King of the Murgos

Chapter One

SOMEWHERE IN THE darkness, Garion could hear the crystalline tap of water dripping with a slow, monotonous regularity. The air around him was cool, smelling of rock and dampness overlaid with the musty odor of pallid white things that grow in the dark and flinch from the light. He found himself straining to catch all the myriad sounds that whispered through the dark caves of Ulgo—the moist trickle of water, the dusty slither of dislodged pebbles slowly running down a shallow incline, and the mournful sighing of air coming down from the surface through minute fissures in the rock.

Belgarath stopped and lifted the smoky torch that filled the passageway with flickering orange light and leaping shadows. ‘Wait here a moment,’ he said, and then he moved off down the murky gallery with his scuffed, mismatched boots shuffling along the uneven floor. The rest of them waited with the darkness pressing in all around them.

‘I hate this,’ Silk muttered, half to himself. ‘I absolutely hate it.’

They waited.

The ruddy flicker of Belgarath’s torch reappeared at the far end of the gallery. ‘All right,’ he called. ‘It’s this way.’

Garion put his arm about Ce’Nedra’s slender shoulders. A kind of deep silence had fallen over her during their ride south from Rheon as it had grown increasingly evident that their entire campaign against the Bear-cult in eastern Drasnia had done little more than give Zandramas a nearly insurmountable lead with the abducted Geran. The frustration that made Garion want to beat his fists against the rocks around him and howl in impotent fury had plunged Ce’Nedra into a profound depression instead, and now she stumbled through the dark caves of Ulgo, sunk in a kind of numb misery, neither knowing nor caring where the others led her. He turned his head to look back at Polgara, his face mirroring all his deep concern. The look she returned him was grave, but seemingly unperturbed. She parted the front of her blue cloak and moved her hands in the minute gestures of the Drasnian secret language.—Be sure she stays warm—she said.—She’s very susceptible to chills just now,—

A half-dozen desperate questions sprang into Garion’s mind; but with Ce’Nedra at his side with his arm about her shoulders, there was no way he could voice them.

—It’s important for you to stay calm, Garion—Polgara’s fingers told him.—Don’t let her know how concerned you are. I’m watching her, and I’ll know what to do when the time comes.—

Belgarath stopped again and stood tugging at one earlobe, looking dubiously down a dark passageway and then down another which branched off to the left.

‘You’re lost again, aren’t you?’ Silk accused him. The rat-faced little Drasnian had put aside his pearl-gray doublet and his jewels and gold chains and now wore an old brown tunic, shiny with age, a moth-eaten fur cloak and a shapeless, battered hat, once again submerging himself in one of his innumerable disguises.

‘Of course I’m not lost,’ Belgarath retorted. ‘I just haven’t pinpointed exactly where we are at the moment.’

‘Belgarath, that’s what the word lost means.’

‘Nonsense. I think we go this way.’ He pointed down the left-hand passageway.

‘You think?’

‘Uh—Silk,’ Durnik the smith cautioned quietly, ‘you really ought to keep your voice down. That ceiling up there doesn’t look all that stable to me, and sometimes a loud noise is all it takes to bring one of them down.’

Silk froze, his eyes rolling apprehensively upward and sweat visibly standing out on his forehead. ‘Polgara,’ he whispered in a strangled tone, ‘make him stop that.’

‘Leave him alone, Durnik,’ she said calmly. ‘You know how he feels about caves.’

‘I just thought he ought to know, Pol,’ the smith explained. ‘Things do happen in caves.’

‘Polgara!’ Silk’s voice was agonized. ‘Please!’

‘I’ll go back and see how Errand and Toth are doing with the horses,’ Durnik said. He looked at the sweating little Drasnian. ‘Just try not to shout,’ he advised.

As they rounded a corner in the twisting gallery, the passageway opened out into a large cavern with a broad vein of quartz running across its ceiling. At some point, perhaps even miles away, the vein reached the surface, and refracted sunlight, shattered into its component elements by the facets of the quartz, spilled down into the cavern in dancing rainbows that flared and faded as they shifted across the sparkling surface of the small, shallow lake in the center of the cave. At the far end of the lake, a tiny waterfall tinkled endlessly from rock to rock to fill the cavern with its music.

‘Ce’Nedra, look!’ Garion urged.

‘What?’ She raised her head. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said indifferently, ‘very pretty.’ And she went back to her abstracted silence.

Garion gave Aunt Pol a helpless look.

‘Father,’ Polgara said then, ‘I think it’s just about lunchtime. This seems like a good place to rest a bit and have a bite to eat.’

‘Pol, we’re never going to get there if we stop every mile or two.’

‘Why do you always argue with me, father? Is it out of some obscure principle?’

He glowered at her for a moment, then turned away, muttering to himself.

