“I’ll issue an imperial command that the next three or four generations converse in whispers, if you’d like.”
“No, that’s all right, Zakath.” The dwarf grinned. “As long as I’m on the opposite side from at least some Angaraks, I like to be able to hear them coming. Did Kheldar make it back yet?”
“Not yet,” Garion told him.
“What’s he doing? These stone blocks are much too big to steal.”
Then Silk slipped over the edge of the niche and dropped tightly to the stone floor. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said.
“Probably not,” Velvet said, “but why don’t you go ahead and tell us anyway?”
“This peak is man-made—or at least something made it. These blocks encircle it like terraces, all straight and smooth. The ming forms steps up to that flat place on top. There’s an altar up there and a huge throne.”
“So that’s what it meant!” Beldin exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Belgarath, have you ever read the Book of Torak?”
“I’ve struggled through it a few times. My Old Angarak isn’t really all that good.”
“You can speak Old Angarak?” Zakath asked with some surprise. “It’s a forbidden language here in Mallorea. I suspect Tbrak was changing a few things, and he didn’t want anyone to catch him at it.”
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THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
255
“I learned it before the prohibition went into effect. What’s the point of this, Beldin?”
“Do you remember that passage near the beginning—in the middle of all that conceited blather—when Torak said he went up into the High Places of Korim to argue with UL about the creation of the world?”
“Vaguely.”
“Anyway, UL didn’t want anything to do with it, so Torak turned his back on his father and went down and gathered up the Angaraks and led them back to Korim. He told them what he had in mind for them, and then, in true Angarak fashion, they fell down on their faces and started butchering each other as sacrifices. There’s a word in that passage, ‘Halagachak.’ It means ‘temple,’ or something like that. I always thought that Torak was speaking figuratively, but he wasn’t. This peak is that temple. The altar up there more or less confirms it, and these terraces were where the Angaraks stood to watch while the Gro-lims sacrificed people to their God. If I’m right, this is also the place where Torak spoke with his father. Regardless of how you feel about old Burnt-Face, this is one of the holiest places on earth.”
“You keep talking about Torak’s father,” Zakath said, looking puzzled. “I didn’t know that the Gods had fathers.”
“Of course they do,” Ce’Nedra said loftily. “Everybody knows that.”
“I didn’t.”
‘ *UL is their father,’ * she said in a deliberately offhand manner.
“Isn’t he the God of the Ulgos?”
“Not by choice exactly,” Belgarath told him. “The original Gorim more or less bullied him into it.”
“How do you bully a God?”
“Carefully,” Beldin said, “Very, very carefully.”
“IVemetUL,” Ce’Nedra supplied gratuitously. “Hesortof likes me.”
“She can be very irritating at times, can’t she?” Zakath said to Garion.
“YouVe noticed.”
“You don’t have to like me,” she said with a toss of her curls, “either one of you. As long as the Gods like a girl, she’ll do all right.”
Garion began to have some hope at that point. If Ce’Nedra was willing to banter with them, it was a fair indication that she
did not take her supposed intimations of her own incipient demise all that seriously. He did, however, wish that he could get that knife away from her.
“During the course of your fascinating explorations, did you by any chance happen to locate that cave?” Belgarath asked Silk. “I more or less thought that’s why you were out there sneaking around in the fog.”
“The cave?” Silk said. “Oh, that’s around on the north side. There’s a sort of amphitheater in front of it. It’s almost exactly in the middle of that face. I found that in the first ten minutes.”
Belgarath glared at him.
“It’s not exactly a cave, though,” Silk added. “There may be a cave back inside the peak, but the opening is more like a wide doorway. It’s got pillars on each side and a familiar face above the lintel.”
“Tbrak?” Garion said with a sinking feeling.
“None other.”
“Hadn’t we better get started then?” Durnik suggested. “If Zandramas is already on the island . . .” He spread his hands.
“So what?” Beldin said.
They all stared at the grotesque little hunchback.
“Zandramas can’t go into the cave until we get there, can she?” he asked Cyradis.
“Nay, Beldin,” she replied. “That is forbidden.”
