“What is it?”
“The Sanctum. That’s where the altar is.” He quickly led the way across the corridor and entered an intersecting hallway.
“This could take hours, Grandfather,” Garion said in a low voice.
Belgarath shook his head. “Grolim architecture is fairly predictable,” he disagreed. “We’re in the right part of the Temple. You check the doors on that side, and I’ll take these over here.”
They moved along the hall, cautiously opening each door as they came to it.
“Garion,” the old man whispered, “it’s over here.”
The room they entered was quite large and smelled of old parchment and moldy leather bindings. It was filled with row upon row of tall, cluttered bookshelves. Solitary tables, each with a pair of wooden benches and with a single dimly glowing oil lamp hanging over it on a long chain, stood in little alcoves along the walls.
“Take a book—any book,” Belgarath said. “Sit at that table over there and try to look as if you’re studying. Keep your hood up and your eye on the door. I’m going to have a look around. Cough if anybody comes in.”
Garion nodded, took a heavy volume from one of the shelves, and seated himself at the table. The minutes dragged by as he looked unseeing at the pages of his book with his ears straining for the slightest sound. Then, shockingly, there came the now-familiar shriek, a long drawn-out cry of despairing agony, followed by the sullen iron clang of the huge gong in the Sanctum where the Grolims conducted then- unspeakable rites. Unbidden, an image rose in his mind—the image of the scar-faced Chabat gleefully butchering a victim. He clenched his teeth together, forcing himself not to leap to his feet to stop that abomination.
Then Belgarath whistled softly to him from a narrow aisle leading back between two of the high-standing bookshelves. “I’ve got it,” he said, “Keep watch on the door. I’ll be back here.”
Garion sat nervously at the table, his eyes and ears alert. He was not good at this sort of thing. His nerves seemed to wind tighter and tighter as he waited, listening and watching for someone to open that door. What would he do if some black-robed priest entered? Should he speak or just remain silent with his head down over his book? What was customary here? He formulated a half-dozen different strategies, but when the latch of the door clicked loudly, he followed one that he had not even considered—he bolted. He swung his legs over the bench upon which he sat and noiselessly dodged back among the high, dark shelves looking for
Belgarath.
“Is it safe to talk in here?” he heard someone say.
Another man grunted. “Nobody comes in here any more. What was it you wanted to talk about?”
“Have you endured enough of her yet? Are you ready to do something about her?”
“Keep your voice down, you fool. If someone hears you and carries your words back to her, your heart will fry in the coals at the next sounding of the bell.”
“I loathe that scar-faced wench,” the first Grolim spat.
“We all do, but our lives depend on not letting her know that. As long as she’s Agachak’s favorite, her power is absolute.”
“She won’t be his favorite if he finds out that she’s practicing magic here in the Temple.”
“How will he find out? Will you denounce her? She would deny it, and then Agachak would let her have you to do with as she chose.”
There was a long, fearful silence.
“Besides,” the second Grolim continued, “I don’t think Agachak would even care about her petty amusements. The only thing that concerns him at the moment is his search for Cthrag Sardius. He and the other Hierarchs are bending all their thought to locating it. If she wants to dally with Sorchak and try to raise demons in the middle of the night, that’s her affair and no business of ours.”
“It’s an abomination!” The first priest’s voice was choked with outrage. “She defiles our Temple.”
“I won’t listen to such talk. I want to keep my heart inside my chest.”
“Very well.” The first Grolim’s tone grew sly. “It may be as you say. You and I are both of the Green, however, and our elevation to the Purple will be more genuine than hers was. If we came upon her when no one else was around, you could use your power to lock her muscles, and I could sink my knife into her heart. Then she could stand before Torak and listen to his judgment upon her for violating his commandment forbidding magic.”
“I refuse to listen to this any more.” There was the sound of rapid footsteps, and the door slammed.
“Coward,” the first priest muttered; then he too went out and closed the door behind him.