Errand and Toth led the horses down to the shore of the crystal lake to water them. They were a strangely mismatched pair. Errand was a slight young man with blond, curly hair and he wore a simple brown peasant smock. Toth towered above him like a giant tree looming over a sapling. Although winter was coming on in the Kingdoms of the West, the huge mute still wore only sandals, a short kirtle belted at the waist, and an unbleached wool blanket drawn over one shoulder. His bare arms and legs were like tree trunks, and his muscles knotted and rippled whenever he moved. His nondescript brown hair was drawn straight back and tied at the nape of his neck with a short length of leather thong. Blind Cyradis had told them that this silent giant was to aid them in the search for Zandramas and Garion’s stolen son, but so far Toth seemed content merely to follow them impassively, giving no hint that he even cared where they were going.

‘Would you like to help me, Ce’Nedra?’ Polgara asked pleasantly, unbuckling the straps on one of the packs.

Ce’Nedra, numb-faced and inattentive, walked slowly across the smooth stone floor of the cavern to stand mutely beside the pack horse.

‘We’ll need bread,’ Polgara said, rummaging through the pack as if unaware of the young woman’s obvious abstraction. She took out several long, dark brown loaves of peasant bread and piled them like sticks of firewood in the little queen’s arms. ‘And cheese, of course,’ she added, lifting out a wax-covered ball of Sendarian cheddar. She pursed her lips. ‘And perhaps a bit of the ham as well, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I suppose so,’ Ce’Nedra replied in an expressionless tone.

‘Garion,’ Polgara went on, ‘would you lay this cloth on that flat rock over there?’ She looked back at Ce’Nedra. ‘I hate to eat off an uncovered table, don’t you?’

‘Umm,’ Ce’Nedra replied.

The two of them carried the loaves of bread, the wax-coated cheese, and the ham to the improvised table. Polgara snapped her fingers and shook her head. ‘I forgot the knife. Would you get it for me?’

Ce’Nedra nodded and started back toward the pack horse.

‘What’s wrong with her, Aunt Pol?’ Garion asked in a tense whisper.

‘It’s a form of melancholia, dear.’

‘Is it dangerous?’

‘It is if it goes on for too long.’

‘Can you do anything? I mean, could you give her some kind of medicine or something?’

‘I’d rather not do that unless I have to, Garion. Sometimes the medicines just mask the symptoms, and other problems start to crop up. Most of the time, it’s best to let these things run their natural course.’

‘Aunt Pol, I can’t stand to see her like this.’

‘You’re going to have to endure it for a while, Garion. Just behave as if you weren’t aware of the way she’s acting. She’s not quite ready to come out of it yet.’ She turned with a warm smile. ‘Ah, there it is,’ she said, taking the knife from Ce’Nedra. ‘Thank you, dear.’

They all gathered around Polgara’s makeshift table for their simple lunch. As he ate, Durnik the smith gazed thoughtfully at the small crystal lake. ‘I wonder if there could be any fish in there,’ he mused.

‘No, dear,’ Polgara said.

‘It is possible, Pol. If the lake’s fed by streams from the surface, the fish could have been washed down here when they were minnows, and—’

‘No, Durnik.’

He sighed.

After lunch, they re-entered the endless, twisting galleries, once again following Belgarath’s flickering torch. The hours limped by as they trudged mile after mile with the darkness pressing palpably in around them.

‘How much farther do we have to go, Grandfather?’ Garion asked, falling in beside the old man.

‘It’s hard to say exactly. Distances can be deceptive here in the caves.’

‘Have you got any idea at all about why we had to come here? I mean, is there anything in the Mrin Codex—or maybe the Darine—that talks about something that’s supposed to happen here in Ulgo?’

‘Not that I remember, no.’

‘You don’t suppose we might have misunderstood, do you?’

‘Our friend was pretty specific, Garion. He said that we have to stop at Prolgu on our way south, because something that has to happen is going to happen here.’

‘Can’t it happen without us?’ Garion demanded. ‘We’re just floundering around here in these caves, and all the while Zandramas is getting farther and farther ahead of us with my son.’

‘What’s that?’ Errand asked suddenly from somewhere behind them. ‘I thought I heard something.’

They stopped to listen. The guttering sound of Belgarath’s torch suddenly sounded very loud as Garion strained his ears, trying to reach out into the darkness to capture any wayward sound. The slow drip of water echoed its soft tapping from somewhere in the dark, and the faint sigh of air coming down through the cracks and crevices in the rock provided a mournful accompaniment. Then, very faintly, Garion heard the sound of singing, of choral voices raised in the peculiarly discordant but deeply reverent hymn to UL that had echoed and re-echoed through these dim caverns for over five millenia.

‘Ah, the Ulgos,’ Belgarath said with satisfaction. ‘We’re almost to Prolgu. Now maybe we’ll find out what it is that’s supposed to happen here.’

They went perhaps another mile along the passageway which rather suddenly became steeper, taking them deeper and deeper into the earth.

‘Yakk!’ a voice from somewhere ahead barked sharply. ‘Tachavelk?’

‘Belgarath, Iyun hak,’ the old sorcerer replied calmly in response to the challenge.

‘Belgarath?’ The voice sounded startled. ‘Zajek kallig, Belgarath?’

‘Marekeg Gorim, Iyun zajek.’

‘Veedmo. Marishum Ulgo.’

Belgarath extinguished his torch as the Ulgo sentry approached with a phosphorescently glowing wooden bowl held aloft.