“Good. Let her wait, then. I’m sure she’ll enjoy the anticipation. Did anybody think to bring anything to eat? I may have to be a seagull, but I don’t have to eat raw fish.”
THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
They waited for almost an hour until Beldin decided that by now Zandramas must be keyed to a fever pitch. Garion and Zakath took advantage of the delay to put on their armor. “I’ll take a look,” the dwarf said finally. He slowly slipped into the shape of a seagull and drifted away into the fog. When he returned, he was chuckling evilly. “I’ve never heard a woman use that kind of language,” he said. “She even puts you to shame, Pol.”
“What’s she doing?” Belgarath asked him.
“She’s standing outside the cave mouth—or door, or whatever you want to call it. She had about forty Grolims with her.”
“Forty?” Garion exclaimed. He turned on Cyradis. “I thought you said we’d be evenly matched,” he accused.
“Art thou not a match for at least five, Belgarion?” she asked simply.
“Well-”
256
“You said had,” Belgarath said to his brother.
“I’d say dial our star-speckled friend tried to force several of her Grolims to push through whatever il is that has the door sealed against her. I ‘m not sure if it was the force holding the door or if Zandramas lost her temper when the Grolims failed. About five of them are noticeably dead at the moment, and Zandramas is stalking about outside inventing swear words. All of her Grolims have purple linings on the insides of their hoods, by the way.”
“Sorcerers, then,” Polgara said bleakly.
“Grolim sorcery is not all that profound.” Beldin shrugged.
“Could you see if she’s got those lights under her skin?” Garion asked.
“Oh, my, yes. Her face looks like a meadow full of fireflies on a summer evening. I saw something else, too. That albatross is out there. We nodded, but we didn’t have time to stop and speak.”
“What was he doing?” Silk asked suspiciously.
“Just hovering. You know how albatrosses are. I don’t think they move their wings more than once a week. The fog is starting to thin. Why don’t we just ease around and stand on one of these terraces just above that amphitheater and let this murk dissipate. Seeing a group of dark figures emerging out of the fog should give her quite a turn, wouldn’t you think?”
“Did you see my baby?” Ce’Nedra asked, her heart in her voice.
“He’s hardly a baby anymore, little girl. He’s a sturdy little lad with curls as blond as Eriond’s used to be. I gathered from his expression that he’s not very fond of the company he’s in, and judging from the look of him, he’s going to grow up to be as bad-tempered as the rest of his family. Garion could probably go down there and hand him the sword, and then we could all sit back and watch him deal with the problem.”
“I’d rather not have him start killing people until after he loses his baby teeth,” Garion said firmly. “Is there anybody else there?”
“Judging from his wife’s description, the Archduke Otrath is among the group. He’s wearing a cheap crown and sort of secondhand royal robes. There’s not too much in the way of intelligence in his eyes.”
“That one is mine,” Zakath grated. “I Ve never had the op* portunity to deal with high treason on a personal level before.”
“His wife will be eternally in your debt.” Beldin grinned.
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“She might even decide to journey to Ma! Zeth to offer her thanks—among other things—in person. She’s a lush wench, Zakath. I’d advise that you get plenty of rest.”
“Methinks I care not for the turn this conversation hath taken,” Cyradis said primly. “The day wears on. Let us proceed.”
“Anythin’ yer heart desires, me little darlin’.” Beldin
grinned.
Cyradis smiled in spite of herself.
Again they all spoke with that jocular bravado. They were approaching what was probably die most important Event in all of time, and making light of it was a natural human response. Silk led the way out of the niche, his soft boots making no sound on the wet stones under their feet. Garion and Zakath, however, had to move with some care to avoid clinking. The sharply mounting stone terraces were each uniformly about ten feet tall, but at regular intervals there were stairways leading from one terrace to the one above. Silk led them up about three levels and then began circling the truncated pyramid. When they reached the northeast corner, he paused. “We’d better be very quiet now,” he whispered. “We’re only about a hundred yards from that amphitheater. We don’t want some sharp-eared Gro-lim to hear us.”