"It also totally isolates Cthol Murgos." Urgit pointed out the one fact that Javelin had hoped to gloss over. "I exhaust my kingdom pulling your chestnuts out of the fire, and then the Alorns, Tolnedrans, Arends, and Sendars are free to march in and eliminate the Angarak presence on the western continent."
"You have the Nadraks and Thulls as allies, your Majesty."
"I'll trade you," Urgit said dryly. "Give me the Arends and the Rivans, and I'll gladly give you the Thulls and Nadraks."
"I think it's time for me to contact my government on these matters, your Majesty. I've already overextended my authority. I'll need further instructions from Boktor."
"Give Porenn my regards," Urgit said, "and teil her that I join with her in wishing a mutual relative well."
Javelin felt a lot less sure of himself as he left.
The Child of Dark had smashed all die mirrors in her quarters in the Grolim Temple at Balasa that morning. It had begun to touch her face now. Dimly she had seen the swirling lights beneath the skin of her cheeks and forehead and then had broken the mirror that had revealed the fact to her—and all the others, as well. When it was done, she stared in horror at the gash in the palm of her hand. The lights were even in her blood. Bitterly she recalled the wild joy that had filled her when she had first read the prophetic words: "Behold: the Child of Dark shall be exalted above all others and shall be glorified by the light of the stars.” But the light of the stars was no halo or glowing nimbus. The light was a creeping disease that encroached upon her inch by inch.
It was not only the swirling lights, however, that had begun to consume her. Increasingly her thoughts, her memories, and even her dreams were not her own. Again and again she awoke screaming as the same dream came again and again. She seemed to hang bodiless and indifferent in some unimaginable void, watching all unconcerned as a giant star spun and wobbled on its course, swelling and growing redder as it shuddered toward inevitable extinction. The random wobble of the off-center star was of no real concern until it became more and more pronounced. Then the bodiless and sexless awareness drifting in the void felt a prickle of interest and then a growing alarm. This was wrong. This had not been intended. And then it happened. The giant red star exploded in a place where that explosion was not supposed to happen; and, because it was in the wrong place, other stars were caught up in it. A vast, expanding ball of burning energy rippled outward, engulfing sun after sun until an entire galaxy had been consumed.
The awareness in the void felt a dreadful wrench within itself as the galaxy exploded, and for a moment it seemed to exist in more than one place. And then it was no longer one. "This must not be," the awareness said in a soundless voice.
"Truly," another soundless voice responded.
And that was the horror that brought Zandramas bolt upright and screaming in her bed night after night—the sense of another presence when always before there had been the perfect solitude of eternal oneness.
The Child of Dark tried to put those thoughts—memories, if you will—from her mind. There was a knock at the door of her chamber, and she pulled up the hood of her Grolim robe to hide her face. "Yes?" she said harshly.
The door opened, and the archpriest of this temple entered. "Naradas has departed, Holy Sorceress," he reported. "You wanted to be told.”
"All right," she said in a flat voice.
"A messenger has arrived from the west," the Archpriest continued. "He brings news that a western Grolim, a Hierarch, has landed on the barren west coast of Finda and now moves across Dalasia toward Kell."
Zandramas felt a faint surge of satisfaction. "Welcome to Mallorea, Agachak," she almost purred. "I’ve been waiting for you."
It was foggy that morning along the southern tip of the Isle of Verkat, but Gait was a fisherman and he knew the ways of these waters. He pushed out at first light, steering more by the smell of the land behind him and the feel of the prevailing current man by anything else. From time to time he would stop rowing, pull in his net, and empty the struggling, silver-sided fish into the large box beneath his feet. Then he would cast out his net again and resume his rowing while the fish he had caught thumped and flapped beneath him.
It was a good morning for fishing. Gart did not mind the fog. There were other boats out, he knew, but the fog created the illusion that he had the ocean to himself, and Gart liked that.
