They waited on board Atesca’s ship while the soldiers went ashore and began to build the enclave. The Mallorean troops were quite nearly as efficient as the legions of Imperial Tolnedra, and in a very short period of time, they had cleared several acres of ground and erected a neat, orderly city of tents. It was surrounded on the inland side by breastworks, catapults, and a deep ditch bristling with sharpened stakes. A palisade of sharpened poles lined the river’s edge, and a number of floating docks extended out into the water.
It was midafternoon when Garion and the others disembarked and were escorted to a large, guarded pavilion in the center of the enclave and politely, but firmly, asked to remain inside.
“Have you been able to contact Beldin?” Silk asked Belgarath in a whisper.
The old man nodded. “He’s working on something.”
“I hope he doesn’t take too long,” the little man said. “I expect that once Zakath gets here, he’ll decide that we need slightly more secure quarters—probably a place involving stout walls and locked doors.” He made a sour face. “I hate jails.”
“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating, Prince Kheldar?” Ce’Nedra asked. “Zakath’s always behaved like a perfect gentleman.”
“Oh, of course,” he replied with heavy sarcasm. “Why don’t you tell that to all those Murgos he crucified on the plains of Hagga? He can be polite when it doesn’t inconvenience him too much, but we’ve seriously irritated him. If we’re not gone by the time he gets here, I expect he’ll show us just how irritated he really is.”
“You’re wrong, Prince Kheldar,” Eriond said gravely. “He just doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do yet, that’s all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Back in Cthol Murgos, Cyradis told him that he was going to come to a crossroads in his life. This is it, I think. Once he makes the right choice, we can be friends again.”
“Just like that?”
“More or less, yes.”
“Polgara, would you please make him stop that?”
The tent was familiar. It was a Mallorean officer’s pavilion with the usual red carpeting, and furniture which could be easily disassembled. They had been housed in this same kind of pavilion many times in the past. Garion looked around without much interest, then he sprawled on a bench.
“What’s the matter, Garion?” Ce’Nedra asked, coming over to sit beside him.
“Isn’t it obvious? Why don’t they just leave us alone?”
“I think you worry too much,” she told him. She reached out and touched his forehead with one little finger. “Your friend in there isn’t going to let anything happen that’s not supposed to happen, so stop brooding about this. We’re supposed to go to Kell, and Zakath couldn’t stop us, even if he brought his whole army back from Cthol Murgos and piled them in our path.”
“You’re taking this all awfully calmly.”
“I have to believe, Garion,” she replied with a little sigh. “If I didn’t, I’d go insane.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “Now get that grumpy look off your face. You’re starting to look exactly like Belgarath.”
“Of course I am. He’s my grandfather, after all.”
“The resemblance shouldn’t start to show up for several thousand years yet, though,” she said tartly.
Two soldiers brought them a supper consisting of standard military rations. Silk opened one of the metal pots and looked inside. He sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
“What’s the trouble, Kheldar?” Sadi asked him.
“Beans,” Silk replied, pointing at the pot.
“I thought you liked beans.”
“Not to eat, I don’t.”
Because they had not slept the previous night, they retired early. Garion tossed restlessly for a while and then finally dropped off.
The following morning they all slept late, and Garion emerged from the curtained-off compartment he shared with Ce’Nedra to find Silk pacing up and down restlessly. “Finally,” the little man said with some relief. “I thought everybody was going to sleep till noon.”
“What’s your problem?” Garion asked him.
“I need somebody to talk to, that’s all.”
“Lonesome?”
“No. Edgy. Zakath’s probably going to show up today. Do you suppose we ought to wake Belgarath?”
“Why?”
“To find out if Beldin’s come up with a way to get us out of here, naturally.”
“You worry too much.”
“My, aren’t we complacent this morning?” Silk snapped.
“Not really, but there’s not much point in chewing off all our fingernails over something that’s out of our hands, is there?”
“Garion, why don’t you go back to bed?”
“I thought you were lonesome.”
“Not that lonesome.”
“Has Atesca come by this morning?”
“No. He’s probably fairly busy. He’s going to have some sort of campaign mapped out by die time Zakath gets here.” The little man flung himself into one of the folding chairs. **No matter what Beldin comes up with, we’re very likely to have at least a regiment hot on our heels when we ride out of here,” he predicted, “and I hate being chased.”
“We’ve had people chasing us ever since the night we left Faldor’s farm. You should be used to it by now.”
“Oh, I am, Garion. I still don’t like it, though.”