‘Yadho, Belgarath. Groja UL.’

‘Yad ho,’ the old man answered the ritual greeting. ‘Groja UL.’

The short, broad-shouldered Ulgo bowed briefly, then turned and led them on down the gloomy passageway. The greenish, unwavering glow from the wooden bowl he carried spread its eerie light in the dim gallery, painting all their faces with a ghostly pallor. After another mile or so, the gallery opened out into one of those vast caverns where the pale glow of that strange, cold light the Ulgos contrived winked at them from a hundred openings high up in the stone wall. They carefully moved along a narrow ledge to the foot of a stone stairway that had been chipped from the rock wall of the cave. Their guide spoke briefly to Belgarath.

‘We’ll have to leave the horses here,’ the old man said.

‘I can stay with them,’ Durnik offered.

‘No. The Ulgos will tend to them. Let’s go up.’ And he started up the steep flight of stairs.

They climbed in silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing back hollowly from the far side of the cavern.

‘Please don’t lean out over the edge like that, Errand,’ Polgara said when they were about halfway up.

‘I just wanted to see how far down it goes,’ he replied. ‘Did you know that there’s water down there?’

‘That’s one of the reasons I’d rather you stayed away from the edge.’

He flashed her a sudden smile and went on up.

At the top of the stairs, they skirted the edge of the dim subterranean abyss for several hundred yards, then entered one of the galleries where the Ulgos lived and worked in small cubicles carved from the rock. Beyond that gallery lay the Gorim’s half-lit cavern with its lake and its island and the peculiarly pyramid-shaped house surrounded by solemn white pillars. At the far end of the marble causeway which crossed the lake, the Gorim of Ulgo, dressed as always in his white robe, stood peering across the water. ‘Belgarath?’ he called in a quavering voice, ‘is that you?’

‘Yes, it’s me, Holy One,’ the old man replied. ‘You might have guessed that I’d turn up again.’

‘Welcome, old friend.’

Belgarath started toward the causeway, but Ce’Nedra darted past him with her coppery curls flying and ran toward the Gorim with her arms outstretched.

‘Ce’Nedra?’ he said, blinking as she threw her arms about his neck.

‘Oh, Holy Gorim,’ she sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder, ‘someone’s taken my baby.’

‘They’ve done what?’ he exclaimed.

Garion had started almost involuntarily to cross the causeway to Ce’Nedra’s side, but Polgara put her hand on his arm to stop him. ‘Not just yet, dear,’ she murmured.

‘But—’

‘This may be what she needs, Garion.’

‘But, Aunt Pol, she’s crying.’

‘Yes, dear. That’s what I’ve been waiting for. We have to let her grief run its course before she can begin to come out of it.’

The Gorim held the sobbing little queen in his arms. murmuring to her in a soft, comforting tone. After the first storm of her weeping had subsided, he raised his lined old face. ‘When did all this happen?’ he asked.

‘Late last summer,’ Belgarath told him. ‘It’s a fairly involved story.’

‘Come inside then, all of you,’ the Gorim said. ‘My servants will prepare food and drink for you, and we can talk while you eat.’

They filed into the pyramid-shaped house standing on the Gorim’s island and entered the large central room with its stone benches and table, its glowing crystal lamps hanging on chains from the ceiling, and its peculiar, inward-sloping walls. The Gorim spoke briefly with one of his silent servants, then turned with his arm still about Ce’Nedra’s shoulders. ‘Sit, my friends,’ he said to them.

As they sat at the stone table, one of the Gorim’s servants entered, carrying a tray of polished crystal goblets and a couple of flagons of the fiery Ulgo drink.

‘Now,’ the saintly old man said, ‘what has happened?’

Belgarath filled himself one of the goblets and then quickly sketched in the events of the past several months, telling the Gorim of the murder of Brand, of the attempt to sow dissention in the Alorn ranks and of the campaign against the cult stronghold at Jarviksholm.

‘And then,’ he went on as the Gorim’s servants brought in trays of raw fruits and vegetables and a smoking roast hot from the spit, ‘right about at the same time we captured Jarviksholm, someone crept into the nursery in the Citadel at Riva and took Prince Geran out of his cradle. When we got back to the Isle, we discovered that the Orb will follow the baby’s trail—as long as it stays on dry land, anyway. It led us to the west side of the island, and we encountered some Cherek Bear-cultists the abductor had left behind. When we questioned them, they told us that the new cult leader, Ulfgar, had ordered the abduction.’

‘But what they told you was not true?’ the Gorim asked shrewdly.

‘Not by half,’ Silk replied.

‘Of course the problem there was that they didn’t know they were lying,’ Belgarath continued. ‘They’d been very carefully prepared, and the story we got from them sounded quite plausible—particularly in view of the fact that we were already at war with the cult. Anyway, we mounted a campaign against the last cult stronghold at Rheon in northeastern Drasnia. After we took the town and captured Ulfgar, the truth started to come out. Ulfgar turned out to be a Mallorean Grolim named Harakan and he had absolutely nothing to do with the abduction. The real culprit was this mysterious Zandramas I told you about several years ago. I’m not sure exactly what part the Sardion plays in all this; but for some reason, Zandramas wants to take the baby to the place mentioned in the Mrin Codex—the place which is no more. Urvon desperately wants to prevent that, so he sent his henchman here to the west to kill the baby to keep it from happening.’

