“What would be thine estimate of the hour, Goodman?” Cyradis asked Durnik.
The smith went to the window and looked up at the stars. “I make it about an hour before midnight,” he replied.
“Go then now, Belgarion and Zakath. Use all the powers of persuasion at your command. It is absolutely essential that the king be in that chapel at midnight.”
“We’ll bring him, Holy Seeress,” Zakath promised her.
“Even if we have to drag him,” Garion added.
“I wish I knew what she was up to,” Zakath said as he and Garion walked down the hall outside. “It might make the king a bit easier to persuade if we could tell him what to expect.”
“It might also make him skeptical,” Garion disagreed. “I think Cyradis is planning something fairly exotic, and some people have difficulty accepting that sort of thing.”
“Oh, my, yes.” Zakath grinned.
“His Majesty does not wish to be disturbed,” one of the guards at the king’s door said when they asked admission.
“Tell him, please, that it is a matter of extremes! urgency,” Garion said.
“I’ll try, Sir Knight,” the guard said dubiously, “but he is much distraught at the death of his friend.”
The guard returned a few moments later. “His Majesty consents to see thee and thy companion, Sir Knight, but prithee, be brief. His suffering is extreme.”
“Of course,” Garion murmured.
The king’s private chambers were ornate. The king himself sat in a deeply cushioned chair reading a slender volume by the light of a single candle. His face looked ravaged, and there were signs that he had been weeping. He held up the book after they had presented themselves to him. “A volume of consolation,” he said. “It doth not offer much of that to me, however. How may I serve ye, Sir Knights?”
“We have come in part to offer thee our condolences, your Majesty,” Garion began carefully. “Know that first grief is always sharpest. The passage of time will dull thy pain.”
‘ ‘But never banish it entirely, Sir Knight.”
“Undoubtedly true, your Majesty. What we have come to ask of thee may seem cruel in the light of present circumstances, and we would not presume to intrude upon thee were the matter not of such supreme urgency—not to us so much as it is to thee.”
“Say on, Sir Knight,” the king said, a fault interest showing in his eyes.
“There are certain truths which must be revealed unto thee this very night, your Majesty,” Garion went on, “and they can be revealed only in the presence of thy late friend.”
“Unthinkable, Sir Knight,” the king said adamantly.
“We are assured by the one who will reveal these truths that they may in some measure assuage thy sorrow. Erezel was thy dearest friend, and he would not have thee suffer needlessly.”
“Truly,” the king conceded. “He was a man with a great
“I’m sure,” Garion said.
“There is perhaps another, more personal reason for thee to
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visit the chapel where Master Erezel lies in state, your Majesty,” Zakath added. “His funeral will be held, we are told, tomorrow. The ceremony will be attended by most of thy court. This night provides thee thy last opportunity to, visit with him privately and to fix his well-loved features in thy memory. My friend and I will guard the chapel door to insure that thy communion with him and with his spirit shall be undisturbed.”
The king considered that. “It may be even as thou sayest, Sir Knight,” he conceded. “Though it may wring my heart, I would indeed look upon his face one last time. Very well, then, let us repair to the chapel.” He rose and led them from the chamber.
The chapel of Chamdar, the Arendish God, was dimly lighted by a lone candle standing on the bier at the body’s head. A gold-colored cloth covered the immobile form of Naradas to the chest, and his face was calm, even serene. Knowing what he did of the Grolim’s career, Garion found that apparent serenity a rriockery.
‘ ‘We will guard the chapel door, your Majesty,” Zakath said, “and leave thee alone with thy friend.” He and Garion stepped back out into the corridor and closed the door.
“You were very smooth back there,” Garion told his friend.
“You weren’t so bad yourself, but smooth or rough, at least we got him here.”
They stood at the door awaiting Cyradis and the others. After about a quarter of an hour, they arrived.
“Is he in there?” Belgarath asked Garion.
“Yes. We had to do a bit of fast talking, but he finally agreed.”
Standing beside Cyradis was a figure robed and hooded in black. It appeared to be a woman, a Dal most likely, but it was the first time Garion had ever seen one of that race clad in any color but white. “This is the one who will aid us,” the Seeress said. “Let us go in unto the king, for the hour is nigh.”
Garion opened the door, and they filed in.
The king looked up in some surprise.
“Be not dismayed, King of Perivor,” Cyradis said to him,, “for, as thy champions have told thee, we have come to reveal truths to thee, truths which will lessen thy sorrow.”
“I am grateful for thine efforts, Lady,” the king replied, “but that is scarce possible. My sorrow may neither be lessened nor banished. Here lieth my dearest friend, and my heart lieth on that coki bier with him.”
“Thine heritage is in part Dal, your Majesty,” she said to him, “so thou art aware that many of us possess certain gifts. There are things the one you called Erezel did not tell thee ere
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he died. I have summoned one who will question him ere his spirit doth sink into the darkness.”
“A necromancer? Truly? I have heard of such, but have never seen the art practiced.”
“Knowest thou that one with such gifts cannot misspeak what the spirits reveal?”
“I understand so, yes.”
“I assure thee that it is true. Let us then probe the mind of this Erezel, and see what truths he will reveal to us.”
The dark-robed and hooded necromancer stepped to the bier and laid her pale, slender hands on Naradas’ chest,
Cyradis began posing the questions. “Who art thou?” she asked.
“My name was Naradas,” the figure in black replied in a halting, hollow voice. “1 was Grolim Archpriest of the Temple of Torak at Hemil in Darshiva.”
The king stared first at Cyradis and then at the body of Naradas in stunned astonishment.
“Whom didst thou serve?” Cyradis asked.
“I served the Child of Dark, the Grolim Priestess Zandra-mas.”
“Wherefore earnest thou to this kingdom?.”
“My mistress sent me hither to seek out a certain chart and to impede the progress of the Child of Light to the Place Which Is No More.”
“And what means didst thou use to accomplish these ends?”
“I sought out the king of this isle, a vain and foolish man, and I beguiled him. He showed me the chart which I sought, and the chart revealed to me a wonder which my shadow conveyed immediately to my mistress. Now she knows precisely where the final meeting is to take place. I prevailed upon the king’s gullibility and was able to lead him into various acts which delayed the Child of Light and his companions so that my mistress might arrive at the Place Which Is No More before him and thereby avoid the necessity of leaving the issue in the hands of a certain seeress whom my mistress distrusts.”
“How is it that thy mistress did not herself perform this task, which was lain upon her and not upon thee?” Cyradis’ voice was stern.
“Zandramas had other concerns. I was her right hand, and all that I did was as if she had done the deeds herself.”
“His spirit doth begin to sink out of reach, Holy Seeress,” ;the necromancer said in a more normal tone of voice. “Ask
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quickly, for soon I will no longer be able to wrest further answers from him.”
“What were these concerns of thy mistress which prevented her from seeking the answer to the last riddle herself as she was commanded to do?”
“A certain Grolim Hierarch from Cthol Murgos, Agachak by name, had come to Mallorea seeking the Place Which Is No More, hoping to supplant my mistress. He was the last of our race with enough power to challenge her. She met him near the barrens of Finda and killed him there.” The hollow voice broke off, and then there came a despairing wail. “Zandramas!” the voice cried. “You said that I would not die! You promised, Zandramas!” The last word seemed to fall away into some unimaginable abyss.
The dark-hooded necromancer’s head slumped fofward, and she was shuddering violently. “His spirit has gone, Holy Seer-ess,” she said in a weary voice. “The midnight hour is past, and he can no longer be reached.”