Again they all spoke with that jocular bravado. They were approaching what was probably the most important Event in all of time, and making light of it was a natural human response.
Silk led the way out of the niche, his soft boots making no sound on the wet stones under their feet. Garion and Zakath, however, had to move with some care to avoid clinking. The sharply mounting stone terraces were each uniformly about ten feet tall, but at regular intervals there were stairways leading from one terrace to the one above. Silk led them up about three levels and then began circling the truncated pyramid. When they reached the northeast corner, he paused. ‘We’d better be very quiet now,’ he whispered. ‘We’re only about a hundred yards from that amphitheater. We don’t want some sharp-eared Grolim to hear us.’
They crept around the corner and made their way carefully along the north face for several minutes. Then Silk stopped and leaned out over the edge to peer down into the fog. ‘This is it,’ he whispered. ‘The amphitheater’s a rectangular indentation in the side of the peak. It runs from the beach up to that portal or whatever you want to call it. If you look over the edge, you’ll see that the terraces below us break off back there a ways. The amphitheater is right below us. We’re within a hundred yards of Zandramas right now.’
Garion peered down into the fog, almost wishing that by a single act of will he could brush aside the obscuring mist so that he could look at the face of his enemy.
‘Steady,’ Beldin whispered to him. ‘It’s going to come soon enough. Let’s not spoil the surprise for her.’
Disjointed voices came up out of the fog – harsh, gutteral Grolim voices. The fog seemed to muffle them, so Garion could not pick out individual words, but he didn’t really have to.
They waited.
The sun by now had risen above the eastern horizon, and its pale disk was faintly visible through the fog and the roiling cloud that was the aftermath of the storm. The fog began to eddy and swirl. Gradually the mist overhead dissolved, and now Garion could see the sky. A thick blanket of dirty-looking scud lay over the reef but extended only a few leagues to the east. Thus it was that the sun, low on the eastern horizon, shone on the underside of the clouds and stained them an angry reddish orange with its light. It looked almost as if the sky had taken fire.
‘Colorful,’ Sadi murmured, nervously passing his poisoned dagger from one hand to the other. He set his red leather case down and opened it. Then he took up the earthenware bottle, worked the stopper out, and laid it on its side. ‘There should be mice on this reef,’ he said, ‘or the eggs of sea-birds. Zith and her babies will be all right.’ Then he straightened, carefully putting a small bag he had taken from the case in the pocket of his tunic. ‘A little precaution,’ he whispered by way of explanation.
The fog now lay beneath them like a pearly gray ocean in the shadow of the pyramid. Garion heard a strange, melancholy cry and raised his eyes. The albatross hovered on motionless wings above the fog. Garion peered intently down into the obscuring mist, almost absently working the leather sleeve off the hilt of his sword. The Orb was glowing faintly, and its color was not blue, but an angry red, almost the color of the burning sky.
‘That confirms it, Old Wolf,’ Poledra said to her husband. ‘The Sardion’s in that cave.’
Belgarath, his silvery hair and beard glowing red in the light reflected from the clouds overhead, grunted.
The fog below began to swirl, its surface looking almost like an angry sea. It thinned even more. Garion could now see shadowy forms beneath them, hazy, indistinct, and uniformly dark.
The fog was now no more that a faintly obscuring haze.
‘Holy sorceress!’ a Grolim voice exclaimed in alarm. ‘Look!’
A hooded figure in a shiny black satin robe spun about, and Garion looked full into the face of the Child of Dark. He had heard the lights beneath her skin described several times, but no description had prepared him for what he now saw. The lights in Zandramas’ face were not stationary, but swirled restlessly beneath her skin. In the shadow of the ancient pyramid, her features were dark, nearly invisible, but the swirling lights made it appear, in the cryptic words of the Ashabine Oracles, as if ‘all the starry universe’ were contained in her flesh.
Behind him he heard the sharp hiss of Ce’Nedra’s indrawn breath. He turned his head and saw his little queen, dagger in hand and eyes ablaze with hatred, starting toward the stairs leading down into the amphitheater. Polgara and Velvet, obviously aware of her desperate plan, quickly restrained and disarmed her.
Then Poledra stepped to the edge of the terrace. ‘And so it has come at last, Zandramas,’ she said in a clear voice.
‘I was but waiting for thee to join thy friends, Poledra,’ the sorceress replied in a taunting tone. ‘I was concerned for thee, fearing that thou hadst lost thy way. Now it is complete, and we may proceed in orderly fashion.’
‘Thy concern with order is somewhat belated, Zandramas,’ Poledra told her, ‘but no matter. We have all, as was foretold, arrived at the appointed place at the appointed time. Shall we put aside all this foolishness and go inside? The universe must be growing impatient with us.’
‘Not just yet, Poledra,’ Zandramas replied flatly.
‘How tiresome,’ Belgarath’s wife said wearily. ‘That’s a failing in thee, Zandramas. Even after something obviously isn’t working, thou must continue to try. Thou hast twisted and turned and tried to evade this meeting, but all in vain. And all of thine evasion hath only brought thee more quickly to this place. Thinkest thou not that it is time to forgo thine entertainments and to go along gracefully?’
‘I do not think so, Poledra.’
Poledra sighed. ‘All right, Zandramas,’ she said in a resigned tone, ‘as it pleaseth thee.’ She extended her arm, pointing at Garion. ‘Since thou art so bent on this, thus I summon the Godslayer.’
Slowly, deliberately, Garion reached back across his shoulder and wrapped his hand about the hilt of his sword. It made an angry hiss as it slid from its sheath and it was already flaming an incandescent blue as it emerged. Garion’s mind was icy calm now. All doubt and fear were gone, even as they had been at Cthol Mishrak, and the spirit of the Child of Light possessed him utterly. He took the sword hilt in both hands and slowly raised it until the flaming blade was pointed at the fiery clouds overhead. ‘This is thy fate, Zandramas!’ he roared in an awful voice, the archaic words coming unbidden to his lips.