“What’s burning red?”
“The Orb, I think. I can see it glowing right through the leather covering you have over it.”
“Let’s stop awhile,” Belgarath told them, reining in his horse.
“What is it, Grandfather?”
“I’m not sure. Take the sword out and slip off the sleeve. Let’s see what’s happening.”
Garion drew the sword from its sheath. It seemed heavier than usual for some reason, and when he peeled off the soft leather covering, they were all able to see that instead of its usual azure blue, the Orb of Aldur was glowing a dark, sooty red.
“What is it, father?” Polgara asked.
“It feels the Sardion,” Eriond said in a calm voice.
“Are we that close?” Garion demanded. “Is this the Place Which Is No More?”
“I don’t think so, Belgarion,” the young man replied. “It’s something else.”
“What is it, then?”
“I’m not sure, but the Orb is responding to the other stone in some way. They talk to each other in a fashion I can’t understand.”
They rode on, and some time later the blue-banded hawk came swirling in, blurred into Beldin’s shape, and stood in front of them. The gnarled dwarf had a slightly self-satisfied look on his face. ”
“You look like a cat that just got into the cream, Belgarath said.
“Naturally. I just sent a dozen or so Grolims off in the general direction of the polar icecap. They’ll have a wonderful time when the pan ice starts to break up and they get to float around up there for the rest of the summer.”
“Are you going to scout on ahead?” Belgarath asked him.
“I suppose so,” Beldin replied. He held out his arms, blurred into feathers, and drove himself into the air.
They rode more cautiously now, climbing deeper and deeper into the Mountains of Zamad. The surrounding country grew more broken. The reddish-hued peaks were jagged, and their lower flanks were covered with dark firs and pines. Rushing streams boiled over rocks and dropped in frothy waterfalls over steep cliffs. The road, which had been straight and flat on the plains of Ganesia, began to twist and turn as it crawled up the steep slopes.
It was nearly noon when Beldin returned again. “The main party of Grolims turned south,” he reported. “There are about forty of them.”
“Was Zandramas with them?” Garion asked quickly.
“No. I don’t think so—at least I didn’t pick up the sense of anyone unusual in the group.”
“We haven’t lost her, have we?” Ce’Nedra asked in alarm.
“No,” Garion replied. “The Orb still has her trail.” He glanced over his shoulder. The stone on the hilt of his sword was still burning a sullen red.
“About all we can do is follow her,” Belgarath said. “It’s Zandramas we’re interested in, not a party of stray Grolims. Can you pinpoint exactly where we are?” he asked Beldin.
“Mallorea.”
“Very funny.”
“We’ve crossed into Zamad. This road goes on down into Voresebo, though. Where’s my mule?”
“Back with the packhorses,” Durnik told him.
As they moved on, Garion could feel Polgara probing on ahead with her mind.
“Are you getting anything, Pol?” Belgarath asked her.
“Nothing specific, father,” she replied. “I can sense the fact that Zandramas is close, but she’s shielding, so I can’t pinpoint her.”
They rode on, moving at a cautious walk now. Then, as the road passed through a narrow gap and descended on the far side, they saw a figure in a gleaming white robe standing in the road ahead. As they drew closer, Garion saw that it was Cyradis.
“Move with great care in this place,” she cautioned, and there was a note of anger in her voice. “The Child of Dark seeks to circumvent the ordered course of events and hath laid a trap for ye.”
“There’s nothing new or surprising about that,” Beldin growled. “What does she hope to accomplish?”
“It is her thought to slay one of the companions of the Child of Light and thereby prevent the completion of one of the tasks which must be accomplished ere the final meeting. Should she succeed, all that hath gone before shall come to naught. Follow me, and I will guide you safely to the next task.”
Toth stepped down from his horse and quickly led it to the side of his slender mistress. She smiled at him, her face radiant, and laid a slim hand on his huge arm. With no apparent effort, the huge man lifted her into the saddle of his horse and then took the reins in his hand.
“Aunt Pol,” Garion whispered, “is it my imagination, or is she really there this time?”
Polgara looked intently at the blindfolded Seeress. “It’s not a projection,” she said. “It’s much more substantial. I couldn’t begin to guess how she got here, but I think you’re right, Garion. She’s really here.”
They followed the Seeress and her mute guide down the steeply descending road into a grassy basin surrounded on all sides by towering firs. In the center of the basin was a small mountain lake sparkling in the sunlight.
Polgara suddenly drew in her breath sharply. “We’re being watched,” she said.
“Who is it, Pol?” Belgarath asked.
“The mind is hidden, father. All I can get is the sense of watching—and anger.” A smile touched her lips. “I’m sure it’s Zandramas. She’s shielding, so I can’t reach her mind, but she can’t shield out my sense of being watched, and she can’t control her anger enough to keep me from picking up the edges of it.”
“Who’s she so angry with?”
“Cyradis, I think. She went to a great deal of trouble to lay a trap for us, and Cyradis came along and spoiled it. She still might try something, so I think we’d all better be on our guard.”
He nodded bleakly. “Right.” he agreed.
Toth led the horse his mistress was riding out into the basin and stopped at the edge of the lake. When the rest of them reached her, she pointed down through the crystal water. “The task lies there,” she said. “Below lies a submerged grot. One of ye must enter that grot and then return. Much shall be revealed there.”
Belgarath looked hopefully at Beldin.
“Not this time, old man,” the dwarf said, shaking his head. “I’m a hawk, not a fish, and I don’t like cold water any more than you do.”
“Pol?” Belgarath said rather plaintively.
“I don’t think so, father,” she replied. “I think it’s your turn this time. Besides, I need to concentrate on Zandramas.”
He bent over and dipped his hand into the sparkling water. Then he shuddered. “This is cruel,” he said.
Silk was grinning at him.
“Don’t say it, Prince Kheldar.” Belgarath scowled, starting to remove his clothing. “Just keep your mouth shut.”
They were perhaps all a bit surprised at how sleekly muscular the old man was. Despite his fondness for rich food and good brown ale, his stomach was as flat as a board; although he was as lean as a rail, his shoulders and chest rippled when he moved.
“My, my,” Velvet murmured appreciatively, eyeing the loincloth-clad old man.
He suddenly grinned at her impishly. “Would you care for another frolic in a pool, Liselle?” he invited with a wicked look in his bright blue eyes.
She suddenly blushed a rosy red, glancing guiltily at Silk.
Belgarath laughed, arched himself forward, and split the water of the lake as cleanly as the blade of a knife.
Several yards out, he broached, leaping high into the air with the sun gleaming on his silvery scales and his broad, forked-tail flapping and shaking droplets like jewels across the sparkling surface of the lake. Then his dark, heavy body drove down and down into the depths of the crystal lake.
“Oh, my,” Durnik breathed, his hands twitching.
“Never mind, dear.” Polgara laughed. “He wouldn’t like it at all if you stuck a fishhook in his jaw.”
The great, silver-sided salmon swirled down and disappeared into an irregularly shaped opening near the bottom of the lake.
They waited, and Garion found himself unconsciously holding his breath.