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 exlaimed 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.
Here ends Book III of The Malloreon.
Book IV, Sorceress of Darsheva, continues the search for Zandramas and for the Sardion, which has been at many sites, but is now to be found at the “Place Which Is No More” -whatever that means!