, and their faces were expectant as Garion and Silk ducked in under the branches.

“Did you find it?” Belgarath asked.

Garion nodded. “She went east,” he replied.

“And apparently she took all the Grolims from the Temple along with her,” Silk added.

Belgarath looked puzzled. “Why would she do that?”

“I haven’t got a clue. I suppose we could ask her when we catch up with her.”

“Could you get any idea of how far ahead of us she is?” Ce’Nedra asked.

“Just a few days,” Garion said. “With any luck we’ll catch her before she gets across the Mountains of Zamad.”

“Not if we don’t get started,” Belgarath said.

They rode on back across the wide, open field to the highway leading across the plains toward the upthrusting peaks lying to the east. The Orb picked up the trail again, and they followed it at a canter.

“What kind of a city was it?” Velvet asked Silk as they rode along.

“Nice place to visit,” he replied, “but you wouldn’t want to live there. The pigs are clean enough, but the people are awfully dirty.”

“Cleverly put, Kheldar.”

“I’ve always had a way with words,” he conceded modestly.

“Father,” Polgara called to the old man, “a large number of Grolims have passed this way.”

He looked around and nodded. “Silk was right, then,” he said. “For some reason she’s subverting Mengha’s people. Let’s be alert for any possible ambushes.”

They rode on for the rest of the day and camped that night some distance away from the road, starting out again at first light in the morning. About midday they saw a roadside village some distance ahead. Coming from that direction was a solitary man in a rickety cart being pulled by a bony white horse.

“Do you by any change have a flagon of ale, Lady Polgara?” Sadi asked as they slowed to a walk.

” Are you thirsty?”

“Oh, it’s not for me. I detest ale personally. It’s for that carter just ahead. I thought we might want some information.” He looked over at Silk. “Are you feeling at all sociable today, Kheldar?”

“No more than usual. Why?”

“Take a drink or two of this,” the eunuch said, offering the little man the flagon Polgara had taken from one of the packs. “Not too much, mind. I only want you to smell drunk.”

“Why not?” Silk shrugged, taking a long drink.

“That should do it,” Sadi approved. “Now give it back.”

“I thought you didn’t want any.”

“I don’t. I’m just going to add a bit of favoring.” He opened his red case. “Don’t drink any more from this flagon,” he warned Silk as he tapped four drops of a gleaming red liquid into the mouth of the flagon. “If you do, we’ll all have to listen to you talk for days on end.” He handed the flagon back to the little man. “Why don’t you go offer that poor fellow up there a drink,” he suggested. “He looks like he could use one.”

“You didn’t poison it, did you?”

“Of course not. It’s very hard to get information out of somebody who’s squirming on the ground clutching at his belly. One or two good drinks from that flagon, though, and the carter will be seized by an uncontrollable urge to talk—about anything at all and to anybody who asks him a question in a friendly fashion. Go be friendly to the poor man, Kheldar. He looks dreadfully lonesome.

Silk grinned, then turned and trotted his horse toward the oncoming cart, swaying in his saddle and singing loudly and very much off-key.

“He’s very good,” Velvet murmured to Ce’Nedra, “but he always overacts his part. When we get back to Boktor, I think I’ll send him to a good drama coach.”

Ce’Nedra laughed.

By the time they reached the cart, the seedy-looking man in a rust-red smock had pulled his vehicle off to the side of the road, and he and Silk had joined in song—a rather bawdy one.

“Ah, there you are,” Silk said, squinting owlishly at Sadi. “I wondered how long it was going to take you to catch up. Here—” He thrust the flagon at the eunuch. “Have a drink.”

Sadi feigned taking a long drink from the flagon. Then he sighed lustily, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and handed the flagon back.

Silk passed it to the carter. “Your turn, friend.” The carter took a drink and then grinned foolishly. “I haven’t felt this good in weeks,” he said.

“We’re riding toward the east,” Sadi told him.

“I saw that right off,” the carter said. “That’s unless you’ve taught your horses to run backward.” He laughed uproariously at that, slapping his knee in glee.

“How droll,” the eunuch murmured. “Do you come from that village just up ahead?”

“Lived there all my life,” the carter replied, “and my father before me—and his father before him—and his father’s father before that and—”

“Have you seen a dark-cloaked woman with a babe in her arms go past here within the last week?” Sadi interrupted him. “She probably would have been in the company of a fairly large party of Grolims.”

The carter made the sign to ward off the evil eye at the mention of the word “Grolim.”