‘Have you any idea at all about where to begin the search?’ the Gorim asked.

Belgarath shrugged. ‘A couple of clues is all. We’re fairly sure that Zandramas left the Isle of the Winds aboard a Nyissan ship, so that’s where we’re going to start. The Codex says that I’m supposed to find the path to the Sardion in the mysteries, and I’m fairly certain that when we find the Sardion, Zandramas and the baby won’t be far away. Maybe I can get some hints in those prophecies—if I can ever find any uncorrupted copies.’

‘It also appears that the Seers of Kell are directly involving themselves,’ Polgara added.

‘The Seers?’ The Gorim’s voice was startled. ‘They’ve never done that before.’

‘I know,’ she replied. ‘One of them—a girl named Cyradis—appeared at Rheon and gave us some additional information—and certain instructions.’

‘That is very unlike them.’

‘I think that things are moving toward the ultimate climax, Holy One,’ Belgarath said. ‘We were all concentrating so much on the meeting between Garion and Torak that we lost sight of the fact that the real meetings are the ones between the Child of Light and the Child of Dark. Cyradis told us that this is going to be the last meeting, and that this time, everything’s going to be decided once and for all. I rather suspect that’s the reason that the seers are finally coming out into the open.’

The Gorim frowned. ‘I would not have ever thought to see them concern themselves with the affairs of other men,’ he said gravely.

‘Just who are these seers, Holy Gorim?’ Ce’Nedra asked in a subdued voice.

‘They are our cousins, child,’ he replied simply.

Her look betrayed her bafflement.

‘After the Gods made the races of man, there came the time of the choosing,’ he explained. ‘There were seven races of man—even as there are seven Gods. Aldur chose to go his way alone, however, and that meant that one of the races of man remained unchosen and Godless.’

‘Yes,’ she nodded, ‘I’ve heard that part of the story.’

‘We were all of the same people,’ the Gorim continued. ‘Us, the Morindim, the Karands in the north of Mallorea, the Melcenes far to the east and the Dais. We were closest to the Dais, but when we went forth in search of the God UL, they had already turned their eyes to the skies in their attempt to read the stars. We urged them to come with us, but they would not.’

‘And you’ve lost all contact with them, then?’ she asked.

‘On occasion, some few of their seers have come to us, usually on some quest of which they would not speak. The seers are very wise, for the Vision which comes to them gives them knowledge of the past, the present, and the future—and more importantly, the meaning of it.’

‘Are they all women, then?’

‘No. There are men as well. When the sight comes to them, they always bind their eyes to exclude all common light so that this other light can be seen more clearly. Inevitably, when a seer appears, there also appears a mute to be guide and protector. They are always paired—forever.’

‘Why are the Grolims so afraid of them?’ Silk asked suddenly. ‘I’ve been in Mallorea a few times and I’ve seen Mallorean Grolims go all to pieces at just the mention of Kell.’

‘I suspect that the Dais have taken steps to keep the Grolims away from Kell. It’s the very center of their learning, and Grolims are intolerant of non-Angarak things.’

‘What is the purpose of these seers, Holy One?’ Garion asked.

‘It’s not only the seers, Belgarion,’ the Gorim replied. ‘The Dais are involved in all branches of arcane knowledge—necromancy, wizardry, magic, witchcraft—all of these and more. No one—except the Dais themselves—seems to know exactly what their purpose might be. Whatever it is, though, they are entirely committed to it—both the ones in Mallorea and those here in the west.’

‘In the west?’ Silk blinked. ‘I didn’t know that there were any Dais here.’

The Gorim nodded. ‘They were divided by the Sea of the East when Torak used the Orb to crack the world. The western Dais were enslaved by the Murgos during the third millennium. But wherever they live—east or west—they have labored for eons at some task. Whatever that task may be, they are convinced that the fate of all creation depends on it.’

‘Does it?’ Garion asked.

‘We don’t know, Belgarion. We don’t know what the task is, so we can’t even guess at its significance. We do know that they follow neither of the Prophecies which dominate the universe. They believe that their task was laid upon them by some higher destiny.’

‘And that’s the thing that concerns me,’ Belgarath said. ‘Cyradis is manipulating us with these cryptic little announcements of hers; and for all I know, she’s manipulating Zandramas as well. I don’t like being led around by the nose—particularly by someone whose motives I don’t understand. She complicates this whole business, and I don’t like complications. I like nice, simple situations and nice, easy, solutions.’

‘Good and Evil?’ Durnik suggested.

‘That’s a difficult one, Durnik. I prefer “them and us.” That clears away all the excess baggage and allows you to get right down to cases.’

