will meet thee–man against God–and I shall prevail against thee.
Before thee I cast my gage. Take it up or stand exposed as craven
before men and Gods!”
Now that got Torak’s immediate attention. He’d armed himself before he
had emerged from that silly iron castle, and he was wearing that same
archaic armor he’d worn during the War of the Gods. His huge shield
was strapped to his maimed left arm, his high-plumed and visored helmet
covered the polished mask that hid his ruined face, and he had that
black sword he called Cthrek Goru clenched in his right fist. Brand’s
insulting challenge enraged him, and he shattered a dozen or so large
boulders with the sword before he got control of himself. The Angaraks
in his immediate vicinity pulled back several hundred yards, and Zedar
bolted like a rabbit.
“Who among mortal kind is so foolish as to thus defy the King of the
World?” Torak roared.
“Who among ye would contend with a God?”
You have to admire the cunning of the Necessity that spoke through
Brand’s lips. Torak had been very reluctant to meet Brand in single
combat, but his rage overcame his better judgment. Torak, always the
sublime egomaniac, absolutely had to respond to those insults.
“I am Brand, Warder of Riva,” the Child of Light replied, “and I defy
thee, foul and misshapen Godling, and all thy putrid host. Bring forth
thy might. Take up my gage or slink away and come no more against the
Kingdoms of the West.”
That was really pushing things. Torak was still a God, and prohibition
or no prohibition, that particular speech might very well have pushed
him over the edge. I had a momentary vision of a repetition of the
cracking of the world at that point. He didn’t do it again, however,
but he did bash a few more boulders with his sword.
“Behold!” he roared in a voice that probably broke windows in Tol
Honeth
“I am Torak, King of Kings and Lord of Lords! I fear no man of mortal
kind nor the dim shades of long-forgotten Gods! I will come forth and
destroy this loud-voiced Rivan fool, and mine enemies shall fall away
before my wrath, and Cthrag Yaska shall be mine again and the world,
also!”
In spite of everything that had warned him against it, he had accepted
Brand’s challenge.
The exchange between the two of them had caused a vast silence to fall
over the battlefield. Many soldiers, both mine and Zedar’s, seemed
paralyzed by the sheer sound of those two thundering voices. The
fighting stopped, and the only sounds were the groans of the wounded
and the dying. The challenge and its acceptance laid the full burden
of the Battle of Vo Mimbre on Brand’s shoulders–and on Torak’s.
Torak strode north, and his Malloreans melted out of his path as he
came. Brand, equally implacable, marched south to meet him. I went
wolf, and I trotted along at his side. There was also a snowy owl
drifting above him.
Brand was a big man with heavy shoulders and powerful arms. In many
ways he closely resembled Dras Bull-neck, though he wasn’t quite as
tall. His shield was strapped to his left arm, and he’d taken some
pains to rivet a grey Rivan cloak to the face of it to conceal my
Master’s Orb.
The sword he was carrying wasn’t quite as large as Iron-grip’s sword,
but it was large enough that I wouldn’t have wanted to swing it.
Torak was wearing that antique black armor, and he was brandishing
Cthrek Goru as he came. The agreement between the Necessities kept him
from swelling into immensity as he did at Cthol Mishrak when he met
Garion, but he was every bit as big as Brand. So far as I could tell,
the two of them were evenly matched. Since neither of them had any
particular advantage–either in size or weaponry–this promised to be a
very interesting duel.
They advanced on each other until they were about twenty yards apart,
and then they both stopped, evidently acting on instructions. Brand
spoke once more at that point.
“I am Brand, Warder of Riva,” he introduced himself in a civil tone of
voice.
“I am he who will contend with thee, Torak. Beware of me, for the
spirits of Belar and Aldur are with me.
I alone stand between thee and the Orb for which thou hast brought war
into the West.”
Torak didn’t answer him, but spoke to me instead.
“Begone, Belgarath,”
he told me.
“Flee if thou wouldst save thy life. It occurs that I may soon have
the leisure to give thee that instruction I so long ago promised thee,
and I doubt that even thou wouldst survive my instruction.”
I’ve never been sure why he bothered with that. He should have known
what my answer would be. I bared my teeth and snarled at him.
Then he spoke to the owl hovering in the air over Brand’s head.
“Abjure thy father, Polgara, and come with me,” he said in an oddly
wheedling tone of voice.
“I will wed thee,” he continued, “and make thee Queen of all the world,
and thy might and thy power shall be second only to mine.”
That marriage proposal has given Polgara nightmares for five centuries
now. It also seriously confused the Grolims; they’ve stepped rather
carefully around Pol ever since. They did not want to offend the
chosen bride of Torak. I suspect that he’d gotten the idea from the
Ashabine Oracles, and it was probably that same passage that had given
Zedar the idea for his cruel deception of Illessa.
The scream of an owl is usually just a scream, but Pol managed to fill
the one she threw into Torak’s teeth with all sorts of defiance and
scorn to let him know just what she thought of his proposal of
marriage.
“Prepare then to perish all,” Torak roared at us, rushing forward with
his black sword upraised.
That made me a little nervous. I’d just seen him shatter a number of
large boulders with that sword.
Brand didn’t even change his expression when he raised the shield to
ward off that massive blow.
If you’ve ever seen a fight between a couple of men armed with
broadswords and shields, you know how badly the shields get dented and
gashed. Brand’s shield, however, showed no visible effects as Cthrek
Goru bounced harmlessly off its face. Torak’s huge blow didn’t even
cut through the grey cloth that covered the shield. My Master’s Orb
was clearly taking steps.
Torak’s shield, however, didn’t seem to be quite so impervious, because
Brand’s return blow sliced deep into its rim.
Torak struck again, and his second blow had no more effect than the
first.
Then it was Brand’s turn, and his stroke left a deep dent in the face
of Torak’s shield.
That went on for quite a while. They banged at each other with those
huge broadswords, raising a dreadful amount of noise and spraying
sparks in all directions every time their sword-edges met. They reeled
back and forth, struggling to keep their balance on the uneven
ground.
Brand still seemed to be in the grip of that unnatural calmness, but
Torak grew increasingly enraged. He bellowed at the grave-faced Rivan
facing him, and his sword-strokes came faster and faster. Despite the
huge weight of Cthrek Goru, Torak was swinging it almost as rapidly as
an Algar horseman might swing a saber. The sheer fury of his attack
was driving Brand backward.
Then, with a stroke that changed direction in mid-swing, Torak gashed
open Brand’s left shoulder.
“Well, finally!” that familiar voice said.
“I thought they were going to be at it all day. Go ahead and give the
signal, Belgarath. Let’s finish this right now.”
I did it without even thinking. I didn’t have to think. The
instructions had been floating around in my head for almost three
thousand years. I dropped to my haunches, lifted my muzzle, and
howled. And, at exactly the same instant, the white owl screamed a
piercingly shrill scream.
Brand jumped back and scraped the edge of his sword down over the face
of his shield, ripping off the grey cloth that had covered it.
Kal Torak flinched back violently as my Master’s Orb blazed forth its
baleful blue fire. The smoldering fire that always glowed behind the
left eye-slit of his steel mask suddenly blazed forth like a small
sun.
He screamed, and Cthrek Goru fell out of his violently trembling hand.
He shook away his shield and tried to clutch at his face. His right
hand covered his right eye, but he had no left hand to cover the
other.
Then Brand struck the final blow of their duel, and it was not an
overhand stroke. It was a thrust. He seized his sword hilt in both
hands and lunged forward, and his thrust wasn’t aimed at Torak’s chest