“Oh, yes. She came by all right,” he said, “and she went into the local Temple here—if you can really call it a Temple. It’s no bigger than my own house and it’s only got three Grolims in it—two young ones and an old one. Anyway, this woman with the babe in her arms, she goes into the Temple, and we can hear her talking, and pretty soon she comes out with our three Grolims—only the old one was trying to talk the two young ones into staying, and then she says something to the young ones and they pull out their knives and start stabbing the old one, and he yells and falls down on the ground dead as mutton, and the woman takes our two young Grolims back out to the road, and they join in with the others and they all go off, leaving us only that old dead one lying on his face in the mud and—”

“How many Grolims would you say she had with her?” Sadi asked.

“Counting our two, I’d say maybe thirty—or forty—or it could be as many as fifty. I’ve never been very good at quick guesses like that. I can tell the difference between three and four, but after that I get confused, and—”

“Could you give us any idea of exactly how long ago all that was?”

“Let’s see.” The carter squinted at the sty, counting on his fingers. “It couldn’t have been yesterday, because yesterday I took that load of barrels over to Toad-face’s farm. Do you know Toad-face? Ugliest man I ever saw, but his daughter’s a real beauty. I could tell you stories about her, let me tell you.”

“So it wasn’t yesterday?”

“No. If definitely wasn’t yesterday. I spent most of yesterday under a haystack with Toad-face’s daughter.And I know it wasn’t the day before, because I got drunk that day and I don’t remember a thing that happened after midmorning.” He took another drink from the flagon.

“How about the day before that?”

“It could have been,” the carter said, “or the day before that.”

“Or even before?”

The carter shook his head. “No, that was the day our pig farrowed, and I know that the woman came by after that. It had to have been the day before the day before yesterday or the day before that.”

“Three or four days ago, then?”

“If that’s the way it works out,” the carter shrugged, drinking again.

“Thanks for the information, friend,” Sadi said. He looked at Silk. “We should be moving on, I suppose,” he said.

“Did you want your jar back?” the carter asked.

“Go ahead and keep it, friend,” Silk said. “I think I’ve had enough anyway.”

“Thanks for the ale—and the talk,” the carter called after them as they rode away. Garion glanced back and saw that the fellow had climbed down from his cart and was engaging in an animated conversation with his horse.

“Three days!” Ce’Nedra exclaimed happily.

“Or, at the most, four,” Sadi said.

“We’re gaining on her!” Ce’Nedra said, suddenly leaning over and throwing her arms about the eunuch’s neck.

“So it appears, your Majesty,” Sadi agreed, looking slightly embarrassed.

They camped off the road again that night and started out again early the following morning. The sun was just coming up when the large, blue-banded hawk came spiraling in, flared, and shimmered into the form of Beldin at the instant its talons touched the road. “You’ve got company waiting for you just ahead,” he told them, pointing at the first line of foothills of the Mountains of Zamad lying perhaps a mile in front of them.

“Oh?” Belgarath said, reining in his horse.

“About a dozen Grolims,” Beldin said. They’re hiding in the bushes on either side of the road.”

Belgarath swore.

“Have you been doing things to annoy the Grolims?” the hunchback asked.

Belgarath shook his head. “Zandramas has been gathering them as she goes along. She’s got quite a few of them with her now. She probably left that group behind to head off pursuit. She knows that we’re right behind her.”

“What are we going to do, Belgarath?” Ce’Nedra asked. “We’re so close. We can’t stop now.”

The old man looked at his brother sorcerer. “Well?” he said.

Beldin scowled at him. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do it, but don’t forget that you owe me, Belgarath.”

“Write it down with all the other things. We’ll settle up when this is all over.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“Did you find out where Nahaz took Urvon?”

“Would you believe they went back to Mal Yaska?” Beldin sounded disgusted.

“They’ll come out eventually,” Belgarath assured him. “Are you going to need any help with the Grolims? I could send Pol along if you like.”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“No. I was just asking. Don’t make too much noise.” Beldin made a vulgar sound, changed again, and swooped away.

“Where’s he going?” Silk asked.

“He’s going to draw off the Grolims.”

“Oh? How?”

“I didn’t ask him,” Belgarath shrugged. “We’ll give him a little while and then we should be able to ride straight on through.”

“He’s very good, isn’t he?”

“Beldin? Oh, yes, very, very good. There he goes now.”

Silk looked around. “Where?”

“I didn’t see him—I heard him. He’s flying low a mile or so to the north of where the Grolims are hiding, and he’s kicking up just enough noise to make it sound as if the whole group of us are trying to slip around them without being seen.” He glanced at his daughter. “Pol, would you take a look and see if it’s working?”