Garion slept restlessly that night and he rose early with his head feeling as if it were stuffed with sand. He sat for a time on one of the stone benches in the central room of the Gorim’s house; then, caught in a kind of moody restlessness, he went outside to look across the quiet lake surrounding the island. The faint light from the globes hanging on their chains from the ceiling of the cavern cast a dim glow on the surface of the lake, and that glow filled the cave with a pale luminosity that seemed more like a light seen in a dream than any kind of illumination to be found in the real world. As he stood lost in thought at the water’s edge, a movement on the far shore caught his eye.

They came singly and in groups of two and three, pale young women with the large, dark eyes and colorless hair of the Ulgos. They all wore modest white gowns, and they gathered shyly on the shore on the far side of the marble causeway, waiting in the dim light. Garion looked across the lake at them, then raised his voice to call, ‘Was there something you wanted?’

They whispered together for a moment, then pushed one of their number forward to speak for them. ‘We—we wanted to see the Princess Ce’Nedra,’ she blurted bashfully, her face dyed with a rosy blush. ‘If she’s not too busy, that is.’ Her speech was halting, as if she were talking in a language not wholly familiar to her.

‘I’ll go see if she’s awake,’ Garion offered.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she replied, shrinking back into the protection of her group of friends.

Garion went back inside and found Ce’Nedra sitting up in bed. Her face had none of that numb indifference that had marked it for the past several weeks, and her eyes seemed alert. ‘You’re up early,’ she noted.

‘I had a little trouble sleeping. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, Garion. Why do you ask?’

‘I was just—’ He broke off with a shrug. ‘There are some young Ulgo women outside. They want to see you.’

She frowned. ‘Who could they possibly be?’

‘They seemed to know you. They said that they wanted to see the Princess Ce’Nedra.’

‘Of course!’ she exclaimed, springing from her bed. ‘I’d almost forgotten them.’ She quickly pulled on a teal-green dressing gown and dashed from the room.

Curiously, Garion started to follow her, but stopped in the central hall of the house when he saw Polgara, Durnik, and the Gorim sitting quietly at the stone table.

‘What was that all about?’ Polgara asked, looking after the scurrying little queen.

‘There are some Ulgo women outside,’ Garion replied. ‘They seem to be friends of hers.’

‘She was very popular during her visit here,’ the Gorim said. ‘Ulgo girls are very shy, but Ce’Nedra befriended them all. They adored her.’

‘Excuse me, your Worship,’ Durnik said, ‘but is Relg anywhere about? I thought I might look in on him, as long as we’re here.’

‘Relg and Taiba have taken their children and moved to Maragor,’ the Gorim replied.

‘Maragor?’ Garion blinked. ‘What about the ghosts there?’

‘They are under the protection of the God Mara,’ the Gorim told him. ‘There seems to be some kind of understanding between Mara and UL. I’m not sure I entirely understand it, but Mara insists that Taiba’s children are Marags and he has vowed to watch over them in Maragor.’

Garion frowned. ‘But isn’t their first-born son going to be Gorim someday?’

The old man nodded. ‘Yes. His eyes are still as blue as sapphires. I was concerned myself at first, Belgarion, but I’m certain that UL will return Relg’s son to the caves of Ulgo at the proper time.’

‘How is Ce’Nedra this morning, Garion?’ Polgara asked seriously.

‘She seems to be almost back to normal. Does that mean that she’s all right?’

‘It’s a good sign, dear, but it might be a little early to be sure. Why don’t you go keep an eye on her?’

‘All right.’

‘Just try not to be obvious. This is a rather critical time, and we don’t want her getting the idea that we’re spying on her.’

‘I’ll be careful, Aunt Pol.’ He went outside and began walking around the small island as if he were only stretching his legs. He cast frequent glances at the group on the far shore. The pale, white-gowned Ulgo women were clustered about Ce’Nedra. Her green robe and her flaming red hair stood out in sharp contrast in the midst of the group. A sudden image came into Garion’s mind. With her vibrant colouring, Ce’Nedra looked very much like a single crimson rose growing in the midst of a bed of white lilies.

After about a half an hour, Polgara came out of the house. ‘Garion,’ she said, ‘have you seen Errand this morning?’

‘No, Aunt Pol.’

‘He’s not in his room.’ She frowned slightly. ‘What is that boy thinking of? Go see if you can find him.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied automatically. As he started across the causeway, he smiled to himself. In spite of all that had happened, he and Aunt Pol always returned to the same relationship they had shared when he was a boy. He was fairly certain that most of the time she did not even remember that he was a king, and so she often sent him on menial errands with no real awareness that they might be beneath his dignity. Moreover, he found that he did not really mind. To fall back into the pattern of immediately obeying her peremptory commands relieved him of the necessity of making difficult decisions and took him back to those days when he was just a simple farm boy with none of the cares and responsibilities that had come to him with the crown of Riva.

Ce’Nedra and her friends were seated on rocks not far from the dim lake shore. Their conversation was subdued, and Ce’Nedra’s face was somber again.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked her as he approached them.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘We were just talking, that’s all.’

He looked at her, but decided not to say anything more. ‘Have you seen Errand?’ he asked instead.

‘No. Isn’t he in the house?’

He shook his head. ‘I think he’s gone exploring. Aunt Pol asked me to find him.’

One of the young Ulgo women whispered something to Ce’Nedra.