It was a slight change in the pull of the current on his boat that warned him. He hastily shipped his oars, leaning forward, and began to clang the bell mounted in the bow of his boat to warn the approaching ship that he was here.
And then he saw it. It was like no other ship Gart had ever seen before. It was long and it was big and it was lean. Its high bowsprit was ornately carved. Dozens of oars propelled it hissing through the water. There could be no mistaking the purpose for which that ship had been built. Gart shivered as the ominous vessel slid past.
Near the stern of the ship, a huge red-bearded man in chain mail stood leaning over the rail. "Any luck?" he called to Gart.
"Fair," Gart replied cautiously. He did not wish to encourage a ship with that big a crew to drop anchor and begin hauling in his fish.
"Are we off the southern coast of the Isle of Verkat yet?” the led-bearded giant asked.
Gait sniffed at the air and caught the faint scent of the land. "15x1*116 almost past it now," he told them. "The coast takes a bend to the northeast about here.”
A man dressed in gleaming armor joined the big red-bearded .fellow at the rail. The armored man held his helmet under one ann, and his black hair was curly. "Thy knowledge of these waters doth seem profound, friend," he said in an archaic form of address Gart had seldom heard before, "and thy willingness to share thy knowledge with others doth bespeak a seemly courtesy. Canst thou perchance advise us of the shortest course to Mallorea?"
"That would depend on exactly where you wanted to go in Mallorea," Gart replied.
"The closest port," the red-bearded man said.
Gart squinted, trying to recall the details of the map he had tucked on a shelf at home. "That would be Dal Zerba in southwestern Dalasia," he said. "If it were me, I'd go on due east for another ten or twenty leagues and then come about to a northeasterly course."
"And how long a voyage do we face to reach this port thou hast mentioned?" the armored man asked.
Gart squinted at the long, narrow ship alongside him. "That depends on how fast your ship goes," he replied. "It's three hundred and fifty leagues or so, but you have to swing back out to sea again to get around the Turim reef. It's very dangerous, I'm told, and no one tries to go through it."
"Peradventure we might be the first, my Lord," the armored man said gaily to his friend.
The giant sighed and covered his eyes with one huge hand. "No, Mandorallen," he said in a mournful voice. "If we rip out my ship's bottom on a reef, we'll have to swim the rest of the way, and you're not dressed for it."
The huge ship began to slide off into the fog.
"What kind of a ship is that?" Gart called after the disappearing vessel.
"A Cherek war boat," the rumbled reply came back with a note of pride. "She's the largest afloat."
"What do you call her?" Gart shouted between his cupped hands.
"Seabird, "the reply came ghosting back to him.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was not a large city, but its architecture was at a level of sophistication Garion had never seen before. It nestled in a shallow valley near the foot of the vast white peak, looking somehow as if it were resting in the mountain's lap. It was a city of slender white spires and marble colonnades. The low buildings spaced among the spires often had entire walls of glass. There were wide lawns around the buildings and groves of trees with marble benches beneath them. Formal gardens were spaced about the lawns—boxy hedges and beds of flowers lined by low, white walls. Fountains played in the gardens and in the courtyards of the buildings.
Zakath gaped at the city of Kell in stunned amazement. "I neve
r even knew this was here!" he exclaimed.
"You didn't know about Kell?" Garion asked him.
"I knew about Kell, but I didn't know it was like this.'"
Zakath made a face. "It makes Mal Zeth look like a collection of hovels, doesn't it?"
"Tol Honeth, as well—and even Melcene," Garion agreed.
"I didn't think the Dais even knew how to build a proper house," the Mallorean said, "and now they show me something like this."
Tom had been gesturing to Durnik.
"He says that it's the oldest city in the world," the smith supplied. "It was built this way long before the world was cracked. It hasn't changed in almost ten thousand years."
Zakath sighed. "They've probably forgotten how to do it, then. I was going to press some of their architects into service. Mal Zeth could use a bit of beautifying."
Toth gestured again, and a frown appeared on Durnik's face. "I can't have gotten that right," he muttered.
