To the sophisticated Melcenes, the worship of Torak remained largely superficial. They accepted the forms out of expediency, but the Grolims were never able to command the abject submission to the Dragon God that had characterized the Angaraks.
Then in 4850, Torak suddenly emerged from his eons of seclusion to appear before the gates of Mal Zeth.
Wearing a steel mask to conceal his maimed face, he set aside the Emperor and declared himself Kal Torak, King and God. He immediately began mustering an enormous force to crush the Kingdoms of the West and bring all the world under his domination.
The mobilization that followed virtually stripped Mallorea of able‑bodied males. The Angaraks and Karands were marched north to the land bridge, crossing to northernmost Gar og Nadrak, and the Dalasians and Melcenes moved to where fleets had been constructed to ferry them across the Sea of the East to southern Cthol Murgos. The northern Malloreans joined with the Nadraks, Thulls, and northern Murgos to strike toward the Kingdoms of Drasnia and Algaria. The second group of Malloreans joined with the southern Murgos and were to march northwesterly. Torak meant to crush the West between the two huge armies.
The southern forces, however, were caught in a freak storm that swept off the Western Sea in the spring of 4875 and that buried them alive in the worst blizzard of recorded history. When it finally abated, the column was mired in fourteen‑foot snowdrifts that persisted until early summer. No theory has yet been able to explain this storm, which was clearly not of natural origin. Whatever the cause, the southern army perished. The few survivors who struggled back to the East told tales of horror that were truly unthinkable.
The northern force was also beset by various disasters, but eventually laid siege to Vo Mimbre, where they were completely routed by the combined armies of the West.
And there Torak was struck down by the power of Cthrag Yaska (there called the Orb of Aldur) and lay in a coma that was to last centuries, though his body was rescued and taken to a secret hiding place by his disciple Zedar.
In the years following these catastrophes, Mallorean society began to fracture back into its original components of Melcene, Karanda, Dalasia, and the lands of the Angaraks. The Empire was saved only by the emergence of Korzeth as Emperor.
Korzeth was only fourteen when he seized the throne from his aged father. Deceived by his youth, the separatist regions began to declare independence of the imperial throne. Korzeth moved decisively to stem the revolution. He spent the rest of his life on horseback in one of the greatest bloodbaths of history, but when he was done, he delivered a strong and united Mallorea to his successors. Henceforth, the descendants of Korzeth ruled in total and unquestioned power from Mal Zeth.
This continued until the present Emperor, Zakath, ascended the throne. For a time, he gave promise of being an enlightened ruler of Mallorea and the western kingdoms of the Angaraks. But soon there were signs of trouble.
The Murgos were ruled by Taur Urgas, and it was evident that he was both mad and unscrupulously ambitious. He instigated some plot against the young Emperor. It has never been established clearly what form his scheming took. But Zakath discovered that Taur Urgas was behind it and vowed vengeance. This took the form of a bitter war in which Zakath began a campaign to destroy the mad ruler utterly.
It was in the middle of this struggle that the West struck. While the Kings of the West sent an army against the East, Belgarion, the young Overlord of the West and descendant of Belgarath the Sorcerer, advanced on foot across the north and across the land bridge into Mallorea. He was accompanied by Belgarath and a Drasnian and he bore the ancient Sword of Riva, on the pommel of which was Cthrag Yaska, the Orb of Aldur. His purpose was to slay Torak, apparently in response to some prophecy known in the West.
Torak had been emerging from his long coma in the ruins of his ancient city of Cthol Mishrak. Now he roused himself to meet the challenger. But in the confrontation, Belgarion overcame the God and slew him with the Sword, leaving the priesthood of Mallorea in chaos and confusion.
PART ONE – RAK HAGGA
CHAPTER ONE
The first snow of the season settled white and quiet through the breathless air onto the decks of their ship. It was a wet snow with large, heavy flakes that piled up on the lines and rigging, turning the tarred ropes into thick, white cables. The sea was black, and the swells rose and fell without sound. From the stem came the slow, measured beat of a muffled drum that set the stroke for the Mallorean oarsmen. The sifting flakes settled on the shoulders of the sailors and in the folds of their scarlet cloaks as they pulled steadily through the snowy morning. Their breath steamed in the chill dampness as they bent and straightened in unison to the beat of the drum.
Garion and Silk stood at the rail with their cloaks pulled tightly around them, staring somberly out through the filmy snowfall.
“Miserable morning,” the rat‑faced little Drasnian noted, distastefully brushing snow from his shoulders.
Garion grunted sourly.
“You’re in a cheerful humor today.”
“I don’t really have all that much to smile about, Silk.” Garion went back to glowering out at the gloomy black‑and‑white morning.
Belgarath the Sorcerer came out of the aft cabin, squinted up into the thickly settling snow, and raised the hood of his stout old cloak. Then he came forward along the slippery deck to join them at the rail.
Silk glanced at the red‑cloaked Mallorean soldier who had unobtrusively come up on deck behind the old man and who now stood leaning with some show of idleness on the rail several yards aft. “I see that General Atesca is still concerned about your well‑being,” he said, pointing at the man who had dogged Belgarath’s steps since they had sailed out of the harbor at Rak Verkat.
Belgarath threw a quick disgusted glance in the soldier’s direction. “Stupidity,” he said shortly. “Where does he think I’m going?”
A sudden thought came to Garion. He leaned forward and spoke very quietly. “You know,” he said, “we could go someplace, at that. We’ve got a ship here, and a ship goes wherever you point it ‑Mallorea just as easily as the coast of Hagga.”
“It’s an interesting notion, Belgarath,” Silk agreed.
“There are four of us, Grandfather,” Garion pointed out. “You, me, Aunt Pol, and Durnik. I’m sure we wouldn’t have much difficulty in taking over this ship. Then we could change course and be halfway to Mallorea before Kal Zakath realized that we weren’t coming to Rak Hagga after all.” The more he thought about it, the more the idea excited him. “Then we could sail north along the Mallorean coast and anchor in a cove or inlet someplace on the shore of Camat. We’d only be a week or so from Ashaba. We might even be able to get there before Zandramas does.” A bleak smile touched his lips. “I’d sort of like to be waiting for her when she gets there.”
“It’s got some definite possibilities, Belgarath,” Silk said. “Could you do it?”
Belgarath scratched thoughtfully at his beard, squinting out into the sifting snow. “It’s possible,” he admitted. He looked at Garion. “But what do you think we ought to do with all these Mallorean soldiers and the ship’s crew, once we get to the coast of Camat? You weren’t planning to sink the ship and drown them all, were you, the way Zandramas does when she’s finished using people?”
“Of course not!”
“I’m glad to hear that ‑but then how did you plan to keep them from running to the nearest garrison just as soon as we leave them behind? I don’t know about you, but the idea of having a regiment or so of Mallorean troops hot on our heels doesn’t excite me all that much.”
Garion frowned. “I guess I hadn’t thought about that,” he admitted.
“I didn’t think you had. It’s usually best to work your way completely through an idea before you put it into action. It avoids a great deal of spur‑of‑the‑moment patching later on.”
“ All right,” Garion said, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“I know you’re impatient, Garion, but impatience is a poor substitute for a well‑considered plan.”
“Do you mind, Grandfather?” Garion said acidly.
“Besides, it might just be that we’re supposed to go to Rak Hagga and meet with Kal Zakath. Why would Cyradis turn us over to the Malloreans, after she went to all the trouble of putting The Book of Ages into my hands? There’s something else going on here, and I’m not sure we want to disrupt things until we find out a little more about them.”