“All right, father.” She concentrated, and Garion could feel her mind reaching out, probing. “They’ve taken the bait,” she reported. “They all ran off after Beldin.”

“That was accommodating of them, wasn’t it? Let’s move on.”

They pushed their horses into a gallop and covered the distance to the first foothills of the Mountains of Zamad in a short period of time. They followed the road up a steep slope and through a shallow notch. Beyond that the terrain grew more rugged, and the dark green forest rose steeply up the flanks of the peaks.

Garion began to sense conflicting signals from the Orb as he rode. At first he had only felt its eagerness to follow the trail of Zandramas and Geran, but now he began to feel a sullen undertone, a sound of ageless, implacable hatred, and at his back where the sword was sheathed, he began to feel an increasing heat.

“Why is it burning red?” Ce’Nedra asked from behind him.

“What’s burning red?”

“The Orb, I think. I can see it glowing right through the leather covering you have over it.”

“Let’s stop awhile,” Belgarath told them, reining in his horse.

“What is it, Grandfather?”

“I’m not sure. Take the sword out and slip off the sleeve. Let’s see what’s happening.”

Garion drew the sword from its sheath. It seemed heavier than usual for some reason, and when he peeled off the soft leather covering, they were all able to see that instead of its usual azure blue, the Orb of Aldur was glowing a dark, sooty red.

“What is it, father?” Polgara asked.

“It feels the Sardion,” Eriond said in a calm voice.

“Are we that close?” Garion demanded. “Is this the Place Which Is No More?”

“I don’t think so, Belgarion,” the young man replied. “It’s something else.”

“What is it, then?”

“I’m not sure, but the Orb is responding to the other stone in some way. They talk to each other in a fashion I can’t understand.”

They rode on, and some time later the blue-banded hawk came swirling in, blurred into Beldin’s shape, and stood in front of them. The gnarled dwarf had a slightly self-satisfied look on his face. ”

“You look like a cat that just got into the cream, Belgarath said.

“Naturally. I just sent a dozen or so Grolims off in the general direction of the polar icecap. They’ll have a wonderful time when the pan ice starts to break up and they get to float around up there for the rest of the summer.”

“Are you going to scout on ahead?” Belgarath asked him.

“I suppose so,” Beldin replied. He held out his arms, blurred into feathers, and drove himself into the air.

They rode more cautiously now, climbing deeper and deeper into the Mountains of Zamad. The surrounding country grew more broken. The reddish-hued peaks were jagged, and their lower flanks were covered with dark firs and pines. Rushing streams boiled over rocks and dropped in frothy waterfalls over steep cliffs. The road, which had been straight and flat on the plains of Ganesia, began to twist and turn as it crawled up the steep slopes.

It was nearly noon when Beldin returned again. “The main party of Grolims turned south,” he reported. “There are about forty of them.”

“Was Zandramas with them?” Garion asked quickly.

“No. I don’t think so—at least I didn’t pick up the sense of anyone unusual in the group.”

“We haven’t lost her, have we?” Ce’Nedra asked in alarm.

“No,” Garion replied. “The Orb still has her trail.” He glanced over his shoulder. The stone on the hilt of his sword was still burning a sullen red.

“About all we can do is follow her,” Belgarath said. “It’s Zandramas we’re interested in, not a party of stray Grolims. Can you pinpoint exactly where we are?” he asked Beldin.

“Mallorea.”

“Very funny.”

“We’ve crossed into Zamad. This road goes on down into Voresebo, though. Where’s my mule?”

“Back with the packhorses,” Durnik told him.

As they moved on, Garion could feel Polgara probing on ahead with her mind.

“Are you getting anything, Pol?” Belgarath asked her.

“Nothing specific, father,” she replied. “I can sense the fact that Zandramas is close, but she’s shielding, so I can’t pinpoint her.”

They rode on, moving at a cautious walk now. Then, as the road passed through a narrow gap and descended on the far side, they saw a figure in a gleaming white robe standing in the road ahead. As they drew closer, Garion saw that it was Cyradis.

“Move with great care in this place,” she cautioned, and there was a note of anger in her voice. “The Child of Dark seeks to circumvent the ordered course of events and hath laid a trap for ye.”

“There’s nothing new or surprising about that,” Beldin growled. “What does she hope to accomplish?”

“It is her thought to slay one of the companions of the Child of Light and thereby prevent the completion of one of the tasks which must be accomplished ere the final meeting. Should she succeed, all that hath gone before shall come to naught. Follow me, and I will guide you safely to the next task.”