"What did he say?"
"The way I got it was that nothing the Dais have ever done has ever been forgotten." Durnik looked at his friend. "Is that what you meant?" he asked.
Tom nodded and gestured again.
Durnik's eyes went wide. "He says that every Dal alive today knows everything that every Dal who's ever lived knew."
"They must have very good schools then," Garion suggested.
Toth only smiled at that. It was a strange smile, tinged slightly with pity. Then he gestured briefly to Durnik, slid down from his horse, and walked away.
"Where's he going?" Silk asked.
"To see Cyradis," Durnik replied.
"Shouldn't we go with him?"
Dumik shook his head. "She'll come to us when she's ready.”
Like all the Dais Garion had ever seen, the inhabitants of Kell wore simple white robes with deep cowls attached to the shoulders. They walked quietly across the lawns or sat in the gardens in groups of two or three engaged in sober discussion. Some carried books or scrolls. Others did not. Garion was somehow reminded of the University of Tol Honeth or the one at Melcene. This community of scholars, he was convinced, however, was engaged in studies far more profound than the often petty research that filled the lives of the professors at those exalted institutions.
The group of Dais who had escorted them to this jewellike city led them along a gently curving street to a simple house on
the far side of one of the formal gardens. An ancient, white-TObed man leaned on a long staff in the doorway. His eyes were very blue, and his hair was snowy white. "We have long awaited your coming," he said to them in a quavering voice, "for The Book of Ages has foretold that in the Fifth Age the Child of Light and his company would come to us here at Kell to seek guidance."
"And the Child of Dark?" Belgarath asked him, dismounting. "Will she also come here?"
"No, Ancient Belgarath,"the elderly man replied. "She may not come here, but will find direction elsewhere and in a different manner. I am Dalian, and I am bid to greet you."
"Do you rule here, Dalian?" Zakath asked, also dismounting.
"No one rules here, Emperor of Mallorea," Dalian said, "not even you."
"You seem to know us," Belgarath noted.
"We have known you all since the book of the heavens was first opened to us, for your names are written large in the stars. And now 1 will take you to a place where you may rest and await the pleasure of the Holy Seeress," He looked at the oddly placid she-wolf at Garion's side and the frolicking puppy behind her. "How is it with you, little sister?" he asked in formal tones.
"One is content, friend," she replied in the language of wolves.
"One is pleased that it is so," he replied in her own tongue.
"Does everyone in the whole world except me speak wolf?" Silk asked with some asperity.
"Would you like lessons?" Garion asked.
"Nevermind."
And then with tottering step the white-haired man led them across the verdant lawn to a large marble building with broad, gleaming steps at the front. "This house was prepared for you at the beginning of the Third Age, Ancient Belgarath," the old man said. "Its first stone was laid on the day when you recovered your Master's Orb from the City of Endless Night."
"That was quite sometime ago," the sorcerer observed.
"The Ages were long in the beginning," Dalian agreed. "They grow shorter now. Rest well. We will attend to your mounts." Then he turned and, leaning on his staff, he went back toward his own house.
"Someday a Dal is going to come right out and say what he means without all the cryptic babble, and the world will come to an end," Beldin growled. "Let's go inside. If this house has been here for as long as he said it has, the dust's likely to be knee-deep in there, and it's going to need to be swept out."
"Tidiness, uncle?" Polgara laughed as they started up the marble steps. "From you?"
"I don't mind a certain amount of dirt, Pol, but dust makes me sneeze."
The interior of the house, however, was spotless. Gossamer curtains hung at the windows, billowing in the sweet-scented summer breeze, and the furniture, although oddly constructed and strangely alien-looking, was very comfortable. The interior walls were peculiarly curved, and there were no corners anywhere to be seen.
They wandered about this strange house, trying to adjust themselves to it. Then they gathered in a large, domed central room where a small fountain trickled water down one wall.
"There isn't any back door," Silk noted critically.
