Eriond regarded the dead fires with a look of satisfaction, then turned to the stunned Grolims still holding the naked slave. “Let that man go,” he told them.
They stared at him.
“You might as well,” Eriond said almost conversationally. “You can’t sacrifice him without the fires, and the fires won’t burn any more. No matter what you do, you won’t ever be able to start them again.”
“Done!” the voice in Garion’s mind said in a tone of such exultation that it buckled his knees.
The burned priest, still moaning and cradling his charred hands at his chest, raised his ashen face. “Seize him!” he shrieked, pointing at Eriond with a blackened hand. “Seize him and take him to Chabat!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
There was no longer any need for stealth. Alarm bells rang in every quarter of the Temple, and frightened Grolims scurried this way and that, shouting contradictory orders to each other. Garion ran among them, desperately looking for Belgarath and Silk.
As he rounded a corner, a wild-faced Grolim caught him by the arm. “Were you there in the Sanctum when it happened?” he demanded.
“No,” Garion lied, trying to free his arm.
“They say that he was ten feet tall, and that he blasted a dozen priests into nothingness before he extinguished the fires.”
“Oh?” Garion said, still trying to free himself from the
Grolim’s grasp.
“Some people say that it was Belgarath the Sorcerer himself.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Who else would have that much power?” The Grolim stopped suddenly, his eyes going very wide. “You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked in a trembling voice.
“What?”
“The Sanctum will have to be rededicated, and that requires Grolim blood. Dozens of us will have to die before the Sanctum is purified.”
“I really have to go,” Garion told him, tugging at the arm the man held fast in both hands.
“Chabat will wade to the hips in our blood,” the priest moaned hysterically, ignoring Garion’s words.
There was really no choice. Things were much too urgent for diplomacy. Garion feigned a frightened expression as he looked past the babbling Grolim’s shoulder. “Is that her coming?” he whispered hoarsely.
The Grolim turned his head to look in fright back over his shoulder. Garion carefully measured him and then smashed his fist into the unprotected side of the terrified man’s face. The Grolim slammed back against the wall, his eyes glazed and vacant. Then he collapsed in a heap on the floor.
“Neat,” Silk said from a dark doorway a few yards up the hall, “but the reason for it escapes me.”
“I couldn’t get loose from him,” Garion explained, bending to take hold of the unconscious man. He dragged him into a shadowy alcove and propped him up in a sitting position. “Have you got any idea where Grandfather is?”
“He’s in here,” Silk replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the door behind him. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let’s get in out of sight.”
They went through the doorway to find Belgarath seated on the edge of a table. “What’s going on out there?” he demanded.
“I found Eriond.”
“Good.”
“No, not really. He went into the Sanctum just as the Grolims were about to sacrifice a slave and put out the fires.”
“He did what?”
“I think it was him. I was there and I know that it wasn’t me. He just walked in and told them that they couldn’t sacrifice people any more, and then the fires went out. Grand- father, he didn’t make a sound when he did it—no surge, no noise, nothing.”
“Are you sure it was him? I mean—it wasn’t something natural?”
Garion shook his head. “No. The fires flared up and then went out like blown-out candles. There were other things going on, too. The voice talked to me and I couldn’t even move a muscle. The Grolims who were dragging the slave to the altar just let him go when Eriond told them to. Then he told them all that they won’t ever be able to relight the fires.”
“Where’s the boy now?”
“They’re taking him to Chabat.”
“Couldn’t you stop them?”
“I was told not to.” Garion tapped his forehead.
“I should have expected that,” Belgarath said irritably. “We’d better go warn Pol and the others. We may have to free Eriond and then fight our way out of here.” He opened the door, looked out into the hallway, and motioned Garion and Silk to follow him.
Polgara’s face was deathly pale when the three of them re-entered the room where she and the others were waiting. “You didn’t find him,” she said. It was not exactly a question.
“Garion did,” Belgarath replied.
She turned to Garion. “Why isn’t he with you, then?” she demanded.