Toth stepped down from his horse and quickly led it to the side of his slender mistress. She smiled at him, her face radiant, and laid a slim hand on his huge arm. With no apparent effort, the huge man lifted her into the saddle of his horse and then took the reins in his hand.

“Aunt Pol,” Garion whispered, “is it my imagination, or is she really there this time?”

Polgara looked intently at the blindfolded Seeress. “It’s not a projection,” she said. “It’s much more substantial. I couldn’t begin to guess how she got here, but I think you’re right, Garion. She’s really here.”

They followed the Seeress and her mute guide down the steeply descending road into a grassy basin surrounded on all sides by towering firs. In the center of the basin was a small mountain lake sparkling in the sunlight.

Polgara suddenly drew in her breath sharply. “We’re being watched,” she said.

“Who is it, Pol?” Belgarath asked.

“The mind is hidden, father. All I can get is the sense of watching—and anger.” A smile touched her lips. “I’m sure it’s Zandramas. She’s shielding, so I can’t reach her mind, but she can’t shield out my sense of being watched, and she can’t control her anger enough to keep me from picking up the edges of it.”

“Who’s she so angry with?”

“Cyradis, I think. She went to a great deal of trouble to lay a trap for us, and Cyradis came along and spoiled it. She still might try something, so I think we’d all better be on our guard.”

He nodded bleakly. “Right.” he agreed.

Toth led the horse his mistress was riding out into the basin and stopped at the edge of the lake. When the rest of them reached her, she pointed down through the crystal water. “The task lies there,” she said. “Below lies a submerged grot. One of ye must enter that grot and then return. Much shall be revealed there.”

Belgarath looked hopefully at Beldin.

“Not this time, old man,” the dwarf said, shaking his head. “I’m a hawk, not a fish, and I don’t like cold water any more than you do.”

“Pol?” Belgarath said rather plaintively.

“I don’t think so, father,” she replied. “I think it’s your turn this time. Besides, I need to concentrate on Zandramas.”

He bent over and dipped his hand into the sparkling water. Then he shuddered. “This is cruel,” he said.

Silk was grinning at him.

“Don’t say it, Prince Kheldar.” Belgarath scowled, starting to remove his clothing. “Just keep your mouth shut.”

They were perhaps all a bit surprised at how sleekly muscular the old man was. Despite his fondness for rich food and good brown ale, his stomach was as flat as a board; although he was as lean as a rail, his shoulders and chest rippled when he moved.

“My, my,” Velvet murmured appreciatively, eyeing the loincloth-clad old man.

He suddenly grinned at her impishly. “Would you care for another frolic in a pool, Liselle?” he invited with a wicked look in his bright blue eyes.

She suddenly blushed a rosy red, glancing guiltily at Silk.

Belgarath laughed, arched himself forward, and split the water of the lake as cleanly as the blade of a knife.

Several yards out, he broached, leaping high into the air with the sun gleaming on his silvery scales and his broad, forked-tail flapping and shaking droplets like jewels across the sparkling surface of the lake. Then his dark, heavy body drove down and down into the depths of the crystal lake.

“Oh, my,” Durnik breathed, his hands twitching.

“Never mind, dear.” Polgara laughed. “He wouldn’t like it at all if you stuck a fishhook in his jaw.”

The great, silver-sided salmon swirled down and disappeared into an irregularly shaped opening near the bottom of the lake.

They waited, and Garion found himself unconsciously holding his breath.

After what seemed an eternity, the great fish shot from the mouth of the submerged cave, drove himself far out into the lake, and then returned, skipping across the surface of the water on his tail, shaking his head and almost seeming to balance himself with his fins. Then he plunged forward into the water near the shore, and Belgarath emerged dripping and shivering. “Invigorating,” he observed, climbing back up onto the bank. “Have you got a blanket handy, Pol?” he asked, stripping the water from his arms and legs with his hands.

“Show-off,” Beldin grunted.

“What was down there?” Garion asked.

“It looks like an old temple of some kind,” the old man answered, vigorously drying himself with the blanket Polgara had handed him. “Somebody took a natural cave and walled up the sides to give it some kind of shape. There was an altar there with a special kind of niche in it—empty, naturally—but the place was filled with an overpowering presence, and all the rocks glowed red.”

“The Sardion?” Beldin demanded intently.

“Not any more,” Belgarath replied, drying his hair. “It was there, though, for a long, long time—and it had built a barrier of some kind to keep anybody from finding it. It’s gone now, but I’ll recognize the signs of it the next time I get close.”

