Then he flexed the arm that was holding him in place, tossing himself high over the bench. When his feet touched the floor, however, it was no longer Feldegast the juggler who stood there. In place of the roguish entertainer stood the gnarled, hunchbacked shape of the sorcerer Beldin. With a sudden evil laugh, he began to hurt his fireballs at the startled Grolims and their warriors.
His aim was unerring, and the deadly fireballs pierced Grolim robes, Guardsmen’s mail coats, and Karandese fur vests with equal facility. Smoking holes appeared in the chests of his victims, and he felled them by the dozen. The throne room filled with smoke and the reek of burning flesh as the grinning, ugly little sorcerer continued his deadly barrage.
“You!” Urvon shrieked in terror, the sudden appearance of the man he had feared for so many thousands of years shocking him into some semblance of sanity, even as the terrified Chandim and their cohorts broke and fled, howling in tight.
“So good to see you again, Urvon,” the hunchback said to him pleasantly. “Our conversation was interrupted the last time we were talking, but as I recall, I’d just promised to sink a white‑hot hook into your belly and yank out all your guts.” He held out his gnarled right hand, snapped his fingers, and there was a sudden flash. A cruel hook, smoking and glowing, appeared in his fist. “Why don’t we continue with that line of thought?” he suggested, advancing on the splotchy‑faced man cowering on the throne.
Then the shadow which had lurked behind the madman’s shoulder came out from behind the throne.
“Stop,” it said in a voice that was no more than a crackling whisper. No human throat could have produced that sound. “I need this thing,” it said, pointing a shadowy hand in the direction of the gibbering Disciple of Torak. “It serves my purposes, and I will not let you kill it.”
“You would be Nahaz, then,” Beldin said in an ominous voice.
“I am,” the figure whispered. “Nahaz, Lord of Demons and Master of Darkness.”
“Go find yourself another plaything, Demon Lord,” the hunchback grated. “This one is mine.”
“Will you pit your will against mine, sorcerer?”
“If need be.”
“Look upon my face, then, and prepare for death.” The demon pushed back its hood of darkness, and Garion recoiled with a sharp intake of his breath. The face of Nahaz was hideous, but it was not the misshapen features alone which were so terrifying. There emanated from its burning eyes a malevolent evil so gross that it froze the blood. Brighter and brighter those eyes burned with evil green fire until their beams shot forth toward Beldin. The gnarled sorcerer clenched himself and raised one hand. The hand suddenly glowed an intense blue, a light that seemed to cascade down over his body to form a shield against the demon’s power.
“Your will is strong,” Nahaz hissed. “But mine is stronger.”
Then Polgara came down the littered aisle, the white lock at her brow gleaming. On one side of her strode Belgarath and on the other Durnik. As they reached him, Garion joined them. They advanced slowly to take up positions flanking Beldin, and Garion became aware that Eriond had also joined them, standing slightly off to one side.
“Well, Demon,” Polgara said in a deadly voice, “will you face us all?”
Garion raised his sword and unleashed its fire. “And this as well?” he added, releasing all restraints on the Orb.
The Demon flinched momentarily, then drew itself erect again, its horrid face bathed in that awful green fire. From beneath its robe of shadow, it took what appeared to be a scepter or a wand of some kind that blazed an intense green. As it raised that wand, however, it seemed to see something that had previously escaped its notice. An expression of sudden fear crossed its hideous face, and the fire of the wand died, even as the intense green light bathing its face flickered and grew wan and weak. Then it raised its face toward the vaulted ceiling and howled -a dreadful, shocking sound. It spun quickly, moving toward the terrified Urvon. It reached out with shadowy hands, seized the gold‑robed madman, and lifted him easily from the throne. Then it fled, its fire pushing out before it like a great battering ram, blasting out the walls of the House of Torak as it went.
The crown which had surmounted Urvon’s brow fell from his head as Nahaz carried him from the crumbling house, and it clanked when it hit the floor with the tinny sound of brass.
PART FOUR – THE MOUNTAINS OF ZAMAD
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Beldin spat out a rancid oath and hurled his glowing hook at the throne. Then he started toward the smoking hole the fleeing demon had blasted out through the wall of the throne room.
