"Oh?" Garion said, still trying to free himself from the Grolim's grasp.
"Some people say that it was Belgarath the Sorcerer himself."
"I find that hard to believe."
"Who else would have that much power?" The Grolim stopped suddenly, his eyes going very wide. "You know what this means, don't you?" he asked in a trembling voice.
"What?"
"The Sanctum will have to be rededicated, and that requires Grolim blood. Dozens of us will have to die before the Sanctum is purified."
"I really have to go," Garion told him, tugging at the arm the man held fast in both hands.
"Chabat will wade to the hips in our blood," the priest moaned hysterically, ignoring Garion's words.
There was really no choice. Things were much too urgent for diplomacy. Garion feigned a frightened expression as he looked past the babbling Grolim's shoulder. "Is that her coming?" he whispered hoarsely.
The Grolim turned his head to look in fright back over his shoulder. Garion carefully measured him and then smashed his fist into the unprotected side of the terrified man's face. The Grolim slammed back against the wall, his eyes glazed and vacant. Then he collapsed in a heap on the floor.
"Neat," Silk said from a dark doorway a few yards up the hall, "but the reason for it escapes me."
"I couldn't get loose from him," Garion explained, bending to take hold of the unconscious man. He dragged him into a shadowy alcove and propped him up in a sitting position. "Have you got any idea where Grandfather is?"
"He's in here," Silk replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the door behind him. "What happened?"
"I'll tell you in a minute. Let's get in out of sight."
They went through the doorway to find Belgarath seated on the edge of a table. "What's going on out there?" he demanded.
"I found Eriond."
"Good."
"No, not really. He went into the Sanctum just as the Grolims were about to sacrifice a slave and put out the fires."
"He did what?”
"I think it was him. I was there and I know that it wasn't me. He just walked in and told them that they couldn't sacrifice people any more, and then the fires went out. Grandfather, he didn't make a sound when he did it—no surge, no noise, nothing."
"Are you sure it was him? I mean—it wasn't something natural?"
Garion shook his head. "No. The fires flared up and then went out like blown-out candles. There were other things going on, too. The voice talked to me and I couldn't even move a muscle. The Grolims who were dragging the slave to the altar just let him go when Eriond told them to. Then he told them all that they won't ever be able to relight the fires."
"Where's the boy now?"
"They're taking him to Chabat."
"Couldn't you stop them?"
"I was told not to." Garion tapped his forehead.
"I should have expected that," Belgarath said irritably. "We'd better go warn Pol and the others. We may have to free Eriond and then fight our way out of here." He opened the door, looked out into the hallway, and motioned Garion and Silk to follow him.
Polgara's face was deathly pale when the three of them re-entered the room where she and the others were waiting. "You didn't find him," she said. It was not exactly a question.
"Garion did," Belgarath replied.
She turned to Garion. "Why isn't he with you, then?" she demanded.
"I'm afraid the Grolims have him, Aunt Pol."
"We've got a problem here, Pol," Belgarath said gravely. "From what Garion says, Eriond went into the Sanctum and put out the fires."
"What?" she exclaimed.
Garion spread his hands helplessly. "He just walked in and made the fires go out. The Grolims seized him and they're taking him to Chabat."
"This is very serious, Belgarath," Sadi said. "Those fires are supposed to burn perpetually. If the Grolims believe that the boy was responsible, he's in very great danger."
"I know," the old man agreed.
"All right, then," Durnik said quietly. "We'll just have to go take him away from them." He stood up, and Toth silently joined him.
"But our ship is almost ready," Sadi protested. "We could be out of here with no one the wiser."
"There's nothing we can do about that now." Belgarath's face was grimly determined.
"Let me see if I can salvage something out of this mess before any of you do anything irreversible," Sadi pleaded. "There'll always be time for more direct action if I can't talk our way out of this."
Garion looked around. "Where's Ce'Nedra?" he asked.
"She's asleep," Polgara replied. "Liselle's with her."
"Is she all right? Silk said that she was upset. She isn't sick again, is she?"