“I’m afraid the Grolims have him, Aunt Pol.”
“We’ve got a problem here, Pol,” Belgarath said gravely. “From what Garion says, Eriond went into the Sanctum and put out the fires.”
“What?” she exclaimed.
Garion spread his hands helplessly. “He just walked in and made the fires go out. The Grolims seized him and they’re taking him to Chabat.”
“This is very serious, Belgarath,” Sadi said. “Those fires are supposed to burn perpetually. If the Grolims believe that the boy was responsible, he’s in very great danger.”
“I know,” the old man agreed.
“All right, then,” Durnik said quietly. “We’ll just have to go take him away from them.” He stood up, and Toth silently joined him.
“But our ship is almost ready,” Sadi protested. “We could be out of here with no one the wiser.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that now.” Belgarath’s face was grimly determined.
“Let me see if I can salvage something out of this mess before any of you do anything irreversible,” Sadi pleaded. “There’ll always be time for more direct action if I can’t talk our way out of this.”
Garion looked around. “Where’s Ce’Nedra?” he asked.
“She’s asleep,” Polgara replied. “Liselle’s with her.”
“Is she all right? Silk said that she was upset. She isn’t sick again, is she?”
“No, Garion. It was the sounds coming from the Sanctum. She couldn’t tolerate them.”
A heavy fist suddenly pounded on the bolted door. Garion jumped and instinctively reached for his sword. “Open up in there!” a harsh voice commanded from outside.
“Quickly,” Sadi hissed, “all of you get back into your cells and try to look as if you’ve been sleeping when you come out.”
They hurried back into the cells and waited breathlessly while the thin eunuch went to the door and unbolted it. “What’s the matter, reverend sirs?” he asked mildly as the Grolims burst into the room with drawn weapons.
“You have been summoned to an audience with the Hierarch, slaver,” one of them snarled. “You and all your servants.”
“We’re honored,” Sadi murmured.
“You’re not being honored. You’re to be interrogated. I’d advise you to speak the truth, because Agachak has the power to pull you very slowly out of your skin if you lie to him.”
“What an unpleasant notion. Has the Hierarch returned from the Drojim Palace then?”
“Word has been sent to him of the monstrous crime one of your servants has committed.”
“Crime? What crime?”
The Grolim ignored him. “On Chabat’s orders, you are all to be confined until Agachak returns to the Temple.”
Garion and the others were roughly shaken out of their feigned sleep and marched through the smoky corridors and down a narrow flight of stone steps into the basement. Unlike the rooms above, these cells were secured with barred iron doors, and the narrow halls had about them that peculiar sour odor that permeates prisons and dungeons the world over. One of the Grolims opened a barred door and gestured for them to enter.
“Is this really necessary, good Priest?” Sadi protested. The Grolim put his hand threateningly on his sword hilt. “Calm yourself, sir,” Sadi said. “I was merely asking.”
“Inside! Now!”
They all filed into the cell, and the black-robed priest slammed it behind them. The sound of the key grating in the lock seemed very loud for some reason.
“Garion,” Ce’Nedra said in a frightened little voice, “What’s happening? Why are they doing this?”
He put his arm comfortingly about her shoulders. “Eriond got into trouble,” he explained. “Sadi’s going to try to talk us all out of this.”
“What if he can’t?”
“Then we’ll do it the other way.” Silk looked around at the dimly lit cell with a disdainful sniff. “Dungeons always show such a lack of imagination,” he remarked, scuffing at the moldy straw littering the floor with one foot.
“Have you had such a wide experience with dungeons, Kheldar?” Velvet asked him.
“I’ve been in a few from time to time.” He shrugged. “I’ve never found it convenient to stay for more than a few hours.” He raised up on his tiptoes to peer out through the small barred window in the door. “Good,” he said, “no guards.” He looked at Belgarath. “Do you want me to open this?” he asked, tapping on the door with one knuckle. “I don’t think we can accomplish very much from in here.”