‘Saba says that she saw him in the main gallery when she was coming here,’ Ce’Nedra told him. ‘It was about an hour ago.’

‘Which way is that?’ he asked.

‘Over there.’ She pointed toward an opening leading back into the rock.

He nodded. ‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked her.

‘I’m fine, Garion.’

‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ he said and walked toward the gallery she had pointed out. It made him uncomfortable to be forced to step around her this way, but the possibility that a chance remark might push her back into that bleak depression made him wary and half-afraid to speak at all. A purely physical ailment was one thing, but an illness of the mind was something horrifying.

The gallery he entered, like all the caves and passageways in which the Ulgos lived out their lives, was faintly illuminated by the dim glow of phosphorescent rocks. The cubicles on either side of the gallery were scrupulously neat, and he saw entire families gathered about stone tables for their morning meal, apparently oblivious to the fact that the fronts of their quarters were open to scrutiny by anyone who chanced to pass this way.

Since few of the Ulgos could speak his language, it was impossible for Garion to ask anyone if Errand had passed, and he soon found that he was wandering more or less aimlessly, hoping that he might chance across his friend. At the far end of the gallery, he emerged into the vast cavern where that flight of chiseled stairs led downward toward the dim reaches below.

He considered the possibility that Errand might have gone down to visit his horse, but something seemed to tell him that he should turn instead to follow the broad ledge circling the edge of the chasm. He had gone no more than a few hundred yards when he heard the sound of voices issuing from the mouth of a dark passageway angling back into the rock face. The shifting echoes made it impossible to distinguish individual words, but it seemed to Garion that one of the voices was Errand’s. He entered the passageway, following the sound alone.

At first there was no light in the unused gallery, and he put his hand to the rough rock wall to grope his way along; but as he rounded a corner, he saw a light coming from somewhere ahead—a peculiar kind of steady white radiance quite unlike the faint greenish glow of phosphorescence that normally illuminated this dark world of the caves. And then the corridor he was following bent sharply to the left, and he rounded that corner to see Errand talking with a tall, white-robed figure. Garion’s eyes widened. The light he had seen was emanating from that figure, and he felt the awesome presence of a transcendent being.

The glowing figure did not turn, but spoke in a calm, quiet voice. ‘Join us, Belgarion, and welcome.’

Garion found that he was actually trembling as he wordlessly obeyed. Then the figure in white turned, and he found himself looking directly into the timeless face of UL himself.

‘I have been instructing young Eriond here in the task which lies before him,’ the Father of the Gods said.

‘Eriond?’

‘It is his true name, Belgarion. It is time for him to put aside the childish name of his boyhood and to assume his true one. Even as thou wert concealed beneath thy simple “Garion,” so hath he lain hidden under that “Errand.” There is wisdom in this, for the true name of a man with a great task lying before him can oft times bring danger when its owner hath not yet come into his inheritance.’

‘It’s a good name, don’t you think, Belgarion?’ Eriond said proudly.

‘It’s an excellent name, Eriond,’ Garion agreed.

The Orb, standing on the pommel of the great sword sheathed across Garion’s back, glowed its blue response to the incandescently white radiance of UL, and the God nodded his acknowledgement of the stone.

‘Tasks have been set for each of you,’ UL continued, ‘and for the companions who accompany you. All these tasks must be completed ere the meeting between the Child of Light and the Child of Dark may come again.’

‘Please, Holy UL,’ Garion said, ‘can you tell me—is my son all right?’

‘He is well, Belgarion. The one who holds him will see to his needs. For the moment he is in no danger.’

‘Thank you,’ Garion said gratefully. Then he squared his shoulders. ‘And what is my task?’ he asked.

‘Thy task hath already been revealed to thee by the Seeress of Kell, Belgarion. Thou must bar the path of Zandramas to the Sardion; for should the Child of Dark reach that dread stone with thy son, the Dark shall prevail in this final meeting.’

Garion steeled himself and then blurted his next question, afraid of what the answer might be. ‘In the Oracles of Ashaba it says that the Dark God will come again,’ he said. ‘Does that mean that Torak will be reborn and that I’m going to have to fight him again?’

‘Nay, Belgarion. My son himself will not return. Thy flaming sword reft him of his life, and he is no more. The enemy in this meeting will be more perilous. The spirit which infused Torak hath found another vessel. Torak was maimed and imperfect by reason of his pride. The one who shall rise in his stead—shouldst thou fail in thy task—will be invincible; and not thy sword nor all the swords in all this world will be enough to withstand him.’

‘Then it’s Zandramas that I have to fight,’ Garion said grimly. ‘I’ve got reason enough, that’s certain.’

‘The meeting between the Child of Light and the Child of Dark shall not be a meeting between thee and Zandramas,’ UL told him.

‘But the Codex says that Zandramas is the Child of Dark,’ Garion protested.