"No, Garion. It was the sounds coming from the Sanctum. She couldn't tolerate them."
A heavy fist suddenly pounded on the bolted door. Garion jumped and instinctively reached for his sword. "Open up in there!" a harsh voice commanded from outside.
"Quickly," Sadi hissed, "all of you get back into your cells and try to look as if you've been sleeping when you come out."
They hurried back into the cells and waited breathlessly while the thin eunuch went to the door and unbolted it. "What's the matter, reverend sirs?" he asked mildly as the Grolims burst into the room with drawn weapons.
"You have been summoned to an audience with the Hierarch, slaver," one of them snarled. "You and all your servants."
"We're honored," Sadi murmured.
"You're not being honored. You're to be interrogated. I'd advise you to speak the truth, because Agachak has the power to pull you very slowly out of your skin if you lie to him."
"What an unpleasant notion. Has the Hierarch returned from the Drojim Palace then?"
"Word has been sent to him of the monstrous crime one of your servants has committed."
"Crime? What crime?"
The Grolim ignored him. "On Chabat's orders, you are all to be confined until Agachak returns to the Temple."
Garion and the others were roughly shaken out of their feigned sleep and marched through the smoky corridors and down a narrow flight of stone steps into the basement. Unlike the rooms above, these cells were secured with barred iron doors, and the narrow halls had about them that peculiar sour odor that permeates prisons and dungeons the world over. One of the Grolims opened a barred door and gestured for them to enter.
"Is this really necessary, good Priest?" Sadi protested. The Grolim put his hand threateningly on his sword hilt. "Calm yourself, sir," Sadi said. "I was merely asking."
"Inside! Now!"
They all filed into the cell, and the black-robed priest slammed it behind them. The sound of the key grating in the lock seemed very loud for some reason.
"Garion," Ce'Nedra said in a frightened little voice, "What's happening? Why are they doing this?"
He put his arm comfortingly about her shoulders. "Eriond got into trouble," he explained. "Sadi's going to try to talk us all out of this."
"What if he can't?"
"Then we'll do it the other way."
Silk looked around at the dimly lit cell with a disdainful sniff. "Dungeons always show such a lack of imagination," he remarked, scuffing at the moldy straw littering the floor with one foot.
"Have you had such a wide experience with dungeons, Kheldar?" Velvet asked him.
"I've been in a few from time to time." He shrugged. "I've never found it convenient to stay for more than a few hours." He raised up on his tiptoes to peer out through the small barred window in the door. "Good," he said, "no guards." He looked at Belgarath. "Do you want me to open this?" he asked, tapping on the door with one knuckle. "I don't think we can accomplish very much from in here."
"Please be patient, Prince Kheldar," Sadi said. "If we break out of this cell, I'll never be able to smooth this over."
"I've got to find out what they've done with Eriond," Polgara told the eunuch firmly. "Go ahead and open it, Silk,"
"Pol
gara?" a light, familiar voice came from the next cell. "Is that you?"
"Eriond!" she said with relief. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Polgara. They put chains on me, but they aren't too uncomfortable."
"Why did you do that—what you did in the Sanctum?"
"I didn't like those fires."
"I didn't either, but—"
"I really didn't like them, Polgara. That sort of thing has to be stopped, and we have to start somewhere."
"How did you put them out?" Belgarath asked through the barred window in the door. "Garion was there when you did it and he says that he didn't hear or feel anything."
"I'm not sure, Belgarath. I don't think I actually did anything special to make them go out. I just decided that I didn't want them to burn any more, so I sort of let them know how I felt, and they just went out."
"That's all?"
"As closely as I can remember, yes."
Belgarath turned from the door, his face baffled. "When we get out of here, that boy and I are going to have a very long talk about this. I've meant to do that about a half-dozen times, and every time I make up my mind, I get smoothly diverted." He looked at Garion. "The next time you talk to your friend, tell him to stop that. It irritates me."
"He already knows that, Grandfather. I think that's why he does it."
Somewhere down the corridor outside, a heavy iron door clanged open, and there came the sound of marching feet.
"Grolims," Silk said quietly from the barred window.