Belgarath, however, managed to place himself in front of the angry hunchback. “No, Beldin,” he said firmly.
“Get out of my way, Belgarath.”
“I’m not going to let you chase after a demon who could turn on you at any minute.”
“I can take care of myself. Now stand aside.”
“You’re not thinking, Beldin. There’ll be time enough to deal with Urvon later. Right now we need to make some decisions.”
“What’s to decide? You go after Zandramas and I go after Urvon. It’s all pretty much cut and dried, isn’t it?”
“Not entirely. In any event, I’m not going to let you chase after Nahaz in the dark. You know as well as I do that the darkness multiplies his power ‑and I haven’t got so many brothers left that I can afford to lose one just because he’s irritated.”
Their eyes locked, and the ugly hunchback finally turned away. He stumped back toward the dais, pausing long enough to kick a chair to pieces on his way, muttering curses all the while.
“Is everyone all right?” Silk asked, looking around as he re-sheathed his knife.
“So it would seem,” Polgara replied, pushing back the hood of her blue cloak.
“It was a bit tight there for a while, wasn’t it?” The little man’s eyes were very bright.
“Also unnecessary,” she said, giving Garion a hard look. “You’d better take a quick look through the rest of the house, Kheldar. Let’s make sure that it’s really empty. Durnik, you and Toth go with him.”
Silk nodded and started back up the blood‑splashed aisle, stepping over bodies as he went, with Durnik and Toth close behind him.
“I don’t understand,” Ce’Nedra said, staring in bafflement at the gnarled Beldin, who was once again dressed in rags and had the usual twigs and bits of straw clinging to him. “How did you change places with Feldegast -and where is he?”
A roguish smile crossed Beldin’s face. “Ah, me little darlin’,” he said to her in the juggler’s lilting brogue, “I’m right here, don’t y’ know. An’ if yer of a mind, I kin still charm ye with me wit an’ me unearthly skill.”
“But I liked Feldegast,” she almost wailed.
“All ye have t’ do is transfer yer affection t’ me, darlin’.”
“It’s not the same,” she objected.
Belgarath was looking steadily at the twisted sorcerer. “Have you got any idea of how much that particular dialect irritates me?” he said.
“Why, yes, brother.” Beldin grinned. “As a matter of fact I do. That’s one of the reasons I selected it.”
“I don’t entirely understand the need for so elaborate a disguise,” Sadi said as he put away his small poisoned dagger.
“Too many people know me by sight in this part of Mallore,” Beldin told him. “Urvon’s had my description posted on every tree and fence post within a hundred leagues of Mal Yaska for the last two thousand years, and let’s be honest about it, it wouldn’t be too hard to recognize me from even the roughest description.”
“You are a unique sort of person, Uncle,” Polgara said to him, smiling fondly.
“Ah, yer too kind t’ say it, me girl,” he replied with an extravagant bow.
“Will you stop that?” Belgarath said. Then he turned to Garion. “As I remember, you said that you were going to explain something later. All right ‑it’s later.”
“I was tricked,” Garion admitted glumly.
“By whom?”
“’Zandramas”
“She’s still here?” Ce’Nedra exclaimed.
Garion shook his head. “No. She sent a projection here ‑a projection of herself and of Geran.”
“Couldn’t you tell the difference between a projection and the real thing?” Belgarath demanded.
“I wasn’t in any condition to tell the difference when it happened.”
“I suppose you can explain that.”
Garion took a deep breath and sat down on one of the benches. He noticed that his bloodstained hands were shaking. “She’s very clever,” he said. “Ever since we left Mal Zeth, I’ve been having the same dream over and over again.”
“Dream?” Polgara asked sharply. “What kind of dream?’
“Maybe dream isn’t the right word,” he replied, “but over and over again, I kept hearing the cry of a baby. At first I thought that I was remembering the cry of that sick child we saw in the streets back in Mal Zeth, but that wasn’t it at all. When Silk and Beldin and I were in that room just above this one, we could see down into the throne room here and we saw Urvon come in with Nahaz right behind him. He’s completely insane now. He think’s he’s a God. Anyway, he summoned Mengha ‑only Mengha turned out to be Harakan, and then‑“