“Brass,” Durnik said.
“What was that, dear?” Polgara asked him.
He held up Urvon’s crown. “This thing is brass,” he said. “So’s that throne. I didn’t really think there’d be any gold left here. The house has been abandoned and wide open for looters for too many centuries.”
“That’s usually the way it is with the gifts of demons,” Beldin told him. “They’re very good at creating illusions.” He looked around. “Urvon probably saw all this as unearthly splendor. He couldn’t see the rotten drapes, or cobwebs, or all the trash on the floor. All he could see was the glory that Nahaz wanted him to see.” The dirty, twisted man chuckled. “I sort of enjoy the idea of Urvon spending his last days as a raving lunatic,” he added, “right up until the moment when I sink a hook into his guts.”
Silk had been looking narrowly at Velvet. “Do you suppose you could explain something for me?” he asked.
“I’ll try.” she said.
“You said something rather strange when you threw Zith into Harakan’s face.”
“Did I say something?”
“You said, ‘A present for the leader of the Bear-cult from Hunter.’ ”
“Oh, that.” She smiled her dimples into life. “I just wanted him to know who was killing him, that’s all.”
He stared at her.
“You are getting rusty, my dear Kheldar,” she chided him. “I was certain that you’d have guessed by now. I’ve done everything but hit you over the head with it.”
“Hunter?” he said incredulously. "You?”
“I’ve been Hunter for quite some time now. That’s why I hurried to catch up with you at Tol Honeth.” She smoothed the front of her plain gray traveling gown.
“At Tol Honeth you told us that Bethra was Hunter.”
“She had been, Kheldar, but her job was finished. She was supposed to make sure that we’d get a reasonable man as a successor to Ran Borune. First she had to eliminate a few members of the Honeth family before they could consolidate their positions, and then she made a few suggestions about Varana to Ran Borune while the two of them were—” She hesitated, glancing at Ce’Nedra, and then she coughed. “—ah—shall we say, entertaining each other?” she concluded.
Ce’Nedra blushed furiously.
“Oh, dear,” the blond girl said, putting one hand to her cheek. “That didn’t come out at all well, did it? Anyway,” she hurried on, “Javelin decided that Bethra’s task was complete and that it was time for there to be a new Hunter with a new mission. Queen Porenn was very cross about what Harakan did in the west—the attempt on Ce’Nedra’s life, the murder of Brand, and everything that went on at Rheon—so she instructed Javelin to administer some chastisement. He selected me to deliver it. I was fairly sure that Harakan would come back to Mallorea. I knew that you were all coming here, too—eventually—so that’s why I joined you.” She looked over at the sprawled form of Harakan. “I was absolutely amazed when I saw him standing in front of the altar,” she admitted, “but I couldn’t allow an opportunity like that to slip by.” She smiled. “Actually, it worked out rather well. I was just on the verge of leaving you and going back to Mal Yaska to look for him. The fact that he turned out to be Mengha, too, was just sort of a bonus.”
“I thought you were tagging along to keep an eye on me.”
“I’m very sorry, Prince Kheldar. I just made that up. I needed some reason to join you, and sometimes Belgarath can be very stubborn.” She smiled winsomely at the old sorcerer, then turned back to the baffled-looking Silk. “Actually,” she continued, “my uncle isn’t really upset with you at all.”
“But you said—” He stared at her. “You lied!” he accused.
“‘Lie’ is such an ugly word, Kheldar,” she replied, patting his cheek fondly. “Couldn’t we just say that I exaggerated a trifle? I wanted to keep an eye on you, certainly, but it was for reasons of my own—which had nothing whatsoever to do with Drasnian state policy.
“A slow flush crept up his cheeks.
“Why, Kheldar,” she exclaimed delightedly, “you’re actually blushing—almost like a simple village girl who’s just been seduced.”
Garion had been struggling with something. “What was the point of it, Aunt Pol?” he asked. “What Zandramas did to me, I mean?”
“Delay,” she replied, “but more importantly, there was the possibility of defeating us before we ever get to the final meeting.”
“I don’t follow that.”
She sighed. “We know that one of us is going to die,” she said. “Cyradis told us that at Rheon. But there’s always a chance that in one of these random skirmishes, someone else could be killed—entirely by accident. If the Child of Light—you—meets with the Child of Dark and he’s lost someone whose task hasn’t been completed, he won’t have any chance of winning. Zandramas could win by default. The whole point of that cruel game she played was to lure you into a fight with the Chandim and Nahaz. The rest of us, quite obviously, would come to your aid. In that kind of fight, it’s always possible for accidents to happen.”
“Accident? How can there be accidents when we’re all under the control of a prophecy?”
“You’re forgetting something, Belgarion,” Beldin said. “This whole business started with an accident. That’s what divided the Prophecies in the first place. You can read prophecies until your hair turns gray, but there’s always room for random chance to step in and disrupt things.”
“You’ll note that my brother is a philosopher,” Belgarath said, “always ready to look on the dark side of things.”
“Are you two really brothers?” Ce’Nedra asked curiously. “Yes,” Beldin told her, “but in a way that you could never begin to understand. It was something that our Master impressed upon us.”
“And Zedar was also one of your brothers?” She suddenly stared in horror at Belgarath.
The old man set his jaw. “Yes,” he admitted.
“But you—”
“Go ahead and say it, Ce’Nedra,” he said. “There’s nothing you can possibly say to me that I haven’t already said to myself.”
“Someday,” she said in a very small voice, “someday when this is all over, will you let him out?”
Belgarath’s eyes were stony. “I don’t think so, no.”
“And if he does let him out, I’ll go find him and stuff him right back in again,” Beldin added.
“There’s not much point in chewing over ancient history,” Belgarath said. He thought a moment, then said, “I think it’s time for us to have another talk with the young lady from Kell.” He turned to Toth. “Will you summon your mistress?” he asked.
The giant’s face was not happy. When he finally nodded, it was obviously with some reluctance.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” Belgarath said to him, “but it’s really necessary.”
Toth sighed and then he sank to one knee and closed his eyes in an oddly prayerful fashion. Once again, as it had happened back on the Isle of Verkat and again at Rak Hagga, Garion heard a murmur as of many voices. Then there came that peculiar, multicolored shimmering in the air not far from Urvon’s shoddy throne. The air cleared, and the unwavering form of the Seeress of Kell appeared on the dais. For the first time, Garion looked closely at her. She was slender and somehow looked very vulnerable, a helplessness accentuated by her white robe and her blindfolded eyes. There was, however, a serenity in her face—the serenity of someone who has looked full in the face of Destiny and has accepted it without question or reservation. For some reason, he felt almost overcome with awe in her radiant presence.
“Thank you for coming, Cyradis,” Belgarath said simply. “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I know how difficult it is for you to do this, but there are some answers I need before we can go any further.”