‘At this present time, yes—even as at this present time thou art the Child of Light. That burden, however, shall pass from each of you ere the final meeting can take place. Know this, moreover. The event which began with the birth of thy son must be completed in a certain time. The tasks which lie before thee and thy companions are many, and all must be completed ere the time appointed for this meeting. Shouldst thou or any of thy companions fail in the completion of any task, then shall all our striving for uncounted ages come to naught. This final meeting between the Child of Light and the Child of Dark must be complete, and all of the necessary conditions must be met, for it is in this meeting that all that was divided shall be made one again. The fate of this world—and of all other worlds—lies in thy hands, Belgarion, and the outcome will not depend upon thy sword but upon a choice which thou must make.’

The Father of the Gods looked at the two of them fondly. ‘Be not afraid, my sons,’ he told them, ‘for though you are different in many ways, you share the same spirit. Aid and sustain each other and be comforted in the knowledge that I am with you.’ Then the glowing figure shimmered and was gone, and the caves of Ulgo resounded with an echo like the aftersound of some unimaginably huge bell.

Chapter Two

A KIND OF unthinking serenity had come over Garion, a calm resolve much akin to that which he had felt when he had faced Torak in the decaying ruins of the City of Endless Night half a world away. As he thought back on that dreadful night, he began to grope his way toward a startling truth. The maimed God had not been striving for a purely physical victory. He had been trying with all the dreadful force of his will to force them to submit to him, and it had been their steadfast refusal to yield, more than Garion’s flaming sword, which had defeated him in the end. Slowly, almost like the onset of dawn, the truth came to Garion. Although evil might seem invincible as it stalked the world in darkness, it nonetheless yearned toward the light, and only in the surrender of the light could the darkness prevail. So long as the Child of Light remained firm and unyielding, he was still invincible. As he stood in the dark cave listening to the shimmering aftersound of UL’s departure, Garion seemed to see directly into the mind of his enemy. Beneath it all, Torak had been afraid, and even now that same fear gnawed at the heart of Zandramas.

And then Garion perceived yet another truth, a truth at once enormously simple and at the same time so profound that the scope of it shook every fiber of his being. There was no such thing as darkness! What seemed so vast and overwhelming was nothing more than the absence of light. So long as the Child of Light kept that firmly in mind, the Child of Dark could never win. Torak had known this; Zandramas knew it; and now at last Garion himself understood it, and the knowledge brought with it a surging exultation.

‘It gets easier once you understand, doesn’t it?’ the young man they had always called Errand asked quietly.

‘You knew what I was thinking, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Does that bother you?’

‘No. I suppose not.’ Garion looked around. The gallery in which they stood suddenly seemed very dark now that UL was gone. Garion knew the way back, but the idea which he had just grasped seemed to require some kind of affirmation. He turned his head and spoke directly to the Orb riding on the pommel of his great sword. ‘Could you give us a bit of light?’ he asked it.

The Orb responded by igniting into blue fire and at the same time filling Garion’s mind with its crystal song. Garion looked at Eriond. ‘Shall we go back now? Aunt Pol was sort of worried when she couldn’t find you.’

As they turned and followed the deserted gallery back along the way they had come, Garion laid his arm affectionately across his young friend’s shoulders. For some reason they seemed very close just now.

They emerged from the gallery at the brink of the dim abyss where pale lights dotted the sheer walls and the murmur of a waterfall far below came whispering up to them.

Garion suddenly remembered something that had happened the day before. ‘What is it about you and water that concerns Aunt Pol so much?’ he asked curiously.

Eriond laughed. ‘Oh, that. When I was little—just after we moved into Poledra’s cottage in the Vale—I used to fall into the river fairly often.’

Garion grinned. ‘That seems like a perfectly natural thing to me.’

‘It hasn’t happened for a long time now, but I think that Polgara feels that may be I’m saving it up for a special occasion of some sort.’

Garion laughed, and they entered the cubicle-lined corridor that led toward the Gorim’s cavern. The Ulgos who lived and worked there threw startled glances in their direction as they passed.

‘Uh—Belgarion,’ Eriond said, ‘the Orb is still glowing.’

‘Oh,’ Garion replied, ‘I’d forgotten about that.’ He looked back over his shoulder at the cheerfully burning stone. ‘It’s all right now,’ he told it. ‘You can stop.’

The Orb’s final flicker seemed faintly disappointed.

The others were gathered at breakfast in the central room of the Gorim’s house. Polgara looked up as the two of them entered. ‘Where have you—’ she began, then stopped as she looked into Eriond’s eyes more closely. ‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’ she asked instead.

Eriond nodded. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘UL wanted to talk with us. There were some things we needed to know.’

Belgarath pushed aside his plate, his face becoming intent. ‘I think you’d better tell us about this,’ he said to them. ‘Take your time and don’t skip over anything.’

Garion crossed to the table and sat down beside Ce’Nedra. He described the meeting with the Father of the Gods carefully, trying as best he could to repeat UL’s exact words. ‘And then he said that Eriond and I shared the same spirit and that we were supposed to aid and sustain each other,’ he concluded.

‘Was that all he said?’ Belgarath asked.

‘Pretty much, yes.’

‘Except that he told us he was with us,’ Eriond added.

‘He didn’t say anything more specific about this certain time when everything has to be completed?’ the old man demanded with a slightly worried expression.