Perhaps an hour or so later, the others began to wake up, and not long after that, the same red-garbed soldiers brought them breakfast. The two men were the only people they had seen since they had been confined in the pavilion.
They spent the rest of the morning in desultory conversation. By unspoken agreement, no one mentioned their present situation.
About noon, General Atesca entered the tent. “His Imperial Majesty will arrive shortly,” he announced. “His ships are approaching the docks.”
“Thank you, General,” Belgaratb replied.
Atesca bowed stiffly and went back out.
Polgara rose to her feet. “Come along, ladies,” she said to Ce’Nedra and Velvet. “Let’s go make ourselves presentable.”
Sadi looked down at his plain tunic and hose. “Hardly suitable for an imperial audience,” he said. “Do you think we ought to change?”
“Why bother?” Belgarath shrugged. “Let’s not give Zakath the impression that we take him seriously.”
“Don’t we?”
“Maybe, but we don’t need to let him know about it.”
Not much later, the Emperor of Mallorea entered with General Atesca and the Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs. As was his custom, Zakath wore a plain linen robe, but he had a scarlet military cape draped across his shoulders. His eyes were once again melancholy, and his pallid lips expressionless. “Good day, your Majesty,” he said to Garion in a flat, emotionless tone. “You’ve been well, I trust?”
“Tolerably, your Majesty,” Garion replied. If Zakath wanted formality, Garion would give him formality.
“Your extensive travels must have been fatiguing,” Zakath said in that same flat tone, “particularly for the ladies. I’ll see to it that your return journey to Mal Zeth is made in easy stages.”
“Your Majesty is very kind, but we’re not going back to Mal Zeth.”
“You’re wrong, Belgarion. You are going back to Mal Zeth.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a pressing engagement elsewhere.”
“I’ll convey your regrets to Zandramas when I see her.”
“I’m sure she’d be overjoyed to hear that I’m not coming.”
“Not for very long, she won’t. I fully intend to have her burned as a witch.”
“Good luck, your Majesty, but I don’t think you’ll find that she’s very combustible.”
“Aren’t you gentlemen being just a little silly?” Polgara asked then. She had changed into a blue dress and she sat at a table, calmly mending a pair of Eriond’s socks.
“Silly?” Zakath snapped, his eyes suddenly flashing.
“You’re still friends and you both know it. Now stop behaving like a couple of schoolboys.”
“I think you go too far, Lady Polgara,” Zakath told her in a frigid tone.
“Really?” she replied. “I thought I’d described the situation rather accurately. You’re not going to put Garion in chains, and he’s not going to turn you into a radish, so stop trying to bully each other.”
“I think we can continue this discussion some other time,” Zakath said curtly. He bowed slightly to Polgara and left the tent.
“Wasn’t that perhaps a trifle abrupt, Lady Polgara?” Sadi asked her.
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “It cut through a lot of nonsense.” She carefully folded the socks she had been mending. “Eriond, I think it’s time for you to trim your toenails again. You’re cutting your way out of your socks faster than I can mend them.”
“He’s gone back to being the way he was before, hasn’t he?” Garion said sadly. “Zakath, I mean.”
“Not entirely,” Polgara disagreed. “Most of that was a pose to conceal his real feelings.” She looked at Belgarath. “Well, father, has Uncle Beldin come up with anything yet?”
“He was working on something this morning. I can’t talk to him right now because he’s chasing a rabbit. We’ll get back in touch after he finishes his lunch.”
“Can’t he concentrate on business?”
“Oh, come now, Pol. I’ve known you to go out of your way for a fat rabbit on occasion.”
“You don’t!” Ce’Nedra gasped to Polgara, her eyes wide with sudden horror.
“I really don’t think you’d understand, dear,” Polgara told her. “Why don’t you bring me your gray dress? I noticed a rip in the hem and I’ve already got my sewing box out.”
They waited out the remainder of the afternoon; after supper, they sat around talking quietly.
Silk squinted toward the door of the tent, beyond which the guards were posted. “Any luck with Beldin yet?” he whispered to Belgarath.
“He’s working on something—something fairly exotic, I’d imagine, knowing Beldin. He’s still hammering out the details. He’ll tell me the whole thing once he gets it put together. “
“Wouldn’t it be better if the two of you worked on it together?”
“He knows what he has to do. I’d just get in his way if I tried to stick my oar in, too.” The old man stretched and yawned. Then he stood up. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” he said, “but I think I’ll go to bed.”