"Were you planning to leave, Kheldar?" Velvet asked him.
"Not necessarily, but I like to have that option open if the need should arise."
"You can always jump out a window if you have to."
"That's amateurish, Liselle. Only a first-year student at the academy dives out of windows."
"I know, but sometimes we have to improvise."
There was a peculiar murmuring sound in Garion's ears. At first he thought it might be the fountain, but somehow it didn't quite sound like running water. "Do you think they'd mind if we went out and had a look around?" he asked Belgarath.
"Let's wait a bit before we do that. We were sort of put here. I don't know yet if that means we're supposed to stay or what. Let's feel things out before we take any chances. The Dais here— and Cyradis in particular—have something we need. Let's not offend them." He looked at Dumik. "Did Toth give you any hints about when she'll be coming here?"
“Not really, but I got the impression it wouldn't be too long.”
"That's not really too helpful, brother mine," Beldin said. "The Dais have a rather peculiar notion of time. They keep track of it in ages rather than years.”
Zakath had been rather closely examining the wall a few yards from the trickling fountain. "Do you realize that there's no mortar holding this wall together?"
Durnik joined him, took his knife from its sheath, and probed at the slender fissure between two of the marble slabs. "Mortise and tenon," he said thoughtfully, "and very tightly fit, too. It must have taken years to build this house."
"And centuries to build the city, if it's all put together that way," Zakathadded. "Where did they learn how to do all this? And when?"
"Probably during the First Age," Belgarath told him.
"Stop that, Belgarath," Beldin snapped irritably. "You sound just the way they do.”
"I always try to follow local customs."
"I still don't know any more than I did before," Zakath complained.
"The First Age covered the period of time from the creation of man until the day when Torak cracked the world," Belgarath told him. "The beginning of it is a little vague. OurMasterwas never very specific about when he and his brothers made the world. I expect that none of them want to talk about it because their Father disapproved. The cracking of the world is iairly well pinpointed, though."
"Were you around when it happened, Lady Polgara?" Sadi asked curiously.
"No," she replied. "My sister and I were born a while later."
/>
"How long awhile?"
"Two thousand years or so, wasn't it, father?"
"About that, yes."
"It chills my blood, the casual way you people shrug off eons." Sadi shuddered.
"What makes you think they learned this style of building before the cracking of the world?" Zakath asked Belgarath.
"I’ve read parts of The Book of Ages," the old man said. "It fairly well documents the history of the Dais. After the world was cracked and the Sea of the East rushed in, you Angaraks fled to Mallorea. The Dais knew that eventually they'd have to come to terms with your people, so they decided to pose as simple fanners. They dismantled their cities—all except this one."
"Why would they leave Kell intact?"
"There was no need to take it apart. The Grolims were the ones they were really worried about, and the Grolims can't come here."
“But other Angaraks can,” Zakath noted shrewdly.”How is it that none of them has ever reported a city like this to the bureaucracy?"
"They're probably encouraged to forget," Polgara told him.
He looked at her sharply.
"It's not really that difficult, Zakath. A hint or two can usually erase memories." An expression of irritation crossed her face. "What is that murmuring sound?" she demanded.
"I don't hear anything," Silk said, looking slightly baffled.
"You must have your ears stopped up, then, Kheldar."
About sunset, several young women in soft white robes brought supper to them on covered trays.
"I see that diings are the same the world over," Velvet said wryly to one of the young women. "The men sit around and talk, and the women do the work.”
"Oh, we don't mind," the girl replied earnestly. "It's an honor to serve.” She had very large dark eyes and lustrous brown hair.
"That's what makes it even worse," Velvet said. "First they make us do all the work, and then they persuade us that we like it."
The girl gave her a startled look, then giggled. Then she looked around guiltily and blushed.
Beldin had seized a crystal flagon almost as soon as the young women had entered. He filled a goblet and drank noisily. Then he began to choke, spraying a purplish liquid over half the room. "What is this stuff?" he demanded indignandy.
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