Garion shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry, Grandfather. I’m afraid not.’

Belgarath’s expression suddenly became exasperated. ‘I hate working to a schedule I haven’t seen,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t tell if I’m ahead or behind.’

Ce’Nedra had been clinging to Garion, her face filled with both concern and relief. ‘Are you really sure he said that our baby is all right?’ she demanded.

‘He said that he is well,’ Eriond assured her. ‘He told us that the one who holds him will see to his needs and that for the moment he’s in no danger.’

‘For the moment?’ Ce’Nedra exclaimed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘He didn’t get any more specific, Ce’Nedra,’ Garion said.

‘Why didn’t you ask UL where he is?’

‘Because I’m sure he wouldn’t have told me. Finding Geran and Zandramas is my job, and I don’t think they’re going to let me evade it by getting somebody else to do it for me.’

‘They? Who are they?’

‘The Prophecies—both of them. They’re playing a game, and we all have to follow the rules—even if we don’t know what they are.’

‘That’s nonsense.’

‘Go tell them. It wasn’t my idea.’

Aunt Pol was looking oddly at Eriond. ‘Have you known?’ she asked him. ‘About your name, I mean?’

‘I knew I had another name. When you called me Errand, it didn’t seem quite right, for some reason. Do you mind very much, Polgara?’

She rose with a smile, came around the table, and embraced him warmly. ‘No, Eriond,’ she told him, ‘I don’t mind at all.’

‘Just exactly what is the task UL set for you?’ Belgarath asked.

‘He said that I’d recognize it when I came to it.’

‘Is that all he said about it?’

‘He said that it was very important and that it was going to change me.’

Belgarath shook his head. ‘Why does everything always have to be in riddles?’ he complained.

‘It’s another one of those rules Garion mentioned,’ Silk told him, refilling his goblet from one of the flagons. ‘Well, what next, old man?’

Belgarath thought about it, tugging at an earlobe and looking up at one of the faintly glowing lamps. ‘I think it’s fairly safe to say that this meeting was the thing that was supposed to happen here at Prolgu,’ he said, ‘so I expect that it’s time for us to move along. It might not hurt for us to get where we’re going a little early, but I’m positive that it’s going to be a disaster if we get there late.’ He rose from his seat and put his hand on the Gorim’s frail shoulder. ‘I’ll try to get word to you from time to time,’ he promised. ‘Could you ask some of your people to lead us through the caves to Arendia? I want to get out into the open as soon as possible.’

‘Of course, my old friend,’ the Gorim replied, ‘and may UL guide your steps.’

‘I hope somebody does,’ Silk murmured.

Belgarath gave him a hard look.

‘It’s all right, Belgarath,’ Silk said expansively. ‘The fact that you get lost all the time doesn’t diminish our respect for you in the slightest. I’m sure it’s just a bad habit you picked up somewhere—probably because your mind was on weightier matters.’

Belgarath looked at Garion. ‘Did we really have to bring him along?’

‘Yes, Grandfather, we really did.’

It was shortly after sunrise two days later when they reached the irregularly shaped cave mouth that opened out into a birch forest. The white trees lifted their bare limbs toward an intensely blue sky, and fallen leaves covered the ground with a carpet of gold. The Ulgos who had guided them through the caves winced visibly and drew back from the sunlight. They murmured a few words to Belgarath, he thanked them, and then they retreated back into the protective darkness.

‘You have absolutely no idea how much better I feel now,’ Silk said with relief as he emerged from the cave and looked around at the frosty morning sunlight. Here and there back among the trees were patches of frozen snow, crusty and sparkling in the slanting rays of the morning sun; somewhere off to the left, they could hear the rush and babble of a mountain brook tumbling over stones.

‘Have you any notion of exactly where we are?’ Durnik asked Belgarath as they rode out into the birch trees.

The old man squinted back over his shoulder, gauging the angle of the new-risen sun. ‘My guess is that we’re in the foothills above central Arendia,’ he replied.

‘South of the lower end of the Arendish forest?’ Silk asked.

‘That’s hard to say for sure.’

The little Drasnian looked around. ‘I’d better take a look,’ he said. He pointed at a hill rising out of the forest. ‘I might be able to see something from up there.’

‘And I think some breakfast might be in order,’ Polgara said. ‘Let’s find a clear spot and build a fire.’

‘I won’t be too long,’ Silk said, turning his horse and riding off through the white trunks of the birches.

The rest of them rode on down the slope, the hooves of their horses rustling the deep-piled carpet of golden leaves. Several hundred yards into the forest, they reached a clearing on the banks of the brook they had heard when they had emerged from the cave. Polgara drew in her horse. ‘This should do,’ she decided. ‘Garion, why don’t you and Eriond gather some firewood? I think some bacon and toasted bread might be nice.’

‘Yes, Aunt Pol,’ he said automatically, swinging down from his saddle. Eriond joined him, and the two of them went back in among the white trees in search of fallen limbs.

‘It’s pleasant being back out in the sunlight again,’ Eriond said as he pulled a large branch out from under a fallen tree. ‘The caves are nice enough, I suppose, but I like to be able to look at the sky.’