no bigger than imps, and some were as big as houses. They were all
hideous, of course, but that was to be expected. The one thing they
all had in common was the fact that they steamed in the cold. They
come from a much hotter climate, you realize.
I waited. Then, when I judged that all but a few of the demons were
present, I began to gather in my Will. It was surprisingly easy, since
I was bent on creating an illusion rather than actually doing anything
in a physical sense. I didn’t speak the Word yet, though. I didn’t
want to spring my surprise on them until the last possible moment.
You have no idea of how hard it is to keep your Will buttoned in like
that. I could feel my hair rising as if it wanted to stand on end, and
I felt as if I were about to explode.
Then somewhere in that mob below us somebody blew a horn. I gather
that was supposed to be a signal of some kind. All the magicians began
barking commands, and the howling demons started toward us, the imps
skittering across the snow and the big ones lumbering up the hill like
burning garbage scows, melting down the snowdrifts as they came.
“Behold!” I thundered–augmenting my voice, I’ll admit–and I pointed
dramatically toward the south. I didn’t want the moon or the northern
lights lessening the impact of what I was going to do.
Then, posing like a charlatan in a country fair, I spoke the words that
released my Will in a voice they probably heard in Kell.
“Rise up!” I roared–and the sun came up.
Oh, come now. You know better than that. Nobody can order the sun
around. Don’t be so gullible.
It looked like the sun, though. It was a very good illusion, even if I
do say so myself.
The Morindim were thunderstruck, to say the very least. My clever
fakery quite literally bowled them over. Would you believe that a
sizable number of them actually fainted?
The demons faltered, and most of them sort of shimmered like heat waves
rising off hot rocks as they resumed their real forms. The shimmering
ones turned around and went back to eat the magicians who’d enslaved
them. That created a sort of generalized panic down in the valley. I
expect that some of those Morindim were still running a year later.
There were still eight or ten magicians who’d kept their grip on their
slaves though, and those fiery demons kept plowing up through the snow
toward me. I’ll admit that I’d desperately hoped that the panic my
imitation sun would cause would be universal. I didn’t want to have to
take the next step.
“I hope you’re right about this,” I muttered to the uninvited guest
inside my skull.
“Trust me.”
I hate it when people say that to me.
I didn’t bother to mutter. Nobody in his right mind would attempt to
duplicate what I was about to do. I spoke the incantation quite
precisely.
This wasn’t a good time for blunders. I was concentrating very hard,
and my illusion flickered and went out, leaving me with nothing but the
moon to work with.
There was another shimmering in the air, much too close to me for my
comfort–and this particular shimmering glowed a sooty red. Then it
congealed and became solid. I’d decided not to try to be exotic. Most
Morind magicians get very creative when they devise the shape into
which they plan to imprison their demon. I didn’t bother with
tentacles or scales or any of that nonsense. I chose to use a human
shape, and about all I did to modify the thing was to add horns. I
really concentrated on those horns, since my very life hung on them.
It was shaky there for a while. I hadn’t realized how big the thing
was going to be. It was a Demon Lord, though, and size is evidently an
indication of rank in the hierarchy of Hell.
It struggled against me, naturally, and icicles began to form up in my
beard as the sweat rolling down my face froze in the bitter cold.
“Stop it!”
I commanded the thing irritably.
“Just do what I tell you to do, and then I’ll let you go back to where
it’s warm.”
I can’t believe I said that!
Oddly, it might have saved my life, though. The Demon Lord was
steaming in the cold. You try jumping out of Hell into the middle of
an arctic winter and see how you like it. My Demon Lord was rapidly
turning blue, and his fangs were chattering.
“Go down there and run off those other demons coming up the hill,”
I commanded.
“You are Belgarath, aren’t you?” It was the most awful voice I’ve ever
heard. I was a bit surprised to discover that my reputation extended
even into Hell. That sort of thing could go to a man’s head.
“Yes,” I admitted modestly.
“Tell your Master that my Master is not pleased with what you are
doing.”
“I’ll pass that along. Now get cracking before your horns freeze
off.”
I can’t be entirely sure what it was that turned the trick. It might
have been the cold, or it might have been that the King of Hell had
ordered the Demon Lord to go along with me so that I could carry his
message back to Aldur. Maybe the presence of the Necessity intimidated
the thing. Or perhaps I was strong enough to control that huge
beast–though that seems unlikely. For whatever reason, however, the
Demon Lord drew himself up to his full height–which was really
high–and bellowed something absolutely incomprehensible. The other
demons vanished immediately, and the magicians who had raised them all
collapsed, convulsing in the snow in the throes of assorted seizures.
“Nicely done,” I complimented the Demon Lord.
“You can go home now. Sleep warm.” As I’ve tried so many times to
explain to Garion, these things have to be done with a certain style. I
learned that from Belmakor.
Cherek and his sons had been standing some distance away, and after I’d
dismissed the Demon Lord, they began to increase that distance.
“Oh, stop that!” I snapped at them.
“Come back here.”
They seemed very reluctant, and a great deal of white was showing in
their eyes, but they approached me apprehensively.
“I’ve got something to attend to,” I told them.
“Keep going east. I’ll catch up with you.”
“Ah–what have you got in mind?” Cherek asked in an awed sort of
voice.
“Riva had it right,” I explained.
“This little gathering was totally out of character for the Morindim.
Somebody’s out there playing games. I’m going to go find out who he is
and tell him to stop. East is that way.” I pointed toward the newly
risen moon.
“How long do you think it’s going to take?” Riva asked me.
“I have no idea. Just keep going.” Then I changed back into my
wolf-shape and loped off toward the south. I’d been getting, well, a
prickling sensation for several days, and it seemed to come from that
general direction.
Once I got out of the range of the thoughts of my Alorns and the
confused babble of the still-convulsing Morind magicians, I stopped and
very carefully pushed out a searching thought.
The sense that came back to me was very familiar. It should have been:
it was Belzedar.
I immediately pulled my thought back in. What was he doing? Evidently
he’d been following us, but why? Was he coming along to lend a hand?
If that was what he had in mind, why didn’t he just catch up and join
us? Why all this sneaking through the snow?
I hadn’t really understood Belzedar since the day Torak stole the Orb.
He’d grown more and more distant and increasingly secretive. I could
have simply sent my voice to him and invited him to join us, but for
some reason I didn’t. I wanted to see what he was doing first. I’m
not normally a suspicious man, but Belzedar had been acting strangely
for about two thousand years, and I decided that I’d better find out
why before I let him know that I was aware of his presence.
I had his general location pinpointed, and as I loped higher up into
the mountains of the north range, I periodically sent my thought out in
short, searching little spurts.
Try to remember that. When you go looking for somebody with your mind,
and you stay in contact with him for too long, he’ll know you’re there.
The trick is just to brush him. Don’t give him time to realize that
somebody’s looking for him. It takes a lot of practice, but if you
work on it, you’ll get it down pat.
I was narrowing it down when I saw the fire. Of all the idiotic
things! Here he was, trying to sneak along behind me and he goes and