Belgarath stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Pick him up,” she snapped at Barak.
There was a dreadful tearing sound as the rocks that held the turret against the side of the peak began to rip away under the pressures of the convulsing earth.
“There!” Relg said in a ringing voice. He was pointing at the back wall of the turret where the stones were cracking and shattering. “Can you open it? There’s a cave beyond.”
Aunt Pol looked up quickly, focused her eyes on the wall and pointed one finger. “Burst!” she commanded. The stone wall blew back into the echoing cave like a wall of straw struck by a hurricane.
“It’s pulling loose!” Silk yelled, his voice shrill. He pointed at a widening crack between the turret and the solid face of the peak. “Jump!” Barak shouted. “Hurry!”
Silk flung himself across the crack and spun to catch Relg, who had followed him blindly. Durnik and Mandorallen, with Aunt Pol between them, leaped across as the groaning crack yawned wider. “Go, boy!” Barak commanded Garion. Carrying the still-dazed Belgarath, the big Cherek was lumbering toward the opening.
“The child!” the voice in Garion’s mind crackled, no longer dry or disinterested. “Save the child or everything that has ever happened is meaningless!”
Garion gasped, suddenly remembering the little boy. He turned and ran back into the slowly toppling turret. He swept up the boy in his arms and ran for the hole Aunt Pol had blown in the rock.
Barak jumped across, and his feet scrambled for an awful second on the very edge of the far side. Even as he ran, Garion pulled in his strength. At the instant he jumped, he pushed back with every ounce of his will. With the little boy in his arms he literally flew across the awful gap and crashed directly into Barak’s broad back.
The little boy in his arms with the Orb of Aldur cradled protectively against his chest smiled up at him. “Errand?” he asked.
Garion turned. The turret was leaning far out from the basalt wall, its supporting stones cracking, ripping away from the sheer face. Ponderously, it toppled outward. And then, with the shards and fragments of the Temple of Torak hurtling past it, it sheared free of the wall and fell into the awful gulf beneath.
The floor of the cave they had entered was heaving as the earth shuddered and shock after shock reverberated up through the basalt pinnacle. Huge chunks of the walls of Rak Cthol were ripping free and plunging past the cave mouth, flickering down through the red light of the newly risen sun.
“Is everybody here?” Silk demanded, looking quickly around. Then, satisfied that they were all safe, he added, “We’d better get back from the opening a bit. This part of the peak doesn’t feel all that stable.”
“Do you want to go down now?” Relg asked Aunt Pol. “Or do you want to wait until the shaking subsides?”
“We’d better move,” Barak advised. “These caves will be swarming with Murgos as soon as the quake stops.”
Aunt Pol glanced at the half conscious Belgarath and then seemed to gather herself. “We’ll go down,” she decided firmly. “We still have to stop to pick up the slave woman.”
“She’s almost certain to be dead,” Relg asserted quickly. “The earthquake’s probably brought the roof of that cave down on her.”
Aunt Pol’s eyes were flinty as she looked him full in the face.
No man alive could face that gaze for long. Relg dropped his eyes. “All right,” he said sullenly. He turned and led them back into the dark cave with the earthquake rumbling beneath their feet.
Here ends Book Three of The Belgariad. Book Four, Castle of Wizardry, brings Garion and Ce’Nedra to the first realization of their heritage as the Prophecy moves them toward its fulfillment, and Garion discovers there are powers more difficult than sorcery.