days, he’d have simply stamped Mal Zeth into a mud puddle and let it go
at that, but now he’s got his mind on other things. He stole the Orb,
but he can’t do anything with it. The frustration’s making him more
than a little crazy. He winnowed through Mal Zeth and Mal Yaska, took
the most fanatic of his worshipers, and went to the Far Northeast
coast–up near the lands of the Karands. When they got there, he
ordered his followers to build him a tower–out of iron.”
“Iron?” I said incredulously.
“An iron tower wouldn’t last ten years.
It would start to rust before you even got it put together.”
“He ordered it not to, I guess. Torak’s fond of iron for some
reason.
Maybe he got the idea from that iron box he keeps the Orb in. I think
he’s got some strange notion that if he piles enough iron around the
Orb, he can weaken it to the point that he can control it.”
“That’s pure nonsense!”
“Don’t blame me. It’s Torak’s idea, not mine. The people he took with
him built a city up there, and Torak covered it with clouds–gloomiest
place you ever saw. The Angaraks call it Cthol Mishrak–the City of
Endless Night. Torak’s not nearly as pretty as he used to be–not with
half of his face gone–so maybe he’s trying to hide. Ugly people do
that sometimes. I was born ugly, so I’m used to it. That’s pretty
much it, Belgarath. The Angaraks have three cities now, Cthol Mishrak,
Mal Yaska, and Mal Zeth, and they’re going in three different
directions.
Torak’s so busy trying to subdue the Orb that he’s not paying any
attention to what’s going on in Mal Zeth and Mal Yaska. Angarak
society’s disintegrating, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of
people. Oh, one other thing. Evidently Torak was quite impressed with
us. He’s decided to take disciples of his own.”
“Oh? How many?”
“Three so far. There may be more later on. I guess the war taught
Torak that disciples are useful people to have around. Before the war,
he wasn’t interested in sharing power, but that seems to have changed.
Did you know that an ordinary priest is powerless once he gets past the
boundaries of his own country?”
“I don’t quite follow you.”
“The Gods aren’t above a little cheating now and then. They’ve each
invested their priests with certain limited powers. It helps to keep
the faithful in line. An ordinary Grolim–or one of the priests of
Nedra or Chaldan, and Salmissra certainly–has some ability to do the
kinds of things we do. Once they leave the region occupied by the
worshipers of their own God, though, that ability goes out the window.
A disciple, on the other hand, carries it with him wherever he goes.
That’s the reason we could do things at Korim. Torak saw the value of
that and started gathering disciples of his own.”
“Any idea of who they are?”
“Two of them used to be Grolims–Urvon and Ctuchik. I couldn’t find
anything out about the third one.”
“Where was Belzedar during all of this?”
“I haven’t got the slightest idea. After we flew in and went back to
our own shapes, he gave me a few lame excuses about wanting to survey
the whole continent and then went off toward the East. I haven’t seen
him since then. I have no idea of what he’s been doing. I’ll tell you
one thing, though.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Something’s definitely gnawing on his bowels. He couldn’t wait to get
away from me.”
“You have that effect on some people, my brother.”
“Very funny, Belgarath. Very funny. How much beer have you got
left?”
“Just what’s in the keg. You’ve been hitting it fairly hard.”
“I’ve managed to build up a thirst. Have you ever tasted Angarak
beer?”
“Not that I recall, no.”
“Try to avoid it if you can. Oh, well, if we run out here, we can
always go pay a call on the twins, I suppose.” And he belched, rose,
and lurched back to the beer keg again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He came in from the west, and at -first we thought he was a blind man
because he had a strip of cloth covering his eyes. I could tell by his
clothes that he was an Ulgo. I’d seen those hooded leather smocks in
Prolgu. I was a little surprised to see him, since as far as I knew,
the Ulgos had been exterminated. I went out to greet him in his own
language.
“Yad ho, groja UL,” I said.