"Who else?" Belgarath asked sourly.
The approaching group stopped outside, and a key grated in the lock of Eriond's cell. The door creaked open. "You, boy," a harsh voice barked. "Come with us."
"Father," Polgara whispered urgently.
The old man held up one hand. "Wait," he muttered.
Then someone rattled a key in the lock of their cell door, and it also clanged open. "Agachak has returned," the Grolim in the open doorway announced curtly. "You will come out of there now."
"Splendid," Sadi said with relief. "Whatever this is all about, I'm sure it can be cleared up in just a few minutes."
"No talking!" The Grolim turned abruptly and started down the corridor while a dozen of his fellows fell in behind the prisoners with drawn weapons.
Agachak, the Hierarch of Rak Urga, was a cadaverous-looking man with a long beard. He sat upon a throne-like chair in a large room lighted by glaring torches and hung with dark maroon drapes. The Hierarch's hooded robe was blood red, and his sunken eyes burned beneath their shaggy gray brows.
Eriond, still in chains, sat calmly on a rough wooden stool before him, and the slim priestess, Chabat, her purple-lined hood pushed back and the red scars on her cheeks seeming to reflect the torchlight, stood at her master's elbow with a look of cruel triumph on her face.
"Which one of you is Ussa of Sthiss Tor?" the Hierarch demanded in a hollow-sounding voice.
Sadi stepped forward with an oily bow. "I am Ussa, Holy One," he said.
"You're in a great deal of trouble, Ussa," Chabat told him, her throaty voice almost purring. Her lips twisted into an ugly smirk.
"But I have done nothing."
"Here in Cthol Murgos, the master is responsible for the misdeeds of the servant."
Agachak's eyes bored into Sadi, though his bony white face remained expressionless. "Let us proceed," he commanded. "Who is to present the evidence in this matter?"
Chabat turned and gestured to a hooded Grolim standing near the wall. "Sorchak will serve as the priest-inquisitor, Master," she replied in the tone of one who feels fully in charge of a situation. "I'm sure you're aware of his zeal."
"Ah, yes," Agachak said in a noncommittal tone. "I might have guessed that it would be Sorchak." The faintest hint of sardonic amusement touched his lips. "Very well, priest-inquisitor, you may present the charges."
The black-robed Grolim stepped forward, pushing his green-lined hood back from his tangled hair. "The matter itself is simple, my Lord," he declared in his strident voice. "There were dozens of witnesses present, so there can be no question of this young villain's guilt. The implications of that guilt, however, must be pursued."
"Pronounce your sentence, Great Hierarch," Chabat urged the dead-looking man on the throne. "I will wring the whole truth from this greasy Nyissan and from his servants."
"I have heard talk of guilt, Chabat," he replied, "but I have still not heard the charges or the evidence."
Chabat looked slightly taken aback by his words. "I but thought to spare you the tedium of a formal inquiry, Master. I am convinced of the truth of Sorchak's words. You have always accepted my judgment in such matters before."
"Perhaps," Agachak said, "but I think that this time I might like to judge for myself." He looked at the greasy haired priest standing before him. "The charges, Sorchak," he said. "Exactly what is it that the young man is accused of doing?" There was a faint note of dislike in the Hierarch's voice.
Sorchak's bulging eyes grew slightly less certain as he sensed Agachak's unspoken animosity. Then he drew himself up. "Early this evening," he began, "just as the holiest rite of our faith was about to be performed on the altar in the Sanctum, this young man entered and extinguished the altar Fires. That is what he did, and it is that of which I accuse him. I swear that he is guilty."
"Absurd," Sadi protested. "Are the fires at the altar not perpetually attended? How could this boy have gotten close enough to them to put them out?"
"How dare you question the sworn word of a priest of Torak?" Chabat said angrily, her scarred cheeks writhing. "Sorchak has sworn to his guilt, and therefore he is guilty. To question the word of a priest is death."
Agachak's sunken eyes were veiled as he looked at her. "I think that I might like to hear the evidence that has so persuaded you and the priest-inquisitor for myself, Chabat," he said in a flat voice. "Accusation and guilt are not always the same thing, and the question raised by Ussa is quite relevant."
