“Revenge is a hollow thing, ’Zakath.”
“It’s the only thing I’ve had for almost thirty years now.” He sighed again, then straightened his shoulders. “Did Zandramas really steal Belgarion’s son?”
“She did, and now she carries him to the Place Which Is No More.”
“And where’s that?”
Her face grew very still. “I may not reveal that,” she replied finally, “but the Sardion is there.”
“Can you tell me what the Sardion is?”
“It is one half of the stone which was divided.”
“Is it really all that important?”
“In all of Angarak there is no thing of greater worth. The Grolims all know this. Urvon would give all his wealth for it. Zandramas would abandon the adoration of multitudes for it. Mengha would give his soul for it—indeed, he hath done so already in his enlistment of demons to aid him. Even Agachak, Hierarch of Rak Urga, would abandon his ascendancy in Cthol Murgos to possess it.”
“How is it that a thing of such value has escaped my notice?”
“Thine eyes are on worldly matters, ’Zakath. The Sardion is not of this world—no more than the other half of the divided stone is of this world.”
“The other half?”
” That which the Angaraks call Cthrag Yaska and the men of the West call the Orb of Aldur. Cthrag Sardius and Cthrag Yaska were sundered in the moment which saw the birth of the opposing necessities.”
’Zakath’s face had grown quite pale, and he clasped his hands tightly in front of him to control their trembling.
“It’s all true, then?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“All, Kal Zakath. All.”
“Even that Belgarion and Zandramas are the Child of Light and the Child of Dark?”
“Yes, they are.”
He started to ask her another question, but she raised her hand. “My time is short, ’Zakath, and I must now reveal something of greater import unto thee, Know that thy life doth approach a momentous crossroads. Put aside thy lust for power and thy hunger for revenge, as they are but childish toys. Return thou even to Mal Zeth to prepare thyself for thy part in the meeting which is to come.”
“My part?” He sounded startled.
“Thy name and thy task are written in the stars.”
“And what is this task?”
“I will instruct thee when thou art ready to understand what it is that thou must do. First thou must cleanse thy heart of that grief and remorse which hath haunted thee.”
His face grew still, and he sighed. “I’m afraid not, Cyradis,” he said. “What you ask is quite impossible.”
“Then thou wilt surely die before the seasons turn again. Consider what I have told thee, and consider it well, Emperor of Mallorea. I will speak with thee anon.” And then she shimmered and vanished.
’Zakath stared at the empty spot where she had stood.
His face was pale, and his jaws were set.
“Well, ’Zakath?” Belgarath said. “Are you convinced?”
The Emperor rose from his chair and began to pace up and down. “This is an absolute absurdity!” he burst out suddenly in an agitated voice.
“I know,” Belgarath replied calmly, “but a willingness to believe the absurd is an indication of faith. It might just be that faith is the first step in the preparation Cyradis mentioned.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to believe, Belgarath,” ’Zakath said, in a strangely humble tone. “It’s just—”
“Nobody said that it was going to be easy,” the old man told him. “But you’ve done things before that weren’t easy, haven’t you?”
’Zakath dropped into his chair again, his eyes lost in thought. “Why me?” he said plaintively. “Why do I have to get involved in this?”
Garion suddenly laughed.
’Zakath gave him a cold stare.
“Sorry,” Garion apologized, “but I’ve been saying ‘why me?’ since I was about fourteen. Nobody’s ever given me a satisfactory answer, but you get used to the injustice of it after a while.”
“It’s not that I’m trying to avoid any kind of responsibility, Belgarion. It’s just that I can’t see what possible help I could be. You people are going to track down Zandramas, retrieve your son, and destroy the Sardion. Isn’t that about it?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Belgarath told him. “Destroying the Sardion is going to involve something rather cataclysmic.”
“I don’t quite follow that. Can’t you just wave your hand and make it cease to exist? You are a sorcerer, after all—or so they say.”
“That’s forbidden,” Garion said automatically. “You can’t unmake things. That’s what Ctuchik tried to do, and he destroyed himself.”
’Zakath frowned and looked at Belgarath. “I thought you killed him.”
“Most people do.” The old man shrugged. “It adds to my reputation, so I don’t argue with them.” He tugged at one earlobe. “No,” he said, “I think we’re going to have to see this all the way through to the end. I’m fairly sure that the only way the Sardion can be destroyed is as a result of the final confrontation between the Child of Light and the Child of Dark.” He paused, then sat up suddenly, his face intent. “I think Cyradis slipped and gave us something she hadn’t intended, though. She said that the Grolim priesthood all desperately wanted the Sardion, and she included Mengha in her list. Wouldn’t that seem to indicate that Mengha’s also a Grolim?” He looked at Andel. “Is your young mistress subject to these little lapses?”
“Cyradis cannot misspeak herself, Holy Belgarath,” the healer replied.” A Seeress does not speak in her own voice, but in the voice of her vision.”
“Then she wanted us to know that Mengha is—or was—a Grolim, and that the reason he’s raising demons is to help him in his search for the Sardion.” He thought about it. “There’s another rather bleak possibility, too,” he added. “It might just be that his demons are using him to get the Sardion for themselves. Maybe that’s why they’re so docile where he’s concerned. Demons by themselves are bad enough, but if the Sardion has the same power as the Orb, we definitely don’t want it to fall into their hands.” He turned to ’Zakath. “Well?” he said.
“Well what?”
“Are you with us or against us?”
“Isn’t that a little blunt?”
“Yes, it is—but it saves time, and time’s starting to be a factor.”
’Zakath sank lower in his chair, his expression unreadable. “I find very little benefit for me in this proposed arrangement,” he said.
“You get to keep living,” Garion reminded him. “Cyradis said that you’ll die before spring if you don’t take up the task she’s going to lay in front of you.”
’Zakath’s faint smile was melancholy, and the dead indifference returned to his eyes. “My life hasn’t really been so enjoyable that I’d consider going out of my way to prolong it, Belgarion,” he replied.
“Don’t you think you’re being just a little childish, ’Zakath?” Garion snapped, his temper starting to heat up again. “You’re not accomplishing a single thing here in Cthol Murgos. There’s not one solitary drop of Urga blood left for you to spill, and you’ve got a situation at home that verges on disaster. Are you a King—or an Emperor, or whatever you want to call it—or are you a spoiled child? You refuse to go back to Mal Zeth just because somebody told you that you ought to. You even dig in your heels when someone assures you that you’ll die if you don’t go back. That’s not only childish, it’s irrational, and I don’t have the time to try to reason with somebody whose wits have deserted him. Well, you can huddle here in Rak Hagga and nurse all your tired old griefs and disappointments until Cyradis’ predictions catch up with you, for all I care, but Geran is my son, and I’m going to Mallorea. I’ve got work to do, and I don’t have time to coddle you.” He had saved something up for last. “Besides,” he added in an insulting, offhand tone, “I don’t need you anyway.”