“And that was for Bethra,” Velvet said to the crumpled form of the dead man lying on the floor before the altar.
The Chandim and their cohorts again drew back in fear as they stared at the body of their fallen pack leader.
“They are few!” Urvon shrieked at them. “We are many! Destroy them all! Your God commands it!”
The Chandim gaped first at Harakan’s contorted body, then at the crowned madman on the throne, then at the terrible little snake who had coiled herself atop the altar with her head raised threateningly as she gave vent to a series of angry hisses.
“That’s about enough of this,” Belgarath snapped. He let the last of the flames die and began to refocus his will. Garion also straightened, pulling in his own will even as he felt the tightened Chandim start to focus their power for a final, dreadful confrontation.
“What is all this now?” Feldegast laughed, suddenly coming forward until he stood between Garion and his foes. “Surely, good masters, we can put aside all this hatred and strife. I’ll tell ye what I’ll do. Let me give ye a demonstration of me skill, an’ we’ll laugh together an’ make peace between us once an’ fer all. No man at all kin keep so great a hatred in his heart while he’s bubblin’ with laughter, don’t y’ know.” Then he began to juggle, seeming to pull brightly colored balls out of the air. The Grolims gaped at him, stunned by this unexpected interruption, and Garion stared incredulously at the performer, who seemed deliberately bent on self-destruction. Still juggling, Feldegast flipped his body onto the back of a heavy bench, holding himself upside down over it with one hand while he continued to juggle with his free hand and his feet. Faster and faster the balls whirled, more and more of them coming, it seemed out of thin air. The more the balls whirled, the brighter they became until at last they were incandescent and the inverted little man was juggling balls of pure fire.
Then he flexed the arm that was holding him in place, tossing himself high over the bench. When his feet touched the floor, however, it was no longer Feldegast the juggler who stood there. In place of the roguish entertainer stood the gnarled, hunchbacked shape of the sorcerer Beldin. With a sudden evil laugh, he began to hurt his fireballs at the startled Grolims and their warriors.
His aim was unerring, and the deadly fireballs pierced Grolim robes, Guardsmen’s mail coats, and Karandese fur vests with equal facility. Smoking holes appeared in the chests of his victims, and he felled them by the dozen. The throne room filled with smoke and the reek of burning flesh as the grinning, ugly little sorcerer continued his deadly barrage.
“You!"Urvon shrieked in terror, the sudden appearance of the man he had feared for so many thousands of years shocking him into some semblance of sanity, even as the terrified Chandim and their cohorts broke and fled, howling in tight.
“So good to see you again, Urvon,” the hunchback said to him pleasantly. “Our conversation was interrupted the last time we were talking, but as I recall, I’d just promised to sink a white-hot hook into your belly and yank out all your guts.” He held out his gnarled right hand, snapped his fingers, and there was a sudden flash. A cruel hook, smoking and glowing, appeared in his fist. “Why don’t we continue with that line of thought?” he suggested, advancing on the splotchy-faced man cowering on the throne.
Then the shadow which had lurked behind the madman’s shoulder came out from behind the throne.
“Stop,” it said in a voice that was no more than a crackling whisper. No human throat could have produced that sound. “I need this thing,” it said, pointing a shadowy hand in the direction of the gibbering Disciple of Torak. “It serves my purposes, and I will not let you kill it.”
“You would be Nahaz, then,” Beldin said in an ominous voice.
“I am,” the figure whispered. “Nahaz, Lord of Demons and Master of Darkness.”
“Go find yourself another plaything, Demon Lord,” the hunchback grated. “This one is mine.”
“Will you pit your will against mine, sorcerer?”
“If need be.”
“Look upon my face, then, and prepare for death.” The demon pushed back its hood of darkness, and Garion recoiled with a sharp intake of his breath. The face of Nahaz was hideous, but it was not the misshapen features alone which were so terrifying. There emanated from its burning eyes a malevolent evil so gross that it froze the blood. Brighter and brighter those eyes burned with evil green fire until their beams shot forth toward Beldin. The gnarled sorcerer clenched himself and raised one hand. The hand suddenly glowed an intense blue, a light that seemed to cascade down over his body to form a shield against the demon’s power.
“Your will is strong,” Nahaz hissed. “But mine is stronger.”
Then Polgara came down the littered aisle, the white lock at her brow gleaming. On one side of her strode Belgarath and on the other Durnik. As they reached him, Garion joined them. They advanced slowly to take up positions flanking Beldin, and Garion became aware that Eriond had also joined them, standing slightly off to one side.
“Well, Demon,” Polgara said in a deadly voice, “will you face us all?”
Garion raised his sword and unleashed its fire. “And this as well?” he added, releasing all restraints on the Orb.
The Demon flinched momentarily, then drew itself erect again, its horrid face bathed in that awful green fire. From beneath its robe of shadow, it took what appeared to be a scepter or a wand of some kind that blazed an intense green. As it raised that wand, however, it seemed to see something that had previously escaped its notice. An expression of sudden fear crossed its hideous face, and the fire of the wand died, even as the intense green light bathing its face flickered and grew wan and weak. Then it raised its face toward the vaulted ceiling and howled—a dreadful, shocking sound. It spun quickly, moving toward the terrified Urvon. It reached out with shadowy hands, seized the gold-robed madman, and lifted him easily from the throne. Then it fled, its fire pushing out before it like a great battering ram, blasting out the walls of the House of Torak as it went.
The crown which had surmounted Urvon’s brow fell from his head as Nahaz carried him from the crumbling house, and it clanked when it hit the floor with the tinny sound of brass.
Part Four
The Mountains of Zamad
19
Beldin spat out a rancid oath and hurled his glowing hook at the throne. Then he started toward the smoking hole the fleeing demon had blasted out through the wall of the throne room.
Belgarath, however, managed to place himself in front of the angry hunchback. “No, Beldin,” he said firmly.
“Get out of my way, Belgarath.”
“I’m not going to let you chase after a demon who could turn on you at any minute.”
“I can take care of myself. Now stand aside.”
“You’re not thinking, Beldin. There’ll be time enough to deal with Urvon later. Right now we need to make some decisions.”
“What’s to decide? You go after Zandramas and I go after Urvon. It’s all pretty much cut and dried, isn’t it?”
“Not entirely. In any event, I’m not going to let you chase after Nahaz in the dark. You know as well as I do that the darkness multiplies his power—and I haven’t got so many brothers left that I can afford to lose one just because he’s irritated.”