A faint hope surged through Garion at the Hierarch's words. Agachak knew. He was completely aware of Chabat's involvement with Sorchak, and the very eagerness with which she defended the rancid-smelling Grolim's every word affronted her master.
"Well, priest-inquisitor," Agachak continued, "how did this boy manage to put out the altar fires? Has there been some laxity in guarding them?"
Sorchak's eyes grew wary as he realized that he was on dangerous ground. "I have many witnesses, my Lord," he declared. "There is universal agreement by all who were present that the Sanctum was desecrated by means of sorcery."
"Ah, sorcery, is it? That would explain everything, of course." Agachak paused, his dreadful eyes fixed on the now-sweating Sorchak. "I have noticed, however, that the cry 'witch' or 'sorcerer' is frequently raised when there is a lack of solid evidence. Is there no other explanation for what happened in the Sanctum? Is the priest-inquisitor's case so weak that he must fall back on so tired and worn-out an accusation?"
Chabat's expression was incredulous, and Sorchak began to tremble.
"Fortunately, the matter is easily resolved," Agachak added. "The gift of sorcery has a slight drawback. Others with the same gift can clearly sense the use of the power." He paused. "You didn't know that, did you, Sorchak? A priest of the Green hoping for elevation to the Purple would have been more diligent in his studies and would have known that—but you have been otherwise occupied, haven't you?" He turned to the priestess at his side. "I am surprised, however, that you did not instruct your protege here more completely before you let him make this kind of charge, Chabat. You might have prevented his making a fool of himself— and of you."
Her eyes blazed, and the flame-like scars on her face went livid; then suddenly they began to glow as if an inner fire were running beneath her skin.
"Well, Chabat," he said in a calm, deadly voice, "has the moment come then? Will you finally try your will against mine?"
The awful question hung in the air, and Garion found that he was holdin
g his breath. Chabat, however, averted her eyes and turned her face away from the Hierarch, the fires in her cheeks fading.
"A wise decision, Chabat." Agachak turned to Sadi. "Well, Ussa of Sthiss Tor, how say you to the charge that your servant here is a sorcerer?"
"The priest of Torak is in error, my Lord," Sadi replied diplomatically. "Believe me, this young dunce is no sorcerer. He spends ten minutes every morning trying to decide which of his shoes goes on which foot. Look at him. There's not the faintest glimmer of intelligence in those eyes. He doesn't even have sense enough to be afraid."
Chabat's eyes grew angry again, though there was in them now a faint hint that she was no longer so sure of herself. "What would a Nyissan slaver know of sorcery, Master?" she sneered. "You know of the habits of the snake-people. Doubtless this Ussa's mind is so fuddled with drugs that one of his servants could be Belgarath himself, and he wouldn't know it."
"A very interesting point," Agachak murmured. "Now, let us examine this matter. We know that the altar fires went out. That much is certain. Sorchak declares that this young man extinguished them by means of sorcery—though he has no proof to substantiate that charge. Ussa of Sthiss Tor, who may be drugged to the point of insensibility, maintains that the young man is a simpleton and thus totally incapable of so extraordinary an act. Now, how may we resolve this dilemma?"
"Put them to the torment, Holy One," Chabat suggested eagerly. "I myself will wring the truth from them—one by one."
Garion tensed himself and looked carefully at Belgarath. The old man stood quite calmly with his short, silvery beard gleaming in the ruddy torchlight. He gave no sign that he might be preparing for any kind of direct action.
"Your fondness for the torture chamber is well known, Chabat," Agachak was saying coldly. "Your skill is such that your victims usually say exactly what you want them to say—which is not always the absolute truth."
"I do but serve my God, Master," she declared proudly.
"We all serve here, my Holy Priestess," he rebuked her, "and you would be wise not to assert your own excessive piety in order to elevate yourself—or your underling for that matter." He looked at Sorchak with undisguised contempt. "I am still Hierarch here, and I will make the final decision in this matter."
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