The next morning, Garion rose quietly, dressed, and slipped out of the curtained-off chamber, leaving Ce’Nedra still asleep.
Durnik and Toth were seated at the table in the main part of the pavilion with Belgarath.
“Don’t ask me how he did it,” Belgarath was saying. “All he told me was that Cyradis agreed to come here when Toth summoned her.”
Durnik and Toth exchanged a few gestures. “He says he can do that,” the smith translated. “Do you want her to come here now?”
Belgarath shook his head. “No, let’s wait until Zakath is in here with us. I know how much it tires her to project her image over long distances.” He made a face. “Beldin suggests that we let the conversation get to a climax before we send for her, Beldin has urges in the direction of melodrama sometimes. We’ve all talked to him about it over the years, but he backslides from time to time. Good morning, Gar-ion.”
Garion nodded briefly to each of them, then sat at the table. “What’s Cyradis going to be able to do that we can’t?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Belgarath replied. “We all know that she has a peculiar effect on Zakath, though. He tends to lose his grip on things every time he sees her. Beldin wouldn’t tell me exactly what he’s got in mind, but he sounded disgustingly pleased with himself. Do you feel up to some theatricality this morning?”
“Not really, but I suppose I can manage something.”
“You’re supposed to goad Zakath a little—not too much, mind, but push him into making some threats. That’s when we’re supposed to call Cyradis. Don’t be too obvious about it. Sort of lead him into it gradually.” The old man looked at Toth. “Keep your eyes on me when Garion and Zakath start arguing,” he instructed. “I’ll cover my mouth and cough. That’s when we’ll need your mistress.”
Toth nodded.
“Are we going to tell the others?” Garion asked.
Belgarath squinted. “No,” he decided. “Their reactions might be more natural if they don’t know what’s going on.”
Durnik smiled slightly. “I’d say that Beldin isn’t the only one with a flair for the dramatic.”
“I used to be a professional storyteller, Durnik,” Belgarath reminded him. “I can play an audience like a lute.”
After the others had awakened and breakfast had been served, General Atesca came into the tent. “His Imperial Majesty instructs that you make ready. You’ll be departing for Mal Zeth within the hour.”
Garion moved quickly to head that off. “Tell his Imperial
Majesty that we’re not going anyplace until we finish the conversation we started yesterday.”
Atesca looked momentarily startled, then recovered. “People do not speak so to the Emperor, your Majesty,” he declared.
“He might find it refreshing, then.”
Atesca drew himself up. “The Emperor is otherwise occupied at the moment.”
Garion leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “We’ll wait,” he said flatly. “That will be all, General.”
Atesca’s face grew tight, then he bowed stiffly, turned, and went out without another word.
“Garion!” Ce’Nedra gasped, “We’re at Zakath’s mercy, and you were being deliberately rude.”
“He hasn’t been overly polite to me.” Garion shrugged. “I told him we weren’t going back to Mal Zeth, and he ignored me. It appears that sometimes it takes a bit to get his attention.”
Polgara was looking narrowly at Garion. Then she turned to Belgarath. “What are you two up to, father?” she asked.
He winked at her, but did not reply.
It took Kal Zakath approximately two minutes to arrive. He burst into the tent with his eyes wild and his face beet-red. “What do you mean?” he almost screamed at Garion.
“What do you mean, what do I mean?”
“I gave you an imperial command!”
“So? I’m not one of your subjects.”
“This is intolerable!”
“You’ll get used to it. You should know by now that I always do what I set out to do. I thought I’d made that point when we left Mal Zeth. I told you we were going to Ashaba, and that’s exactly what we did.”
With some effort, the Emperor got himself under control. *4I was trying to protect you and your friends, you idiot,” he said from between clenched teeth. “You were riding directly into Mengha’s path.”
“We didn’t have any particular problem with Mengha.”
“Atesca told me that you’d killed him. I didn’t get the details, though.” Zakath seemed to have recovered his composure to some degree.
“Actually, I’m not the one who did it. Margravine Liselle killed him.”
Zakath looked with one raised eyebrow at the dimpled Velvet.
“His Majesty is perhaps overgenerous,” she murmured with a little curtsy. “I had some help.”
“Help? From whom?”
“Zith, actually. Mengha was very surprised.”
“Will someone please tell me what happened without all this clever repartee?”
“It was really fairly simple, your Majesty,” Silk said smoothly. “We were having a little disagreement with the Chandim and some others in Torak’s old throne room at Ashaba. Mengha was shouting orders to his men, and Liselle pulled Zith out of her bodice and threw the little green darling right into his face. Zith nipped him a few times, he stiffened up like a plank, and he was dead before he hit the floor.”