“Grandfather,” Garion whispered hoarsely, “where are you?”
“Back here. Did they leave?”
“They’re gone.”
“Interesting conversation, wasn’t it?”
Garion joined the old man at the back of the library. “Do you think Chabat could really be trying to raise demons— the way the Morindim do?”
“A fair number of Grolims here seem to think so. If she is, she’s walking on very dangerous ground. Torak absolutely forbade the practice of magic. Favorite or no, Agachak would have to condemn her if he found out about it.”
“Did you find anything?” Garion looked at the book the old man had on the table in front of him.
“I think this might help. Listen: ‘The path that has been lost will be found again on the Southern Isle.’”
“Verkat?”
“It almost has to be. Verkat is the only island of any size in southern Cthol Murgos. It confirms what Sadi told us, and I always like to get confirmation whenever I can.”
“But it still means that we’re only trailing after Zandramas. Did you find anything that tells us how to get ahead of her?”
“Not yet,” Belgarath admitted. He turned a page. “What’s this?” he said in a startled voice. “What is it?”
“Listen.” The old man lifted the book so that the lamp light fell upon the page. “ ‘Behold:’” he read, “ ‘In the days which shall follow the ascension of the Dark God into the heavens shall the King of the East and the King of the South do war upon each other, and this shall be a sign unto ye that the day of the meeting is at hand. Hasten therefore unto the Place which is No More when battles do rage upon the plains of the south. Take with thee the chosen sacrifice and a King of Angarak to bear witness to what shall come to pass. For lo, whichever of ye cometh into the presence of Cthrag Sardius with the sacrifice and an Angarak King shall be exalted above all the rest and shall have dominion over them. And know further that in the moment of the sacrifice shall the Dark God be reborn, and he shall triumph over the Child of
Light in the instant of his rebirth.’” Garion stared at him, feeling the blood drain from his face.
“Sacrifice?” he exclaimed. “Is that what Zandramas plans to do with my son?”
“So it would seem,” Belgarath grunted. He thought about it for a moment. “This explains a few things, but I still don’t quite follow this business about needing an Angarak King present at the meeting. Cyradis didn’t say anything about that, and neither did the Prophecy.”
“That’s a Grolim book you’ve got there, Grandfather,” Garion pointed out. “Maybe it’s wrong.”
“That’s possible, too, but it does help to explain why Zandramas is moving around so stealthily. If Urvon knows about this the way Agachak obviously does, they’ll both be doing everything in their power to get your son away from her. Whichever one of them gets to. the Sardion with Geran and one of the Kings of Angarak is going to gain absolute control of the Grolim Church.”
“Why my son?” Garion demanded. “Why would he be the one chosen for sacrifice?”
“I’m not sure, Garion. We haven’t found an explanation for that yet.”
“I don’t think we’d better tell Ce’Nedra about this,” Gar-ion said. “She has problems enough as it is.”
The door opened again, and Garion spun, his hand going over his shoulder to the hilt of his sword.
“Belgarath? Are you in here?” It was Silk’s voice.
“Back here,” Belgarath answered. “Keep your voice down.”
“We’ve got trouble,” the little man said, coming to the back of the library to join them. “Eriond is missing.”
“What?” Garion exclaimed.
“He slipped out when none of us was watching.”
Belgarath slammed his fist down on the table and swore. “What’s the matter with that boy?” he burst out.
Silk pushed back the hood of the Grolim robe he wore. “Polgara was going to go looking for him, but Durnik and I talked her out of it. I said I’d come and find you instead.” V “We’d better find him,” the old man said, rising to his • feet. “Pol will only wait for so long before she starts acting on her own. We’d better split up. We can cover more ground that way.” He led them to the door of the library, glanced out quickly, and then went out into the hall. “Don’t do anything unusual,” he cautioned Garion in a whisper. “There are Grolims in this place with enough talent to hear you if you start making any noise.” Garion nodded.