“He was.”
“We didn’t find his body.”
“He isn’t dead.”
“He’s not?” ’Zakath looked stunned. “Where is he, then?”
“Beneath the city. Belgarath opened the earth and sealed him up in solid rock under the ruin.”
“Alive?” ’Zakath’s exclamation came out in a choked gasp.
“There was a certain amount of justification for it.
Go on with your story.” ’Zakath shuddered and then recovered. “With the rest of them out of the way, the only religious figure left in Mallorea was Urvon, and he devoted himself almost exclusively to trying to make his palace at Mal Yaska more opulent than the imperial one at Mal Zeth. Every so often he’d preach a sermon filled with mumbo jumbo and nonsense, but most of the time he seemed to have forgotten Torak entirely. With the Dragon God and his disciples no longer around, the real power of the Grolim Church was gone—oh, the priests babbled about the return of Torak and they all paid lip service to the notion that one day the sleeping God would awaken, but the memory of him grew dimmer and dimmer. The power of the Church grew less and less, while that of the army—which is to say the imperial throne—grew more and more.”
“Mallorean politics seem to be very murky,” Garion observed.
’Zakath nodded. “It’s part of our nature, I suppose. At any rate, our society was functioning and moving out of the dark ages—slowly, perhaps, but moving. Then you appeared out of nowhere and awakened Torak—and just as suddenly put him permanently back to sleep again. That’s when all our problems started.”
“Shouldn’t it have ended them? That’s sort of what I had in mind.”
“I don’t think you grasp the nature of the religious mind, Belgarion. So long as Torak was there—even though he slept—the Grolims and the other hysterics in the empire were fairly placid, secure and comfortable in the belief that one day he would awaken, punish all their enemies, and reassert the absolute authority of the unwashed and stinking priesthood. But when you killed Torak, you destroyed their comfortable. sense of security. They were forced to face the fact that without Torak they were nothing. Some of them were so chagrined that they went mad. Others fell into absolute despair. A few, how ever, began to hammer together a new mythology—something to replace what you had destroyed with a single stroke of that sword over there.”
“It wasn’t entirely my idea,” Garion told him.
“It’s results that matter, Belgarion, not intentions. Anyway, Urvon was forced to tear himself away from his quest for opulence and his wallowing in the adoration of the sycophants who surrounded him and get back to business. For a time he was in an absolute frenzy of activity. He resurrected all the moth-eaten old prophecies and twisted and wrenched at them until they seemed to say what he wanted them to say.”
“And what was that?”
“He’s trying to convince people that a new God will come to rule over Angarak—either a resurrection of Torak himself or some new deity infused with Torak’s spirit. He’s even got a candidate in mind for this new God of Angarak.”
“Oh? Who’s that?”
’Zakath’s expression became amused. “He sees his new God every time he looks in a mirror.”
“You’re not serious!”
“Oh, yes. Urvon’s been trying to convince himself that he’s at least a demigod for several centuries now. He’d probably have himself paraded all over Mallorea in a golden chariot—except that he’s afraid to leave Mal Yaska. As I understand it, there’s a very nasty hunchback who’s been hungering to kill him for eons—one of Aldur’s disciples, I believe.”
Garion nodded. “Beldin,” he said. “I’ve met him.”
“Is he really as bad as the stories make him out to be?”
“Probably even worse. I don’t think you’d want to be around to watch what he does, if he ever catches up with Urvon.”
“I wish him good hunting, but Urvon’s not my only problem, I’m afraid. Not long after the death of Torak, certain rumors started coming out of Darshiva. A Grolim priestess—Zandramas by name—also began to predict the coming of a new God.”
“I didn’t know that she was a Grolim,” Garion said with some surprise.
’Zakath nodded gravely. “She formerly had a very unsavory reputation in Darshiva. Then the so-called ecstasy of prophecy fell on her, and she was suddenly transformed by it. Now when she speaks, no one can resist her words. She preaches to multitudes and fires them with invincible zeal. Her message of the coming of a new God ran through Darshiva like wildfire and spread into Regel, Voresebo, and Zamad as well. Virtually the entire northeast coast of Mallorea is hers.”
“What’s the Sardion got to do with all this?” Garion asked.
“I think it’s the key to the whole business,” ’Zakath replied. “Both Zandramas and Urvon seem to believe that whoever finds and possesses it is going to win out.”
“Agachak—the Hierarch of Rak Urga—believes the same thing,” Garion told him.
’Zakath nodded moodily. “I suppose I should have realized that. A Grolim is a Grolim—whether he comes from Mallorea or Cthol Murgos.”
“It seems to me that maybe you should go back to Mallorea and put things in order.”
“No, Belgarion, I won’t abandon my campaign here in Cthol Murgos.”
“Is personal revenge worth it?”
’Zakath looked startled.
“I know why you hated Taur Urgas, but he’s dead, and Urgit’s not at all like him. I can’t really believe that you’d sacrifice your whole empire just for the sake of revenging yourself on a man who can’t feel it.”
“You know?” ’Zakath’s face looked stricken. “Who told you?”
“Urgit did. He told me the whole story.”
“With pride, I expect.” ’Zakath’s teeth were clenched, and his face pale.
“No, not really. It was with regret—and with contempt for Taur Urgas. He hated him even more than you do.”
“That’s hardly possible, Belgarion. To answer your question, yes, I will sacrifice my empire—the whole world if need be—to spill out the last drop of the blood of Taur Urgas. I will neither sleep nor rest nor be turned aside from my vengeance, and I will crush whomever stands in my path.”
“Tell him, ” the dry voice in Garion’s mind said suddenly.
“What?”
“Tell him the truth about Urgit. ”
“But—”
“Do it, Garion. He needs to know. There are things he has to do, and he won’t do them until he puts this obsession behind him. ”
’Zakath was looking at him curiously.
“Sorry, just receiving instructions,” Garion explained lamely.
“Instructions? From whom?”
“You wouldn’t believe it. I was told to give you some information.” He drew in a deep breath. “Urgit isn’t a Murgo,” he said flatly.
“What are you talking about?”
“I said that Urgit isn’t a Murgo—at least not entirely.
His mother was, of course, but his father was not Taur Urgas.”
“You’re lying!”
“No, I’m not. We found out about it while we were at the Drojim Palace in Rak Urga. Urgit didn’t know about it either.”
“I don’t believe you, Belgarion!” ’Zakath’s face was livid, and he was nearly shouting.
“Taur Urgas is dead,” Garion said wearily. “Urgit made sure of that by cutting his throat and burying him head down in his grave. He also claims that he had every one of his brothers—thereal sons of Taur Urgas—killed to make himself secure on the throne. I don’t think there’s one drop of Urga blood left in the world.”