“You don’t actually carry that snake down the front of your dress, do you?” Zakath asked Velvet incredulously. “How can you?”
“It took a bit of getting used to,” she admitted, placing one modest hand on her bodice.
“It didn’t really happen that way, did it?”
“Prince Kheldar’s description of what took place was fairly accurate, your Imperial Majesty,” Sadi assured him. “Zith was very put out. I think she was asleep when the Margravine threw her at Mengha, and being awakened suddenly always makes her cross.”
“As it turns out, Zakath,” Belgarath said, “Mengha was really one of the Chandim and Urvon’s chief underling.”
“Yes, so Atesca told me. That puts Urvon behind what was going on in Karanda, doesn’t it?”
“Only marginally,” Belgarath replied. “Urvon isn’t sane enough to be behind much of anything. He’s completely under the domination of a Demon Lord named Nahaz, and consorting with demons usually unhinges a man’s mind. Urvon’s totally convinced that he’s a God now.”
“If he’s that mad, who’s running his campaign here? Atesca said that his outflanking of the Darshivan army and their elephant cavalry was a stroke of tactical genius.”
“It’s my guess that Nahaz is more or less in command, and Demon Lords pay very little attention to casualties. They also have ways of making people run very fast.”
“I’ve never gone to war with a Demon Lord before,” Zakath mused. “What’s his objective?”
“The Sardion,” Garion replied. “Everybody wants to get his hands on it—me included.”
“To raise a new God over Angarak?”
“That’s its purpose, I suppose.”
“I don’t think I’d like that. You liberated us from Torak, and I don’t propose to see his replacement enthroned at either Mal Zeth or Mal Yaska. Angarak doesn’t need a God. It has me. Who’s your candidate?”
“I don’t know yet. They haven’t told me.”
“What am I going to do with you, Belgarion?” Zakath sighed.
“You’re going to let us go so we can do what we’re supposed to do. You might not like the idea of a New God, but I think you’ll find my choice a lot more preferable to anything Zandramas or Urvon or Agachak might come up with.”
“Agachak?”
“The Hierarch of Rak Urga. He’s here in Mallorea as well.”
“I’ll deal with him, too, then. That still leaves you, I’m afraid.”
“I just told you what to do about me.”
A faint smile touched Zakath’s lips. “I don’t think I really like your proposal. You’re a little undependable.”
“What’s your goal in all this?” Belgarath asked him.
“I’m going to restore order in Mallorea, even if I have to depopulate whole districts to do it. Since this Sardion is the thing that’s got everyone so agitated, I’d guess that my best course would be to find it and destroy it.”
“Good,” Garion said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go, then.”
“Oh, no, your Majesty.” Zakath’s tone was once again coldly imperial. “I don’t trust you any more. I made that mistake once already. I can eliminate at least one of the people trying to reach the Sardion by sending you and your friends back to Mal Zeth under heavy guard. Then I can concentrate on looking for the Sardion myself.”
“Where do you plan to start looking?” Garion asked him bluntly. The conversation, he decided, had moved around to the point where the goading Belgarath had suggested seemed to be in order. “You don’t even know what you’re looking for and you haven’t got the faintest idea of where to start. You’re just floundering around.”
“I don’t think I care for that, Belgarion.”
“That’s too bad. The truth is sometimes painful, isn’t it?”
“And I suppose you do know where it is?”
“lean find out.”
“If you can, so can I, and I’m sure you’ll give me a few clues.”
“Not a chance.”
“You’ll grow more cooperative once I put a few of your friends on the rack. I’ll even let you watch.”
“You’d better hire an expendable torturer, then. Haven’t you realized yet just what I’m capable of? And all this time I thought you were intelligent.”
“I think that’s quite enough, Belgarion,” Zakath snapped. “Make ready. You’re leaving for Mat Zeth; and to make sure you behave yourself, I’m going to separate all of you people. That should give me plenty of hostages in the event you decide to do something rash. I think that covers everything. This conversation is concluded.”
Belgarath covered his mouth with one hand and coughed. Toth nodded and lowered his head.
Zakath stepped back in startled amazement as a shimmering apparition suddenly appeared directly in front of him. He glared at Garion. “Is this some kind of trick?” he demanded.
“No tricks, Zakath,” Garion replied. “She has some things to tell you. I suggest that you listen.”
“Wilt thou hear my words, Zakath?” the glowing form of the blindfolded Seeress of Kell asked him.