“Vad mar is hum
He winced.
“That is not necessary,” he told me in normal speech.
“The Gorim has taught me your tongue.”
“That’s fortunate,” I replied a bit ruefully.
“I don’t speak Ulgo very well.”
“Yes,” he said with a slight smile,
“I noticed that. You would be Belgarath.”
“It wasn’t entirely my idea. Are you having trouble with your eyes?”
“The light hurts them.”
I looked up at the cloudy sky.
“It’s not really all that bright today.”
“Not to you, perhaps,” he said.
“To me it is blinding. Can you take me to your Master? I have some
information for him from Holy Gorim.”
“Of course,” I agreed quickly. Maybe now we’d find out what was really
going on in Ulgoland.
“It’s this way,” I told him, pointing at the Master’s tower. I did it
automatically, I suppose. He probably couldn’t see the gesture with
his eyes covered. Then again, maybe he could; he seemed to have no
trouble following me.
Belsambar was with our Master. Our mystic Angarak brother had grown
increasingly despondent in the years since the cracking of the world.
I’d tried to raise his spirits from time to time without much success,
and I’d finally suggested to our Master that perhaps it might be a good
idea if he were to try cheering Belsambar up.
Aldur greeted the Ulgo courteously.
“Yad ho, groja UL.” His accent was much better than mine.
“Yad, ho, groja UL,” the Ulgo responded.
“I have news from Gorim of Holy UL.”
“I hunger for the words of your Gorim,” Aldur replied. Ulgos tend to
be a stiff and formal people, and Aldur knew all the correct
responses.
“How fares it with my father’s servants?”
“Not well, Divine Aldur. A catastrophe has befallen us. The wounding
of the earth maddened the monsters with whom we had lived in peace
since the first Gorim led us to Prolgu.”
“So that’s what it was all about!” I exclaimed.
He gave me a slightly puzzled look.
“I went through Holy Ulgo a few years back, and the Hrulgin and
Algroths were trying to hunt me down. Prolgu was deserted, and the
she-dragon was sort of hovering over it. What happened, friend?”
He shrugged.
“I didn’t see it personally,” he replied.
“It was before my time, but I’ve spoken with our elders, and they told
me that the wounding of the earth shook the very mountains around us.
At first they thought that it was no more than an ordinary earthquake,
but Holy UL spoke with the old Gorim and told him of what had happened
at Korim.
It was not long after that that the monsters attacked the people of
Ulgo.
The old Gorim was slain by an Eldrak–a fearsome creature.”
Aldur sighed.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“My brothers and I erred when we made the Eldrakyn. I sorrow for the
death of your Gorim.” It was a polite thing to say, but I don’t think
my Master had been any fonder of the previous Gorim than I’d been.
“I didn’t know him, Divine One,” the Ulgo admitted with a slight
shrug.
“Our elders have told me that the earth had not yet finished her
trembling when the monsters fell on us. Even the Dryads turned
savage.
The people of Ulgo retreated to Prolgu, thinking that the monsters
would fear the holy place, but it was not so. They pursued the people
even there.
Then it was that UL revealed the caverns to us.”
“The caverns,” Aldur mused.
“Of course. Long have I wondered at the import of those caverns
beneath Prolgu. Now it is clear to me. I have also wondered why I
could not reach my father’s mind when Belgarath told me of his strange
adventures in the mountains of Ulgo. I was misdirecting my thought if
he is in the caverns with thy people. I marvel at his wisdom. Are the
servants of UL safe in those caves?” “Completely, Divine One. Holy UL
placed an enchantment upon the caves, and the monsters feared to follow
us there. We have lived in those caverns since the earth was
wounded.”
“Your brother’s curse reaches very far, Master,” Belsambar said
somberly.
“Even the pious people of Ulgo have felt its sting.”
Aldur’s face grew stern.
“It is even as thou hast said, my son,” he agreed.
“My brother Torak hath much to answer for.”