“Garion!” Ce’Nedra cried. “Look!” with a trembling hand she was pointing at a nearby crag. High atop that rocky promontory stood a figure wrapped in shiny black satin. Even before the figure tossed back its hood with a gesture of supreme arrogance, he knew who it was. Without thinking, he reached for Iron-grip’s sword, his mind suddenly aflame.

But then Cyradis spoke in a clear, firm voice. “I am wroth with thee, Zandramas,” she declared. “Seek not to interfere with that which must come to pass, lest I make my choice here and now.”

“And if thou dost, sightless, creeping worm, then all will turn to chaos, and thy task will be incomplete, and blind chance will supplant prophecy. Behold, I am the Child of Dark, and I fear not the hand of chance, for chance is my servant even more than it is the servant of the Child of Light.”

Then Garion heard a low snarl, a dreadful sound—more dreadful yet because it came from his wife’s throat.

Moving faster than he thought was possible, Ce’Nedra dashed to Durnik’s horse and ripped the smith’s axe from the rope sling which held it. with a scream of rage, she ran around the edge of the tiny mountain lake brandishing the axe.

“Ce’Nedra!” he shouted, lunging after her. “No!”

Zandramas laughed with cruel glee. “Choose, Cyradis!” she shouted. “Make thine empty choice, for in the death of the Rivan Queen, I triumph!” and she raised both hands over her head.

Though he was running as fast as he could, Garion saw that he had no hope of catching Ce’Nedra before she moved fatally close to the satin-robed sorceress atop the crag. Even now, his wife had begun scrambling up the rocks, screeching curses and hacking at the boulders that got in her way with Durniks axe.

Then the form of a glowing blue wolf suddenly appeared between Ce’Nedra and the object of her fury.

Ce’Nedra stopped as if frozen, and Zandramas recoiled from the snarling wolf. The light around the wolf flickered briefly, and there, still standing between Ce’Nedra and Zandramas stood the form of Garion’s ultimate grandmother, Belgarath’s wife and Polgara’s mother. Her tawny hair was aflame with blue light, and her golden eyes blazed with unearthly fire.

“You!” Zandramas gasped, shrinking back even further.

Poledra reached back, took Ce’Nedra to her side, and protectively put one arm about her tiny shoulders. With her other hand she gently removed the axe from the little Queen’s suddenly nerveless fingers. Ce’Nedra’s eyes were wide and unseeing, and she stood immobilized as if in a trance.

“She is under my protection, Zandramas,” Poledra said, “and you may not harm her.” The sorceress atop the crag howled in sudden, frustrated rage. Her eyes ablaze, she once again drew herself erect.

“Will it be now, Zandramas?” Poledra asked in a deadly voice. “Is this the time you have chosen for our meeting? You know even as I that should we meet at the wrong time and in the wrong place, we will both be destroyed.”

“I do not fear thee, Poledra!” the sorceress shrieked.

“Nor I you. Come then, Zandramas, let us destroy each other here and now—for should the Child of Light go on to the Place Which Is No More unopposed and find no Child of Dark awaiting him there, then I triumph!

If this be the time and place of your choosing, bring forth your power and let it happen—for I grow weary of you.”

The face of Zandramas was twisted with rage, and Garion could feel the force of her will building up. He tried to reach over his shoulder for his sword, thinking to unleash its fire and blast the hated sorceress from atop her crag, but even as Ce’Nedra’s apparently were, he found that his muscles were all locked in stasis. From behind him he could feel the others also struggling to shake free of the force which seemed to hold them in place as well.

“No,” Poledra’s voice sounded firmly in the vaults of his mind. “This is between Zandramas and me. Don’t interfere.”

“Well, Zandramas,” she said aloud then, “What is your decision? Will you cling to life a while longer, or will you die now?”

The sorceress struggled to regain her composure, even as the glowing nimbus about Poledra grew more intense.

Then Zandramas howled with enraged disappointment and disappeared in a flash of orange fire.

“I thought she might see it my way,” Poledra said calmly. She turned to face Garion and the others. There was a twinkle in her golden eyes. “What took you all so long?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting for you here for months.” She looked rather critically at the half-naked Belgarath, who was staring at her with a look of undisguised adoration. “You’re as thin as a bone, Old Wolf,” she told him. “You really ought to eat more, you know.” She smiled fondly at him. “Would you like to have me go catch you a nice fat rabbit?” she asked. Then she laughed, shimmered back into the form of the blue wolf, and loped away, her paws seeming scarcely to touch the earth.