Zakath’s face was still taut with suspicion. “What is it, Cyradis?” he asked bluntly.
“My time with thee must needs be short, Emperor of Mallorea. I spoke to thee once concerning a crossroad in thy life. Thou hast reached mat point now. Put aside thine imperious manner and submit willingly to the task which I must lay upon thee. Thou hast spoken here of hostages.”
He drew himself up. “A custom, Cyradis,” he told her. “It’s a simple means of insuring good behavior.”
“Dost thou indeed feel so feeble that thou must threaten the innocent to impose thy will upon others?” Her tone was lightly touched with scorn.
“Feeble? Me?”
“Why else wouldst thou choose so cowardly a course? But hear me well, Kal Zakath, for thy life hangs in the balance. In the instant that thou dost raise thy hand against the Child of Light or any of his companions, thy heart shall burst, and thou shalt die between two breaths.”
“So be it then. I rule in Mallorea, and to change or falter because of any threat—even yours—is to become as nothing in my own eyes, and I will not do that.”
“Then shalt thou surely die, and in thy death shall thy mighty empire crumble into dust.” She said it with a dreadful finality.
He stared at her, his pale face growing even more livid.
“Thou wilt not hear my warnings, Emperor of Mallorea, so I will make thee an offer instead. If thou dost require a hostage, / will be thy hostage. The Child of Light doth know that should I depart from this life ere my task is complete, his quest will surely fail. What better restraint canst thou place upon him?”
“I will not threaten you, Holy Seeress,” he said, sounding a bit less sure of himself.
“And why not, mighty Zakath?”
“It would not be appropriate,” he said shortly. “Was that all you had to say to me? I have certain duties to attend to.”
“They are of no moment. Thine only true duties are to me and to the task which I shall lay upon thee. The completion of that task is the purpose of thy life. It was for that and for that only that thou wast born. Shouldst thou refuse it, thou wilt not live to see another winter.”
“That’s the second time you’ve threatened my life since you arrived, Cyradis. Do you hate me so much?”
“I do not hate thee, Zakath, and I made no threats. I merely revealed unto thee that which fate has in store for thee. Wilt thou accept thy task?”
“Not until I know a little more about it.”
“Very well, then. I will reveal unto thee the first part of thy task. Thou must come to me at Kell, where I shall submit to thee. I shall be thy hostage, but thou art also surely mine. Come thou then to Kell with die Child of Light and his other chosen companions; for, as hath been foretold since the beginning of days, thou art of their company.”
“But—”
She held up one slim hand. “Leave behind thee thy retinue and thine army and thy symbols of power. They will be of no use to thee.” She paused. “Or art thou fearful, O mighty Zakath, to go about in thy vast realm without thy soldiers clustered about thee to compel the stubborn knee to bend and to coerce the rebellious to submit to thy will?”
Zakath flushed angrily. “I fear nothing, Holy Seeress,” he replied in a cold voice, “not even death.”
“Death is a small thing, Kal Zakath. Methinks it is life which thou dost fear. As I have said, thou art my hostage, and I command thee to come to me at Kell and there to take up thy burden.”
The Emperor of Mallorea began to tremble. Garion knew this man and he knew that Zakath would normally reject Cyradis’ imperious command instantly, but he appeared seized by some overpowering compulsion. His trembling grew more violent, and his pale face broke out in a sweat.
Cyradis, despite her blindfolded eyes, seemed to be aware of the turmoil which had seized her “hostage.”
“Thy choice is well made, Kal Zakath,” she declared. “Thou wilt submit to me willingly—or with reluctance—but thou must submit, for it is thy destiny.” She drew herself up. “Speak now, Emperor of Mallorea, for thy fete requires thine acceptance of it. Wilt thou come to me at Kell?”
He seemed to choke on it. “I will come,” he croaked.
“So be it then. Take thy foreordained place at Belgarion’s side and come to the Holy City. There shall I instruct thee further in thy task and tell thee why it is not merely thy life which doth hinge upon it, but the life of all this world.” She turned slightly so that her blindfolded eyes seemed to be looking at Garion. “Bring him to me, Child of Light,” she told him, “for all of this is a part of what must come to pass ere the final meeting.”
She stretched out her hand to Toth in a gesture of longing.
And then she vanished.
“And now we are twelve,” Sadi murmured.
The most recent recruit to their company, however, stood ashen-faced in the center of the tent, and Garion was astonished to see unshed tears standing in the eyes of the Emperor of Mallorea.